#war of the ninepenny kings

[a-song-of-art-and-fire]

Maelys I Blackfyre, Captain General of The Golden Company

"The captain-general's tent was made of cloth-of-gold and surrounded by a ring of pikes topped with gilded skulls. One skull was larger than the rest, grotesquely malformed. Below it was a second, no larger than a child's fist. Maelys the Monstrous and his nameless brother."

I'm ashamed to say Maelys is a character I'd largely written off as a "mummer's dragon", a cartoonishly evil horse-punching cousin-killing giant to give the Westerosi Greatest Generation a monster to slay. It was only thanks to the great analysis by @mylestoyne I really considered that Maelys is largely a character in Tyrion's chapters, so of course he's a reflection of Tyrion's themes - even with all the hallmarks of Westerosi martial masculinity, he's utterly reviled for being disabled and for "kin-slaying" in utero.

The miniature is adapted from a Bloody Mummer, presumably Zollo - I really love him for the big beefy look, George's giant characters generally give the impression of Andre the Giant style gigantism, with plenty of fat over their musculature. I of course added the second head, my sculpting skills are rusty to say the least, but I certainly prefer the vestigial look to some of the cartoony "second smaller perfectly formed head" art I've seen out there. I've also given him Blackfyre, which I always like to picture as a full fantasy type sword.

[of-pretty-crows-and-wild-women]

Anyone else just really not normal about the Ninepenny Kings?

I would love for anyone else obsessed with these dollar store nazgul to share their headcanons about them.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

Hi there! I'm not sure if this is something you can answer, but say in an AU where Maelys I Blackfyre won the war of the Nine-Penny Kings and sailed to Westeros to finish trying to take the Iron Throne, what route do you or your followers think he would take his army? Sail straight to the capital, go through the mountains of Dorne, or go for Dragonstone first, etc. Thank you for your time!

Hi, Anon! Thanks for the question.

While I’m not the best at coming up with military tactics, fortunately we have enough other invasions of Westeros via the Stepstones (which now, at least, are Maelys’)—in the First Dornish War, Fourth Dornish War, after the Myrish Bloodbath, even Aegon VI’s recent landing—that the pirate fleets usually go northwest to the islands (Estermont, Tarth) and coastal settlements (Griffon’s Roost, Crow’s Nest, Rain House) of Cape Wrath in the Stormlands (the Dornish coast being treacherous and not as rich, plus they’re usually the allies of the pirates). I think Maelys, were he interested in taking the crown of Westeros, would start off there. From there, it seems Stepstones pirates raided the east coast of the riverlands into the Vale, though some captured the Wolf’s Den in what is now White Harbor (and apparently some go even farther north). I don’t know what kind of support Maelys would have in mainland Westeros (he had 2 Westerosi allies in Spotted Tom and Derrick Fossoway) as he never got that far. The other invasions of the Stepstones that got as far as they did was mainly because of local support, usually from the Dornish (more recently because of Jon Connington’s insider knowledge). So raiding islands and coastal settlements to appease his supporters with plunder may be all he’s capable of doing (which crosses Dragonstone off the list at least initially, since it’s notoriously poor. Claw Isle and Driftmark seem the better prizes in terms of plunder). Sure, the Golden Company sacked Tyrosh under Maelys, but we only have a rough idea of how big it is (making the shadow city of Sunspear look like a town, though towns could be 1-20000 people) and I’ve speculated the sack was helped with local support. I just don’t think going straight for the capital or Dragonstone would be the strategically wisest move. Maelys might establish himself in the Stormlands and win a few victories there before possibly moving on, as he proved himself in Essos before going to Tyrosh in helping conquer the Disputed Lands.

Thank you again for the kind words.

[happychappy439]

28mm A Song of Ice and Fire: Golden Company Spearmen

Another Sellsword Summer post! This time I've decided to make a start on a different company to the Bloody Mummers, and put together some figures for some of the sellswords of the Golden Company

The Golden Company themselves are largely descended from the exile rebels who tried to install the Blackfyre pretenders on the Iron Throne, and spent the better part of a century fighting against House Targaryen, before House Blackfyre died out in the male line with Maelys Blackfyre in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. After that, they resumed being a 'regular' sellsword company, taking contracts in Essos and dreaming of returning from exile. With that origin in mind, the idea I had in my head for the Golden Company is that they would have a broadly Westerosi style of equipment left over from the exiles, but would have over time integrated armour and fashions from the Free Cities in Essos. With the idea being that they would look (and fight) in a more Italian way, with a lot of infantry wearing mail, brigandines and helmet wraps. The figures themselves are all unconverted Claymore Castings Italian spearmen, which I felt fit perfectly for how I'd imagined them, the 14th/15th century look fits in with the rest of my Westerosi figures, while also having enough Italian design features to visually separate them from the other factions

Here's a few of the individual sellswords slightly more up-close. I've tried to keep the unit with a common visual theme without them being exactly uniform to try and reflect how the Golden Company is notably disciplined compared to other sellsword companies, but also retaining a little sellsword individuality. Every member of the unit has some gold accents their helmets, breastplates or knee/elbow plating, while every miniature in a brigandine has the studs painted gold. The serjeant has a pointier bascinet and a full suit of plate armour to make him look more like a man-at-arms from Westeros, but has an Italian style shield to still tie him to the Free Cities

[beyondmistland]

How would you make the prince of dragonflies a multi dymentional charcater? Rather than just ‘give up crown for love and then dies’.

I don't think its fair to say Duncan the Small is a flat character when he's long dead as of ASOIAF and as of TMK not even conceived yet.

What little we know (dubbing Barristan "the Bold", quipping that "crowns were being sold nine a penny") paints him as quite likeable however.

Thanks for the question, anon

[amuelia]

Barristan Selmy had known many kings. He had been born during the troubled reign of Aegon the Unlikely, beloved by the common folk, had received his knighthood at his hands. Aegon's son Jaehaerys had bestowed the white cloak on him when he was three-and-twenty, after he slew Maelys the Monstrous during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. In that same cloak he had stood beside the Iron Throne as madness consumed Jaehaerys's son Aerys. Stood, and saw, and heard, and yet did nothing.

But no. That was not fair. He did his duty. Some nights, Ser Barristan wondered if he had not done that duty too well.

- The Queensguard, aDwD

Barristan for @mylestoyne :3 ❤❤❤❤

Pictured: Young Griff, Maelys Blackfyre, Myles Toyne, Jon Connington, Aerys II Targaryen, Daenerys Targaryen, Barristan Selmy (Background)

[victoria-olgimskaya]

"A handsome youth, Aerys had fought gallantly in the Stepstones during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Though not the most diligent of princes, nor the most intelligent, he had an undeniable charm that won him many friends."

commission for a friend

[highgardenart]

Lord Steffon Baratheon

“During the War of the Ninepenny Kings, the three friends had fought together, Tywin as a new-made knight, Steffon and Prince Aerys as squires.”

[aeriondripflame]

my mind has been developing this delusion world in which tywin lannister was the mad king’s sugar baby. aerys was “vain, proud, and changeable, traits that made him easy prey for flatterers and lickspittles” (awoiaf p.190). upon becoming king, he fired his father’s older and wiser hand and named tywin in his place, making tywin the youngest hand in the entire history of the seven kingdoms, but how did we get there?

there were childhood friends. tywin served as a page in court and we know from genna that tywin mistrusted laughter due to hearing too many people laughing at his father. at this point in time, the lannisters were a laughingstock or at least tywin wholeheartedly believed this, so the subsequent friendship he makes with the crown prince thrusts him upwards in status and into higher scrutiny. tywin is the elder, but aerys is the prince. they spend years together with the established dynamic of aerys being the one with power and tywin (albeit his friend) his servant. it is only when tywin dares to step outside this master/servant dynamic aerys has cooked up, that they begin to fall apart.

they go to war together. aerys chooses tywin, a newly made knight, to knight him. this was the war of the ninepenny kings, he could have chosen gerold hightower. he could have chosen roger reyne, or any number of distinguished knights and commanders, but no he chose tywin who had likely just been knighted himself. for added context, during this war tywin’s father stayed at home with his mistress rather than taking to the battlefield. nearly a year later, aerys is crowned and tywin is named hand of the king. as hand of the king, tywin is allowed any expense, any decision, literally allowed to do anything he wants at aerys’ leave (up until their toxic breakup era).

something that always fascinated me within this was why after gaining power of his own merit and name does he make his father’s mistress do a walk of atonement? at first, i believed this to be a way to embarrass his father further from the grave and cement his notoriety. however, right after he forces the walk of atonement, aerys and tywin rule the kingdom from casterly rock for a year (awoiaf p.194). if we believe that tywin has a subconscious or conscious shame in regards to using aerys’ fondness for him (whether you want to see it romantically or not) for seize of power and political gain, the walk of atonement is so interesting as it is a public self-flagellation of a transactional relationship that he himself mirrors. it is after this very act that aerys holds court (and tywin) at casterly rock, the scene of the crime in a sense. here tywin is, like his fathers mistresses in the same very home, flattering and bootlicking the same man for money, influence, and power. it is only after this year in casterly rock where tywin is forced to reconcile with these similarities that their relationship dissolves.

in conclusion, tywin was playing sugar baby to aerys and their relationship soured when tywin decided he wished for power that was truly his own rather than through aerys.

[tyriongirl]

Aegon IV Targaryen The Unworthy in the seventh hell, seeing four Blackfyre rebellions, the war of the ninepenny kings mess, and the upcoming arrival of the totally real "Aegon VI" to Westeros, all of it he caused by legitimizing all his bastards on his deathbed for funsies as a one last gotcha in his rivalry with his dead baby mama and their still living son:

[a-song-of-art-and-fire]

The War of the Ninepenny Kings

"So they called it, though I never saw a king, nor earned a penny. It was a war, though. That it was."

Another little Golden Company diorama! The Ninepenny Kings is an interesting conflict in the story - we already have the Great Offscreen War trope covered by Robert's Rebellion, and then Ninepenny Kings is the greater, offscreener, war. I always thought it's analogue was WW2, or at least the popular perception of it, as "the last great war" where the Westerosi greatest generation were united against an obvious Other (no pun intended).

The centrepiece is Barristan leading his triumphant charge against Maelys. Even though its described as very much a lone charge, I thought it would be fun to include some notables - Lord Reyne, the Red Lion, and a young Blackfish. I had a devil of a time with all three actually - Lord Reyne was going to be Tywin, I'd started the Blackfish as, well, black, until I realised this was before he took that title, and only after finishing Barristan I realised he wasn't yet a Kingsguard.

On the opposing side we have Myles Toyne as Maelys' bannerman, and a cool Dothraki looking guy. Steve Dothraki.

The basing was largely inspired by HotD's portrayal of the stepstones, I loved that brutal messy drawn-out slog through the sand.

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

Why do you think Joanna Lannister wanted an alliance with Dorne?

I suspect we are never going to get a full answer to this question in canon (unless GRRM remembers to include it in Fire & Blood, vol. 2) so what I'm saying here is pretty much all speculation.

I personally like the theory (which I believe was @joannalannister's, though it might have originated with @lyannas or @madaboutasoiaf) that the Princess of Dorne joined Rhaella Targaryen's household as a lady-in-waiting either during or slightly before the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Joanna Lannister was also part of Rhaella's train, and I like the idea that the three women were close, and that they intended to seal that closeness with a series of marriage alliances.

We're talking about the year 273 AC. Queen Rhaella has just suffered a string of miscarriages and stillbirths, and Rhaegar is her only son (now aged 13-14). Joanna has the twins (aged 7ish), and the Unnamed Princess has Oberyn and Elia, who are 15-17ish, respectively. We know from the story Oberyn tells Tyrion that his mother took him and Elia on a Grand Tour of sorts, across Dorne, to Oldtown, and finally, to Casterly Rock. Oberyn believes his mother intended a double betrothal--him to Cersei, Elia to Jaime--but this seems strange for a few reasons.

One, Elia is significantly older than Jaime (as much as 8-10 years), which would mean that any potential heirs to Casterly Rock would need to wait until she was well into her twenties. Now, one explanation is that Elia's mother was cognizant of Elia's health issues and wanted to make sure her daughter would not get pregnant too young, and if that is the case, the betrothal actually makes perfect sense. It also squares with the fact that Elia and Rhaegar did not marry until Elia was 22 or 23, which is about the point at which she and Jaime would likely have married, if that betrothal had actually happened.

Two, we know Tywin intended to marry Cersei to Rhaegar so a grandchild of his blood could sit the Iron Throne. Of course, given Aerys II's repeated attempts to sexually assault Joanna (and his successful assaults upon Rhaella, which Joanna would have known about), she may not have wanted her daughter married to that particular king's son. A double betrothal with Dorne would have solved that problem up to a point, by making sure Cersei was out of Aerys' reach geographically. But also Oberyn may have simply been there as a red herring.

Either way, even if these two ladies had agreed on a double betrothal between their children, they may have done so to buy time for those children to grow up, and--specifically for Joanna's purposes--to separate the twins. We know she had discovered the two of them doing something (not clear what) that troubled her enough that she insisted they move to opposite sides of Casterly Rock. And if you consider the size of Casterly Rock, that is a pretty serious step on her part. I don't know that it's outside the realm of possibility that she considered sending one of them to Dorne.

[summervale]

「Crimson and Gold, Red and Blue: A Ghost in Harrenhal」

Third person reader-insert! Y/N is the middle daughter of Hoster Tully. This timeline is a little bit of the ASoIaF novels and a little bit of the Game of Thrones show. Follows Jaime’s POV. Shameless, self-indulgent bathhouse yearning fantasy.

Contains: Adult situations, no actual smut but very close, angst (more like yearning).

Words: 4,018

The fever had done strange things to his mind. For days—or had it been weeks?—now he had suffered brutally, slipping in and out of consciousness and often finding himself a prisoner in his own mind. His delirium was nearly as much a punishment as the physical agony where his sword hand should have been.

Jaime thought of Cersei. He thought of Tyrion. He thought of the girl Tyrion had loved, Tysha, and he thought of their father and mother, of the places he’d been as a boy, still as green as he was Lannister crimson and gold. Ghosts now, all of them. He’d remembered his days at Casterly Rock, with his grandfather’s lions deep in the keep in their cages. He’d remembered his days as a squire at Crakehall, where he learned much of what he knew.

But the oddest of all memories (memories, illusions, delusions; call them what you may) were those of his days at Riverrun. Jaime had spent a fortnight there while squire to Lord Sumner; he’d known at the time that this was because his lord father and Lord Hoster Tully had been considering betrothing Jaime to Hoster's youngest daughter, Lysa. Jaime had little interest in Lysa; she’d been much too fluttery of a thing, fawning and doting on him when they seated her next to him at dinner (which was every night). He preferred the company of Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, choosing to listen to the famous warrior recount his glory days in the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

There had been something else that interested him at Riverrun, too, Jaime remembered, try as he might to suppress it. Lord Hoster’s middle daughter of the three girls, Y/N Tully. She was a wild thing, fun and free and everything that a girl of her age and birth should not have been. She loved dancing and horseback riding as much as she loved to read, and though he’d caught her staring at him many a time (as almost all girls of an age with Jaime had—and who could blame them?) she’d never presented herself as a simpering little thing. He remembered a septa reprimanding her when Y/N was caught splashing about in the waters of the Red Fork with her skirts held up around her knees. He remembered her feeding apples to the horses in the yard, and later when she smiled at him across the hall as she tucked wildflowers into her hair, which would also later get her reprimanded by her septa.

Why Jaime remembered that girl so fondly in his state of infection-induced madness, he could not say.

Maybe it was because she was the only girl who ever could have swayed him from Cersei if he’d just given her the chance. Where Cersei was cruel and calculated and callous—something Jaime was aware of even from a young age—Lord Hoster’s daughter had been warm, kind, compassionate. She was a good-natured little thing through and through in spite of the indomitable spirit she wore so well. Y/N was far from the fairest maiden, this much was true, but she was kind, and she was good, and in her Jaime saw the things that Cersei was not.

The thirteen year old Lannister put these things from his mind.

There was only one exception that he would never be able to put from his mind. It had been late, and Riverrun as a keep was endlessly fascinating. Unable to sleep, Jaime had wandered the castle halls, meandering this way and that the same way the rivers flowed through Riverrun itself. It was by chance he’d stumbled on the keep’s library, which was really of no great interest to him, but it was as good a place as any to wander through in the dark of the night.

There, by all means, should have been no one in the library at such a late hour. At most there may have been a maester, but it was not a maester he found in the library. Indeed, it was of course Y/N Tully. She was sat by a lantern wrapped in a quilt of Tully red and blue, a small smattering of books around her. When she heard Jaime approach, she’d all but jumped out of her skin.

“What are you doing?” a young Jaime had asked her.

“Reading,” she’d said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world—and it was, as it had been a redundant question on Jaime’s behalf.

“Why? You should be asleep.”

“So should you.”

Jaime cocked his head and looked down at the book she’d been working her way through. Jaime was bad with letters and numbers. The maesters had no luck in teaching him, as the words all blurred together and became a jumble in his head. His father, Lord Tywin himself, had sat down and fiercely, relentlessly taught Jaime, working for hours a day until Jaime was all but in tears. That, no matter the state of delirium, was not a good memory. It was something Cersei had mocked him for, too, reminding him often that he was as stupid as he was handsome, that he was a lackwit as much as he was a knight.

“Short stories,” she said when she saw him studying the pages, squinting down at her. “Do you know of Jonquil and Florian?”

“Everyone knows of Jonquil and Florian.” You’d have to be twice a fool as Florian himself to not know the story of the famed fool and his lovely lady.

The girl had just smiled. “What about the Battle of the Redgrass Field?”

That had piqued Jaime’s interest. “What do you know of battles?” She’s a girl, he’d thought then, she knows nothing of battles.

But she had known. She’d lifted one of the books from her side and placed it in her lap. “It’s all here.” When Jaime knelt and looked over her shoulder, she said, “This one is accounts of the ten greatest battles in the history of Westeros.”

“And you read that?” Jaime, as much as he hated to admit it, was impressed.

“I read lots of things.” She’d traced her fingers along the pages then. “Do you read often?”

Jaime frowned. “No,” he admitted, “I prefer to listen.”

And listen he did. She read to him, without question, from the book of battles that night. First he knelt beside her, then he sat, then he laid down and propped his head up on one hand. He wasn’t sure how long he laid like that, but he laid that way until she began to yawn and both of their eyelids grew heavy with a need to sleep in spite of their fun. Together they made the decision that they’d had enough for the night.

They parted ways at the library door. “I have a terrible time sleeping. Nightmares and whatnot,” she’d told him. “I’m here most nights.”

Jaime had taken the hint. He returned the following night. Then the next night. He returned all six nights that had been left of his stay at Riverrun. Together they finished the big book of battles. Afterwards she read him a book about dragons, which was her second favorite book in all the library, and then a book about Asshai by the Shadow and the Shadowlands, her first favorite book in the library. She let him ask questions and even encouraged him, and on the rare occasion there was an illustration she turned the book to him to see. She gave him acts of compassion he had not seen in many years and may never see again, he knew.

On the last night, Jaime arrived at the library before Y/N. He wanted to pick the book. It took him the better half of an hour (too many titles to look through, it was dizzying), but he found it.

When she crept through the doors of the library for the evening with her quilt draped across one arm, Jaime was sitting on the floor by the hearth waiting for her. He placed the book in her hands, and from it she read him the story of Florian and Jonquil.

When the end of the two weeks came, Jaime Lannister was not betrothed to Lysa Tully. He was betrothed to none of the Tully sisters, who stood beside their father and watched him leave along with the rest of Lord Sumner’s host. He didn’t look back at them.

There were times over the next year or so that Jaime thought maybe he should have married one of the Tully girls. He would remind himself that he belonged to Cersei, his twin, his blood, his mirror image. He learned in time to put those thoughts from his mind, and soon the girls were nearly forgotten altogether. Those memories of Riverrun stayed forgotten for years until the fever so kindly reminded him.

He saw Lysa Tully enough with her being the wife of the Hand of the King, and did not regret not marrying her. She was Jon Arryn’s problem. By then Jaime was a changed man entirely, besides. No one but Cersei would do for him.

Y/N Tully had been meant to arrive at King’s Landing not long after Eddard Stark’s host was to arrive; she’d be there to meet with her brother by law and his daughters, her nieces, and to join in the ensuing tourneys and celebrations on behalf of Lord Hoster Tully, who was too sick to travel. Her own party had been delayed, though, and she’d never made it. Jaime was gone by the time she arrived, if she ever arrived at all. For that he was grateful; he had no interest in seeing her. If he saw her, he might remember the library. He might ask questions. Last he’d heard she was to marry some lord or another whose name he hadn’t remembered, but that lord had died before their marriage and no attempt to marry her off had been made again. It was not Jaime’s place to know; it never would be.  

The fever tormented him this way the whole journey to Harrenhal. He was saved only by Roose Bolton’s desire to please Lord Tywin, Hand of the King and current key player in the game of thrones. Everything was a blur after their arrival to the monstrosity that was Harrenhal. The big wench, Brienne, was toted away. Locke scurried off too, under the hateful eye of Lord Bolton. Jaime was to be given clean clothes and a bath and a meal and a warm bed. Of this, Jaime was at least mildly grateful.

He was disgusting. A bath would be the first thing on his list, even if he was starving beyond all doubt and in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. The walls of Harrenhal seemed to swallow him whole as he shambled through them. The fever was still there, haunting him, and it felt like there really were ghosts in Harrenhal. Twice he thought he glimpsed someone just out of the corner of his eye, gone before he could turn, and he had a creeping suspicion that he was being watched that he was unable to shake.

The bathhouse, Jaime found, was a low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs large enough to hold six or seven, fashioned after those of the free cities of Essos. Brienne was on her way out as Jaime was on his way in, and she made begrudging eye contact with him as she pushed past. After all this time, she still hates me, Jaime thought. She thinks of me only as the Kingslayer and always will. Maybe that’s all anyone would ever think of him.

The water was hot and steam hung heavy in the room. Jaime sunk into the water and felt his aching muscles relax. His head was spinning. The water was almost too hot and did little to help his fever, but it was a welcome feeling after long, disgusting weeks on the road.

The door opened, but Jaime paid it little mind. The near-defeated lion was too busy trying to keep his head above water to concern himself with a serving girl. He was vaguely aware she took a few steps closer, but hovered mostly near the doorway, peeking at him over an armful of towels and linens. Another one that’s afraid of me. Another one come to gawk at the Kingslayer.

Jaime closed his eyes and rested his head back against the stone tub for a few long moments, or maybe for a lifetime, it all felt the same to Jaime. In his exhaustion, he may sleep comfortably this way, or maybe he’d slip beneath the water never to rise again. It mattered little either way.

This didn’t happen, though, because Jaime opened his eyes when he heard the maid’s footsteps coming closer and closer until they were at the edge of his tub. The maid was in a sordid dress of blue that upon closer inspection may have been quite a nice gown at one time before becoming stained and ripped and worn; this was not a girl of common birth. Her hair was loose and unstyled, and when she lowered the towels away and Jaime got a better look at her, he realized…

A ghost. Her familiar face from years ago was gaunt, the color gone from her cheeks. She was a woman grown now, far from the child he’d known, and she would have looked as defeated as he was had it not been for the shine that she still somehow carried in her eyes.

“You,” he said. He meant to continue, but no words came to him. This was no place for her.

“Me,” said Y/N Tully. She knelt at the edge of the tub, her skirts gathering around her knees as she placed the towels on the floor beside her. Looking into her eyes, they were the same eyes Jaime had looked into all those nights in the library. “And you.”

“And me,” murmured Jaime. “Are you a ghost?” He was still half-delirious, and this was not helping.

“I don’t think so.” She smoothed her skirts. “Sometimes I feel it, though.”

He stared at her for a long time. She was smiling a sad smile at him, and Jaime could not find it in himself to smile back. “What are you doing here?” He asked.

“A series of mistakes.”

“Must have been some grave mistakes.”

“The mistakes were not my own, nor my men’s. We were delayed to King’s Landing. Too much rain. We were nearly there when we received word of what was happening. We turned right back around.”

Jaime was not understanding. “So you came here? To Harrnehal?” He was puzzling over who had even held the seat of Harrenhal before Roose Bolton.

At this, she gave a cold half-laugh. “No choice of my own. Had we known what would have awaited us on the road, I would have had my host brave King’s Landing.”

It clicked. “The Mountain’s men.”

Y/N nodded. “They fell on us in the night. I have been here ever since.”

A hostage. They’d made a hostage of Hoster Tully’s daughter. He should have had no love for her; it was her sister who took him captive, then who freed him and sent him out into the world with that great beast Brienne of Tarth. She should have no love for me, either, he thought. It’s me who started all of this. “Have you come to drown the Kingslayer then?”

“I have come to bring you towels,” she said, her sad smile never fading. “And to see if it was really you.”

“It’s really me, I think. Though I’m missing the best part of me.” He held up the stump of his arm where his hand should have been.

“You’re still you,” she said, as if she knew his greatest fear.

I am nothing now, he wanted to say. He wanted to yell it. I am nothing if I cannot fight. I am nothing if not a knight, the Kingsguard, the Kingslayer. But he couldn’t yell. He couldn’t find it in himself to do anything. Suddenly the world was spinning, and Jaime felt as if he was falling.

A voice was crying, “Ser Jaime!” but he did not know where the voice was coming from; the world was warm and black and fading so, so quickly. There was a splash, then suddenly there were hands on him, on his sides, on his chest, on his face. A hand on his back. Someone was holding him. Cersei…

“Ser Jaime, wake up. Wake up! You’re okay, wake up.”

No, not Cersei. The world came into focus with the same sudden haziness that it had gone out of focus. Jaime blinked, half-conscious. “Your skirts will get wet,” he mumbled.

The Tully woman sighed in relief. He could see her now, smiling. “It’s a little late for that.”

Jaime was alert again (or at least as alert as he would be for a while) and realized what had happened. In a moment of panic, Y/N had leapt into the water to keep him, the Kingslayer, from slipping under. There hadn’t been a moment’s hesitation. Her skirt drifted about her thighs in the hot water.

“Are you okay? Do I need to get a maester?” She had one arm behind his back, holding him upright and against her. The other hand was cradling his face to hold his head up.

He had known passion with Cersei, but he had never known whatever this was.

“I’ll be okay.” Against all better judgment, he rested his head against her shoulder. “I just need a minute.”

A minute turned into five, and five turned into ten. He laid like that, drifting in and out of consciousness, while the Tully woman held him. When at last he’d found his strength again, he sat upright and apologized for the spectacle. As expected, she didn’t mind. Instead she just asked him again if he was alright. She looked at him with the same kindness and compassion and good faith she had in the library all those years ago. Whatever she had been through—which was no doubt quite a lot at the hands of the Mountain’s men—it had not changed who she was at the heart of it all. Or maybe it was just her shy fondness for him that had not changed, which Jaime considered.

“Your dress is ruined,” Jaime pointed out dumbly, not sure what else was appropriate to say.

“My dress was already ruined,” she said. “It’s seen worse.”

Jaime nodded. Grime dripped from his beard, falling onto his chest in a small muddy rivulet. The small woman splashed a bit of water at him, washing it away. The gesture, however small and innocent and meaningless it may have been, only served to bring more heat to Jaime’s face. Something in his body stirred and he found himself having to shift his thighs.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need any help with your hair?”

Jaime should have told her no, but instead he nodded his head ever so slightly. “My hair.”

She nodded back. When she pulled her arms from around him, Jaime almost wanted to lean back into her, to remain in her arms a moment longer, or maybe for her to never let him go at all. He didn’t, though, and sat upright as she shifted around behind him. She took a bar of soap from the raised ledge of the stone bathtub and began working at his hair. She ran her fingers through his hair twice, then three times, then a fourth, her nails scratching pleasantly at his scalp. She worked a handful of water into his hair before letting her hand rest on his bare shoulder for a moment. A shiver that Jaime was helpless to suppress wracked his body. He felt her chest rise and fall against his back as she obviously fought a laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lost the battle against his body. He was helpless to fight against the stirring within him, and the more she touched him the stiffer his cock grew. Jaime tried to rationalize it away; surely he would have had the same reaction if it had been any pretty woman bathing him, not just her. Part of him wondered if this was true at all.

He stayed this way, silent as the grave as she took absolute care in washing his hair for him, and when she was done she mopped at the back of his neck and his shoulders with a rag as well even though he didn’t have to ask for it. Her fingers brushed softly against the sensitive skin of his neck, raising gooseprickles on his body. When she ran her hand along his throat, Jaime shuddered and held his breath. 

It was sudden, almost instinctive, the way he wanted to turn to her. He imagined grabbing her and pulling her body to his, close as could be. He would look her in the eyes and see exactly what he wanted to see, and then he would kiss her. His hands would find her waist beneath the water’s surface; it would be nothing at all to pull the woman to his lap without ever breaking the kiss. To hold her the way someone should have been holding her all these years, and she would hold him the way he should have been held all along. She would kiss him back, he knew. His past wouldn’t matter. The Kingslayer would melt away in her arms. If there was anyone that could see past the Kingslayer, it was her. All that would matter to her would be him, and all that would matter to him would be her. It would be as it should have been from the start, he should finish what they’d started that night in the library when she looked him–a knight to be–in the eyes and asked if he knew the story of Florian and Jonquil. For a moment his head turned, and he made only the slightest of movements towards her. 

 If she didn’t get out soon, he would not leave this room the same man he had entered.

She did get out, though, and Jaime was not sure whether he was glad of this or not. “Is there anything else you need?” she’d asked from behind him, her lips inches from his ear. No doubt she had seen the way she’d made him shudder more than once.

“I’m okay now,” he told her, then before he knew what he was saying, he added the softest, “Thank you.” It was so wildly out of character for him that Jaime himself blinked in confusion.

She squeezed him lightly on the shoulder. “Of course.” She rose from the water behind him and Jaime was free to lean back against the tub once again, legs crossed awkwardly. She stood there at the edge, laughing as she wrung out her skirt.

Jaime looked her up and down, wondering what the stay at Harrenhal had done to her. “Do they make you a servant?”

She shook her head as she let go of her skirt, which fell sodden and heavy back around her ankles. “No, I’ve been mostly lucky. I think Riverrun’s might is too important for them to really hurt me. Things have gotten considerably better since Lord Bolton’s arrival, though.”

“Mostly?”

“They have not all been kind, especially when the lord is not looking.” She did not make eye contact with him when she said it. “I make myself scarce.”

Jaime looked at her. She was tired, so tired. She was a ghost of the girl in the library. It’s a blessing I did not marry Lysa, he thought, and it’s a curse I did not marry her sister.

This thought haunted him when he laid in the quarters Lord Bolton had provided him. When he had arrived at Harrenhal hours before, he had only one thought: he was so close to getting home to his sweet sister. Now there was a second thought, and it was what his life would have been like without that same not-so-sweet sister—what his life would have been like with a bride of Tully red and blue instead. He would not have joined the Kingsguard. He would not have gone to Winterfell, where he would not have pushed the Stark boy from a window. He would not be here now.

No, he wouldn’t be here now. He’d be home at the rock where he belonged, his lady wife beside him. He’d have children that would know him as their father, who he could call his sons and daughters of his own. They would have hair of Lannister gold or of Tully red. They would be fierce like their father and smart like their mother—good and kind like her, too.

Their mother. Their mother who would climb into bed beside him every night, happy to have him, wrapping her arms around him. Their mother who would never call him stupid and would instead sit by the hearth and read to him and the children. His wife who would hold his arm when they walked together and give him all the niceties of the world. His wife who, over dinner, would talk of dragons and Asshai by the Shadow, of fairy tales, who would be so proud of him. His wife. 

Jaime closed his eyes and put her from his mind the same way he had all those many years ago. A dream, he thought, and nothing more. He lied in the grave he had dug. 

[nanshe-of-nina]

Posthumous Characters GIF Sets → Quellon Greyjoy

Near the end of Haereg’s great work you will come to Lord Quellon Greyjoy, the wisest of the men to sit the Seastone Chair since Aegon’s Conquest. A huge man, six and a half feet tall, he was said to be as strong as an ox and as quick as a cat. In his youth he earned renown as a warrior, fighting corsairs and slavers in the Summer Sea. A leal servant of the Iron Throne, he led a hundred longships around the bottom of Westeros during the War of the Ninepenny Kings and played a crucial role in the fighting around the Stepstones.

[racefortheironthrone]

Off of the reyne tarbek stuff, they were riding high for a while and really elevated their position both through politics and being a regional bully, but bit off more they could chew and Tywin destroyed them. Was there a version where they could quit while ahead, retaining their benefits from hoth politics and rogue strong arming the westerlands, and get away with it? What would their best strategy be? What was the point of no return, or were they always doomed whenever Tywin became lord?

I think there are a number of strategies they could have pursued:

they could have pursued a strategy of trying to get the Iron Throne onside for replacing House Lannister with the Reynes by prominently supporting Aegon V's campaigns in the Westerlands, and lobbying in King's Landing to build on things like Roger Reyne's leading role in the War of Ninepenny Kings, and in general show the Reynes to be the more effective keepers of the King's Peace in the Westerlands than Tytos.

they could have tried to get the other lesser houses on board more - make dynastic alliances with other families, bribe people, and in general try to supplant House Lannister by getting in first to "suppress" the bandits and outlaws and robber knights or offering their services as mediators in interhouse disputes before the Lannisters can, thus getting other lesser houses to turn to them as the de-facto Wardens of the West.

as you said, they could have stopped while they were ahead. They had already gained an enormous amount of power and influence by the time that Tytos' Love Day truce took place, or before Walderan Tarbeck rode out on his own to intimidate Tytos and wound up thrown in a dungeon. Or rather than handing the Lannisters a casus belli by kidnapping people or openly declaring rebellion, instead make a big show of demanding their rights as noblemen to trial by combat and paint the Lannisters as extralegal tyrants.

[rise-my-angel]

Rhaegar looked a good potential ruler only in comparison to Aerys lmao. He would have been terrible, from an objective pov. I mean he managed to piss off THREE major houses at once. That is quite the achievement.

Like, he only looks good when you look at his father, grandfather and great grandfather. Aerys II was, well, I think there's little need for any elaboration on that. A man who enjoyed cruelty to the degree that when he begun to turn mentally unstable, the voices in his head had only made that cruelty turn up to the degree war was going to be inevitable one day no matter what.

Jaehaerys II was also not a good King and had a very short reign. He ruined the very carefully balanced status of Westeros created by his father in order to have an incestuous marriage with his sister. He did the most damage to the last reign of the Targaryeans by creating only ONE direct bloodline by marrying his sister and then ordering the marriage of his son and daughter together. His only good contribution in his short time as King was delegating the Ninepenny Kings War to the command of Ormund Baratheon, but he only did it because Ormund was the one who talked him down from fighting in the war himself, so it wasn't even his own idea.

Aegon V should have been remembered as a good King, but he failed his own family by creating circumstances which allowed Jaehaerys II the opportunity to both marry his sister and marry his own children together, thus dooming the bloodline of his own family. He also ruins his final memories with his actions at Summerhall. Summerhall is the one event which ruins Aegons ability to be remembered as a good ruler because his downfall was still his own obsession with his house's superiority with dragons.

In contrast to all that, sure, maybe Rhaegar wouldn't be the worst King but he wouldn't have been a good one. He too by Roberts Rebellion was delusional and obsessed with prophecy to the degree no one around him understood why he was doing the things he did. His actions led to a massive war that overthrew his own family and left three members of the Stark family dead which haunts over the narrative the entire main series.

Meaning if Rhaegar did not realize the ramifications of kidnapping the firstborn daughter of a major house who was betrothed to the firstborn son of another major house, all the while insulting another major house whom had married INTO his family via his own wife, meaning he was just an idiot. Or he knew the ramifications but was so obsessed with the prophecy he did not care, which means he was utterly delusional.

The whole point of the downfall of House Targaryean is that it was inevitable. In their own ways not even the best remembered Kings were good people. None of them really were because the Targaryeans are the wrong fit of people to live amongst Westeros, let alone rule it.

Rhaegar nor Viserys nor Daenerys would have been good rulers.