#battle of the goldroad

[lavenderinoz]

To welcome the Lunar Year of the Dragon, here is a clip of Drogon, the last known Targaryen dragon, in his first battle in Westeros.

#GOT #daenerys targaryen #drogon #jaime lannister #bronn #battle of the goldroad

[arcielee]

Hae iksā

Summary: Aemond has been tasked to find himself a wife. Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Plus Size Reader Word Count: 3.8k+ Warnings: AFAB Reader, kissing, oral (f receiving), fingering, grinding, p in v, overstimulation, loss of virginity implied, fat phobic comments are made and a Lannister acts like a cunt. Author's Note: Hey everyone! This story is based on this request:

And I took inspiration from the prompt from @writings-of-a-hufflepuff 💜 Thank you so much to my beloved beta reader @annikin-im-panicin for your insight, for your help, Ilysm 💜 Valyrian translations: Hae iksā is as you are, Sȳz riña is good girl 😈 Dividers by @saradika 💜

You never expected to catch the eye of Prince Aemond Targaryen, much less be wrapped in his arms as you both glided across the polished dance floor. It was a moment that came from the fairy tales with how he swept you away with his graceful lead. 

It felt surreal to think how this was the very same prince whose notoriety began with the first bloodshed that inevitably threw the realm into civil war, and how it solidified when he brought it all to an end with his victory in what was now known as the Battle Above Gods Eye. He continued his regency until his brother, King Aegon II, had healed enough to ascend the Iron Throne once again. 

The king decreed that the title Protector of the Realm remain seeded to Aemond, a new namesake that shadowed the last whispers of kinslayer. With his heroism now renowned, and ballads created to commemorate his bravery, it was the king who suggested that Aemond continue his bloodline. 

There was the announcement of a grandiose festivity which began to breathe life back into Westeros’ economy, with ravens sent to every noble house, extending an invitation to every eligible noble lady. 

This was how you came to King’s Landing. 

It was the possibility of any bloodline to knit within the Targaryen dynasty that your father could not deny, and you were soon boarded onto a ship to Lannisport, taking a carriage with your septa to follow the Goldroad to the capital, your House flag and its embroidered kraken whipping in the air. 

With your travels, your septa reiterated your purpose, an almost daily affirmation repeated, but your mind was also aware of all the ladies that would be in attendance and the probability of a moment alone with the prince was… well, not something that you would hold your breath for.  

In truth, you were actually excited to visit the capital, the opportunity to meet and befriend the other noble ladies, though this optimism soon soured after your arrival. Road wearied, you were ushered by your septa and handmaidens assigned, washed and dressed in one of the many gowns stitched for this occasion: a bodice tightened to flatten your soft stomach and your chest pressed up for display. Though your whines were ignored as the corset strings were pulled, you felt rejuvenated, albeit breathless, when you were finally escorted to meet with the bevy of nobility from every kingdom, dressed in their finery and their murmured pleasantries. 

At first you were aglow with the socializing prospect, though your excitement withered when you realized the quiet that washed over, the cruel curl of their lips as their eyes narrowed, their brows raised in mockery. Any attempt you made at conversing was met with an echo of patronizing response, but it was the hurtful comment of the Lady Lannister who boldly spoke, “I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance,” that made you excuse yourself, slipping away to wander the corridors until you found an ornate oak doors propped open, leading into the athenaeum. 

Here you found your salvation amongst the rows of shelving, your unshed tears drying while your fingertips brushed over the leatherbound spines. 

“Have I been found?”

It was as if your soul ripped away from your body, flooded with the burning realization that you were not alone. 

Prince Aemond Targaryen was tucked away in a window seat, a book resting on his lap. Though his expression remained severe, his tone did not indicate if truly was annoyed with your presence. Instead, he watched you, his lavender eye flitting with curiosity, perhaps, while his sapphire stone reflected in the sunlight that poured through the bay window. 

“Forgive me, I had only wished for a moment alone before I was paraded as a prize to be won…” 

This made you laugh, your hand quick to clamp over your mouth to muffle the sound, and you would have sworn you saw the flicker of amusement wash over his sharp features. “My apologies, your grace, I had not meant to impose,” and you blushed from his steady gaze. “I also am hoping for some solace with a good book, though I find myself on which to choose with this selection at hand…” 

What you had not expected was Aemond pushing to stand up, towering over your steps as he took it upon himself to walk you up and down the shelving, taking the time to point out his personal favorites and listening when you spotted your own. When you finally settled on Iron and Rubies, you noticed his brow knit with his question. “Warrior women?” 

“I must learn if I am expected to survive this–” and you paused on the word choice, bevy of bitches, held back by your good propriety, caged behind your teeth, and instead you chose to say, “–these festivities being held in your honor.”

The prince was watching you carefully as if he did not believe your words, but he did not press and instead offered a smile. It was warm, it was genuine, and you tucked this moment away in the pages of the book in your hands. 

But moments like these would repeat itself through the sennight, with your days finding its repetition: it began with a parade of skirts that flounced to capture the attention of Prince Aemond, with their indifference towards you allowing you to slip away and return to the library. 

Every day you found him awaiting you, a question poised on his lips about your opinions on the book you were reading, or sharing his complaints of the tasteless tactics shown by the ladies in attendance. You saw the loneliness that haunted the severity of his expression held, like a mask worn to keep everyone at bay; there was a pain hinted with the little he would share when you two were alone, and his confidence in you made your heart soar. 

You could not help but cherish this time shared, your wit striving to hear his laughter which would weave into your heart, this intimacy writing itself in the marrow of your bones. You already knew you would revisit these memories when you grew old and gray, all too aware that the prince would still be expected to take a wife by the end of the week. 

It soon came to the final night and his grace, King Aegon, had called for two sets of minstrels to be rotated for a continuous play of jovial melodies that the guests could dance too. The night swelled with the clash of instruments resonating  through the arched ceiling, of laughter and the clinking of crockery as every mouth partook in the feast that took a month to prepare. 

When you arrived, you were nearly ambushed by the very same Lady Lannister, pulling at your arm, almost pinching at the flesh shown past your quarter sleeve as she pulled you aside. “I am aware of your dalliance with the prince, Lady Greyjoy,” she began with a tone that struck cold against the length of your spine. “I am aware of your…friendship with Prince Aemond and feel compelled to impart some advice.” 

Your back was to the celebration, the sounds of the lords invited trying to capture the attention of the ladies who were searching for the silver haired prince muffled in this moment. Your eyes narrowed onto her. “What advice would that be?” 

“My dear girl, I truly believe your stocky size would have you better suited for a broodmare,” her painted lips continued with a sneer. “A comely lord, of course, for your status sake…” 

“Shall I gift her your tongue?”

You had barely processed her insult when his distinct timbre cut through as sharp as the blade of Dark Sister which hung at his side. You saw how the Lannister girl pale before she turned towards the prince, falling into a curtsy so deep, that her knees nearly touched the marble floor. 

“Your grace,” her spiteful tongue now stammered her words, “I was unaware that you had arrived–” 

“Or perhaps I should have her fed to Vhagar so she can no longer offend my sight?” He interrupted, his gaze settled on you alone, watching for your response. 

There was a sense of exhilaration that trilled your spine with this momentary power he presented so flippantly in this moment. You could not stop your smile. “There is no need, your grace. I would much prefer a dance than to sour the belly of a dragon.” 

He then reached for your hand, his large palm enveloping yours to tuck into the crook of his arm and leading you out to the dance floor. Here, he showed that the grace he held with a blade translated seamlessly with the waltz, and your head swam with the close proximity to him, of the woodsy amber musk that held onto his doublet. 

You then burned with the realization that every set of eyes were trained to watch, to gawk at how tenderly he held you in his arms. 

I suppose even a swine wrapped in silk is allowed their chance.

When it ended, you curtsied, quick to escape out to an enclave, to be met by the night and fresh sea air that rolled from the Blackwater Bay, the crash of waves muting the party you left behind. Your hand pressed to your chest, your heart beating against your bones, and you focused on slow, deep breaths. 

“Are you all right?” 

Your blood began to rise to the surface as you spun on your heel to face the prince. He was dressed in black, sleek and tailored to his leane frame with his house sigil embroidered onto his chest and a cape draped across his broad shoulders with a forest green underlay that peeked with the breeze. He was poised, his arms knitted behind and rested on his lower back, his silver hair glowing in the silver moonlight. 

You looked back over the bannister, your grip tightening on the stone. “Please, your grace, you have done more than enough for me this night–” 

“Aemond,” his low tone halted your words and you looked back to see his large hand pressed to his chest. “Please, my lady, with how well we have gotten to know one another, I would wish that you would call me by my name.” 

You could not help your incredulous noise to his request. “Forgive me, Aemond,” and the emphasis added on his name caused his lips to curl upwards, “but I am confused as to what game you are playing. We are both aware of what is expected of you–” 

“That I am to find a wife,” he again interrupted. 

Your lips pressed into a line, barring the frustration that threatened to spill, exasperated by his amusement that seemed to replace his usual stoicism. “Aemond,” your voice was strained, “I have truly enjoyed our time together, but now I must implore that you find your formidable wife as is expected, as I am certain she must exist,” and your hand waved flippantly back towards the entryway that led into the hall, into the sea of skirts swarming, “somewhere within the Keep.” 

“I have already, Lady Greyjoy.” 

You did not dare meet with his gaze, your eyes dropping to watch his leather boots take slow steps to where you were rooted on the terrace. It was something inevitable, something that you knew would happen, but still his words began to burn into your chest. “Oh. Then may I be the first to offer my congratulations.” 

His amusement was still apparent in his tone. “For myself or for you?”

You blinked. “Aemond, you could not possibly pick…” and you faded away, still mulling over his words. 

“Would it have ever occurred to you that I find all of you attractive?” Aemond pressed closer, his arm reaching, and you allowed him to take your hand, watching his slender fingers curl to hold, his thumb running along your knuckles.  “I would not pick and choose parts of you that I love, and just ignore the rest. I find that you, as a whole, are exactly what I have been hoping for,” and a sly smile played on his lips, “in a formidable wife.” 

It tore the air from your lungs, but his warmth kept you grounded in this moment. “Love,” was all you could manage. It was not a question, but you were unbelieving still. 

He leaned forward, the silk spill of his hair, his gaze locked onto you. “Yes,” his finger touched the underside of your chin, holding your attention. “I believe it began from the moment we met in the library, but it has become a certainty as we continued to cross paths. If you would have me,” you now noticed the pink stain to his cheeks, “I wish to announce that you would become my wife.” 

“Me?” You felt numb from his confession, from the nip of the cold air. 

He hummed again, stepping ever closer. “Yes. I love you,” and you could feel the warmth of his breath fanning your cheeks, “just as you are.”

With the announcement of your betrothal, the Red Keep was emptied of the excess nobles to begin preparations. Your fingers felt numb when you wrote the letter to your father: Prince Aemond Targaryen has chosen me to be his wife. The freedom you once shared in the library was now monitored under a spyglass; Aemond remained respectful, of course, though you noticed how his touch lingered, his palm pressed to your lower back or his lips to your knuckles with his kiss. 

His subtle gestures were for you alone and it left you wanting more.

The ceremony was intimate with only his family and your septa present. You felt dazed from the attention shown that day, scrubbed raw and hair prepared, the corset tightened around your silk chemise before your heavy gown was placed over. Your ears burned as your septa tried to prepare what wifely duties would be expected, a trepidation curling at the base of your spine.

The vows were exchanged with a chaste kiss, and soon your fingers were tucking into the crook of his arm, his large palm covering your own as he escorted you towards the marital chambers, a party in tow. It was then you saw the dragon that thrummed beneath when his voice commanded the room to empty, finally leaving you alone with your husband. 

There was a moment and he stepped further into the now empty room, while a bashfulness crept into your bones, your hands trembling to remove the cloak as your eyes fell towards the bed made. You were now painfully aware of the intimacy that would be required and your eyes dared to look over to Aemond. 

He was already bare from the waist up, his doublet and tunic removed and draped over one of the chairs, his hands pausing at the laces of his trousers when his gaze met with yours. He pursed his lips a moment, his neck bobbing. “Would you…like me to help you undress?” 

You were choked on your breath with the sight of Aemond, as he seemed to be carved from marble, lean and lithe and marred by silver scars of the battles won, decorating across his chest. He was waiting, the gleam of the candlelight on the sapphire placed in his scarred socket, and when you gave a shy nod you saw the shimmer of his hair that spilled over his shoulders with his slow steps to close the space between you. 

Your eyes fell to the lines that cut into his hips, dipping below the waistband of his trousers that rested on his slender waist; your eyes widened at the laces already loosened, at his bulge that strained against the crotch.  

Aemond was now close enough to touch, his hands warm as always, returning your attention to his bicolored gaze. You were burning with his heady gaze, from the fire you knew to be knitted with the ichor of his veins. He leaned forward until his brow touched with your own, your breathing a sweet exchange with the scent of the Dornish wine served. 

“I would not wish to hurt you,” his hum punctuating his pause, his vow to you, “I will go with whatever pace that you set.”

And so you kissed him. 

Aemond hummed again, his lips soft and sweet and so very warm against yours. It was not chaste like in the chapel and you dared to deepen the kiss, feeling his grin against your mouth and his clever tongue curling to taste.

You gasped softly and his arms wrapped to pull you flushed to his chest, enveloping you in his warmth, in his woodsy musk of sandalwood and ash. A heat began to pool at your lower back, slowly permeating throughout, sending your heart aflutter. When he pulled away, you could not control the small noise you made and it was met with an almost roguish grin, his hand taking yours to lead you to the bed. 

Aemond turned to face you and you nearly choked on your nerves as his fingers began to gently unfasten the latches and laces confining you within your gown, pulling away the layers until all that remained was your chemise and the smallclothes worn under. Your arms folded across your chest to shield, to shy away, but he was quick to wrap his large hand around your wrist, pulling lightly until your arms dropped back to your sides.

It was then that you noticed the black that eclipsed the lavender of his eye. 

“Gevie,” he breathed, closing the space once more to capture your mouth. His kiss devoured you, his passion pouring into you and you were all too willing to drown. His hands roamed to peel away the remaining layers, a red stain to his sharp features and his lips kiss-swollen and parted as he looked over your nakedness. 

 “Gevie,” he repeated, pulling you to lay back onto the bed. 

You sunk into the pillows and he climbed on top, now bare himself, his tongue relentless to lave every curve, every roll of your skin showing until the heat prickling began to consume you, his love bites flushing their dark plumes against your skin. You writhed beneath him, breathless and flushed, before he finally settled between your thighs, his fingers dimpling with his hold. 

His exhale tickled the warmth that pooled between, and then Aemond pressed forward to place an intimate kiss to the bloom above your entrance. Your lips parted with a wordless cry as his tongue began to taste, his low groan reverberating your bones beneath. 

“Just as sweet as I imagined,” he murmured between your folds and you were burning with how his clever tongue now pulled you towards an unknown edge. 

You gasped, louder than before, with the gentle prod of his fingers that were slick with his spit, curling with purpose within your velvet walls. You nearly cried out as sparks of white danced in front of your eyes, the heat that had been pooling now coursing throughout and returning to tighten in your lower abdomen. 

Aemond continued his ministrations, his tone growing husky with his encouragement, “Yes, my sweet wife, just like that,” as your pleasure began to spill, pulsing around his fingers that continued to coax you through your completion. 

It was otherworldly and you only felt grounded with the welcomed heat that permeated from Aemond, feeling him shift to slot his slender waist between your thighs. You cant your hips to cradle him in your hips and Aemond lowered to press his length against your silken folds with a delicious pressure that had you shudder. 

He swallowed your soft whimper with a sweet kiss, his hands roaming to hold you close for the slow rut of his hips against you. You felt raw from your prior release, and the mixture of pleasure and pain was now amplified when his head dipped lower, his kisses tickling and tasting the sheen of sweet across your chest and neck. 

“Aemond,” you gasped and he hummed again, his perpetual smirk playing across his lips that captured your own again. 

His mouth trailed your cheek, pressing to the soft divot below your jaw, and the rekindled heat began to lick at your spine, spreading in response. “Are you all right,” he murmured against your skin and you could only nod an eager yes, your words gone along with the trepidation from before, wiped away with his mouth and his tongue. 

This earnestness seemed to please him and his low timbre praised you. “Sȳz riña,” and you burned with embarrassment for being unfamiliar to the foreign tongue he spoke so sweetly to you. 

His arm then moved between and you felt a blunt pressure at your entrance. Your fingers dug into his shoulder blades, beckoning him forward, and he followed with his gentle thrusts, pushing slowly past the slight resistance and sinking into your wet warmth. 

You sighed when he fully sheathed, a pleasant stretch to accommodate his girth, and only when he saw your contentment did Aemond relax, melting against your softness. His head tucked into the curve of your neck, his low groan chorused your sweet sounds to this new sensation. 

Aemond then stilled, waiting until your hands moved to cup his jaw, your thumb careful to trace, and you whispered words, “I am fine.” You assured him, you begged him for more, and he responded with a slow rut against you. 

Your pleasure began to build with his pace, a passion that was rooted even deeper, and your thighs lifted to tighten around his waist, your soft cries encouraging him to quicken. Aemond snapped his hips against yours, and your pleasure began to expand, returning with the flutter of your walls as he continued, hitting a spot within that has your swearing that the stars now shone bright above the marital bed. 

It consumed you both, with your tears pearling in the corners of your eyes and Aemond following after, his thrusts sloppy as he spilled inside of you. 

You both stretched onto the mattress, flushed and spent, a comfortable silence punctuated with the crackle of candles that had been lit in the bedchamber. After he caught his breath did Aemond move to grab you, pulling you against his chest, his fingers trailing over to follow the length of your spine and back, his sweet murmured concern for your wellbeing. 

You felt flustered from his attention, promising him that you felt fine, that it was nothing more than a delicious, dull ache between your thighs.

His large hand then cupped the side of your face, his chin tilting forward to press a kiss to your hairline. “Gevie,” Aemond hummed, a low rumble in his chest. 

You could not help but ask him. “What is that word?”

His thumb stroked your cheek with his translation, “Beautiful.” It was stated as if it was the most obvious thing, your chest swelling with an emotion, bursting at the seams as he kissed your lips again. 

Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @black-dread @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @amiraisgoingthruit @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @itbmojojoejo @girlwith-thepearlearring @lauraneedstochill @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @hb8301 @snowprincesa1 @namelesslosers @darylandbethfanforever9 @helaelaemond

arcie's hotd masterlist

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen x plus size reader #plus size reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x reader #aemond x you

[the-wanderer]

I know Season 8 (and Season 7 somewhat) of Game of Thrones is widely hated, as it surpassed the books it was based on and failed to deliver, but we did get some good moments, such as -

• Arya wiping out House Frey - Tell them The North Remembers. Tell them Winter came for House Frey

* Samwell Tarly healing Jorah Mormont of greyscale

* Arya sees Nymeria again

* The poetic justice of Cersei killing Tyene in front of Ellaria Sand in the same way she had Myrcella killed

* Tell Cersei, I want her to know it was me - Olenna Tyrell

* House Stark reunion

* Arya trains with Brienne

* The Battle of the Goldroad

* The Exposure and Death of Littlefinger

* The Lone Wolf Dies, but the Pack Survives line

* I enjoyed Daenerys and Jon's relationship (at least before she went mad and he killed her)

* Jon riding a dragon

* Talking about Jon and Daenerys - 'You gave up your crown to save your people. Would she do the same...'

* Knighting Brienne

* Sam giving his family sword to Jorah

* Sandor saving Arya in King's Landing. Showing her that revenge will be the death of her, but she has a chance to leave and live.

* The Hound Vs The Mountain (Cleangebowl) {that's what we mean by it doesn't have to be a happy ending, as long as it's satisfying and true to the characters}

* Destroying the Iron Throne

#game of thrones season 7 #game of thrones season 8 #game of thrones finale #game of thrones #game of thrones hbo #hbo game of thrones

[crowsandmurder]

Ser Jaime Lannister

Jaime  ✖ (Aesthetics)

Jaime ✖ (Thoughts)

Jaime  ✖ (Character Development)

Jaime  ✖ (Crack)

Jaime  ✖ (Headcanons)

Jaime  ✖ (Photos)

Jaime  ✖ (Starter Call)

Jaime  ✖ (Verses)

VERSES:

K N I G H T E D

Knighted at a young age, Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock quickly became one of the best Knights in the 7 kingdoms. He was knighted by the age of 16, and enjoyed being a Knight, building on his skills more and more, all the time. He wanted to join the Kingsguard, at his sister's urging, so he could stay in King's Landing. Since his youth, he'd been in a relationship with his twin sister, Cersei. He also was the only one in his family that was nice to his brother, Tyrion. But, his father did not like this plan and broke off Cersei's betrothal to King Rhaegar Targaryen and took her back to Casterly Rock.

H A N D O F T H E K I N G

Jaime was named to the Kingsguard and named hand of the King, by Aerys Targaryen II, as he became the youngest to do both. At the height of Robert's Rebellion, Tywin and the Lannister army came back and swore they were back to support them, but Jaime knew his father better than that. It didn't take long for them to attack, and when Jaime realized what the King was up to, and the fact that the pyromancer had helped him, he felt he had no choice but to kill them both, to keep them from killing everyone.

K I N G S L A Y E R

That act would get Jaime Lannister the name 'Oathbreaker' and 'Kingslayer'. He never told anyone at the time the truth about the 'Mad King', and was annoyed by the word, 'Kingslayer,' but Robert Baratheon pardoned him, as well as marrying Cersei. Jaime was able to stay working in the Kingsguard. Cersei had three children: Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella, all of which are unknowingly fathered by Jaime, unbeknownst to Robert.

LORD COMMANDER

When Robert dies and Joffrey becomes King, Jaime becomes Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. He served under both Joffrey and Tommen, but ultimately left King's Landing, after problems with the Faith Militant.

THE LANNISTERS ALWAYS PAY THEIR DEBTS

Jaime had many journeys back and forth to King's Landing, leading the Lannister army, fighting against the dead and ultimately, going back to King's Landing, in the end.

FACECLAIMS:

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau

BIOGRAPHY:

Jaime's Book of Brothers Entry:

Jaime squired for Barristan Selmy against the Kingswood Outlaws. Knighted and named to the Kingsguard in his sixteenth year for valor in the field: At the Sack of King's Landing murdered his king, Aerys the second, at the foot of the Iron Throne:Pardoned by King Robert Baratheon; Thereafter known as the Kingslayer. After the murder of King Joffrey I by Tyrion Lannister served under King Tommen I. Captured in the field at the Whispering Wood: Set free by Lady Catelyn Stark in return for an oath to find and guard her two daughters. Lost his hand. Took Riverrun from the Tully rebels, without loss of life. Lured the Unsullied into attacking Casterly Rock, sacrificing his childhood home in service to a greater strategy. Outwitted the Targaryen forces to seize Highgarden. Fought at the Battle of the Goldroad bravely, narrowly escaping death by dragonfire. Pledged himself to the forces of men and rode north to join them at Winterfell, alone. Faced the Army of the Dead, and defended the castle against impossible odds until the defeat of the Night King. Escaped imprisonment and rode south in an attempt to save the capital from destruction. Died protecting his queen.

More about Jaime:

That's what the Book of Brothers says about Jaime Lannister, anyway. But, he was never fond of writing about h is own exploits, despite the arrogant demeanor, that he displayed much of his life. He is the oldest son of Tywin and Joanna Lannister, twin brother pf Cersei and older brother to Tyrion. He is from House Lannister of Casterly Rock, has been a knight, since he was 16. Despite the fact that his sister and father shun his brother, he is extremely close to his brother, always seeing him as an equal. His relationship with his sister is by far, the most complex in his life. They have always been an extension of each other, came into the world together and he agrees with her, that they will leave it. They began an incestuous relationship when they were young, and have continued it, despite the ups and downs. When he was kidnapped, he wanted to get back to her. Even when they were apart and things seemed like they would never see each other again, Jaime ran back to her side, unwilling to let her die alone. Although as he grew older, he became a much deeper person who helped with wars and battles, he still viewed himself as a hateful person, who has always done everything he could, to get back to Cersei. He fought in many battles, helped enemies, fought enemies, lost a hand, defending the honor of a woman who he would grow to care deeply about. Despite his immoral behavior, Jaime is a knight until the end, making sure to keep his oaths many times, while still trying to navigate a on and off relationship that is toxic for him, not because she was his twin, but because she was awful to him.

#V: Hand of the King [Jaime as Hand of Aerys II] #V: Lord Commander [Jaime's time as Lord Commander] #V: The Lannisters always pay their debts [randomly placed] #Jaime ✖ (Aesthetics) #Jaime ✖ (Thoughts) #Jaime ✖ (Character Development) #Jaime ✖ (Crack) #Jaime ✖ (Headcanons) #Jaime ✖ (Photos) #Jaime ✖ (Starter Call) #Jaime ✖ (Verses) #✖ [Character: Jaime Lannister] #V: Knighted [Young Jaime] #tw: incest

[theuntitledblog]

House of the Dragon (2022) Season One - REVIEW

SYNOPSIS

Set during the reign of King Visery's I and almost 200 years before the fall of the Mad King, this is a prequel series to Game of Thrones which chronicles the events leading up to the Dance of the Dragons; the destructive Civil War of House Targaryen.

House of the Dragon, much like The Rings of Power, was a show that I had plenty of cynical feelings about when they first announced it. Game of Thrones at its height was compelling television and one of the finest shows to ever be made and so HOFTD by default had a lot to live to. While Game of Thrones certainly lost its way towards its twilight seasons, this show on the other hand on paper has an advantage in this respect. The story is laid out in the source material and thus the showrunners have a path to follow and the evidence of that assurance is there in this first season. House of the Dragon makes use of various time jumps, the most notable perhaps being in 'The Princess and the Queen', and while the loss of certain actors is disappointing, the story always feels like its progressing further as a result.

While 'Heirs to the Dragon' lights a smaller flame, it's one that gradually and continuously gets bigger as each episode progresses to the point that it becomes just as compelling as Thrones did. The focus maybe smaller but the scope is much larger as the season spans the course of a decade in Westeros and the time jumps work well to show the progression of loyalties and plots coming together. House of the Dragon may lack specific heroes or outright villains but its characters are very complex, influence and are influenced by events around them all of which is leading to a conflict we can all see coming. If there are standouts to mention for me than season 1 would definitely belong to Paddy Considine, Milly Alcock, Olivia Cooke and Matt Smith in particular.

Throughout the season we come to know the relatively smaller cast of characters and the games they are playing from King Viserys (Paddy Considine) to Prince Daemon (Matt Smith), Princess Rhaenyra (Milly Alcock/Emma D'Arcy), Queen Allicent (Emily Carey/Olivia Cooke), Hand of the King Otto Hightower (Rhys Ifans) and others. The friendship turned rivalry turned enemies between Rhaenyra and Allicent dominates the first season with 'Driftmark' marking a turning point and an escalation in the stakes of the story. House of the Dragon may take time but it's time well spent as it's final few episodes bring it to a roaring finale and set up bigger things for season two.

Visually it remains aesthetically consistent to Game of Thrones with Kings Landing in particularly looking just as impressive as it always has and the dragons that feature throughout also look convincing. House of the Dragon may not yet have the large scale set pieces to rival the battles of Hardhome, Bastards or Goldroad, however you do get a sense, particularly in 'The Green Council' and 'The Black Queen' that this is still to come. Season one does an generally great job in reintroducing Westeros and introduces complex new characters in a more focused story arc where character works tops specatacle. Considering my concerns going in, I'll quite happily take that and look forward to season two.

VERDICT

Far better than anything I might've expected while telling a story that admittedly takes time to get going and doesn't necessarily grab you the same way Game of Thrones did. However it gradually builds and builds until it becomes a compelling story in its own right. With a great cast and complex characters, House of the Dragon has become a must see for me and I can't wait to see what happens next.

4/5

#Youtube #hbo game of thrones #game of thrones #house of the dragon #house targaryen #got dragons #dragons #grr martin #dance of the dragons #westeros #kings landing #dragonstone #paddy considine #milly alcock #emily carey #matt smith #rhys ifans #eve best #olivia cooke #emma d'arcy #house hightower #house lannister #house baratheon #house stark #tv series #television #fantasy #adventure

[tymptir]

prompt. / @thesellsword​ says ❛ You’re shit at dying, you know that? ❜        IT IS WITH A GROAN AND NO SMALL AMOUNT OF EFFORT, that he shakes the heavy, dark breastplate off his torso and carlessly lets it crash upon the ground. cleaning and mending it would be the task of the squire           Josmyn, is it? or Garrett? one of the two who had not attached nonsensical names to his horses. or horse, singular, rather          and with the battle on the Goldroad ended then and there, Jaime feels nothing but fatigue creeping into every bone in his body. even the missing ones, it seems, when he finds the golden hand suddenly heavier than it usually is. his slowly greying hair still clings to his skin, breeches and shirt drying slowly, and the true fight, he knows, still lies ahead. a long journey back to King’s Landing, followed by an unpleasant conversation with his dear sister .  .  .           Bronn, being his usual, helpful self, merely adds to his overall disgruntlement.        “ beg your pardon. I will try harder next time. ” the sarcasm rings audibly in his voice, accompanied by a brief, but tired glare from cat-like green eyes. he wants to hear none of it. no I-told-you-so, no by-god-we’re-fucked, no nothing. a simple truth has begun to dawn on him ; obvious to everyone with eyes and half a brain in the head. the war before them cannot be won. no matter the forces his sister may conjure ( from the depth of the seven hells, if she had to, and Jaime doesn’t doubt she could ) they would not suffice against the carnage they had witnessed this day. against three grown dragons. the likes of which were said to be extinct and wiped out. he remembers walking the Red Keep as a young boy, looking at the massive skulls every now and then, and the reality of them had been far away. an old story, tales written in books Jaime couldn’t be bothered to read, and had grown bored of quite quickly. they had never been real to him. not until today .  .  .         “ we’re fucked. ” there it was. plain and simple. and he slumps into a chair, briefly rubs a sore spot between his brows, and tries to ignore Cersei’s voice already screeching in his ears from miles away.

#thesellsword #¬jaime lannister. [ ic ] #¬ic. [ game of thrones ] #someone desperately needs a drink rn. #even though he usually isn't one for drinking. #ooc. [ queue ]

[istumpysk]

It's 2021 and people saying Red wedding massacre is similar to Robert Rebellion. According to them Dany conquering westroes is similar to starks retaking their home WF. To them, Dany creating field of fire 2.0 in s7 is similar to Battle of Bastards in s6. And they will be loudest to call out the incompetencies of d&d.

A battle between two armies on an equal playing field, is the same thing as flame bombing a city of half a million innocent people who are surrendering?

Yeah that definitely sounds like the brain rot you’d find in Daenerys Targaryen Land.

Even if you want to ignore what happened in King’s Landing (lol, why would we do this?), and focus entirely on the Battle of the Goldroad, it shouldn’t take a professor of ethics and moral philosophy to point out you don’t bring an RPG-7 to a knife fight.

#stumpy ask #anon #anti daenerys

[riderj123]

Countdown to 1r0n anniversary (64/73) - favourite moment in every episode:  The Battle of the Goldroad - The Spoils of War (7x04)

Flee, you idiot. You idiot. You f****** idiot. - Tyrion Lannister

#gotedit #game of thrones #got #s7 #7x04 #10th anniversary #countdown #the spoils of war #gottyrionlannister #tyrion lannister #gotjaimelannister #jaime lannister #gotdaenerystargaryen #daenerys targaryen #bronn #bronn of the blackwater #drogon #dragon #dothraki #riderj123

[hosts-of-valyria]

"The mother of his youngest child is a Stark of Winterfell. His oldest child is queen in the North. His second child loves a Stark and Tully. Even Rhaegar must find something fascinating about the northern lands and Elia worships Eddard when he shows more weakness", said Yennefer.

"And you love a Stark and Targaryen. You are Lyanna's daughter-in-law and a sister to Sansa and Rhaenys", said Elia to Yennefer and she nodded, "I love Jon and he loves me."

The free ticket again: Culprit again Robert Baratheon. Battle in the Kingswood: From Storm's End Robert Baratheon declares war on House Targaryen, Lannister, Martell, Stark, Tully and Arryn.

"Robert Baratheon has entered the Crownlands with Baratheon armies. This is a free ticket. Call the army", said Sansa, Elia, Yennefer, Ciri and Lyanna. Jon and Geralt nodded.

Robert Baratheon moves into the open field with 50,000 Baratheon soldiers. 85,000 Targaryen soldiers move from King's Landing in the open field. The royal avant-garde and royal archers arrive in the Kingswood with Rhaegar Targaryen, Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, Alliser Thorne, Lewyn Martell, Oswell Whent, Willem Darry, Barristan Selmy, Lyanna Stark and Elia Martell, encircling the Baratheon army.

60,000 Lannister soldiers move into the open field. 50,000 dornish soldiers move into the open field. Defeat for the Storm King in the Kingswood against Rhaegar Targaryen, Aegon Targaryen, Sansa Targaryen, Lyanna Stark, Elia Martell, Ser Arthur Dayne, Tissaia de Vries, Ser Gerold Hightower, Alliser Thorne, Ser Lewyn Martell, Ser Barristan Selmy, Oswell Whent, Ser Willem Darry, Ciri Vengerberg-Targaryen, Daenerys and Geralt Rivia-Targaryen, Yennefer and Jon Stark-Vengerberg.

When Jon, Geralt, Aegon, Sansa, Daenerys, Ciri and Yennefer arrived with the main force, a massacre broke out. No casualties for Targaryen Armed Forces, significant damage to the Baratheon Army.

Injuries for Robert Baratheon through Yennefer, Ciri, Rhaegar, Arthur, Lyanna, Elia, Jon and Geralt. Injuries from arrows through Lyanna, Yennefer and Elia. Wounded by sword through Arthur Dayne, Ciri, Rhaegar Targaryen, Geralt and Jon. The Baratheon army flees in the west and enters the Goldroad towards Westerlands.

Battle on the Goldroad: Defeat for Robert Baratheon against Tywin Lannister, Trystane Martell-Lannister, Myrcella Martell- Lannister, Kevan Lannister, Joffrey Baratheon-Lannister, Shireen Baratheon-Lannister, Tommen Baratheon-Lannister, Mya Baratheon-Lannister, Cersei Lannister and Jaime Lannister. Robert Baratheon moves in the Riverlands.

Battle of Harrenhal: Defeat for Robert Baratheon against Eddard Stark, Walder Frey, Jon Arryn, Arya Stark, Gendry Baratheon, Robb Stark-Martell, Edmure Tully, Lysa Arryn, Catelyn Stark. Robert Baratheon flees in the Stormlands.

Battle in the dornish Marches: Defeat for Robert Baratheon against Oberyn Martell, Rhaenys Stark-Martell, Quentyn Martell-Baratheon, Bella Martell-Baratheon, Brandon Stark, Rickard Stark, Ashara Dayne, Alys Karstark-Dayne, Edric Stark-Dayne.

Robert Baratheon withdraws to Storm's End, famine, rebellion against Robert Baratheon. Robert Baratheon has to pay damages for warmongering and is isolated. Life imprisonment for Robert Baratheon

Eddard Stark, Rhaegar Targaryen, Brandon Stark, Elia Nymeros Martell, Lyanna Stark, Catelyn Tully and Ashara Dayne remember

Wolfswood, the North. South of the wall

"It is wonderful here. We love the Wolfswood", said Elia, Ashara and Rhaegar. We rode from Winterfell towards Wolfswood. We rode early in the morning we wanted to have a nice day and had breakfast together, the sun had barely risen when we saw an attacking deer in the undergrowth. The deer attacked first and whirled the she-wolf around. The she-wolf tried to avoid the raging stag, but the stag didn't stop.

Ned, Elia, Lyanna and Rhaegar looked at each other, "What is now", Brandon, Catelyn and Ashara looked at the raging deer and the direwolf bleeding heavily, "this can not be true."

The direwolf flew through the air in the high ground and howled terribly, bleeding profusely. The stag whirled the direwolf across the ground with its antlers and trampled over her in rage. The she-wolf bit the deer in the ribs to stop but the STAG didn't stop raging.

Lyanna shot him in the neck with bow and arrow to drive him away, "go away", Ned, Rhaegar and Brandon picked up spears to scare him away and the stag attacked Catelyn and Ashara.

Elia pulled a knife out of her boot as the animal rushed towards her. The deer pushed her hard aside as he attacked and Elia rammed a knife into his abdomen, "away with you", Elia and Catelyn cut the stag's stomach open with knives.

Ned, Rhaegar and Brandon's spears hit the attacking and raging animal in the heart. Catelyn, Lyanna, Elia and Ashara tended the she-wolf's deep wounds. The she-wolf would have dragged the raging stag with her to death. Someone should dare to say that deer are peaceful animals, the deer attacked first. Have you ever seen deer attack, it causes damage."

Seven Stark children: The storyline makes epic waves for House Martell, Tully, Stark, Arryn and Targaryen in times of Independence. The number seven in the Game of Thrones: Seven Kingdoms, Seven Sins

A true friendship between Rhaegar Targaryen, Oberyn Martell, Eddard Stark, Arthur Dayne: A man Eddard Stark hardly knew in the past: "He found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels like Robert; somehow he thought not."

A Stark of Winterfell between Lannisters and Baratheons: Deceitful Lannisters and Baratheons: Lannisters and Baratheons become fatal to Eddard Stark, that is too much for Ned Stark. Rhaegar sees a death for Eddard Stark when he gets caught between Lannisters and Baratheons: Rhaegar Targaryen's wisdom: "A Stark of Winterfell between Lannisters of Casterly Rock and Baratheons of Storm's End and chaos breaks out."

"I greet the Warden of King's Landing. Nice thing, the north has independence, I was the First King in the North since Torrhen Stark and Catelyn was Queen in the North. Thank you so much Rhaegar. The kingdoms are independent and the Iron Throne is gone. Jon is our son. Do you go to smelly brothels? Robert is a whore. He's a whore-driver, warmonger, and thug. Are you planning to fix Summerhall? You repaired Harrenhal and redesigned King's Landing. And I need help Rhaegar, I want to rebuild, restore and repair Moat Cailin. And I would want to talk about a trade deal between the North, Dorne and the Crownlands. Two men are coming soon, in their wording: in the flowery south; to apologize to you. You know who I mean. Rickard Karstark and Greatjon Umber, they want to thank you for the independence you have given Rhaegar."

Elia and Lyanna nodded, "That can be set up."

"Eddard wants to be faster than Tywin to help you change and repair Westeros, Rhaegar. Because Ned was King in the North and because you gave Independence to the kingdoms", said Catelyn and kissed Ned.

Rhaegar looked at Eddard, "as I said: there are regular councils, anyone can always come and talk to me. Greatjon Umber and Rickard Karstark can come to King's Landing. I can't smell it when something bothers others. Then they should speak to me sensibly, the sound makes the music.

I don't give a shit what Cersei and Jaime do in Casterly Rock, Tywin has what he wanted, Lannisters are kings and queens and now he has to see who he makes king or queen in Casterly Rock. Do you seriously believe that I'll let Tywin Lannister roam free here in King's Landing. He wanted to marry Cersei to Robert, now impossible because there is no Iron Throne. Starks, Tullys, Arryns, Martells and Targaryens are always faster, you are always faster than Tywin or Robert. Tywin gave the order to kill Elia. Ah the old fortress at the entrance of the north. I have good construction workers, resources and plans, that can be done. Then we will find a solution to fix Moat Cailin. Oh Summerhall, did you study my résumé, no, I'm not going to have Summerhall repaired. I'll razor it to the ground and I give the people the land to cultivate. Just a place where too much sex and incest has been practiced. And Elia says the same thing that Summerhall should be razed to the ground."

Elia nodded, "nobody needs that. Get rid of that shit. Rhaegar doesn't need it, I don't need it and Lyanna doesn't need it", Lyanna nodded, "was too much sex and incest there", Eddard and Catelyn nodded, "yes that's right."

Rhaegar nodded, "I'm having Dragonstone rebuilt. Do you know what would happen if you got in the line of fire of Lannisters and Baratheons? You would die. A Stark of Winterfell, a northman between Lannisters and Baratheons and Chaos breaks out. No I go to smelly brothels. It is well-intentioned advice: Never bend your knee. And you're smarter than Torrhen was, he bent his knee even though he didn't have to. He could have stayed in the north."

Ned and Catelyn nodded, "you're right. I know. I hardly recognize the capital. You changed so much, restored buildings, expanded the Red Keep, the Iron Throne is gone. It is great. King's Landing is cleaner, more powerful, and stronger with House Targaryen. And Lyanna and Elia are the heads of House Stark and Martell of King's Landing, I'm glad."

Rhaegar smiled, "Elia and your sister are excellent interior decorators", Rhaegar and Eddard laughed out loud.

Catelyn looked from Rhaegar to Eddard, "so sweet. A true friendship", Lyanna and Elia smiled and looked from Eddard to Rhaegar, "that's cute, do you know that? So cute. True male friendship."

Rhaegar and Eddard huffed, "can't you shut up for a second", Lyanna, Catelyn and Elia laughed aloud, "you should know better that we can't."

Eddard and Rhaegar looked at each other, "where they are right they are right", Arthur, Catelyn, Rhaegar, Eddard, Lyanna and Elia laughed aloud.

The genius of war/This can be seen when war is inevitable.

Smarter at warfare than his cousin Robb. Beware, uncle and nephew are deadly. Careful, both fatal. The appearance of a young Arthur Dayne. Both deadlier than Robert Baratheon. Be careful when they grab their weapons. Your own fault when you challenge someone who shows you respect

Warfare: The Knowledge of war and warfare. How to fight properly. The dornish Wolf Edric Stark-Dayne, a huge IQ. Leader of 50,000 Dornish Forces. Inherited from his Uncle Arthur Dayne. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

"I'm giving you all a class on warfare. It was clear that war was coming, too much had been lost along the way and Rhaegar did the only right thing: he gave independence and destroyed the Iron Throne. The injustice of Robert's rebellion when the usurper rebels. He rebelled when Elia ended her marriage to Rhaegar, Elia and Lyanna fell in love and then they fell in love with Rhaegar when he destroyed the Iron Throne.

It is his fault: of Robert Baratheon. Of Stags and Lions. The rebellion is a lie and a tremendous injustice.

Think of it as a large crack in a load-bearing beam. What happens when a load-bearing beam breaks, right the house collapses. This beam carries the load only up to a certain point; Power rests on this beam. There is a crack in the beams because power can be found everywhere. And to repair this beam you need help, because everyone needs help every now and then, but everyone wants to get his share of the power that rests on this beam, the power that Aegon the Conqueror brought when he forged the Iron Throne.

It cracks in all places, nails break and screws pop out and it smells after war and it shakes out on all sides.

What are you doing, you have to do the shit alone and give up power and give independence to the kingdoms and in the end you even get insulted for not getting a building permit. It would be new to me that my father, my mother, Lyanna, Elia, Rhaegar or Arthur are architects; but only mentioned that in passing. Nice shit, cruel world", said Edric.

Yennefer looked with wide eyes, "wow a huge IQ. Warfare. Wow the genius. Warfare at the highest level. Yes that's the whole truth."

He smiled, "Power can be found anywhere. Magic, Politics, Gold, fertile land, money, a sharp sword, a Throne, a Crown. As wide as a flower meadow. Wars are forbidden. There are other powers at work here besides good and evil. Here is magic too, as you see with Direwolves, Dragons, Zombies or the Undead.

Her name is Kiara and my name is Edric Stark-Dayne. Cousin of Jon Stark, Sansa Stark, Robb Stark, Arya Stark, Rickon Stark and Bran Stark. I'm the son of Ashara Dayne and Brandon Stark, older brother of Eddard, Lyanna and Benjen Stark.

My father never loved Catelyn, he always loved Ashara. I'm the nephew of Arthur Dayne. My parents had sex and made love in Harrenhal. Kiara lives with me, my grandfather Rickard Stark, my parents and Alys Karstark in Dorne, in Starfall, Kiara is the dornish she-wolf, the dornish people love her, she runs through big deserts in the moonlight and howls to the moon.

Kiara is the mother of the six, she is the mother of: oh you probably know the names, seems familiar, doesn't it? Have you seen it before", said Edric.

Arya, Sansa, Robb, Jon, Bran and Rickon and laughed aloud, "and the names are: Ghost. Nymeria. Lady. Shaggydog. Summer. Greywind.

Rhaegar, Ashara, Brandon, Eddard, Catelyn, Lyanna and Elia rescued Kiara when she was attacked through a raging stag in the Wolfswood, south of the wall. Ask yourself what it means, it's obvious. Kiara would have died but would have dragged the stag along with her."

The end of Eddard Stark, Catelyn Stark, Lysa Arryn and Jon Arryn's friendship with Robert Baratheon and his monstrous behavior and violence towards women, babies and children. Robert Baratheon who was never a real friend. Robert Baratheon forever isolated in Storm's End.

The northerners call Robert Baratheon not a true friend. Robert Baratheon threatens Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark, Catelyn Stark and Lysa Arryn with death because Catelyn got pregnant with Robb before the wedding to Eddard and Lysa got pregnant with Robin before the wedding to Jon Arryn.

"Robert doesn't like it at all that my parents Brandon and Ashara love each other. Lysa got pregnant with Robin by Jon Arryn before the wedding and she loves Jon and he loves her and Lysa is a strong queen in the Vale of Arryn. Robert hates Jon Arryn for that.

Robert hates Eddard for becoming parents with Catelyn before they married, she became pregnant with Robb before she and Ned got married. That was never a real friend, Robert wasn't a real friend. He hates Lyanna, Elia, Catelyn, Ashara, Jaime, Tywin, Eddard, Brandon, Cersei, Rhaegar, Oberyn, Doran. Let's make it short, Robert Baratheon is a thug. This rebellion was just a lie, it's Robert Baratheon's fault. Luckily Rhaegar destroyed the Iron Throne and that Rhaegar gave Independence. Nymeria is Elia's favorite wolf.

The truth about the Injustice of the Rebellion: Misogynist, a thug, warmonger. The Bad, Evil, Inhuman Storm Lord Robert Baratheon.

Ned, Rhaegar and Brandon staked the stag in the Wolfswood with spears. The she-wolf would have died but would have dragged the raging deer along with her to Death", said Arya, Lyanna, Elia, Rhaegar, Brandon, Ashara, Ned, Catelyn, Sansa, Rickon, Bran, Robb, Aegon, Rhaenys, Rickon, Jon and Edric.

#house stark #sophie turner #maisie williams #kit harington #skandar keynes #richard madden #house targaryen #house martell #katie mcgrath #sean bean #michelle fairley #clive standen #aisling franciosi #freida pinto #wilf scolding #arthur dayne

[poorshadowspaintedqueens]

With hindsight and everything, you’re now Stannis Baratheon- Robert dies on the trident and you are king. How do you bring dorne into the fold? What positions, marriages ect. Do you do?Waoiaf

Well, this begs an important question: WOULD Stannis have taken the throne if Robert had died on the Trident? I don’t know that it’s quite so cut and dried.

If both Robert and Rhaegar died in battle, we don’t have a clear victor--in canon, the battle ends with Rhaegar’s death in single combat, not because one army decisively defeated the other.

Robert had claimed the throne just before the Trident, and one of the main reasons for his popularity was that he was a celebrated military leader who had won multiple battles. Also, he is charismatic as hell, so he finds it pretty easy to win people over as soon as he meets them.

Stannis...is neither of these things.

At this point in time, Stannis is 18/19 years old and still under siege at Storm’s End by land and sea. That siege wasn’t lifted until at least several weeks after the Trident, if not months--long enough for Ned to reach King’s Landing and be appalled by what he finds, for Robert to reach King’s Landing and fight with Ned over the murder of Elia and her children, and for Ned to travel south. If there’s enough delay, Stannis and the others in Storm’s End might have been forced to surrender or might even be dead.

Stannis also doesn’t have Robert’s prior connections with House Arryn and House Stark--as far as we can see, Stannis was not, at least at the time of the Rebellion, part of the Southron Ambitions alliance. I suspect this was mostly because Robert forgets about him when he’s not right there. He’d certainly be a valuable hostage for the Tyrells and Redwynes, and he’d be the nominal Lord of Storm’s End, but he doesn’t have any other connections that we know of.

A few possible scenarios where Robert and Rhaegar both die on the Trident:

1. Aerys is still alive in King’s Landing and Tywin is presumably on the Goldroad with his army, heading straight for the capital. Tywin does NOT sack the city, instead takes Aerys prisoner (or has him killed), assumes control as Regent for Aegon VI Targaryen, and the Rebellion continues.

2. Aerys blows up King’s Landing because Robert’s death hasn’t made him any less homicidal and insane. Rhaella and Viserys might even still be there, because the main reason they were sent away from KL was Robert’s victory at the Trident. That leaves an enormous crater and an equally enormous power vacuum (all the known Targaryens are dead), and I at least think that scenario ends with the Seven Kingdoms splitting up and a return to petty-kings and regional rulers.

3. Tywin turns south and joins with the Tyrells and Redwynes and/or suggests that they take Stannis prisoner to try to ensure good behavior from the rebels. The remnants of the Southron Ambitions alliance parlay and come up with a solution, possibly to split up the 7 Kingdoms OR to all come together under baby Aegon VI and a ruling council, much like what happened after the Dance of the Dragons.

I just can’t imagine a scenario where Stannis is able to become king under these circumstances.

#asoiaf #asoiaf theories #asoiaf au #stannis baratheon #jon arryn #robert baratheon #aerys ii targaryen #tywin lannister #robert's rebellion #Anonymous

[ignietsanguine-arch]

every time i watch the battle of the bastards i’m reminded of the fact people whined about dany “killing innocent lannister soldiers who were just following orders” on the goldroad but didn’t bat an eye at thousands of bolton soldiers just following orders dying at winterfell.

#( ooc ) rewatching the trainwreck. #( /stares into the camera like i'm in the office/ )

[stardyng]

So, as we all know, Jaime was involved in the Battle of the Goldroad. He was there when Daenerys burnt the food wagons. He even made a remark to Cersei about how Daenerys burnt 1000 of wagons when she went on her power trip. I sincerely hope that when Jaime arrives to Winterfell, he points out that the reason why Daenerys doesn’t have any rations to survive winter and is now depending on the North to feed her and her army is because she burnt what would have been her rations. I really hope that someone holds Daenerys accountable for that mistake. I would like to see it. 

#jaime lannister #game of thrones #got #anti daenerys targaryen #got s8 #game of thrones season 8 #100 #250 #500

[rizahcwkeye]

“Captured in the field at the Whispering Wood. Set free by Lady Catelyn Stark in return for an oath to find [...] her two daughters. Lost his [...] Took Riverrun from the Tully rebels, without loss of life. Lured the Unsullied into attacking Casterly Rock, sacrificing his childhood home in service to a greater strategy. Outwitted the Targaryen forces to seize Highgarden. Fought at the Battle of the Goldroad bravely, narrowly escaping death by dragonfire. Pledged himself to the forces of men and rode north to join them at Winterfell, alone. Faced the Army of the Dead, and defended the castle against impossible odds until the defeat of the Night King. Escaped imprisonment and rode south in an attempt to save the capital from destruction. Died protecting his Queen.” Jaime Lannister, 262 AC - 305 AC

#jaime lannister #jaimelannisteredit #game of thrones #got #gotedit #nikolaj coster-waldau #nikolaj coster waldau

[resthefuture]

Tagged by @sarahoftarth 🙈🙏

Icon: Jaime during the battle of Goldroad. I have a thing for that Lannister armour :))

My content: NCW thirst posts, Jaime/Brienne appreciation posts and some generic shit stuff as well. 

Letter colour: White on black background, I’ll try to keep it simple. 

Header: Again, the battle of Goldroad. Jaime making death-run at Daenerys and her dragon. Big Dick Energy.

Url: This nickname is totally a random thing. No meaning at all. 

Blog title: There is only me - because Jaime Lannister is the one! Seriously though, I love the dialogue between him and Catelyn.

I’m tagging everyone who is eager to do it!

#sarahoftarth #personal

[koriginaladdict]

Jaime’s Entry in the white book

 Fix it

Ser Jaime of House Lannister. Firstborn son of Lord Tywin and Lady Joanna of Casterly Rock.

Served against the Kingswood Brotherhood as squire to Lord Sumner Crakehall. Knighted in his 15th year by Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard, for valor in the field.

Chosen for the Kingsguard in his 15th year by King Aerys II Targaryen.

During the Sack of King’s Landing, slew King Aerys II at the foot of the Iron Throne. Thereafter known as the “Kingslayer.”

Pardoned for his crime by King Robert I Baratheon.

Served in the honor guard that brought his sister the Lady Cersei Lannister to King’s Landing to wed King Robert. Champion in the tourney held at King’s Landing on the occasion of their wedding

Defeated in the Whispering Wood by the Young Wolf Robb Stark during the War of the Five Kings. Held captive at Riverrun and ransomed for a promise unfuffilled.

Captured again by the Bloody Mummers, and maimed at the word of Locke their captain, losing his sword hand to his blade. Returned safely to King’s Landing by Brienne, the Maid of Tarth.

Whom he had saved from a certain death in a bear pit, by jumping into it unarmed with only one hand, standing between her and the bear so that his escort would kill it with his crossbow.

Charged Lady Brienne of Tarth to uphold their vow to Lady Catelyn Stark, to protect her daughter Lady Sansa giving her the reforged sword from Ned Stark’s Valyrian Longsword Ice, which she had named Oathkeeper.

Freed his brother Lord Tyrion Lannister on the eve of his execution in the aftermath of an unjust trial meant to frame him as King Joffrey’s murderer.

Dismissed from the Kingsguard by King Tommen Baratheon, for standing against the faith militant as they held queen Margery Tyrell.

Took Rivverrun from the Tullys under King Tommen’s Orders, without loss of life.

 Fought bravely at the Battle of the Goldroad, narrowly escaping death by dragonfire.

Pledged himself to the forces of men and rode north to join them at Winterfell, alone, Honoring his pledge despite Queen Cersei Lannister's orders to not intervene.

Knighted Lady Brienne of Tarth, on the eve of the battle of Winterfell, making her the first female knight in westeros.

Faced the Army of the Dead and defended the castle against impossible odds until the defeat of the Night King.

Escaped imprisonment and rode south in an attempt to save the capital from destruction.

Died protecting Queen Cersei Lannister. At the age of 44.  

#Jaime Lannister #Brienne of Tarth #Game of Thrones #Got #got 8x06 #Braime #Jaime x brienne #fanfiction #meta #fix it

[softeddiek]

anywhere i go there you are (pt. 3)

Pt. 1 | Pt. 2 | Read on ao3

Warning: smut near the end of the chapter 

Gendry’s just come back from a morning ride with Elwood when Maester Jurne finds him in the stables.

Arya had been right that the seneschal would try to befriend him. Upon finding out that Gendry had little riding experience, he had suggested they start taking short rides each morning for him to get some practice. While the man wasn’t exactly who he would have chosen for company each day, Gendry had agreed, if only to get out of the tower.

Before Arya had left for Dorne, she would come along, but she was far more experienced on horse than either of them and she couldn’t stop herself from riding ahead at breakneck speed. When they’d finally catch up to her, she’d be sitting on a rock with her feet swinging lazily in a stream, or with her back propped up against the trunk of a tree.

“My lord,” Jurne begins, as Gendry leads his horse into its stall, “you’ve had a raven, bearing the royal seal.”

That gets Gendry’s attention. In the eight moon turns he’s been at Storm’s End, he’s not received any letters directly from the King or his Hand. Ser Davos had left after two moon turns, heading first towards Cape Wrath, to see his wife, and then back to King’s Landing. Any news Gendry’s received from the Capital had come directly from him.

Gendry sends a nod his way, as he heads back to the drum tower and towards his chambers, knowing that the maester will follow.

When he has taken a seat at his desk, he motions for Jurne to continue. His reading and writing have greatly improved since his lessons began and he could read the letter himself easily enough, but his stomach is in a knot thinking about what the King could be writing him about.

The maester breaks the seal, eyes skimming over it for a minute before looking up, a wary expression marring his face. Please don’t be about Arya, he thinks.

“Lord Bronn of Highgarden has been killed,” he states.

That he was not expecting. “Wasn’t he a friend of the Hand? And on the King’s council?” he asks, confusion washing over him. Gendry knew the man had been a sellsword and fought for the Lannisters, but not much else. Had the lords of the Reach really turned on him that quickly?

“It would seem that when Lord Bronn was returning to King’s Landing from Highgarden, he was set upon by outlaws on the Roseroad. Cousins of the late Queen Margaery have since taken up residence in the castle, with houses Redwyne and Fossoway, along with lesser houses of the Reach, supporting them.”

“Alright,” Gendry intones slowly. “Will the Tyrells be likely to trade with us then?” Despite the many mountainous areas in the Stormlands, Gendry had been told that there was plenty of fertile land. Relatively untouched by the War of the Five Kings and not victim to the cold weather that had traveled as far south as the Crownlands, crops had been plentiful in the region. Gendry had been advised by both Maester Jurne and Davos to supply the Reach with food since most of theirs had been taken by the Lannister army after the sack of Highgarden and then burned by Queen Daenerys during the Battle of the Goldroad. He had been hesitant at first, having seen firsthand in the Riverlands and the streets of King’s Landing what starvation looked like, and not wanting his people to suffer it. He had been told that they could sell food to the Reach and would not be left for wanting but he had also seen what it was like for the smallfolk when their lords came calling, demanding to be paid their due. He wanted his people fairly compensated for what they would be giving up.

He had said as much to the lords that had continued to plague him since he’d stepped foot in Storm’s End. Some had nodded along, agreeing that it was only fair, while others had thrown fits, believing any gold should go to them since the crops were grown on their lands. Those lords tended to depart from Storm’s End soon after, looks of acquiescence on their faces, adding to the rumors about Gendry’s Baratheon temper.

“The Tyrells are an ambitious house and, should relations between the Stormlands and the Reach continue after they begin to yield crops again, they will likely try to use that relationship to their advantage. For now, however, the region needs food and they are not likely to get it from anywhere else. While much of their gold was taken by the Lannisters during the sack of Highgarden, between the strongest houses of the Reach there will be plenty left for them to buy from the Stormlands. I do not see why they would refuse.”

“Good. Draft a letter to them at once with our terms. Any other news?”

“Yes. As you know, there has always been unrest in the Dornish Marches.” Gendry vaguely recalls the bloody history between the Marcher lords and the Dornish from a history book on the Stormlands that he had read, and what little Anguy had spoken of his home when he’d been on the road with the Brotherhood. “The King suggests that you travel to meet with the Marcher lords soon to quell tensions as best as you can. His sister, the Princess Arya, returns from Dorne. He believes her visit to Sunspear will positively impact Dornish relations with the crown and when the Princess arrives in Storm’s End, he would like her to advise you on how to establish relations with the Prince of Dorne without upsetting those in the Marches.”

“Arya’s coming back?” is the first thing out of his mouth when Maester Jurne is finished speaking.

The maester’s mouth forms a straight line, a look of irritation on his face as he realizes that the news of Dorne isn’t half as interesting to Gendry as the news of the King’s sister. “His Grace writes that Princess Arya makes for Storm’s End. He says to expect her return within three weeks.”

Gendry knows that Jurne had grown fond of Arya during her time at Storm’s End. She’d spent the months begging after him for old maps of Westeros and books that he kept in his cell, in addition to quizzing him on his knowledge of healing and shuffling through his stores. She’d even gotten him to stop using her title, though it seemed that he slipped back into using it the moment she was gone. But despite everyone in the castle growing used to her presence as she wandered around the tower and spent time with their lord in the forge, riding around the Stormlands, and even, they whispered, in his chambers, he knew they all worried what the King thought about the familiarity and closeness between Gendry and Arya. Not that that was like to stop them.

“Is that everything the King had to say?” he asks, a smile still on his face at the thought of Arya’s return. She’d gone south four moons past, and he’d missed her, though he would admit that it might have made his lordly lessons easier without her to serve as a distraction. He’d become more comfortable interacting with the other lords of the Stormlands and even grown more confident in his reading and writing.

Regardless, in the time that they had been reunited he’d grown accustomed to her presence. When he wasn’t listening to petitions or being tutored, they were out exploring the Stormlands together, sharing meals in the forge, and warming each other’s beds.

“Yes, my Lord,” Jurne responds. “Before I leave you,” he starts, able to tell that Gendry is ready to continue on with his day, “have you given thought on the letter you received from Lord Grandison?”

Gendry scratched at his chin for a moment. “Sorry, which one is Grandison again? Is he the old one or the fat one?”

Maester Jurne sighed. “Lord Grandison is quite old. He is also adamant that House Swann be punished in some way for Ser Balon Swann’s role in the Lannister reign.”

“Wasn’t he a member of the Kingsguard? He’s dead now, what would I punish his family for?” he asks.

“Yes, my Lord, he was appointed to the Kingsguard by King Joffrey. His brother, Ser Donnel, supported both of your uncles during the War of the Five Kings, before kneeling before king Joffrey after the Battle of the Blackwater. As you asked, why might Lord Grandison be intent on seeing House Swann punished?”

Maester Jurne liked to ask him questions such as these to test him; to see how much he was learning about the other stormlords and the games they played. He hated it, truly, preferring the maester to speak plainly, but he knew that he needed to be somewhat adept at it if he wanted to retain control over Storm’s End.

Gendry takes a look over at the map of the Stormlands spread out on his desk, finding Grandview and Stonehelm.

“Lord Grandison rules from Grandview. Grandview is just north of this river here,” he says, pointing. “The Slayne.” Davos had spoken of the journey he would have to Cape Wrath, and Gendry recalled a brief mention of the river. “The Slayne is a major river route in the Stormlands…” he trails off, following the river along the map. “And House Swann rules from Stonehelm, right at the mouth of the river. Lord Grandison might be hoping that I’ll punish House Swann by stripping them of their lands and…granting them to House Grandison?”

The maester sends him a small smile, and Gendry knows that he’s said what the maester had been thinking. “And, should this be the reasoning behind Lord Grandison’s letter, how might you respond to his request?” he asks.

“By telling him to fuck off,” Gendry scoffs. He laughs at the look of shock on Maester Jurne’s face as he continues, “I hardly think the Swann’s should have their home taken from them for that and I certainly don’t know Lord Grandison well enough to just hand it over to him. Is that all you wanted to speak about? I planned on spending the afternoon in front of the forge,” he finishes, rising from his seat.

The look on the maester’s face is one of pure resignation. “Yes, my Lord. Perhaps we will compose your reply to Lord Grandison together on the morrow.”

“Sure thing,” he replies, clapping the maester once on the shoulder as he strides out of the room.

As he passes through the yard, he’s greeted by members of his household with small smiles and waves. He sees a member of his guard, Tom, engaged in conversation with Arya’s friend from the kitchens, Ellyn.

When he enters the smithy the grizzled old smith, Ormund, greets him with a nod as he hammers away at a piece of steel.

Ormund had been one of the first men Gendry had actually let himself be comfortable around in Storm’s End. He was used to men like Ormund; ones who had spent their years in a hot smithy, who knew nothing but their work. He had learned that the man had been smithing in Storm’s End since the end of his father’s rebellion, taking over when the previous smith lost an arm during the siege. In return, Gendry had told him of his time in King’s Landing, working under Tobho Mott. They spoke of little else but their work, and Ormund hadn’t addressed him as Lord Baratheon since their first meeting. Gendry knew that if he wasn’t lord of the castle, Ormund likely wouldn’t let him near his forge but he was glad to have a refuge within Storm’s End all the same.

He heads over to the work bench Ormund has left clear for him and unwraps the piece of cloth sitting on it. He had hoped to have the dagger finished before Arya left for Dorne, but she often popped up in the forge when he was working, and he didn’t want her to see the piece before it was finished.

Gendry knows this is nothing compared to the Valyrian steel dagger she has--he didn’t use any magic spells, and the blade will certainly need sharpening—but he’s proud of the hilt he’d been working on.

After the day he’d found Arya in the godswood, he’d sketched an image of what he wanted it to look like. He’d seen some wildlings carrying bows and staffs made of weirwood when he’d been in Winterfell and figured the material would be durable enough. He’d asked Maester Jurne all he knew of weirwood, but that had been very little, so he’d gone back to the godswood to study what was left of Storm’s End’s heart tree, making sure to bring an axe with him.

When he entered, however, he was shocked to see that what had been only a stump a few moons ago was now multiple sprouts coming up to his waist. He walked toward them and knelt for a minute, picking one out, before lifting his axe and thinking, Old gods, if you’re listening, please forgive me.

Carving the thick wood was difficult, and he’d wanted to add more ornamentation to it, but he figured that was beyond his skill level, so he’d settled for a plain weirwood hilt. Three weeks should give me plenty of time, he thinks.

--

The day Arya arrives in Storm’s End, Gendry experiences his first major storm. He’d experienced summer storms in King’s Landing before, but they were nothing like this. Maester Jurne says it’s odd, considering the Maesters of the Citadel haven’t yet announced the end of Winter, leaving them a few months at the very least before the first large storms hit. With most everyone confined to working inside the tower, he’d tried to spend time in his chambers reading, but all he can focus on is the choking humidity that’s found its way inside.

When it gets to be too much, he decides to make his way to the smithy. He knows he’ll have to make a mad dash from the tower to the door, but the rain might cool him off.

When he gets inside, he slams the door shut. He’d gotten just as soaked as he’d expected, but at least the cold sweat he had had been washed away. Looking around, he sees a few candles lit, but the smithy is relatively dark, Ormund nowhere to be found. He can hear the waves of Shipbreaker Bay slamming loudly against the curtain wall outside. Thank the gods for that, he muses, else there’d be no castle standing.

“They say it’s magic that protects the castle,” he hears a voice say to his left, as if in response to his thoughts. He turns, feet quickly positioning themselves into a defensive stance, until he’s sees it’s her. Arya.

“When the first Storm King married Elenei, the gods raged, and sent storms to destroy each keep he built,” she continues. “It wasn’t until he met Bran the Builder that he was finally able to build a castle strong enough to withstand the sea and wind. Storm’s End. Or so they say,” she finishes, a disbelieving smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ve heard the story,” is all he manages to choke out. He knew to expect her soon, but he hadn’t expected to find her right this moment, lurking in the shadows near the forge.

In an instant she’s crossing the distance of the smithy, his arms enveloping her when she reaches him.

“I missed you,” she breathes into his neck.

“I missed you too,” he whispers, lips pressing softly to the top of her head. He can tell she’s drier than he is, having been out of the rain for longer, but neither seem to care that pressed together like this, his clothes are soaking through hers.

Arya pulls her head back, a smile on her face as he leans down toward her, lips meeting hers without hesitation. Gods I’ve missed this, he thinks, as he feels her teeth sink into his bottom lip, drawing a soft moan from him.

Her small hands begin ridding him of his wet tunic, her lips parting from his for only a second to lift it over his head before seeking them back out. His hands instinctively begin pulling at her jerkin, sliding it down each shoulder as he’s done dozens of times before while hers move to deftly undo the laces on both of their breeches.

As he moves to lift her up, she jumps, wrapping her legs around his waist and her fingers dig firmly into his shoulders. He sets her down on the worn wooden table in the center of the room, attaching his lips to her neck as she begins grinding into him where their bodies meet.

He pulls away a moment later, steadying her hips with his left hand before looking into her eyes. They’re as dark as the storm clouds outside the smithy, but no less alert than usual. She tugs his hand away with her own before hooking her fingers around the edge of her breeches and small clothes, shimmying them past her waist and legs, eyes locked on his. He takes that as a sign to tug down his own, and her right hand immediately reaches down between them to give him a few strokes.

“Arya,” he stutters out.

She sends him a playful smile, urging him closer, before lining him up with her cunt. He slides in slowly, feeling her warm heat around him and unable to hold back from uttering a solitary “Fuck.” Her laughter reaches his ears as he begins to move, quickly devolving into a series of soft, breathy moans.

He wraps his left arm around her right leg while he leans forward over the table that her back is now lying flat on, entering her at an angle he knows she likes.

She fists her left hand into his hair at the back of his head and pulls him flush against her in order to join their lips. He can feel that familiar tug in his lower stomach and moves his right hand between them, where their bodies are joined, trying to make sure she can enjoy this before it ends embarrassingly quick.

He slows his pace down, opting to go slow and deep until he feels her walls tightening around him. As he feels her muscles clenching, she lets out a long, drawn out “Gendry,” her hips still moving in small motions as he empties himself in her just a few quick pumps later.

Breathless and sore from bending over her on the table, he slowly pulls his quickly softening cock out of her and opts to lean against the table, next to where she still lays.

She lets out a loud, contented sigh before turning her head to the side to look at him.

A smile breaks out on his face as he wearily asks, “So, how was Dorne?”

Her returning smile is larger. “Hot,” she laughs out.

“Really?” he jokes, “I never would have guessed.”

“It was great Gendry,” she settles on, a sparkle in her eyes. “I paid orphans of the Greenblood to transport me some of the way down the river in their colorful poleboats. They live so freely there, out on the river, dancing and singing.” She hesitates for a minute before continuing. “I also met with the Prince of Dorne in Sunspear at Bran’s request. It was tense at first. I half suspected he was trying to kill me with the food, all of it is so hot and spicy. But by the end of the visit I think we had come to an understanding.”

“Your brother says you’re to give me advice on him,” he throws out, casually.

“Bran wrote to you?” she asks, surprised.

“Aye. He said you were on your way back and that what you had learned might help me in dealing with the Marcher lords.”

She appears to be thinking on what he’s said for a moment before propping herself up on an elbow. He knows she’s implicitly agreed to help when she changes the subject. “Do you want to see my new horse?”

“You have a new horse? Here?”

“Yes, in the stables. Where else would I put my new sand steed?” she asks around a smile. Had things gone so well with the Prince of Dorne that she’d talked him into giving her a horse? Before he can voice the thought, a crack of thunder pierces his ears, and he’s reminded of the storm that’s still raging around them.

“Perhaps when the storm is over.”

“Right, the storm,” she mutters softly. She takes a quick glance up and down his body, reminding him that he’s been very naked this whole conversation. She then looks down at herself, fisting her hands in the tunic that they hadn’t gotten around to taking off her earlier and lifts it up and over her head in one quick motion.

“I think we can keep busy until then,” she says with a feral grin.

He’s hoping his first storm will be a long one.

#again this is def show gendrya but i make a lot of book references this chapter #gendrya #gendrya positivity #i like to think SE is like florida in the summer: raining all of the time and humid #soooo humid #KL is humid too i think but SE would be gross humid imo #axg fic #gendrya fic #my fic #arya stark #gendry #arya x gendry #am i being an asshole with all of these tags #gendry baratheon