#ghiscari fashion | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

diamondperfumes · 9 months

Text

Culture is a central aspect of Dany's arc. As such, it is a central feature of interpretations of her character, whether such interpretations are positive or negative.

The majority of ASOIAF fans dislike Dany's relationship with culture. What I find interesting, however, is that ASOIAF fans end up rejecting Dany's place in every culture she's part of.

Dany was born on Dragonstone, and immediately fled to Braavos when Rhaella died. When Viserys and Daenerys were forced to leave the Sealord's Manse, they traveled through the Free Cities: Lys, Myr, Tyrosh. Dany speaks Valyrian with a Tyroshi accent/dialect. Six months before the events of AGOT, Viserys and Daenerys land up in Illyrio's manse in Pentos.

Dany unequivocally adopts Dothraki culture as her own. She worships the Dothraki Horse God, speaks Dothraki fluently, wears the hrakkar when she wants to be comfortable, prefers her Dothraki riding leathers, painted vest, and medallion belt to the Meereenese tokar (and wears such an outfit when she wants to project strength), wears bells in her hair, considers Dothraki funeral rites for her own eventual death, loves horse riding, and sees herself as part of the Dothraki land. She is a Khaleesi of her own Khalasar, and also foreshadowed to be the Stallion who Mounts the World.

Dany spends time in Qarth, recovering from the perils of the Red Waste, figuring her leadership style out as a beggar queen, before she is kicked out of the city. There she meets Quaithe, who recurs as an ambiguous guide and mentor in her arc. She also receives various prophecies from the Undying, before they try to devour her. Xaro becomes an ally, and then enemy, and she learns important lessons from him. She gets her three-headed dragon crown, wrought in jade, ivory, and onyx, from the Pureborn of Qarth.

Dany conquers Slaver's Bay, moving from Astapor, to Yunkai, to Meereen, before ruling Meereen as Queen. She tries to free slaves and abolish slavery in each city. She wears the Meereenese tokar, speaks Ghiscari in court, marries Hizdahr zo Loraq in the Meereenese fashion, re-opens the fighting pits, trains her child hostages as cupbearers, and tries to be the "queen of rabbits." The bulk of the exploration of her leadership style and ideology is in Slaver's Bay.

Dany wants to reconquer Westeros on behalf of the Targaryen dynasty, and idealizes Westeros as a beautiful land. She names the habitat Drogon carves out for himself as Dragonstone.

Dany longs for the house with the red door and lemon tree. The two places she admits to being happiest in are Braavos (the house with the red door) and the Dothraki Sea. She once wanted to be a sailor. She has dreams of living a simple life with Daario. She also wants to be queen.

Dany speaks Ghiscari, High Valyrian, Tyroshi Valyrian (and likely other Valyrian dialects, like Pentoshi Valyrian), the Common Tongue, and Dothraki. She worships both the Faith of the Seven and the Dothraki Horse God. She has a connection to R'hllorism. She's lived in various Free Cities, the Dothraki Sea, Qarth, and Meereen. She's been through the Red Waste, Vaes Dothrak, Astapor, and Yunkai.

ASOIAF fans reject every one of Dany's relationships to these locations and cultures.

She is considered entitled, and imperialistic, for wanting to reconquer Westeros. Most theories of her dying center around the futility of conquest, the violence of House Targaryen, the selfishness of holding on to its name, the fact of her exile, and even that she is "foreign" to the land and culture. Many point out that she doesn't know "anything" about Westeros, that her father was Aerys II, that her family are "oppressive conquerors," and that her family lost the throne. Some will come up with convoluted reasons to claim that Jon Snow or Young Griff are ahead of her in the line of succession (so the throne belongs to a Targaryen, just not her). She won't "respect" Northern independence, Dornish independence, Ironborn independence, etc.

She is considered violent, tyrannical, and a threat to Westeros because of her connection to the Dothraki. She is accused of being an enabler of slavery and rape for being Drogo's wife, and then a she-Khal. The stallion who mounts the world prophecy is used as "proof" that she will go mad, or that she will burn Westeros to the ground in her conquest. She is accused of romanticizing Dothraki culture. She's blamed for what happens to the women of the Lhazarene village, particularly Mirri. Phrases such as "she is a white woman whose arc is propped up by the suffering of women of color/characters of color" are usually located here.

Dany is accused of not really caring about slavery because "she didn't do anything about it in Qarth," and stayed in Xaro's manse as a guest.

At the same time, Dany is seen as a white/Westerosi character "imposing her foreign/Western values" upon Essos. She is accused of "trying to civilize" Dothraki culture and "appropriating/mimicking" it. The phrase "white man's burden" is usually thrown around here. She's accused of raping Irri, her arc being built on Irri and Jhiqui's suffering, and the Dothraki being painted as "savage" for her own trauma. She is mocked as naive and ignorant for not appreciating the beauty of Qarth and wanting to return to Westeros in spite of being there, accused of being unfair toward Xaro in expecting an alliance from him, accused of being a cultural imperialist for burning down the House of the Undying.

Her time in Slaver's Bay receives the lion's share of the critique. She ruins its political economy. She destroys the region. She profits from slavery while claiming to be antislavery. She causes the freedmen to face poverty, violence, murder, rape, and suffering. She doesn't do enough against rapists and looters. She chooses fire and blood over the Meereenese peace, which is seen as a negative. She colonizes Slaver's Bay. She is like the US in Afghanistan or Iraq––invading for selfish reasons and then leaving, causing a rightwing insurgency to grow. She commits war crimes by torturing the wineseller's daughters and crucifying 163 Great Masters of Meereen, leaders of the city.

Yet the irony of this is captured in how people criticize her presence in Meereen: she is accused of ruining the city as an imperialist and is then criticized for wanting to sail away to conquer Westeros. So essentially, she has no place in Meereen, but she is also a bad person for wanting to leave it for Westeros.

As a Targaryen, and a Valyrian in general, her presence is seen as oppressive to both Westeros and Essos. Westeros because of the Targaryen conquest, Essos because of the legacy of the Valyrian Freehold. She's criticized for being "allies" with Illyrio Mopatis, a slaveowner, and people theorize that Braavos will hate her for being a Valyrian with dragons. Yet she is also criticized for not resettling in the house with the red door (presumably in Braavos, no?) and instead wanting to conquer Westeros. She is "too stupid" to appreciate how "beautiful and advanced" Essos is, and too focused on idealizing Westeros, but she is also too Westerosi/white/foreign to Essos.

In other words, for ASOIAF fans, Dany does not deserve to belong to any culture. Seeking a place in Westeros means that she is entitled, selfish, privileged, and oppressive. Being a Dothraki Khaleesi means that she simultaneously romanticizes slavery and is trying to civilize brown people. Conquering Slaver's Bay is an act of imperialism from a Western tyrant seeking resources, but leaving Slaver's Bay is an act of imperialism from a Western tyrant fleeing a war they started. Staying in Qarth means that she romanticizes slavery, but not fitting in there and idealizing Westeros means she is like an American tourist in the Global South, who cannot appreciate the real value of where she is in favor of a backwater Global North (Westeros). Being Valyrian means she is inherently responsible for slavery, and thus does not belong in Braavos or Westeros, but if she lives in Qarth, the Free Cities, or conquers Slaver's Bay to abolish slavery, she is trying to make Old Valyria rise again. She ruined Meereen and will burn Volantis, but she will also burn King's Landing and maybe even Sunspear.

If I ask ASOIAF fans what culture she belongs to, or which continent she should be part of, doubtless I will get multiple answers. But those answers will end up contradicting themselves. The reality is that these are not scattered rejections––the people rejecting Dany's place in each culture will, at different times, reject all the places Dany occupies in said cultures. Someone who on one day says Dany is a backwater white person who can't appreciate the beauty of Qarth will on the next day claim that she is reviving the violence of the Targaryen dynasty upon Dorne and the North by planning to invade Westeros. Someone who will wax lyrical about how she is a white woman whose arc is built on the suffering of women of color, and thus that she is a Nazi, or white supremacist, will on another day call her a rape enabling slave profiteer for being Drogo's wife and a Khaleesi.

Perhaps this is the natural conclusion of a character who is intentionally written as stateless and homeless. A nomad, an exile, a diasporic teenage girl, who longs for various "homes" and has different ideas of "home" in her head. But what does it say about ASOIAF fans that they reject her relationship with every culture? They don't want her in Essos or Westeros. We don't know what's west of Westeros, as we never hear the outcome of Elissa Farman's voyage. Doubtless the same fears people have of Dany living and thriving in Essos or Westeros would apply to any lands west of Westeros too. So where do they want her? There is an answer to this, which only a few ASOIAF fans are honest enough to admit: that Dany should have died in childbirth, or on the journey to Braavos, or on the Dothraki Sea, as Illyrio intended. Sadly, most ASOIAF fans are not brave enough to admit that their rejection of Dany's various cultural "places" is actually just a disguise for their dissatisfaction at her existence in the narrative.

(Whether or not that dissatisfaction is merited, whether or not it is motivated by genuine, "progressive" literary reasons, is another conversation. ASOIAF fans are indeed free to be upset about her presence as a character, or to theorize that she will be a villain because of her cultural statelessness. Right now, though, this post focuses on the question of "what culture could Dany be a part of without being a threat." The answer, for most ASOIAF fans, seems to be that Dany, child of storm, was born a threat to the entire world of ice and fire).

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #my discourse #rape tw

199 notes · View notes

istumpysk · 2 years

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Daenerys I (Chapter 2)

The circus is back in town.

She could hear the dead man coming up the steps.

What an opening line.

+.+.+

"Khaleesi," whispered Irri, "you must not touch the dead man. It is bad luck to touch the dead."

"Unless you killed them yourself." Jhiqui was bigger-boned than Irri, with wide hips and heavy breasts. "That is known."

If that's the case, Arya's screwed.

Jhiqui was bigger-boned than Irri, with wide hips and heavy breasts.

What am I supposed to do with this information, George?

+.+.+

Dothraki were wise where horses were concerned, but could be utter fools about much else. They are only girls, besides. Her handmaids were of an age with her—women grown to look at them, with their black hair, copper skin, and almond-shaped eyes, but girls all the same.

Out of stock: self-awareness.

+.+.+

"What could a eunuch hope to find in a brothel?"

"Even those who lack a man's parts may still have a man's heart, Your Grace," said Grey Worm. "This one has been told that your servant Stalwart Shield sometimes gave coin to the women of the brothels to lie with him and hold him."

The blood of the dragon does not weep.

+.+.+

I am still at war, Dany realized, only now I am fighting shadows.

+.+.+

Daenerys pushed her hair back. "Find these cowards for me. Find them, so that I might teach the Harpy's Sons what it means to wake the dragon."

Hehe.

+.+.+

Selmy was training knights for her, teaching the sons of slaves to fight with lance and longsword in the Westerosi fashion … but what good would lances do against cowards who killed from the shadows?

+.+.+

Viserion sensed her disquiet. The white dragon lay coiled around a pear tree, his head resting on his tail.

[...]

"You should be hunting with your brothers. Have you and Drogon been fighting again?"

Are the dragons not getting along? That's so unlike them!

+.+.+

Her dragons were growing wild of late. Rhaegal had snapped at Irri, and Viserion had set Reznak's tokar ablaze the last time the seneschal had called. I have left them too much to themselves, but where am I to find the time for them?

That might be foreshadowing unpleasant things for Reznak and Irri.

+.+.+

They are all three growing. Soon they will be large enough to bear my weight. Then she would fly as Aegon the Conqueror had flown, up and up, until Meereen was so small that she could blot it out with her thumb.

If only I could skip ahead to Daenerys blotting out Meereen and moving on.

+.+.+

Only then did Dany go back inside the pyramid, where Irri and Jhiqui were waiting to brush the tangles from her hair and garb her as befit the Queen of Meereen, in a Ghiscari tokar.

The garment was a clumsy thing, a long loose shapeless sheet that had to be wound around her hips and under an arm and over a shoulder, its dangling fringes carefully layered and displayed. Wound too loose, it was like to fall off; wound too tight, it would tangle, trip, and bind. Even wound properly, the tokar required its wearer to hold it in place with the left hand. Walking in a tokar demanded small, mincing steps and exquisite balance, lest one tread upon those heavy trailing fringes.

🌺 metaphors 🌺

+.+.+

Dany had wanted to ban the tokar when she took Meereen, but her advisors had convinced her otherwise. "The Mother of Dragons must don the tokar or be forever hated," warned the Green Grace, Galazza Galare. "In the wools of Westeros or a gown of Myrish lace, Your Radiance shall forever remain a stranger amongst us, a grotesque outlander, a barbarian conqueror. Meereen's queen must be a lady of Old Ghis." Brown Ben Plumm, the captain of the Second Sons, had put it more succinctly. "Man wants to be the king o' the rabbits, he best wear a pair o' floppy ears."

Why? Why would you do that?

Many have theorized that Galazza Galare is the Harpy, so we'll keep an eye on that.

+.+.+

Irri fetched her crown, wrought in the shape of the three-headed dragon of her House. Its coils were gold, its wings silver, its three heads ivory, onyx, and jade. Dany's neck and shoulders would be stiff and sore from the weight of it before the day was done. A crown should not sit easy on the head. One of her royal forebears had said that, once. Some Aegon, but which one?

I'm only now noticing those match the colours of her dragons.

Who else was it that struggled with a heavy crown? Oh right, Robb.

+.+.+

Five Aegons had ruled the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. There would have been a sixth, but the Usurper's dogs had murdered her brother's son when he was still a babe at the breast. If he had lived, I might have married him. Aegon would have been closer to my age than Viserys.

Marry him or kill him.

And I believe marriage is no longer an option.

+.+.+

They will kill me too if I allow it. The knives that slew my Stalwart Shield were meant for me.

+.+.+

She had not forgotten the slave children the Great Masters had nailed up along the road from Yunkai. They had numbered one hundred sixty-three, a child every mile, nailed to mileposts with one arm outstretched to point her way. After Meereen had fallen, Dany had nailed up a like number of Great Masters. Swarms of flies had attended their slow dying, and the stench had lingered long in the plaza. Yet some days she feared that she had not gone far enough.

Oh my god.

+.+.+

They had freed their slaves, yes … only to hire them back as servants at wages so meagre that most could scarce afford to eat.

While I'm sure she keeps them well fed, I do want to point out it's not clear whether Daenerys pays the Unsullied.

Visiting brothels after two cities have been plundered is not evidence.

+.+.+

Those too old or young to be of use had been cast into the streets, along with the infirm and the crippled. And still the Great Masters gathered atop their lofty pyramids to complain of how the dragon queen had filled their noble city with hordes of unwashed beggars, thieves, and whores.

The raggle-taggle host of freedmen dwarfed her own, but they were more burden than benefit. Perhaps one in a hundred had a donkey, a camel, or an ox; most carried weapons looted from some slaver's armory, but only one in ten was strong enough to fight, and none was trained. They ate the land bare as they passed, like locusts in sandals. Yet Dany could not bring herself to abandon them as Ser Jorah and her bloodriders urged. I told them they were free. I cannot tell them now they are not free to join me. She gazed at the smoke rising from their cookfires and swallowed a sigh. She might have the best footsoldiers in the world, but she also had the worst. - Daenerys IV, ASOS

+.+.+

To rule Meereen I must win the Meereenese, however much I may despise them.

Gosh, I wonder why this won't work out.

+.+.+

Reznak and Skahaz waited atop the marble steps. "Great queen," declared Reznak mo Reznak, "you are so radiant today I fear to look on you." The seneschal wore a tokar of maroon silk with a golden fringe. A small, damp man, he smelled as if he had bathed in perfume and spoke a bastard form of High Valyrian, much corrupted and flavored with a thick Ghiscari growl.

A little too obvious for my taste.

+.+.+

"How can I punish them when I do not know who they are?" Dany demanded of him. "Tell me that, bold Skahaz."

"You have no lack of enemies, Your Grace. You can see their pyramids from your terrace. Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old slaving families. Pahl. Pahl, most of all. A house of women now. Bitter old women with a taste for blood. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive."

Kind of like Arya, Lady Stoneheart, and the Sand Snakes. That might be Galazza Galare evidence.

Also, poison is a woman's weapon, so let's try to remember House of Pahl when the locusts arrive.

+.+.+

Women do not forget. Women do not forgive."

No, Dany thought, and the Usurper's dogs will learn that, when I return to Westeros.

Tywin and Ned are dead, who is going to learn this lesson exactly?

+.+.+

"Your Grace has not asked for my counsel," said Skahaz Shavepate, "but I say that blood must pay for blood. Take one man from each of the families I have named and kill him. The next time one of yours is slain, take two from each great House and kill them both. There will not be a third murder."

Reznak squealed in distress. "Noooo … gentle queen, such savagery would bring down the ire of the gods. We will find the murderers, I promise you, and when we do they will prove to be baseborn filth, you shall see."

Reznak is either a sensible counselor, or he's trying to protect nobles that oppose Daenerys.

I'll eat a shoe if Reznak is the perfumed seneschal, but I'll try to stay unbiased.

+.+.+

The seneschal was as bald as Skahaz, though in his case the gods were responsible. "Should any hair be so insolent as to appear, my barber stands with razor ready," he had assured her when she raised him up. There were times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak's throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate? Daario? Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or Grey Worm or Missandei?

Cersei, is that you?

Remember, she hasn't been warned by Quaithe yet. At no point in this chapter are we given a reason why Daenerys doesn't like Reznak. He only gives her sound advice.

I'm trying to spot a pattern with the names she listed, but I can't see anything. Love the Missandei appearance though!

+.+.+

Lord Ghael had a mouth of brown and rotten teeth and the pointed yellow face of a weasel. He also had a gift. "Cleon the Great sends these slippers as a token of his love for Daenerys Stormborn, the Mother of Dragons."

Irri slid the slippers onto Dany's feet. They were gilded leather, decorated with green freshwater pearls. Does the butcher king believe a pair of pretty slippers will win my hand? "King Cleon is most generous. You may thank him for his lovely gift." Lovely, but made for a child. Dany had small feet, yet the pointed slippers mashed her toes together.

Aw, the slippers don't fit. Too bad, Drizella.

They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed. - Sansa III, ASOS

There was snow in her hair and her right shoe was missing. It must have fallen. - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

It was not that Dany harbored any love for Yunkai. She was coming to regret leaving the Yellow City untaken after defeating its army in the field. The Wise Masters had returned to slaving as soon as she moved on, and were busy raising levies, hiring sellswords, and making alliances against her.

Shocking developments in Slaver's Bay.

+.+.+

Cleon the self-styled Great was no better, however. The Butcher King had restored slavery to Astapor, the only change being that the former slaves were now the masters and the former masters were now the slaves.

If I had to summarize her arc in one sentence. . .

+.+.+

"I have. Five times. Have you brought new arguments?"

"Old arguments," Hizdahr admitted, "new words. Lovely words, and courteous, more apt to move a queen."

"It is your cause I find wanting, not your courtesies. I have heard your arguments so often I could plead your case myself. Shall I?" Dany leaned forward. "The fighting pits have been a part of Meereen since the city was founded. The combats are profoundly religious in nature, a blood sacrifice to the gods of Ghis. The mortal art of Ghis is not mere butchery but a display of courage, skill, and strength most pleasing to your gods. Victorious fighters are pampered and acclaimed, and the slain are honored and remembered. By reopening the pits I would show the people of Meereen that I respect their ways and customs. The pits are far-famed across the world. They draw trade to Meereen, and fill the city's coffers with coin from the ends of the earth. All men share a taste for blood, a taste the pits help slake. In that way they make Meereen more tranquil. For criminals condemned to die upon the sands, the pits represent a judgment by battle, a last chance for a man to prove his innocence." She leaned back again, with a toss of her head. "There. How have I done?"

I don't know, that all seems pretty logical to me?

+.+.+

He might be handsome, but for that silly hair. Reznak and the Green Grace had been urging Dany to take a Meereenese noble for her husband, to reconcile the city to her rule. Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile.

I'm not presenting a new theory here or anything, but this entire chapter is one Daenerys hypocrisy after another, so just to be safe I'll highlight that, in case Daenerys suggests something like that to a male character in the future.

He might be handsome, but for that silly hair.

You're in love with Daario Naharis.

+.+.+

Grazdan, she had been forewarned, was a cousin of the Green Grace, whose support she had found invaluable. The priestess was a voice for peace, acceptance, and obedience to lawful authority. I can give her cousin a respectful hearing, whatever he desires.

What he desired turned out to be gold. Dany had refused to compensate any of the Great Masters for the value of their slaves, but the Meereenese kept devising other ways to squeeze coin from her. The noble Grazdan had once owned a slave woman who was a very fine weaver, it seemed; the fruits of her loom were greatly valued, not only in Meereen, but in New Ghis and Astapor and Qarth. When this woman had grown old, Grazdan had purchased half a dozen young girls and commanded the crone to instruct them in the secrets of her craft. The old woman was dead now. The young ones, freed, had opened a shop by the harbor wall to sell their weavings. Grazdan zo Galare asked that he be granted a portion of their earnings. "They owe their skill to me," he insisted. "I plucked them from the auction bloc and gave them to the loom."

Dany listened quietly, her face still. When he was done, she said, "What was the name of the old weaver?"

"The slave?" Grazdan shifted his weight, frowning. "She was … Elza, it might have been. Or Ella. It was six years ago she died. I have owned so many slaves, Your Grace."

"Let us say Elza. Here is our ruling. From the girls, you shall have nothing. It was Elza who taught them weaving, not you. From you, the girls shall have a new loom, the finest coin can buy. That is for forgetting the name of the old woman."

I better not catch you forgetting anyone's name in the future.

She just pissed off Galazza Galare's cousin.

+.+.+

A rich woman came, whose husband and sons had died defending the city walls. During the sack she had fled to her brother in fear. When she returned, she found her house had been turned into a brothel. The whores had bedecked themselves in her jewels and clothes. She wanted her house back, and her jewels. "They can keep the clothes," she allowed. Dany granted her the jewels but ruled the house was lost when she abandoned it.

Ahem.

+.+.+

A former slave came, to accuse a certain noble of the Zhak. The man had recently taken to wife a freedwoman who had been the noble's bedwarmer before the city fell. The noble had taken her maidenhood, used her for his pleasure, and gotten her with child. Her new husband wanted the noble gelded for the crime of rape, and he wanted a purse of gold as well, to pay him for raising the noble's bastard as his own. Dany granted him the gold, but not the gelding. "When he lay with her, your wife was his property, to do with as he would. By law, there was no rape." Her decision did not please him, she could see, but if she gelded every man who ever forced a bedslave, she would soon rule a city of eunuchs.

The Ned, Lyanna, and Rhaegar is strong on this one.

+.+.+

A boy came, younger than Dany, slight and scarred, dressed up in a frayed grey tokar trailing silver fringe. His voice broke when he told of how two of his father's household slaves had risen up the night the gate broke. One had slain his father, the other his elder brother. Both had raped his mother before killing her as well. The boy had escaped with no more than the scar upon his face, but one of the murderers was still living in his father's house, and the other had joined the queen's soldiers as one of the Mother's Men. He wanted them both hanged.

I am queen over a city built on dust and death. Dany had no choice but to deny him. She had declared a blanket pardon for all crimes committed during the sack. Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

The Aegon is strong on this one. What a shit show this is.

Nor would she punish slaves for rising up against their masters.

I forget a lot of things, but I won't forget that.

Edit: I should be put in jail for not bringing up Mirri Maz Duur. Thank you, @aegor-bamfsteel and @agentrouka-blog!

+.+.+

When she told him, the boy rushed at her, but his feet tangled in his tokar and he went sprawling headlong on the purple marble. Strong Belwas was on him at once. The huge brown eunuch yanked him up one-handed and shook him like a mastiff with a rat.

+.+.+

"I am only a young girl and know little of the ways of war," she told Lord Ghael

It might … though if we were to reopen the pits, we should take our tenth before expenses. I am only a young girl and know little of such matters, but I dwelt with Xaro Xhoan Daxos long enough to learn that much.

A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel. Even a young girl who knew nothing of the ways of war knew that.

This is irritating the shit out of me.

If you're a young girl who knows little of the ways of war, stop what you're doing.

+.+.+

↓

"It would be my pleasure," said Dany, admiring the glimmer of the gold and the sheen of the green pearls on Cleon's slippers while doing her best to ignore the pinching in her toes.

↓

The slippers the Butcher King had sent her had grown too uncomfortable. Dany kicked them off and sat with one foot tucked beneath her and the other swinging back and forth. It was not a very regal pose, but she was tired of being regal. The crown had given her a headache, and her buttocks had gone to sleep.

Ah shoot, despite her best efforts, she just couldn't see it through.

+.+.+

"It shall be done." Reznak turned to the petitioners. "Her Magnificence the Queen has consented to compensate each of you for the animals you have lost," he told them in the Ghiscari tongue. "Present yourselves to my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid in coin or kind, as you prefer."

The pronouncement was received in sullen silence. You would think they might be happier, Dany thought. They have what they came for. Is there no way to please these people?

Is this really her first chapter?

Where will we be by the end of this book? Lol.

+.+.+

"What is it?" Dany asked. "Do you have some grievance to lay before us, some petition? What would you have of us?"

His tongue flicked nervously over chapped, cracked lips. "I … I brought …"

"Bones?" she said, impatiently. "Burnt bones?"

He lifted the sack, and spilled its contents on the marble.

Bones they were, broken bones and blackened. The longer ones had been cracked open for their marrow.

"It were the black one," the man said, in a Ghiscari growl, "the winged shadow. He come down from the sky and … and …"

No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no.

"Are you deaf, fool?" Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. "Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep."

"Reznak," Ser Barristan said quietly, "hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones."

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

Hazzea. The child's name was Hazzea.

Final thoughts:

I don't know about you guys, but I think it would have made more sense if a council of Meereenese were helping make these decisions.

At the very least can we get her a Maester Luwin?

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #daenerys i

83 notes · View notes

chromiumagellanic06 · 29 days

Text

The Silver Knight: Warrior, Princess, Wife

Daemon Targaryen/Original Fem [Targaryen] Character

Chapter 12: Perfection

MASTERLIST

Summary: A strangely intense and out-of-context wedding night

Word count: 5k

Warnings: NSFW Content, incest, uncle-niece incest, smut, purity culture, creampie, cunnilingus, Daemon is his own warning, etc.

Age.

It is the count of name-days one has lived through. It is the number of grey hairs in one’s locks, the clutches of wrinkles on one’s face, the estimation of how hardened the skin of their hands has become. It is the endless count of how many trials one has survived, how many pains one has suffered, and how many joys one has been denied. It is the sum of a person’s life, boiled down and reduced to a single number.

Age.

It is the time that has passed, the decade, the century, the millennia of power and might one has flourished. It is a modicum of history, a way to divide and a way to tell, when ruled that dictator, and when shone that emperor. It is the time a dynasty has prospered, a place has grown, or remained still, or a mix of both.

Valyria.

It was a place of wealth--great, dark, deep, unimaginable wealth. It was a place of gold, obsidian stone, and entire cities forged by fire. It was the place of dragons, of great, horrendous jaws and sharp teeth, of the ripples of scales and the fleshes of wings, and the crescent moons carved into every dragon’s egg. It was the place of engraved iron and steel, the heaven of rubies and blood, and of fires that never ended. It was a land borne and broken and shrouded in darkness. It was the place of fire and blood.

Valyria was Old.

It was old, in its ancient customs, in its blood sorcery passed down from child to babe since the dawn of time. It was old, in its draped flags and thousand-year-aged dragons, in its steel anklets and collars that wrapped around the necks of the fairest maidens, down the hands of the palest ivory skin, down the braided hairs of the worthiest—anklets, necklaces, crowns of iron and rubies and steel, morphed and twisted, etched and shaped to resemble the scales, eyes, wings and jaws of dragons.

It was a land of fire, of blood, of dragons, and of gold, and steel, and stone, and slaves. It was the land of volcanic flames that towered above the tallest buildings, beneath the skies where winged creatures borne of fire and darkness stretched their domain. It was the land where lava poured beside streets of onyx, where topless towers higher than giants were built every day, where the blood of Old Valyria resided—the noblest, the truest, the dragon lords of Essos.

The age of Valyria had been long, it had been grand, it had been forged with the pains of slaves and the braveries of the dragons. It had been lived in the luxury of the Freehold, in the wines and the delicacies, in the fashions and fabrics that were woven and coloured to resemble the hides of dragons, to resemble the eyes of their beasts, to resemble the fire of their beings.

Valyria was gone.

It had been decades, centuries, since the deeds of their own burned them, and since the Fourteen Flames burned too hot and consumed the legacy of centuries old. It had been decades, since the cursed waters of the Smoking Seas ran dark and bloody near the peninsula that once was, since the echoes of the Doom of Old Valyria had begun haunting any who dared venture too far there. It had been years, and years, and years, since the gods of Old Valyria were forgotten, since the might of the old flames were extinguished, since the Freehold collapsed, and the world descended, and the magic of the world died away.

The Valyrians were gone.

The Valyrians, the proud dragon lords who flew above their slaves and the Ghiscari, who mounted the ugliest of beasts and burned any who dared question them, who had raised a land from ash and stone to blood and fire, had died. The Valyrians, who had borne the blood of their magics, who had morphed the flesh and bone of a thousand beasts, had witnessed the births of babes and monstrosities, had witnessed the age of the dragon, and the age of blood magic, and had revelled and grown in its might, were no more.

The Valyrians, the very same people who had yearned for their purity to remain as clear as water, who had wed brother to sister, to preserve the sorcery in their blood, were no more. We are the blood of the dragon, they had claimed at every turn, as bride and groom circled flames and exchanged blood, swore fealty in soul and body, in their dragons and their kin—they were gone, burned by the very same fire that ran through their veins.

The Targaryens survived.

They sailed, and they conquered, and they lived. They ruled, and they fought, and they rode their dragons. The Targaryens survived, but the ways of Old Valyria did not. The lands of the west demanded changes in their rulers, demanded that the old gods be forgotten and the old ways stopped. The lands of the west broke their culture, crumbled it, and put the flames out. They rid the world of the might, the beauty, the oldness and tradition of Valyria.

If Daemon Targaryen could fulfil a single wish of his, irrevocably, completely and indefinitely, it would be to bring back the heights of Valyria, the statutes of its power, the lights of its divinity, and the age of the dragons. It would be to bring back the world where none could dare challenge the dragon lords, where none would dare fathom the complexity of theirs, where none questioned their traditions, and their ways, and their beliefs.

He would bring back the age of the dragon, the blood of old Valyria, the might, the power, the sorcery, the perfection of it all. He would usher in that age of history, where his desires would not be insulted, where his House’s prestige would not be tarnished, where his blood would reign supreme, once, and for all.

One day, he would witness the return of it all, whether by his hand, or not, but he would see the glory, and he would see mastery over all that is seen and known, he would hold the potency of a million dragons, and he would hold his blood, his wife, his niece, his Naera, closer than ever.

Old Valyria was gone, its beauty, its age—the age of the dragons—were gone. The Valyrians were gone, for all they were worth. House Targaryen remained. The Blood of the Dragon—the Blood of Old Valyria, imbued with fire, tempered in the depths of the fourteen flames, remained. He was the blood of the dragon, and so was she. His ancestry was gone, but his present remained. His dragons remained. His House remained. His Naera remained, and if he had another wish to spare, if he had another choice, another gift from the gods, he would have her feel the same.

He would have Naera Targaryen, the Silver Knight of Westeros, the rider of Wisestone, the Blood of the Dragon, yearn for her homeland as she yearned for her freedom and her travel. He would have her yearn as such for the greatness of her past, for the future grace and power of her blood. He would have her yearn for it all, for yearning for her heritage, meant yearning for him. They were the blood of the dragon, and he wished to the Gods of Old Valyria, for he knew them to be the only ones still true, that she would burn as bright as he did, as he always had, for the prestige of their selves, for the regality of their blood, for the success of their kin.

He would make her see—he would make her see the beauty of Valyria, he would read to her, he would tell her every tale there is to tell, he would take her there itself, the Doom be damned, if his Naera understood at the end of it. He would make her see the power of their blood.

But, tubis daor. Not today.

It did not have to be today. There would be a day for everything, a time for everything. This was not the time for a journey to the east, the winds in their faces, the world beneath them spinning past, faster than they could see. This was the time for her—she, who was the queen of some land he did not know, she, who brought power he could never understand, she, who would sing the songs of old magic one day to him, and she, who was perfection personified—this was the time for her worship.

Daemon’s chest hurt, like a clawing, shuddering pain trapped within his heart that broke out, burning, eating, and growing with every breath. He could hear the whistles of his own breathing, going in, and out, and in, and out, and in, and out, faster, and faster, and faster yet, and his hands twitched, almost entirely out of his control, and they moved and squeezed and trembled, out of place, out of touch, out of turn.

Naera stood before him, still dressed, for whoever would dare touch her for their tradition? They couldn’t fathom her beauty in their little minds, Daemon knew, and they shouldn’t. She would kill them in their thoughts, suffocate them in their dreams, and leech away their souls with her perfection if they saw her as she was.

They did not deserve her.

He did.

Naera blinked, blinked and blinked, silver and ivory closing and opening, shielding and showing the lavender, and violet, and purple of her eyes. Her nose stood still, as did her chest, as did her lips, and her hands, and her feet, and her whole self, as though she held her breath, holding, holding, holding for too long, as though she had forgotten to let it go.

She watched Daemon, his hair that grew far too fast and already clustered below his ears and his eyes that dazed at hers through the distance, at the lines on his face where his brows met his nose, where his lips curled into the shadow of a frown, where his jaw clenched shut, where the browned scar of her cut streaked across his cheek, where his eyes narrowed just a fraction, black and blown with thirst and hunger, just to gaze at her with more clarity. Naera tracked the curves and falls of his garb, the dangles of the thin steel chain which held together his cloak, at the clasp of that very chain which was engraved into a miniature of Caraxes, and she let her eyes wander, to the smooth dark silks of his shirt, to the intricate, old, labyrinthine curves and fills in silver and red along his sleeves, below his neck, and on, and on it went, following a pattern reminding of her ancient rituals and sacrifices, of his mind and just him.

She did not know what she was to do. She did not know what she wanted to do, other than a vague, kindling urge to run her hand down the scar on his cheek, to smile as he hissed in pain, to groan as he pulled away her hand and held it in his own. She felt at a loss, lost in all but corporeality, other than the shapeless desire to wind a finger around the dragon-linked chain, and unlock the clasp, and watch the fabric crumple with elegance to the floor. Elegance. That’s the spirit.

That is what she wanted.

“Daemon,” her voice sounded weak, unused, but it went heard too well. Daemon took a step, and another, and another, until his shaking hands held her waist, over the bejewelled dress she had worn to the feast, and they moved up, and down, and up again, as though to map and learn every curve and dip of her form. He did it with simplicity, with practice, with confidence and elegance, and it made Naera gasp and shudder.

“Naera,” yet his voice sounded just as brilliant as his actions felt, deep, musky, aged and experienced, and lived, and pure. “Naera,” and he spoke her name differently, as though he wasn’t trying to lie, as though it was complete, when she knew that it was not. Her name was wrong—it was hollow and broken, incomplete, and yet, he bespoke it with an elegance that prevailed over its flaws. He made it sound finished.

“Daemon,” she let her eyes flutter close at the feeling of his hands, large, warm and wonderful, tracing higher and higher to hold her clothed chest, to feel her rounded breasts beneath all those layers, and she sighed out, in relief, in pleasure, in delight, or something else, she did not know.

“Naera,” he repeated her name, but his tone grew sinful, blasphemous, daring and daunting all the same in a way that crept up and down her neck, her mind, and down to where she felt hot and wet and awake. He said it again, slow, decadent and rich, like one’d name a dish of the finest meats, like one’d term a wine most sweet and pleasurable, like one'd confess one’s darkest desires onto a paramour. Filthy, and lovely.

“I…” and Naera broke the trance, broke their symphony of names and his touches, and her eyes blinked open. She found him staring at her still, at her eyes, at the fine lines of obsidian which streaked her pupils, at the depth and endless darkness of her irises, and she could only shudder, she could only gasp, and wish a sob, but it was not the time. There would be a time for tears—there would be a time to console over how deep and endless his desire ran, how strangely he made her feel. There would be a time for it, but tubis daor—not today, not when she felt as if a dragon had breathed fire unto her soul and set her mind ablaze.

“Let me,” Daemon told her, without ever really asking, as she’d refuse now was a thought beyond his conception, and she agreed. She couldn’t stop now. She wouldn’t stop now.

With a look she would only call hunger, and a stature sinking with crave, he brushed his lips to hers, slow, gentle, breaking and returning, and almost sweet, and certainly gentle, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t hold the fire within. He pulled his hands up, to hold her burning cheeks, to coax open her mouth and to drink in her taste of sour wine and cherries, and to let their tongues dance.

Lust.

Her chest rose, and fell, rose, and fell again, faster, and faster, until she panted, gasping, breathless, and he pulled away, watched the glow of magenta in her blown pupils glimmer and twinkle, and thin further, and further until he saw just a ring of clear lilac again. She blinked away the last of her hesitation, the last of her crazed and held breaths, and she laughed, out of place, out of turn, like a stammer of rain in a desert long known for its barren lands. Unneeded, but delightful, and destructive.

Daemon growled, and he trailed kisses down her lips, down her chin, to the dip of her throat, and to her neck—her smooth, supple neck, and he sucked, and bit and he kissed, and kissed and kissed, and it wasn’t enough—nothing would be enough. She tasted of sweat and sweetness and metal, and she smelled of bitter inks and old parchments and flowers, and he would drain her of every last drop of taste, and he would go thirsty still.

Naera trailed a hand down his chest, past the weaves and threads of his shirt and his dark cloak, past the girth of his muscles, and up, up, until she reached his collar, and the steel chain glistered in the candlelight. She tightened two fingers around it, and tugged at it, strong, shocking, breaking the clasp off its place, and the ruffling of fabric graced her ears, his cloak falling to the ground in curves and folds and twists. She trailed her hands up, to his chest, to his neck, and chased his lips with hers.

When she gasped for breath again, he pulled off her, taking her hand, taking her waist, and walking her back, back, and further down to his beds. He leaned his forehead against hers, noses touching, breaths mingling, and he pressed her down, gentle, kind, precious, against the mattress. Naera laid back, her hands running across the white sheets, the texture just an agitating burn, a different kind of dread settling within her.

He wouldn’t care, she knew—no one cared. It was an age-old tradition, and her dear uncle knew better than to depend on its fragility. Daemon would not care that she’s no maiden, but she felt wrong, and guilty, of a crime never committed. Daemon saw her fear, saw her hesitation drain back into her eyes, saw her grow stiffer and colder, and he felt agony.

“No.” He refused, taking her hands off the sheets, taking her fear in his heart, and he leaned down, close to her, warm breaths fanning across his face, and he told her, again, “Ñuhon iksā,” you are mine, but with somehow no malice, no enslavement, no cruelty in his words, only pride, only lust, only sin of a wonderful kind, “I do not care about your past,” for one day, he shall know it all, and then repeat his words again, and repeat every action of his, again, and again, and again, until she forgot those crimes, forgot those others.

Naera sighed into his mouth, his lips moulding against hers, dry, then wet, then hungry, and then famished. She hummed something fazed, something not meant to be understood, but only taken at the face value as agreement. He ran his fingers down the crests and jewels along her dress, down to the lace-ridden hips, and lower, and lower.

Daemon kissed her hands, her fingers, her lips, and dragged himself down to the marble floors of his chambers. He hooked his hands under her knees, under her white and grey skirts, and he fell back, to the floors, on his knees. He dragged her to the edge, and he felt the laces and satins hum beneath his touch. He peeled a layer off, letting it fall in bunch at her waist, and another, and another, until he finally saw his reward. His bride, and her long legs, smooth, though scarred in some places, but delicate, and soft in the right places, and his. He dragged down whatever small clothes she wore, ignored her shudders, and drank in her anticipation which only intoxicated him further. Delightful.

Daemon pulled apart her thighs, parting her legs, and settled them on his shoulders. He dragged his calloused hands down her legs, leaning down to delight in her smell—iron, flowers, and just everything nice, and he couldn’t help his smile, his smirk, and the joy that befell him. His trousers felt tight, tighter, and too much, but he relented.

“Gevives,” he only said. Beauty. Naera shuddered again, chest rising up, and falling down, painfully tight, scaringly tight within her corset. Daemon dived forth, his smirk never besmirched, and he tasted her.

Naera mewled with careless abandon, moaned out praises, desperate, and her hands directed his hair, knowing, tugging, gripping, sighing at its spider silk texture, and she broke into another moan, and another, as he closed his lips over her clit, and he sucked with a force unneeded. Daemon let his tongue trail up, down, and then into her cunt, tasting her sweet, flowery, metallic self, that was warm, hot, hotter than a flame, and so much more delicious, that he could only drink her in, lick after lick, moan after moan.

Her legs tried flaying free, but he held them tighter, as Daemon squeezed a finger through her velvet folds, through her tight, dripping cunt, and he heard Naera go louder, faster, moving her hips to aid in his movements, and she screamed as unlike as could be, to a whore, or another woman, for she moaned with a deeper ruse to her voice, a different kind of frayed innocence, an unknown shade of lust, that was all held and loved and done in a single word. Perfection.

He felt her tighten, felt her hands tighten in his hair, heard her moans grow higher and higher in pitch, and as does a scale about to crescendo, she would too. He sped himself up, pushing in another finger to brush against her tender walls, while his lips returned to her clutch of nerves, and he counted the thrusts of his fingers, the swipes of his tongue, one, two, three, and oh, she broke her legs free, and pulled his face into her legs, and there, a rush of wetness, a cacophony of whines and moans, and pleads and praises, and a word repeated through it all.

Daemon.

“That’s it,” he shushed, and hummed, and the reverberations of his voice sent tingles through her cunt, through her weakening legs, through her mind. Her feet fell slack, and Daemon crawled back up the mattress, slow, silent, like a preying cat, or a hungry beast. Like a dragon, Naera supposed, as her eyes felt tired and heavy, but her breathing, and her gasping kept her awake.

“Daemon,” she praised another time, pleaded, chanted, and he kissed her lips, making her taste himself. Daemon pulled her up by the shoulders, made her sit despite the heaviness in her shoulders, rocking back, and forth, and back, and forth, gently, in a rhythm she let him form, foreheads touching. A smile lingered on his lips, a devilish sort of smile which faded very quickly into a smirk, and she laughed through her nose at it.

“Naera,” he called her name again, kindly, gently, and again, but softer, darker. She faced his eyes again, saw the urges and the desires, and he lifted her up onto his lap. She felt the flurry of fabric around her legs, and she moaned at the drag of his trousers against her bare cunt as he continued rocking, slow, gentle, calculated, counted.

Daemon threw his face into her chest, into the jewels embedded with the silks, breathing the smell of wine and metal that seemed different every second breath. Not enough, and he reached a hand behind, tugging at the bindings for her gown, skilfully, nimbly, until the fabric loosened, and he dragged it down to her waist. Naera pulled away her arms, freeing herself from the sleeves.

Daemon wrapped a finger around the locks of her silver hair that fell upon her face, twirled the bunch and cast it away, smirking, smiling, yearning, but with a calmness that ran short with every inch of skin she revealed. Naera reached behind herself, no thoughts, no hesitation, and pulled at the cinch of her corset, loosening it enough.

Daemon sighed halfway, and his face trailed lines, his nose brushed past the curves and skin and flesh of her neck, and every breath of his sent her moaning, every shift in his stature making her gasp in sync. He unhooked the front of her corset, one at a time, torturously slow, two, three, four, and his resolve had all but collapsed, as he rocked her hips against his, dragged her wet cunt across his legs, and she moaned, light, breathy, at the edge of pleasure. Perfect. Five, and he snatched the corset with haste, and tossed it somewhere away. The clink of glass and shatter of bottles made it clear that she would not be very appeased to wear it again.

“Gevie,” Beautiful, and her breasts were rounded and full, and her skin was smooth and soft, and her waist dipped like a thundering tide, and rose again, with sharp angles, near the hips. He felt his cock push painfully against his pants, but he ignored it. There would be a time for everything. He took a mouthful of her flesh, of her delightful skin, of her gorgeous breasts, and he wound his tongue around her in circles, holding her back still as Naera moved her cunt against the fabric of his trousers, now drenched, and she moaned at his every touch, whined at every flick of her nipples and sighed at every squeeze of her skin.

She dragged herself across him once, twice, and again, but her time was up, and she clutched his garb in desperation, her face dropping to his shoulders, and he held her, rocked her, moved her, until she came back to sense.

Daemon felt her wet slick course through the fabric of his trousers, his legs damp where she sat atop them, and he felt his skin sweat, and heat, and ache.

“Kepus,” she addressed for the first time that evening, winded, puffing, wheezing in turn, and felt his resistance crumble.

Daemon groaned, in a way Naera could only register as starved, and he caught her lips again, harsher, stronger, dissident and strident, and he took her down, leaned on her, breathed on her as would a lion to his deer—as would a dragon to his sheep—as would a predator to its prey, and it burned her, it boiled her, it made her wish to tear into a thousand pieces, all at once.

“Nuha gevie abrazyrys,” my beautiful bride, and he was tearing away his breeches, throwing off his shirt, pulling the remainder of her dress off her waist, and down, down, down her legs and off to clutter somewhere else. Daemon ran his hand down his cock, finally out and free, wet with the slick his fingers had dealt with, and he watched, and gazed, and gazed, at her molten gold and silver locks that lay spread beneath her head, at the red bruises littered across her rounded breasts, and her cunt—beautiful, tiny and ready for him. His Valyrian bride.

Naera felt him raise her legs, and she did him the courtesy of wrapping them around him, and he smirked, and he burned, and he was hers, until the end of their days—he was hers.

He held his cock, and brushed the tip against her wet cunt, waiting, watching, tarrying, but no more, and he pushed in, inch, after inch, in, and in, and gods, he groaned at the warmth, at the thundering, boiling, brewing heat, at the tightness, at the way she squeezed him without trying.

“How are you this fucking tight?” Daemon groaned out, head leaning down, breathing her scent, her sultry aromas, and he feared his ability to last. Naera held her eyes shut, letting out sounds less than dignified as his cock stretched her beyond words, and made her ache, and hurt, and moan, and sigh.

“Shhh…” she spoke, a sprinkle of bravado, a spoonful of bravery, and far too much exhaustion mingled with her heat and her desire, “Dīnagon, kepus,” Move, uncle, and he bore deeper into her at her words, leaning down, eye to eye, darkened eyes blown with mischief, with taunt, with rebellion, and her smirk nearly matched his own.

He held her hips tight enough to bruise, and he obeyed. With a shudder, he pulled out half his way, and slammed into her heat, groaning at the way she sucked him in again, and she threw her head back with a scream, and wheezing, voiceless, Naera moaned.

He pulled back again, and thrusted into her, again, and again, and again, and felt her squeeze him tighter, and tighter, and harsher, as though to suck the life out of him, and oh, he loved it. She arched her back, held by her elbows.

Daemon groaned, pitch high for him, and roared out, gritty, brash, abrasive and brilliant, “Look at you, my lovely lady wife,” and he crept a hand down to her cunt, to her clit, and brushed a thumb across it. “Taking your kepa’s cock, oh, you do love it, don’t you, my whorish little bride…” His Valyrian Bride, who moaned at every turn and squeezed his cock too well, with too much vigour, with too much beauty for him to hold back.

Daemon crushed into her with a wheeze, sliding in, and out, and then again, and spitting absolute filth down her ears, “I should have stolen you away to Dragonstone the minute we kissed—oh, but how fiery you were, my little knight, my little bride, with your resistance…” Fun while it lasted, Naera would have jabbed, was she not near failing at her words the very moment. Her mind was blurred, with the pains of his harshness and the pleasure of his making, and gods, he really did know what she wanted.

“I…” Naera broke her words, nothing sounding at all, as her eyes clenched shut, and her core tightened, her release dangling oh, so near, and she knew he’d be devious. She knew that one day, he’d deny her the pleasure for hours on end, but tubis daor—not today, for his own restraint had crumbled with the pleasures he gave her, and his thrusts were growing sloppy, untimed, out of rhythm and out of place, and he knew how close she was, he knew what it would take for her to tumble off the edge for good.

Daemon circled her clit with his finger, and she roared in ecstasy, tightening around him, fluids gushing, pressure rushing, and he collapsed over her, and he said, “There, my good girl—I should fill you with my seed, make you round and full with child,” and Daemon gasped, with a loud groan, and a bruising grip of her body, spilling himself in one, two, three spurts of warm seed.

He could hear the beating of her heart—frantic, uneven, and her mindless gasping, wheezing and the symphony of her body as it curled around her, arms tightening, legs wrapping, and there, with a final breath, it was over.

She was his, and he was hers.

MASTERLIST

#daemon targeryan #original female character #house targaryen #house of the dragon #daemon x oc #daemon smut #daemon targaryen smut #team black #house martell #dance of dragons #melisandre of asshai #melisandre #daemon x y/n #daenerys targeryan #azor ahai #dreams #fanfiction #archive of our own

5 notes · View notes

khalesci · 8 months

Text

Thinking about how Dany dresses for her own comfort rather than trying to put forward any image of extravagance, but how she will also adapt what she wears if she feels it will help her connect with others and to appreciate the culture around her, like how she adopts the Dothraki fashion and then later Ghiscari, etc. She is a true chameleon, but while it does benefit her socially in a way, it's also symptomatic of her own confused identity and not knowing where she belongs :')

#♛ about. ⊱ ❝ 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. ❞#this is why when she does finally start wearing targaryen black+red it is SUCH a big deal #and shows her finally settling into her own identity and being content as herself

2 notes · View notes

vivacissimx · 3 years

Text

Daenerys & discomfort in gifted clothes

[dany month day 5: dresses & costumes]

As a Princess, Khaleesi, and Queen, Daenerys is expected to look the part. In many instances she is gifted clothing that she does not feel comfortable in, gifts that reflect what the gifter expects of her. Daenerys is able to identify the expectations behind these supposed gifts, and the power balance she plays with by either wearing them or not wearing them.

Dany touched it. The cloth was so smooth that it seemed to run through her fingers like water. She could not remember ever wearing anything so soft. It frightened her. She pulled her hand away. "Is it really mine?"

"A gift from the Magister Illyrio," Viserys said, smiling. Her brother was in a high mood tonight. "The color will bring out the violet in your eyes. And you shall have gold as well, and jewels of all sorts. Illyrio has promised. Tonight you must look like a princess."

A princess, Dany thought. She had forgotten what that was like. Perhaps she had never really known. "Why does he give us so much?" she asked. "What does he want from us?"

-AGOT, Daenerys I

Other gifts she was given in plenty by other Dothraki: slippers and jewels and silver rings for her hair, medallion belts and painted vests and soft furs, sandsilks and jars of scent, needles and feathers and tiny bottles of purple glass, and a gown made from the skin of a thousand mice. "A handsome gift, Khaleesi," Magister Illyrio said of the last, after he had told her what it was. "Most lucky." The gifts mounted up around her in great piles, more gifts than she could possibly imagine, more gifts than she could want or use.

-AGOT, Daenerys II

Rhaegal hissed and dug sharp black claws into her bare shoulder as Dany stretched out a hand for the wine. Wincing, she shifted him to her other shoulder, where he could claw her gown instead of her skin. She was garbed after the Qartheen fashion. Xaro had warned her that the Enthroned would never listen to a Dothraki, so she had taken care to go before them in flowing green samite with one breast bared, silvered sandals on her feet, with a belt of black-and-white pearls about her waist. For all the help they offered, I could have gone naked. Perhaps I should have. She drank deep.

-ACOK, Daenerys III

If the Milk Men thought her such a savage, she would dress the part for them. When she went to the stables, she wore faded sandsilk pants and woven grass sandals. Her small breasts moved freely beneath a painted Dothraki vest, and a curved dagger hung from her medallion belt. Jhiqui had braided her hair Dothraki fashion, and fastened a silver bell to the end of the braid.

-ACOK, Daenerys IV

Today she wore a robe of purple samite and a silver sash, and on her head the three-headed dragon crown the Tourmaline Brotherhood had given her in Qarth. Her slippers were silver as well, with heels so high that she was always half afraid she was about to topple over. When she was dressed, Missandei brought her a polished silver glass so she could see how she looked. Dany stared at herself in silence. Is this the face of a conqueror? So far as she could tell, she still looked like a little girl.

-ASOS, Daenerys VI

[...]Irri and Jhiqui were waiting to brush the tangles from her hair and garb her as befit the Queen of Meereen, in a Ghiscari tokar.

-ADWD, Daenerys I

Meereen was not her home, and never would be. It was a city of strange men with strange gods and stranger hair, of slavers wrapped in fringed tokars, where grace was earned through whoring, butchery was art, and dog was a delicacy. Meereen would always be the Harpy's city, and Daenerys could not be a harpy.

-ADWD, Daenerys X

#daenerys targaryen #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #danymonth2021

96 notes · View notes

une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years

Text

"Originally published in 1925, Fire and Blood (Feuer und Blut) is Ernst Jünger's third book, where he further elaborates on his experiences in the First World War." Ernst was a nazi officer. Also there was a slogan for Nazis called 'Soil and Blood' regarding pure breeding. The Ghiscari culture is also built on 'Brick and Blood'. Do you think it's coincidence for grrm to use those quotes in Dany arc? I think you have mentioned about the Ernst Junger book in your post. What do you think?

Yes, I have mentioned all three. From the top of my head, as I have not looked into any of this in years.

Ernst wasn't a nazi officer, but he was a known hero from WWI. Additionally to "Fire and Blood", he also wrote a book named "Storm of Steel", both accounting the brutal and gritty details of trench warfare of WWI. It's written in such a way that glorifies and mistifies violence and war. Hitler had a copy of this book in his library, along with millions of other books, but what made this one special was that certain poignant passages had his annotations. Hitler was obsessed with World War I and he shared the same views on the glorification of war, so it's natural this would interest him.

In this case, "Fire and Blood" refers exactly to violence. Which is of course, the same as the Targaryen motto "Fire and Blood", which means Aegon's Conquest of Westeros through violence and war by using the dragons. We can extend such a motto to every Targaryen that came after that used dragons. Similarly, the same argument can be made for "Storm of Steel" which is incidently close to "Storm of Swords", GRRM's "second part" of the more brutal phase of the War of the Five Kings.

Astapor is said to have the motto "Brick and Blood" and the text directly links to the idea that Astapor was built (bricks) through slaves (blood), meaning that suffering and violence built the city. Then there's a parallel made between "Brick and Blood" and "Fire and Blood" being basically the same just in other words. Just like the Targaryens conquered Westeros (violence) through tyranny, just like the Valyrians built their empire through slaves. There's the same concepts applied over and over again: Valyria, Slaver's Bay, even Westeros under Targaryen rule. These are all founded through violence they put others through.

The "poetry" of (for example) "Storm of Steel" is akin to GRRM using "dancing" to describe a duel. The use of flowery language to describe violence and war in an almost mystical way isn't exclusive to Ernst or GRRM however, as it's a well used literary device. That's why I don't think it's a coincidence. GRRM might not have ever heard of Ernst, but that kind of literary device is used often.

"Soil and Blood" is different, it has nothing to do with war. It notes a certain race of people (blood) being entitled / linked to a certain area (soil). That motto was tied to the concept of "Lebesraum", which predates the nazis and was in broad strokes, an expansionist project. The nazis took it and added being entitled to more land as they believed they were racially superior.

Another nazi slogan was "Blood and Honour" It noted that the aryan "race" should be perserved (honour), therefore no procreating with the "scum". As a sidenote, the "aryan race" is often a misunderstood concept (the "hitler wasn't blond" argument comes from this). The nazis believed the aryan was the masterace but didn't consider themselves aryan, they were descendants of aryan that had been misced with lower races. The objective of their breeding programs (ew) was not to remain pure, but to not soil themselves further and to somehow purify themselves.

So, from "Soil and Blood" and "Blood and Honour" we can clearly see the insistence that "Blood" means blood purity. The first is similar to the Targaryens believing themselves to be entitled to Westeros due to Aegon conquered it (this is even more flagrant with Danerys, who refuses to acknowledge that Bobby B basically did the same). The second is similar to the Targaryens / Valyrians practicing incest to keep the Valyrian blood pure or "repurifying" it (in the case of Jahaerys marrying his kids against his father's wishes).

Incidently, there was a certain nazi flag that was called "Blood Flag", a relic of sorts. It was said this nazi flag was soaked with the blood of associates that died at the beer hall failed coup. Such, there are two ways we can look at "Blood". It's both about blood purity as well as glorifying sacrifice for the cause. The latter is more akin to how "Fire and Blood" "Brick and Blood" is used in ASOIAF.

Much like "Blood and Fire", these are all well used devices. The whole concept of eugenics is synonym with blood purity after all, but blood sacrifice is a ritual where something is killed and used as an offering in hopes for pandering to a cause. So, I don't believe it's a coincidence. Not because GRRM might have heard about any of this, but these concepts are universally used in this fashion.

#submission #anti house targaryen

40 notes · View notes

harlanandrew · 3 years

Text

These are disruptive gang members.

These are disruptive gang members. Ceramic glass has a higher thermal shock rating than tempered glass, at approximately 1400F. He has lived too long, she tried to tell herself. A highborn king of pure Ghiscari blood could reconcile the city to your rule. "Republicans in the Legislature have effectively knee capped Rubio's chances of obtaining the nomination and they have no one to blame but themselves. A small percentage of people infected with Salmonella Paratyphi C carry the bacterium without falling ill, so apparently healthy Spaniards could have infected Mexicans who lacked natural resistance.. In addition to a Christian education, his children learned first hand the basic principle of running a small business: hard work. Ignorant words from an ignorant person. Direct Canadian service has been one of our top priorities for some time now and it is rewarding to see that our hard work has finally paid off, said Greg Kelly, airport executive director. Doherty is not going to pose any problems for batsmen and could hardly get a game. Jan Williams of Whittier lost her son, 27 year old Neal Williams, and her two grandsons Ian, 3, and Devon, 7, when Neal William's wife, Manling Williams, allegedly killed her husband with a sword and smothered the children at their Rowland Heights apartment in August of 2007. He did not have to like it, though. “He hoped I would not come here, so that he might go to her, and say afterwards that he was in the right, that he told me beforehand I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. That's the key.". Blinded cause I am only a man. I had noticed before that at some moments he seemed, as it were, forgetful, forgot for instance that he was not alone in the room, and would talk to himself, gesticulating with polo raflorenehis hands. There will be a Four man team format at a cost of $65 each. But the old man did not know whether he would have the strength to endure fresh insults. Love always passes, but incompatibility remains for ever. Stannis Baratheon had smashed Mance Rayder’s host and made the King-Beyond-the-Wall his captive … but the wildlings were still out there, the

bocanci grisport 480

Weeper and Tormund Giantsbane and thousands more.. The Short Films and Feature Animation Branch Reviewing Committee viewed all the eligible entries for the preliminary round of voting in screenings held in New York and Los Angeles and their members will now select the five nominees from among the 10 titles on the shortlist. Lots of documentaries use voiceovers and professionals to fill in the gaps, to explain to the audience what going on, or perhaps to outline historical significance of one event or another. On the verge of classical acting studies in London, England, the local son and UVic acting grad demonstrates a powerful grasp of the retros kabátok discipline. Bubnov’s, and two llantas 4x4 online days later we moved, and the captain’s widow with us; and after we’d moved mother was quite ill and in bed for three weeks, and I looked after her. From all we can learn, the only evidence relied on by the prosecution was that white man employed by the Castlemans. Vassilyevskoe was mortgaged over and over again. He has pig eyes, Asha thought. For advancing certain sentiments on these topics, Mr. She said she’d let some kneeler marry her and never slit his throat if only Mance could live. Walk in our shoes; the truth is many of those who say they hate us are only one paycheck away from being homeless. Some struck home. “You must excuse me, Captain-General. He got smacked in the face by an official in mid signal and was penalized 15 yards for "physical interference." That was a debatable call. Builders can swap this fan for a 120 mm radiator, but a 140 mm heat exchanger won't fit. Filip Filippovitch told me to. Not only are most residents of Mexican descent, but the economies on either side of the border share mutual interests. Though camara sony cybershot dsc w810 chaussettes bon marché he’s a scoundrel (to my thinking there’s no man who isn’t) he’s not a scoundrel in his dealings with you. Mr. Now, she enjoys being able to put on the show for others to enjoy.. "Your gun is only is good as your scope," Adams said. pantofi sport tip soseta dama The 740 boasts 6.7" (170 mm) of space for tower style heatsinks, 240 mm or 280 mm radiator mounts on its top and bottom panels, and a 280 mm or 360 mm radiator mount on its front panel. The stub of his nose itched horribly, but his arms were pinned so tightly that he could not reach to scratch it. Other types of movements, such as the swaying of the heroine dress in Tangled, are based on a similar set of algorithms.. "After the health scare he went through, he's able to share with our kids how fortunate they are to be here, let alone compete in the sport they want to compete in. Ser Barristan retreated. He shall see now whether I’m feather-headed. She was the wife of the late Harry M. After laying out the material, the batteria ai polimeri di litio amazon wool is put in water and agitated with soap by either rubbing it or rolling it. Carl, a NE style IPA is maltier and like all NE styles, cloudy. SEMENTARA itu, Rencana Dewan Adat Papua (DAP) untuk mengembalikan Otsus kepada pihak pemerintah lantaran dicap gagal pada 12 Agustus besok, nampaknya telah menimbulkan pro dan kontra. The back of the hall was a solid press of people, and scuffles broke out over precedence. “I have hostages, on Harlaw,” she reminded him. Trip back in fashion time was part of a theme the library kept going for its One Book / One Community discussions through the county libraries. Perhaps Hizdahr was wiser than he knew. "Andrew then wanted me to drink salt water. Linemen_Jacob Burley, Lancaster Fisher Cath., 6 4, 260, sr.; Jacob Spencer, Shadyside, 5 10, 285, sr.; Alec Romesberg, Mathews, 6 1, 245, jr.; Gavin Cupp, Leipsic, 6 6, 280, sr. What's he looking up at?) He is followed by a second person, who follows suit. 27, and he said there has been precedent for a top flight player to be left off the roster because of high school ineligibility. The banker doffed his hat and made a sweeping bow. Suddenly he hit the papuci de casa din pasla steps with his stick, ran and opened his door, and a minute later brought me out some coppers and threw them to me on the stairs.. The General Assembly met. "One of the kids who got a bicycle from us, (Maximo) Wyatt, was hit while he was riding with his father and almost killed. His eyes were grey and greedy, his teeth yellow, his forked beard a tangle of snow and silver. Infinity lay between us. As Sue sees it, something almost magical happens when Gemma dons her dancing shoes and steps out with partner Sheldon Gilbert, with whom she has won several major competitions in Victoria and interstate."It is the most amazing thing," she says. 2. The piranha that has blood plate big mouth, canine teeth as well as horror eyes was taken into calça kickboxing consideration of the design theme of the latest custom paragraph. The list includes buying only shoes with good padding at the balls of the foot and a gradual slope (rather than the 90 degree angle shown in his X ray), so the force is more evenly distributed over the foot.. “Even the smallest scratch can prove mortal, lord Captain, but if you will allow me, I will heal this.

1 note · View note

chillyravenart · 4 years

Note

Hey Yasmin, its me archivalmars2 (Jonathan), anyways to my question. It's been bugging me for a while, I keep wondering though, what did the Valyrians themselves actually look like or rather dress? I know that with their history (Freehold vs Ghis) that its a comparison to Rome vs Carthage. While their knowledge, magic, weapons, and the Doom is similar to Atlantis. (Besides the silver-gold hair and purple eyes.) But I've always imagined them dressing like a cross between Egyptian/Roman attire.

Hey Jonathan! This is a question I ask myself a great deal and honestly we can all draw various comparisons to different historic periods. I too like to consider Valyrian fashion to be an amalgamation of Roman/Egyptian/Grecian but with a little je ne sais quoi of their own. I suspect plenty of dragon glyphs, scale effects and elaborate jewels and embellishments were also part of their attire. If the Valyrian Freehold was the most advanced and prolific civilisation, I can only imagine how exotic and wondrous their clothing would have been. I also imagine them to have practical riding/flying outfits too, light and finely made to optimise aerial travel. I've always loved the elaborate hairstyles on Vikings, and judging by how fancy the Ghiscari styles are, the Valyrians must have had beautiful headresses, tiaras and intricate braiding too. Wigs may have also been a part of their attire, based on nobility and rank like the Romans? And since Valyria lay on a peninsula, with a potentially arid/hot climate, the fabrics would have been very fine and and light too; silks and chiffons etc. I have this image in mind of long elaborate trains/capes behind dresses and gowns to replicate the wings of a dragon. My friend @naomimakesart has made a few concept sketches here and here which you could check out and I'm sure she'll have more coming soon too...👀 I've been hugely inspired too and hope to draw some Valyrian OCs some day! Thank you for your question!

#asks #chillyravenart answers

22 notes · View notes

rainhadaenerys · 4 years

Text

I don’t even know why I keep reading anti Dany metas. I keep expecting that maybe they’ll have some reasonable argument, but they never fail to surprise me in how stupid they are, and how much they distort things. There’s this new meta that’s supposed to be some deep analysis of ADWD, and of how Dany is a bad queen. They keep harping on how Dany is bad because she thinks of “floppy ears” and because she dislikes the Meereenese. And this is such a ridiculous thing to say. This has no bearing in whether Dany is a good ruler or not. A ruler doesn’t have to like all their subjects to be a good ruler. In any government, you will always have people with different ideologies, and you are not obligated to like your political enemies. The people Dany dislikes are the Meereeense slavers. Those are the Meereenese that she hates, not the Meereenese freedmen or poor people. And again, this doesn’t make Dany “a bad ruler”. It doesn’t mean that Dany isn’t supposed to be a queen. The person also says that Dany hates Meereenese culture even when it’s not related to things that are oppressive, but this isn’t true. The culture that Dany hates is the culture of the slaver class, not of her freedmen. And again, whether Dany hates that culture or not doesn’t make her a bad ruler. She can hate the Meereenese slavers while still ruling and ruling well. Oh, and the meta also says that Dany “makes” people shave, but this isn’t true at all. The Shavepate choose to shave their heads on their own will to symbolize their alliance with the new regime, for their own personal reasons:

"My queen," growled Skahaz mo Kandaq, of the shaven head. Ghiscari hair was dense and wiry; it had long been the fashion for the men of the Slaver Cities to tease it into horns and spikes and wings. By shaving, Skahaz had put old Meereen behind him to accept the new, and his kin had done the same after his example. Others followed, though whether from fear, fashion, or ambition, Dany could not say; shavepates, they were called. Skahaz was the Shavepate … and the vilest of traitors to the Sons of the Harpy and their ilk. - Daenerys I ADWD

Daenerys doesn’t “make” people shave, or else everybody in Meereen would hve shaved, which is not the case.

Then they proceed to take many decisions of Dany that were very much reasonable, and try to distort it into something bad. Dany grants a rich woman her clothes and jewels back but not her house. And she does this because there were already freedmen living in the house. First, Dany decreed a pardon for everything that happened during the sack (which is necessary to keep peace in Meereen), so it’s not like she needed to give the woman anything. Dany was still conciliatory in giving the woman back her jewels and clothes. The woman was not homeless: she was living with her brother. But the freedwomen in her house would be homeless if Dany decided to give her house back. Dany’s decision was probably the best and most conciliatory decision she could make, but of course this anti would harp on why it’s horrible for a rich woman to lose her house. Funny how antis never worry about the freedwomen that would be homeless if Dany decided in favor of the rich woman.

Then they talk about Dany not punishing the crimes that happened during the sack, and completely ignore the fact that decreeing a pardon was necessary to keep peace in the city. If Dany had decided to punish the former slaves for rising against their masters, and to punish former slavers for their crimes against the freedmen, she would have war within Meereen, and I’m pretty sure antis would be harping about what a stupid ruler Dany is and how she is incapable of being conciliatory. But here, Dany shows herself to be conciliatory and makes a very reasonable decision that was probably the best decision she could make, and antis go talking about what a bad ruler she is.

Then Dany makes the decision that people will have to go to the temple and swear a sacred oath to get the money for their lost animals (that Drogo ate). Which is a very intelligent decision. Dany is not wrong in saying that some people will lie about Drogon burning their animais and bring burned bones to her that they burned themselves, just to get her money. In fact, Dany keeps receiving claims that Drogon burned their animals even after Drogo left the city and Dany chained her dragons:

Dany did not want to talk about the dragons. Farmers still came to her court with burned bones, complaining of missing sheep, though Drogon had not returned to the city. - Daenerys IV ADWD

So Dany is absolutely correct in saying that some people are deceiving her. Making people swear a sacred oath is smart, especially considering that the Shavepate’s suggestion was much more brutal (to whip everyone), and Dany refused his suggestion. But look at what this anti says about Dany because of this:

The pronouncement was received in sullen silence. You would think they might be happier, Dany thought. They have what they came for. Is there no way to please these people?

This quote says a lot about Daenerys. In her mind, the people should be happy because she’s willing to give them back what they lost, failing to consider how much trouble it would be for them to gather up the bones of their dead animals, bring them to Dany’s pyramid, and wait all day for just the chance to be heard by her. Dany thinks many of them lie about Drogon to try and get money or sheep, and thinks they should just be happy she’s giving them anything at all.

Like, wow. How is it such trouble to bring the bones as proof? Isn’t that what all the shepherds were already doing? And actually, this anti is incorrect, because they would not need to speak directly to Dany, they would just have to swear an oath at the temple. And the idea that Dany thinks “people should just be happy she’s giving them anything at all” is so false. This is definitely not what Dany thinks:

“No, Magnificence.” Reznak bowed. “Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?”

Daenerys shifted on the bench. “No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they’ll eat. Drogon especially ranged far afield and could easily devour a sheep a day. “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.” – Daenerys I ADWD

I mean, what they say about Dany is a freaking lie. Dany is willing to help people, she never thinks “they should be happy I’m giving them anything at all”, what she actually thinks is “some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine”. But hey, antis lying through their teeth about Dany is nothing new. Besides, going back to the decision, how in hell is Dany unreasonable for this? This “meta” was supposed to prove that Dany is a bad ruler, but I think these decisions (the pardon, being conciliatory and not leaving freedwomen homeless, and asking people to swear an oath to avoid people cheating her) all prove that Dany is actually a very good ruler.

The anti also talks about how Dany is hypocritical for chastising a man for forgetting the name of his slave, but for also forgetting Hazzea’s name. But this is such a false equivalence. The man forgot the name of a woman who worked for him for years, showing that he never cared to even learn the name of his slaves. Dany remembered Hazzea’s name even though she only heard it once, and she never knew the girl, and only forgot Hazzea’s name when she was sick and hallucinating in the Dothraki sea. How the hell are these two things comparable? And Dany just told the man to buy a new loom for the woman, it’s not like she was whipping him through the streets, but the way antis talk, a slave being compensated for her years of service with a loom is the most heinous thing. Like, wow, Dany is so evil and such a bad ruler for this, right? *sarcasm*

Oh, they also say Dany is a bad and immature ruler because she throws fruits at Xaro. Even though Xaro is already someone she knows, and Dany doesn’t do this with anyone else. Apparently, things like this (or hanging her feet and not sitting in a queenly position) make Dany a “bad ruler”, despite the fact that this has little bearing in whether Dany is a good ruler or not (I mean, I think ending slavery and feeding her people are more important things than sitting correctly, but hey, since when Dany antis are reasonable or logical?), and in fact, Dany is usually very courteous:

In the afternoon a sculptor came, proposing to replace the head of the great bronze harpy in the Plaza of Purification with one cast in Dany’s image. She denied him with as much courtesy as she could muster. A pike of unprecedented size had been caught in the Skahazadhan, and the fisherman wished to give it to the queen. She admired the fish extravagantly, rewarded the fisherman with a purse of silver, and sent the pike to her kitchens. A coppersmith had fashioned her a suit of burnished rings to wear to war. She accepted it with fulsome thanks; it was lovely to behold, and all that burnished copper would flash prettily in the sun, though if actual battle threatened, she would sooner be clad in steel. Even a young girl who knew nothing of the ways of war knew that. – Daenerys I ADWD

They also talk about how Dany is bad for rejecting the peace, completely ignoring all the bad things that peace would bring, and how it benefited the slavers and was bad for the slaves. Oh, and apparently Dany is bad for wanting to forbid the fighting pits, saying that Dany should make regulations to stop people from being forced into the pits as if that was possible, even though the text shows us that it’s very difficult to avoid the fact that some people will indeed be forced and it’s difficult to regulate that, and that poor people would end up in this place.

They also talk about Dany’s mistake in leaving Astapor in Yunkai, ignoring the fact that this is wrong, Dany’s mistake wasn’t simply that she left, but that she left Astapor with no army, and that she left the masters in power in Yunkai. And none of these things make Dany a bad ruler in Meereen. These were mistakes that Dany did in ASOS, not in ADWD, because Dany was very inexperient and didn’t have good advisors. But Dany learns from these mistakes. Saying Dany is a bad ruler because of this makes no sense, because this happened in the past, and Dany has learned and will no longer make the same mistakes (and in fact, she doesn’t do the same mistake in ADWD, she doesn’t leave Meereen unprotected). But Dany antis expect Dany to be a good ruler from the very beginning even though she never had any experience before. They expect her to have never made any mistakes.

Finally, they talk about the wineseller’s daughter, and say that “It is one thing to torture someone you only suspect of being involved in a crime, but it is even worse to torture girls just to get at their father“, which is not what happened at all. First, we don’t know if they were girls, the text never says this. Second, the wineseller’s daughters were suspects. They were arrested with their father and were the only ones in the shop whe the poisoning happened. Dany is not “torturing people that she knows are innocent”. Like, I don’t like Dany allowing torture either, but I hate how Dany antis always distort what actually happened (usually by saying that the wineseller’s daughters were just little children that Dany knew were innocent”, which is not true), and I also hate how Dany antis use double standards and completely forget that torture is normal in this world, and even Jon Snow practices it (he does it for other reasons, but he does it). And this antis also conveniently ignores that once Dany realizes the Shavepate is forcing people to confess, she actually forbids torture (she is the only character to forbid torture).

Anyway, sorry that this post is such a mess, guys, I know it’s very badly written and disorganized. I wrote in a hurry, and mostly because this meta I just read annoyed me. But I think the post really shows how Dany antis will really do anything to distort things, and turn even the things Dany does right into bad things. The only “bad thing” here is the torture, but this is also a double standard against Dany. Anyway, is Dany a good ruler? Yes, she is.

#fandom wank #daenerys targaryen #daenerys defense squad

74 notes · View notes

adreamofspring-archive · 5 years

Text

By midday Daenerys was feeling the weight of the crown upon her head, and the hardness of the bench beneath her. With so many still waiting on her pleasure, she did not stop to eat. Instead she dispatched Jhiqui to the kitchens for a platter of flatbread, olives, figs, and cheese. She nibbled whilst she listened, and sipped from a cup of watered wine. The figs were fine, the olives even finer, but the wine left a tart metallic aftertaste in her mouth. The small pale yellow grapes native to these regions produced a notably inferior vintage. We shall have no trade in wine. Besides, the Great Masters had burned the best arbors along with the olive trees.

“Courage, Your Grace?”

“Cheeks like iron,” she teased. “All I do is sit.”

“Your Grace takes too much on herself. You should allow your councillors to shoulder more of your burdens.”

“I have too many councillors and too few cushions.” Dany turned to Reznak. “How many more?”

“Three-and-twenty, if it please Your Magnificence. With as many claims.” The seneschal consulted some papers. “One calf and three goats. The rest will be sheep or lambs, no doubt.”

“Three-and-twenty.” Dany sighed. “My dragons have developed a prodigious taste for mutton since we began to pay the shepherds for their kills. Have these claims been proven?”

“Some men have brought burnt bones.”

“Men make fires. Men cook mutton. Burnt bones prove nothing. Brown Ben says there are red wolves in the hills outside the city, and jackals and wild dogs. Must we pay good silver for every lamb that goes astray between Yunkai and the Skahazadhan?”

“No, Magnificence.” Reznak bowed. “Shall I send these rascals away, or will you want them scourged?” Daenerys shifted on the bench.

“No man should ever fear to come to me.” Some claims were false, she did not doubt, but more were genuine. Her dragons had grown too large to be content with rats and cats and dogs. The more they eat, the larger they will grow, Ser Barristan had warned her, and the larger they grow, the more they’ll eat. Drogon especially ranged far afield and could easily devour a sheep a day. “Pay them for the value of their animals,” she told Reznak, “but henceforth claimants must present themselves at the Temple of the Graces and swear a holy oath before the gods of Ghis.”

“It shall be done.” Reznak turned to the petitioners. “Her Magnificence the Queen has consented to compensate each of you for the animals you have lost,” he told them in the Ghiscari tongue. “Present yourselves to my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid in coin or kind, as you prefer.”

The pronouncement was received in sullen silence. You would think they might be happier, Dany thought. They have what they came for. Is there no way to please these people?

One man lingered behind as the rest were filing out—a squat man with a windburnt face, shabbily dressed. His hair was a cap of coarse red-black wire cropped about his ears, and in one hand he held a sad cloth sack. He stood with his head down, gazing at the marble floor as if he had quite forgotten where he was. And what does this one want? Dany wondered.

“All kneel for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Khaleesi of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons,” cried Missandei in her high, sweet voice.

As Dany stood, her tokar began to slip. She caught it and tugged it back in place. “You with the sack,” she called, “did you wish to speak with us? You may approach.” When he raised his head, his eyes were red and raw as open sores. Dany glimpsed Ser Barristan sliding closer, a white shadow at her side. The man approached in a stumbling shuffle, one step and then another, clutching his sack. Is he drunk, or ill? she wondered. There was dirt beneath his cracked yellow fingernails.

“What is it?” Dany asked. “Do you have some grievance to lay before us, some petition? What would you have of us?” His tongue flicked nervously over chapped, cracked lips.

“I … I brought …”

“Bones?” she said, impatiently. “Burnt bones?” He lifted the sack, and spilled its contents on the marble.

Bones they were, broken bones and blackened. The longer ones had been cracked open for their marrow.

“It were the black one,” the man said, in a Ghiscari growl, “the winged shadow. He come down from the sky and … and …”

No. Dany shivered. No, no, oh no.

“Are you deaf, fool?” Reznak mo Reznak demanded of the man. “Did you not hear my pronouncement? See my factors on the morrow, and you shall be paid for your sheep.”

“Reznak,” Ser Barristan said quietly, “hold your tongue and open your eyes. Those are no sheep bones.”

No, Dany thought, those are the bones of a child.

#daenerys targaryen #a dance with dragons #book!dany #she's GOOD #leah rambles #long post #asoiaf #bolded the parts i think are important #dany being funny #putting her people before herself #childish #a young girl #a queen #being horrified that drogon burned a child #ugh #what did d&d do to her :(

111 notes · View notes

atena75 · 4 years

Photo

The Tokar

A tokar is a long, loose shapeless sheet that is worn in Ghiscari cities by the wealth. It must be wound around hips and under an arm and over a shoulder to keep it on. It is wrapped this way to carefully display the dangling fringes which are usually adorned with some decoration to signify the wearer's status.

Source : Nikasha - Amazon India fashion week autumn / winter 2016

#tokar #ghiscari #slaver bay #meereen #yunkai #astapor #ASoIaF

1 note · View note

chalabrun · 5 years

Text

Jaenara Belaerys -- ;

I. ( Basic Information. )

Full Name: Jaenara Belaerys

Nickname(s): Jae, Nara, Jaena

Title(s): Lady Jaenara, Dragonlord Belaerys

Aliases: TBA

Age: 30’s

Date of Birth: TBA

Species: Human

Ethnicity: Valyrian, Ghiscari & Sarnori

Nationality: Valyrian

Gender: Cisfemale

Pronouns: She/her

Orientation: Demiromantic, demisexual

Political Affiliation: Moderate

Religion: TBA

Language(s) Spoken: High Valyrian, Bastard Valyrian, Common

2. ( Physical. )

Hair Color: Salt and pepper, worn to shoulders

Eye Color: Dark violet

Complexion: Light to medium olive tone

Height: 6′

Weight: 180 lbs

Build: Curvy mesomorph

Tattoos: N/A

Piercings: Ear buds pierced once each

Clothing Style: Due to being highborn, Jaenara often wears fashions typical of wealthy Valyrian women, being flowing garments and expensive and ornate gowns and dresses. However, when she travels, she instead wears tough tunics, sturdy breeches, leather boots, and light armor on her person sparsely ornamented.

3. ( Health. )

Physical Ailments: None

Neurological Conditions: TBA

Allergies: N/A

Addictions: N/A

Drug Use: N/A

Alcohol Use: N/A

4. ( Nobility. )

Coat of Arms: Gold Firewyrm twined around a golden volcano, red backdrop

Words: Forged from flame

Seat: The Isle of Lys, originally Valyria

Lord: Lord Aekar Belaerys of Valyria

Region: Lys the Lovely

Title: Lady or Lord

Overlord: None

Cadet Branch: TBA

Ancestral Weapon: Caliburnus, Valyrian steel swordstaff

Founded: 2-3k years before Doom

5. ( Occupational. )

Occupation: Dragonlord, dragonrider, explorer

Past Occupation(s): Noblewoman, handmaiden for a lady of House Celtigar

Education: Tutored by the finest scholars and warrior monks of the Ghiscari and YiTish people, respectively; Sarnori riders from Saath taught her to incorporate their techniques into her dragonriding whilst Valyrian mystics taught her the way of magic, at which she is fairly adept at.

Specializations: Dragonriding, survivalism, Valyrian magic, martial arts & swordstaff fighting, exploration, archeology

6. ( Abilities. )

Valyrian sorcery: Jaena is proficient in blood magic and elemental magic, specifically fire. She can utilize glass candles and use fire offensively, while blood magic she dominantly uses for healing.

Dragon-riding: Being a dragonlord, Jaena can ride Terrax extremely well—which is what helped her survive in Sothoryos

Dragon husbandry: Tale tells of how the ancestors of House Belaerys were among those mystics who bred dragons from firewyrms by both breeding them with wyverns and firewyrms; by the present time, Jaena herself is known for being a breeder of both dragons and captive wyverns.

Combat: While not the deadliest of warriors, Jaena is an excellent fighter with her swordstaff and is known for being capable in mounted combat and some forms of YiTish martial arts.

Survivalism & exploration: Being one of the only known Essosi people to have survived the journey to Sothoryos and returned intact, this is where Jaena excels and survive in almost any environment she puts her mind to explore.

Archeology: Relatively self-taught, Jaena’s travels helped opened the doorway for broaching academic study of the continent, something never before considered.

8. ( Relationships. )

Father: Aekar Belaerys of Valyria

Mother: Hylina Amai of Sarnor

Sibling(s): Valenor & Saegelle Belaerys, half-siblings

Spouse: Shaegon Saan of Lys

Children: Aurion Belaerys, first Emperor of Valyria

Pet(s): Terrax, only presently known dragon & Firewyrm crossbreed

9. ( Personality and Astrological. )

Temperament: Sanguine

Moral Alignment: Neutral Good

Primary Vice: Sloth

Primary Virtue: Diligence

Element: Water

#my oc #ishhh

9 notes · View notes

cheasethings · 5 years

Text

how cedar symbology reinforces the theory of Others as evicted weirwood spirits

asoiaf meta

this.. essay? heavily relies on theories and information gathered in the Mythical Astronomy of Ice and Fire by Lucifer means Lightbringer, so props to him and i hope this makes sense if youre unfamiliar with that work.

linking cedars to weirwoods:

"'Who knows more of gods than I? Horse gods and fire gods, gods made of gold with gemstone eyes, gods carved of cedar wood, gods chiseled into mountains, gods of empty air . . .'" -The Iron Captain, AFFC note 'carved'

"He did not like this Isle of Cedars either. The hunting might be good, but the forests were too green and still, full of twisted trees and queer bright flowers like none his men had ever seen before, and there were horrors lurking amongst the broken palaces and shattered statues of drowned Velos, half a league north of the point where the fleet lay at anchor. The last time Victarion had spent a night ashore, his dreams had been dark and disturbing and when he woke his mouth was full of blood. The maester said he had bitten his own tongue in his sleep, but he took it for a sign from the Drowned God, a warning that if he lingered here too long, he would choke on his own blood." -The Iron Suitor, ADWD

note 'too green' and the fact that Victarion has Strange Dreams sleeping here and wakes with weirwood stigmata (a mouth full of blood, like a weirwood)

HIstory of cedars:

"For centuries Meereen and her sister cities Yunkai and Astapor had been the linchpins of the slave trade, the place where Dothraki khals and the corsairs of the Basilisk Isles sold their captives and the rest of the world came to buy. Without slaves, Meereen had little to offer traders. Copper was plentiful in the Ghiscari hills, but the metal was not as valuable as it had been when bronze ruled the world. The cedars that had once grown tall along the coast grew no more, felled by the axes of the Old Empire or consumed by dragonfire when Ghis made war against Valyria. Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds. "It was these calamities that transformed my people into slavers," Galazza Galare had told her, at the Temple of the Graces. And I am the calamity that will change these slavers back into people, Dany had sworn to herself." -Daenerys III, ADWD

"Where were these cedars? Drowned four hundred years ago, it seemed." -THe Iron Suitor, ADWD

"On the day the Doom came to Valyria, it was said, a wall of water three hundred feet high had descended on the island, drowning hundreds of thousands of men, women, and children, leaving none to tell the tale but some fisherfolk who had been at sea and a handful of Velosi spearmen posted in a stout stone tower on the island's highest hill, who had seen the hills and valleys beneath them turn into a raging sea. Fair Velos with its palaces of cedar and pink marble had vanished in a heartbeat. On the north end of the island, the ancient brick walls and stepped pyramids of the slaver port Ghozai had suffered the same fate." -THe Iron Suitor, ADWD

from these quotes we get a story of valyrians destroying cedars (directly or indirectly). In slaver's bay, the desertification resulting from the cedar's destruction creates the economic conditions that forces the three sister cities to start trading in slaves. Most valyrian actions fall into the pattern of the BLoodstone Emperor, that is to say, behavior that starts a Long Night (symbolically).

Linking the Slavers to the Others:

aside from the obvious fact that the Others are slavers, enthralling their victims bodies and minds to wage their war (i believe the wights are conscious, but thats another story) theres a lot of stuff linking meereenese culture specifically to the faith of the seven and other Other symbols, mostly through color symbology. if you're not familiar with the new gods' links to the Others, for now just think about how the rainbow of the seven is contained in White.

meereen is constructed of bricks of every color.

"she and her lord husband passed beneeth the bronzes, to emerge at the top of a great brick bowl ringed by descending tiers of benches, each a different color. Hizdahr zo Loraq led her down, through black, purple, blue, green, white yellow, and orange to the red, where the scarlet bricks took the color of the sands below. ...Across the pit the Graces sat in flowing robes of many colors, clustered around the austere figure of Galazza Galare, who alone amongst them wore the green. The Great Masters of Meereen occupied the red and orange benches. The women were veiled, and the men had brushed and lacquered their hair into horns and hands and spikes. Hizdahr's kin of the ancient line of Loraq seemed to favor tokars of purple and indigo and lilac, whilst those of Pahl were striped in pink and white. ... The black and purple benches, highest and most distant from the sand, were crowded with freedmen and other common folk." -Daenerys IX, ADWD

the graces wear rainbow colors (while their leader alone wears green...) Loraq wear indigo and other purples. indigo is a relatively rare color in asoiaf, most notable in the House of the Undying, who are symbols of the Others. (other things it describes are the strangler crystals, twilit skies, rhaegar's eyes, and the Mallister sigil.) Pahl wear Other colors. contrast to the freed and common people sitting in the black (and purple, so this isnt perfect) benches.

and from the dany III quote above, "I am the calamity that will change these slavers back into people, Dany had sworn to herself." Dany will presumably be one of the heros to fight against the Others, and put them to rest.

what it means:

Together with the history about cedars, the story i get from this is: Valyrians destroy trees and Slavers (Others) are born from the resulting desert (cold dead lands). this to me is strong evidence for the theory that Azor Ahai/the Bloodstone Emperor invaded the Weirwoods through killing Nissa Nissa in blood sacrifice to open them up, forcing out the spirit of the trees, who become Others, and starting the Long Night. the bit about "Once the trees had gone, the soil baked beneath the hot sun and blew away in thick red clouds" reinforces this in my mind. the balance provided by the trees has been destroyed, and thick red clouds appear after the soil gets blasted by the fire of the sun. if the moon meteor theory is right, this is the same thing as the balance provided by the fire moon being destroyed, and meteors that drank the fire of the sun raining down and throwing up huge clouds of debris. another symbol for the fire moon cataclysm, the doom of valyria, sends a tsunami to destroy the isle of cedars. same story. meteors cause tidal waves when they drop in the ocean.

the long night is caused by the destruction of the moon, which is also Azor Ahai trying to obtain greater power by usurping the moon's power, and Nissa Nissa the Amethyst Empress's power. (consider the idea that all valyrian steel swords are made from the fire moon meteors, just as the sword Dawn is made from a pale falling star, which means superior weapons for your army.) In similar fashion, the Others are caused by the invasion of the weirwood net, which is Azor Ahai trying to obtain the gods’ power by usurping the power of the trees.

the Cedar Forest in the Epic of Gilgamesh also seems to echo this story, but im not super knowledgeable about it, so ill only briefly talk about those links. Gilgamesh and Azor Ahai both try to invade a forest to steal the trees for themselves. Gilgamesh must fight and kill Humbaba, the demon guardian of the forest (who wears seven layers of armor), in order to get away with this. Azor Ahai must conquer and force out the Others. After Gilgamesh succeeds, he spurns the goddess Ishtar. Ishtar then begs her father to use the bull of heaven (taurus) to destroy Gilgamesh and his city, threatening to open the gates of hell, letting the dead out to roam the earth and eat the living. Sounds like some Other shit to me. Taurus also holds the Pleiades, which LML has identified as the Faith's seven pointed star and the seven stars given to Hugor of the Hill. the bull of heaven makes craters in the earth with its breath. Bulls are also symbols for the moon in greek myth, so to me this sounds like both came true in asoiaf. the moon wreaks havoc on planetos and Azor Ahai's city Asshai creating lots of craters, and also the gates of hell are opened by the Others. all because Gilgamesh and Azor Ahai were total assholes, though theyre remembered as heros.

Gilgamesh also has dreams before entering the Cedar Forest, one of the bull of heaven and another where "The skies roared with thunder and the earth heaved, Then came darkness and a stillness like death. Lightning smashed the ground and fires blazed out; Death flooded from the skies. When the heat died and the fires went out, The plains had turned to ash.” however both of these are interpreted to mean that gilgamesh will succeed. mhm. succeed in starting the long night by causing a firestorm of space rocks.

as a sidenote, there are only 11 times cedar chests are mentioned in asoiaf. i have a few thoughts about them.

THings in cedar chests:

men's clothes- -ned's light linen undertunic -renly's clothing -boy's clothing for tyrion from illyrio (inlaid with lapis and mother-of-pearl)

women's clothes- -the hound's white kingsguard cloak, blood and smoke stained, hidden under sansa's summer silks -wool and linen clothing for sansa given by littlefinger on the ship from KL -arianne's clothes when she's locked in a tower, she refuses to dress like a 'child' -ramsay's quilted doublet and well worn breeches stolen for jeyne to wear for her escape

misc- -dany's dragon eggs, given by illyrio -yunkish gold, a gift to dany so she wont attack yunkai (bound in bronze and gold) -a dwarf's head, given to cersei (inlaid with ivory in a pattern of vines and flowers, with hinges and clasps of white gold) -the 3 pickled heads of dany's envoys to mantarys

they are decorated in lapis, mother-of-pearl, bronze, gold, ivory, and white gold- all ice symbols ('hands of gold are always cold').

the women's clothes are what im most sure about- theyre all given by men to women, more specifically by solar figures to lunar figures. Sansa gets Sandor's cloak which she then dyes green and wears as she escapes King's landing. Sansa then recieves more clothes from Littlefinger, primo evil Azor Ahai figure. this is all in the context of her journey from fire to ice as it were, from kings landing to the eyrie and from Sansa the fire maiden to Alayne the ice queen, which has been theorized to echo the story of Nissa Nissa entering the weirwoods. Jeyne pool gets clothes stolen from Ramsay. Arianne gets her own clothes, but given by Doran for her imprisonment. To me this all reinforces the idea of Azor Ahai dressing Nissa Nissa in the Weirwoods. another detail is that Arianne chooses to dress in her most revealing clothes, saying "Prince Doran might treat her like a child, but she refused to dress like one." if Nissa Nissa was a child of the forest, or had blood of the cotf, this makes a lot of sense. Azor Ahai treating a lunar figure like a child of the forest means using her greenseer blood to open the weirwoods to himself. Similarly, Tyrion, an Azor Ahai figure, gets a child's clothes from a cedar chest, i.e. Azor Ahai becomes a greenseer.

as for the others, im not as sure. dany's eggs being inside cedar/weirwoods seems to show simply that dragon people like Azor Ahai, or Azor Ahai and Nissa Nissa's children are in the trees or became greenseers, but the would be Tyrion's head and the envoys' heads arent as clear to me. Ned and Renly also are clothed in weirwoods apparently which doesnt seem that symbolically far fetched. Neds a Stark and Renly dies and is reborn, and also has green armor that tells you your future if you peer into it (but only if youre Catelyn).

#ASoIaF #asoiaf spoilers #azor ahai #nissa nissa #cedar #asoiaf meta #the others

2 notes · View notes

genewolf · 3 years

Text

Contractor specials sell for more than houses that are in decent move in condition.

Christ, now, is exalted, crowned, glorified,—all men speak well of him; rich churches rise to him, and costly sacrifice goes up to him.. Loving mother of Barbara Sinnott and her husband John of Oakville and Douglas and his wife Marianne of Waterloo. The thrust shoved them sideways, through a curtain of pale grey moss. Contractor specials sell for more than houses that are in decent move in condition. The last passengers to board often struggle to find space for their bags, but there was still room in the overhead bins by the time Candice neared her seat.. Granted you have talent, remarkable talent perhaps . If you think this current cold snap is bad, wait until it takes hold for an entire winter and happens every year.. Chuck Marshall won the first flight via a card off over Dave Roberts with a total of 28 points. The deal, which is firm, represents, the largest order for the type received from a carrier in the region neve e sale amazonand the first time that UTair has ordered Airbus aircraft. Mance Rayder’s thick grey-brown hair blew about his face as he walked. “Be wary o’ that lot, Jon Snow,” Tormund warned him. (Sermon 1, p. Head right on Madrone and meander through the woods to Earl Moser Trail. "Back when I was getting my master's in accounting at Georgetown, we'd all sit glued to the live annual

izraeli kézműves ékszerek

broadcast of John Kenneth Galbraith's Fiscal New Year's Rockin' Eve. My dear, I’m tired. When the first person in the house relapsed (into drug use), I wanted to take off. SITE: Jim Spooner Field at Pelican Park in Pensacola, FL (May 29 31, 2009) TIME: 6:35 Central Time on Friday, 6:05 Central Time on Saturday and SundayABOUT THE SERIES:The Pelicans took two out of three games from Grand Prairie in their only series so far. Bess Beckmann has polo raflorenelong been known as one of Bobbi Kristina's closest friends and confidantes. The Medical Shoes market is developing at slower pace majorly due to lack of awareness about foot health and high preference for fashionable shoes.Orthopedic Shoes are gaining significant importance as the next major development in Medical Shoes; however, there are certain challenges that will need to be addressed, including complex technology design, law awareness about foot health,

bocanci grisport 480

No insurance coverage on Medical Shoes in many emerging markets, high cost of shoes, delivery methods and identifying the most appropriate patient population to benefit from these type of shoes. Who knows? To me, he seems like the kind of player who gets paid and checks out. I need you. Connect the culture, people, and 'ina through 'oli, GPS, and compass on a short and easy walk. A long white snake slithered into its empty eye socket at his approach. He joins Steve McNair and Vince Young as quarterbacks selected in the first round by the franchise to start for the franchise. That is a major goal of this project: To share the true history of the foundation of our own cultural past. Violet’s father and mother both died, as she says, “‘fore I had any sense,” leaving eleven children—all scattered. Stick to 1 or 2 glasses of red wine a night, trade down to light or low carb beer, intersperse a mineral water or soft drink when you're out.. Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. But we also found, and we were very interested in investigating this part, is the intrusion of pain in activities of the daily living, so how much of a problem it was, and we found a reduction in both the intrusion of pain in activities of the daily living and sleep of about 50%. The Bowling Dwarves mural in the Cambrian Bowl Lounge is on a par with any painting ever daubed, be it Caravaggio, Botticelli, Rembrandt, or even Thomas Kinkade. The hard part he’d left in Dornish hands. The agency warned the county that as a result, its entire dust control plan was in jeopardy.. “The Lysene pirate? Some say he has returned to his old haunts, this is so. Kids on electronics are a level 1 2 annoying (out of a max of 10), I say. Rapid in his transitions from doubt to full

bocanci grisport 480

enthusiastic faith, rejoicing like a child at camara sony cybershot dsc w810 my good fortune, he suddenly rushed to the other extreme and indulged in unbridled hopes and most dazzling dreams of my future. She put up a valiant battle against this disease even as continued to progress. Jorah Mormont had heard the muttering about how dwarf luck had failed them. I have heard of a .177 sheridan, but i have never found proof. As a Kidgits Member you have the unique and wonderful opportunity to have breakfast with the Easter Bunny. "When we first started, we started of with forward rolls, and backward rolls. Janitorial services can assist you with that and specifically within Sacramento there is a plethora of highly competent janitors that can be your best friends in regards to doing work for you and your company. Henry said his trailer home was raised off the ground and not damaged, but he wasn sure if it would remain that way. "On that date Sergeant Caler was instrumental in the recovery of a long range reconnaissance team surrounded deep in hostile territory. But we wish to give still further consideration to one idea which is often put forward by those who defend American slavery. She’s an awfully nice old lady; I feel quite sorry for her. McBarnet says she was first inspired to start writing by the birth of her children. Bowen Marsh stayed long enough to supervise as his stewards pulled the last carts into the tunnel. She did not have a ready answer. Ivy Lomas, 7, talks with Specialist Justin Wilson over the back of a Humvee seat on Saturday morning. Have an aircraft with the economics, the range, the passenger comfort, the commonality with the 777, we have the right pricing on it, it coming at the right time. “What Prince Quentyn did he did for Dorne. While people have long predicted the demise of the shopping mall, the reality of the retail real estate scene is nuanced. The legionaries might be armed and organized in the same manner as Unsullied … but the cazadora vaquera tommy hilfiger eunuchs knew no other life, whereas the Ghiscari were free citizens who served for three-year terms.. “Har!” Tormund laughed. He who is not so vans ginissis an exception, rather than a specimen. My brother, Jaime, thirsts for battle, not for power. So far, the only deal Airbus has announced at Farnborough is the sale of four A321neos to Arkia Israeli Airlines, the second biggest Israeli airline. A good place to start is with bedding. All five use the same P35 Express chipset complemented by Intel's new ICH9R south bridge. India had somehow mis hit their way to 47 in the Powerplay, but once England had the comfort of having five men on the boundary, the edges no longer found gaps. Active Athlete owner, Paul Seernani, says he trying to keep the guys comfortable, handing out water and hot chocolate, but Nike has firm rules

pantofi sport cu scai barbati

about when the 23rd version of the Air Jordan can go on sale.. Twice she could not even find her own room in the cellar and had to sleep on the floor at the base of the steps. Please put yourself in their shoes. Same thing can happen with bicycles. The downtown route takes you through the beautiful town of Sellwood and papuci de casa din pasla along the Portland you can ride across two bridges that are for pedestrians and bikes only! (We provide 4 bikes at request).We are about 6 minutes from Sellwood area featuring antique shops, amazing restaurants, a beautiful waterfront area including the historical "Oaks Amusement Park and Skating Rink" built in the early 1900's! Mt.

0 notes