The Targaryen Queens (and Also Bloodraven)

Missandei of naath 🦋

The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it.

Daenerys in the Womb of the World

Ashara Dayne in His Mercy Burns

This GORGEOUS art is by the wonderful @amaati. I’ve been holding onto it for a while and am excited to share it!!

Here’s a little snippet of my latest chapter, Daenerys V.

In her dream, she found Madam Lyria, mask shedded and bloodied upon pale stone, Ashara Dayne sobbing with the blood of her womb, in a dress as beautiful as twilight.“Mama!” she called. “Muna!” But the woman ignored her, hands clasped upon her breast, nails slick with a babe’s life as crimson as the sky above the Doom.

Arthur Dayne arrived on the jousting field with the dawn. Above him, the sun's first flush sent pale fingers of light stretching across the eastern sky, turning Harrenhal’s charred towers into shadowy grey wraiths that drifted among the mists. Only birdsong accompanied his steps.

He had always been an early riser, much preferring the sun’s call to some squire’s. Sleep was no generous mistress to the Kingsguard, nor a frequent visitor. Duties, though, they bore in spades. Charged with protecting the king and his kin by day, the White Swords were expected to serve just as diligently by night.

The task had never troubled Arthur. Duty and discipline called to his blood. It did, however, trouble the king. Too Dornish, Aerys oft complained of him, though he just as oft forgot his mislike when faced with Arthur’s fair skin, so unlike the dark sandy Dornishmen of his imagination. Mad kings cannot be expected to be learned men, he supposed. But of late it seemed the king remembered well enough, and his disdain for Arthur’s Rhoynish blood had earned him a night’s reprieve from guarding his door. With the queen and Prince Viserys forbidden from attending, there was no need to stand watch over them either. Prince Lewyn, as usual, guarded Rhaegar and Elia.

A rare respite—lighter duties, and the luxury of greeting the new day unwearied.

Now Arthur mounted his white courser with a quick pat to the mare’s flank. She was a good horse and swift, but he missed the long-necked sand steeds of Dorne. Dawn, too, he missed. The ancient milk-pale greatsword felt more right in his hand than any tourney lance, but such was the duty of a white cloak: protect the king, keep his secrets, obey his commands. Today's command was to entertain.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Snippet from A Crown of False Spring, Chapter 2.

Tourney at Harrenhal art by René Aigner.

The Children open Ned Stark’s eye in His Mercy Burns

Art by the wonderful Nightcrow Art.

For my latest chapter, Eddard IX.

Older Edric & Arya 

He’s asking for a dance and she’s asking to spar 🥰!

Cat of the Canals/Arya in Braavos

Cat had made friends along the wharves; porters and mummers, ropemakers and sailmenders, taverners, brewers and bakers and beggars and whores.

A Basket of Ribbons - Guillaume Charles Brun (1869)

“Duty kept me here, serving Edelia, when I should have been at his side. Blaming you was easier than facing my own guilt. Promise me you will take care of him,” he scoffed. “That was never your responsibility to bear.”

“But it was,” Gem interrupted. Frustration roiled in her chest, swelling like a rising tide. “I loved him too.”

Danyel’s jaw tightened, and he looked away. “Love doesn’t excuse what he put you through. It doesn’t make it right that you had to shoulder a burden that wasn’t yours.”

“And yet, I chose to,” Gem said softly. “It wasn’t your responsibility, and it wasn’t mine. It was my choice. It was his choice, Danyel. It always was.”

“He was my brother. He needed me.”

“And your students needed you, too.”

“My duty—”

“What does it fucking matter!” she burst out suddenly. “What even is duty? Duty to Tomix, duty to family, duty to Edelia, duty to Lore—what do you do when they pull you in different directions? You can’t do it all. I can’t do it all. What if it’s all meaningless?” 

Danyel didn’t reply immediately. He studied her, jaw tight and knuckles white where his hands gripped the wooden ledge of the spiritloom. “You think it’s meaningless?” His voice was low, almost disbelieving. “You, the Hero of Falconreach?”

“I—I don’t know anymore.” Gem's voice cracked, and she looked away. Apprehend Sepulchure. Vanquish Drakath. Help the Rose. Stand by the Vind. Banish Envy. Save Tomix. It was too much. “What has duty ever done for me? And what did it ever do for Tomix? Did it save him? Did it save your family?” She couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice. “All it did was leave you alone, just like it left me.”

He flinched as if struck. “So tell me—should I just abandon it? Pretend it doesn’t matter?”

“No,” she whispered. “I don’t know. I just… I just wish it hadn’t cost us so much.”

And here’s Arya and her little lip chew

Rhaegar with baby Daenerys and Viserys