Battle Of The Whispering Woods- Work In Progress

— David Foster Wallace, E Unibus Pluram: Television and U.S. Fiction

Fiona Apple photographed by David Corio, 1997

Daenerys Targaryen

Commission art for redoorlemontree on x(twt)

Sansa seemed lonely hehe

Arya Stark

The night was black and starless, Gem’s only guide a small oil lantern as she stalked through the empty stone halls of Edelia’s residential wing. Truly, she was growing sick of seeking him out.

Sleep had evaded her, slipping from her grasp like a vengeful lover, cruelly indifferent to her desperate tossing and turning. Her sheets had tangled about her limbs as she chased the elusive salvation of slumber, and coming away empty-handed at the end of each dragging hour had nearly brought her to a scream. Several, in fact.

We shouldn’t have. You leave tomorrow. Your mission—it comes first.

The words swirled in Gem’s mind on an endless, unbearable loop. It was driving her to madness. She had to do something.

And yet, staring upon his door now, a sudden doubt took hold of her. The hour was late, well past midnight. Surely he would be asleep. Not to mention, gods be damned, these were his private quarters. But the thought clung to her like a shadow, impossible to shake. If not now, then when?

She knocked softly.

For the longest moment, there was no sound. Gem leaned forward, straining to hear, almost pressing her ear to the wood. Still nothing. Then, with a sudden jolt, the door swung open, and she toppled face forward into a hard chest. Danyel caught her by the shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be here.” The headmaster’s voice was flat and cold as he released his grip on her. It seemed she was not the only one sleep had forsaken. Gem flushed, righting herself with what scraps remained of her dignity—but still holding her ground. His mouth thinned when he saw she wouldn’t be deterred. “What is it, Gem?”

“We need to talk.”

“When I said we’d discuss it later, I didn’t mean today.” The hollows of his eyes were dark, and his mood darker still—nearly as black as the sky outside.

Gem glared. “When else?”

They locked eyes, tension wound tighter than a drawn bowstring. The steel in Danyel’s gaze was freshly edged tonight, daring her to back down, but Gem stood firm. Neither moved, neither blinked. The air itself seemed to crackle, ready to snap at any second. Then, at last, he exhaled—a heavy swooshing breath of vexation and surrender all at once. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped aside, welcoming her in with a mocking sweep of his arm.

The room was sparsely furnished. All that filled the place was a narrow writing desk, a padded couch, and a deep indigo banner stitched with the Edelia insignia in silver thread. A weak fire smoldered in the runestone hearth, reduced to embers, casting the space in a sullen red glare. This was his solar, Gem realized, adjoined to his bedchamber at the far end, shrouded in shadow. She felt her courage waver. Swallowing, she hung her lantern from an iron hook in the wall. Danyel hovered before the lone window on the other side of the room, his arms crossed stiffly against his chest.

“Well? What is it you want to talk about so badly?”

Gem’s nails dug into the soft flesh of her palms. “Earlier. What you said… or didn’t say—you owe me an explanation.”

“Do I? I thought I made myself clear. This… whatever this is, it can’t continue.”

This had to be a joke, and a cruel one at that. “You didn’t make anything clear. You—” Gem sucked in a sharp breath. “You ran.”

“I did no such thing. I was doing the right thing.”

“Right for who? You, or me? Or is this about your precious duty again?” The word tasted of the foulest condemnation on her tongue.

Danyel scoffed. “It’s not so simple.”

“Then explain it to me.”

His jaw was clenched, his face taut. “Forget it,” he muttered at last, turning away from her.

Gem froze. For a heartbeat, it wasn’t Danyel at all. Colors inverted all around her; ash-brown hair washed to white, and gray eyes gleamed golden. Even the red cast of the room melted into Void-purple. A misty wraith, turning his back and slipping like rain through her fingers. Bile surged at the back of her throat. Then she blinked, and it was only the headmaster again, his face averted. 

“No. No. You can’t do this.” Not again. Not like this. Was she always meant to be left behind? Gem could feel hot tears stinging her eyes. “You—you’re just like Tomix.”

Danyel whirled. “I am nothing like Tomix,” he spat. The dying firelight danced across his face, making him look like a wrathful revenant, risen from the ashes. “This is why nothing can happen. You were his.”

She recoiled, her own fury forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

“You heard me." His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with bitter loathing. "He loved you. Perhaps not in the way most would understand, but he did in his own way. I won’t be the replacement for someone you—someone I—lost.”

Something tightened inside Gem's chest. “Is that what you think this is?”

“You’re chasing ghosts, Gem.”

“That’s not true," she whispered. It wasn't, she told herself. It wasn't. "I know he’s gone. He’s been gone. Maybe... maybe it's true I’ll never be free of him entirely, but I’m not chasing him. This has nothing to do with him.”

Danyel raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t it?” His words were cruel, knowing, wielded like a knife—like he wanted to slice her right open. He had always been good at that. “You’re not thinking about what this means. About what happens after. You never do.”

“I don’t care what happens after!” Gem cried out. “Why can’t I just have something for myself for once? Why does the past matter? Why does the future matter? Is now not enough? Must everything have some secret, veiled meaning behind it? What’s right, what’s wrong, what’s dutiful—I don’t care!" She almost choked on the words, on the sheer force of them. On the selfish, shameful truth of them. "I don't care," she echoed softly, after a pause, "I want this.”

His eyes flickered with something dark. But there was also something else—some thing else, lurking just beneath the liquid gray surface. It writhed like a twisted creature, alive and ravenous, struggling to drag itself from his resolve with its razored claws. Would he let it take him? Danyel remained silent for another moment, staring at her as though measuring her, as if weighing her against some phantom consequence only he could see.

“If you’re so sure,” he murmured, his voice dropping, a challenge on his tongue—it took him—“then come here.”

And so she went to him.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A secret deleted scene from Storm's Breath. The rest is on AO3. Warning for shameless filth ahead. Locked because... yeah.

Said I was done with this story but I couldn't help myself.

Also name change because an online friend said my childhood username sounded like a discord groomer.

"Eons seemed to come and go. The sounds grew louder. She heard more laughter, a shouted command, splashing as they crossed and recrossed the little stream. A horse snorted. A man swore.

And then at last she saw him ... only for an instant, framed between the branches of the trees as she looked down at the valley floor, yet she knew it was him. Even at a distance, Ser Jaime Lannister was unmis-takable. The moonlight had silvered his armor and the gold of his hair, and turned his crimson cloak to black. He was not wearing a helm."-AGOT -Catelyn X

I've finished it 😊It took me eons...The Battle of The Whispering Wood

Swimming x The Divine Feminine, by blockschmidt

— Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

“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.”

a few asoiaf faceclaims

Lyanna Stark, Arthur Dayne, Rhaegar Targaryen

Rhaegar faceclaim stolen from @jacaeryspilled x

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Lyanna had seen them both at the opening feast—wept, even, to the prince’s sad song—but up close they were almost otherworldly. Ser Arthur’s enameled steel armor was the color of milk, chased with gold, and from his shoulders trailed the snowfield cloak of the Kingsguard. The only spot of color on him was a lavender jade clasp inlaid with a white sword crossing over a falling star. Above his back rose the pale hilt of Dawn. The knight was tall, just as tall as the prince, but he was thicker about the chest and broader at the shoulders. His short-cropped hair was black as a raven’s coat, his strong jaw darkened by the shadow of a new beard. A slight crook to his nose was his sole scar; the quiet mark of a man who had bled and risen still.

The Warrior come to life, her mind whispered. Benjen will be green with envy to learn that I have seen the knight he so worships, and from so near.

At his side, the crown prince was almost Ser Arthur’s inverted twin. Where his knight donned white, the prince wore black. He was in the colors of his royal house: a black velvet doublet with a scarlet half cape draped across one shoulder, clasped with a silver three-headed dragon brooch with little rubies for eyes. The Targaryen dragon also adorned his crown, rearing fiercely along the slender gold circlet above his brow. Beneath it spilled a long wave of silver-pale hair. The face it framed was exceedingly handsome: beautiful, almost, with his straight nose and fine cheekbones that told a tale of golden blood. But it was his eyes that spoke the loudest. They were cousins to Ser Arthur's, a solemn pool of indigo just a shade deeper than his knight's spirited violet. And so... melancholy. 

I wonder why he is so sad, thought Lyanna. He is the crown prince, yet he looks as if he has scarcely known a scrap of joy...

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Descriptions from A Crown of False Spring.