Art By @adelikashere For A Crown Of False Spring. The Best Birthday Gift Ever.

"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

favorite thing in asoiaf is that the stark family tree is just filled with haters in every generation. theon stark brandon snow alaric stark cregan stark even ned's brother brandon and lyanna too. even the current kids jon snow robb sansa and arya all have some kendrick lamar level of beef w at least one person. brandon the builder spawned an entire genre of haters

The moon's wide awake, with a smile on his face As he smuggles constellations in his suitcase

Yeah this is the one.

Bran!!

some doodles of Rickon and Shaggydog and Bran and Summer... I HC that after his wolf dreams Bran is CONVINCED summer can talk

The Twins 🦁👑💚

Lyanna Stark was made for the North. She was made to race horses with Brandon and cross swords with Benjen and pick blue winter roses from the glass gardens for her lord father. She wasn’t made to wear silken gowns in the chafing southron heat as a prize for stupid Robert Baratheon. She wasn’t made to be a queen.

Tears stung her eyes. That made her angry, so she swiped them away before they could fall. She was five-and-ten and flowered now, a woman grown. Too old to cry. Above her, the ancient gaze of the weirwood seemed to strip her bare, its long bone-white face cold with contempt even as its eyes wept rivulets of blood. Even the gods thought her too old to cry. I should pray, Lyanna thought suddenly. She went to her knees, clasping her hands together beneath her chin.

Help me, you old gods, she prayed silently. Don’t let me marry Robert with his wandering eye and his bastard in the Vale. Dearest Ned says that he loves me, that he is a good man and true, but he is blinded by his own love for his friend. He does not see Robert for what he is. I do not want him. I do not want to be a pawn in my father’s southron ambitions. I do not want to be queen. Please, old gods, let me be free.

Was that enough? Did the old gods hear her? Carefully, Lyanna cracked one eye open and peered up through her lashes. Only the same twisted face of dried red sap glared back at her, unchanged in its hateful ugliness. She chewed her lip uncertainly. If only they could give her a sign. Perhaps I should close my eyes again. She squeezed them shut even more tightly, but all Lyanna could hear was the wind, blowing a soft shivery sigh through the rustling oak trees. And… and something else.

Footsteps. A pair of them, crunching on the dead red leaves. People were coming.

Lyanna’s eyes flew open as panic seized her throat in its terrible cold fist. There was no time to hide. She grabbed for the nearest weapon—an old rotting tree branch—and whirled.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A snippet from A Crown of False Spring on AO3. My take on the Harrenhal Conspiracy, which theorizes that the STAB Alliance was plotting to use Rhaegar's Harrenhal council to depose of the Targaryens and put Robert on the throne.

Lots of Arya references.

“I was tired. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl.”

-

Dany from asoiaf

The Swiftfoot Maid | Chapter 1, a snippet

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

“You’re a good dancer,” she said suddenly, eyes darting away too quickly as he startled and missed a step.

Edric caught her gaze, then swept them back into rhythm. “Thank you, my lady. I spent many years in King’s Landing, where even squires are expected to know their steps.”

“Grace-footed, then,” she acknowledged with a lift of her sharp chin. “But does that make you swift-footed?”

“No, my lady. I have never been the swiftest, nor the strongest.”

A crease came between her dark brows. “Then how is it you expect to defeat me?”

You were right, he scolded himself. You are a fool. But he only smiled lightly. “Fortune, perhaps.”

“I’ll not be shamed by defeat at the hands of fortune,” Arya scoffed. “No, I’ll not be shamed by defeat at all.”

Edric didn’t speak for a moment. He only moved in time with the music, with her. For all her steel and storm, she felt rather slight in his arms. It was almost enough to forget she’d speared a man through the heart that very morning. Up close, he could see the faintest powdering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Soft, like a kiss the sun forgot to take back.

He imagined she liked to spend her days beneath the sun.

“If I may be so bold,” he said at last, pivoting them through a swell of harp strings, “if fortune fails to favor you, how could it shame you to be bested? There are many great men vying for your hand. Sons of the kraken and the flayed man—warriors in their own right.”

“Courteous of you, to call them great,” she muttered. She searched his face, curious and sharp, her stormcloud stare pinning him in place. “And what of you, Lord Dayne? Are you a great man?”

“I…” Edric faltered, searching himself for the answer. The hearthfire roared at his back, swallowing the clangor into its molten breath. The moment nearly slipped—but he caught it. Remembered. Fallen and Reborn. He straightened. “I am Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall. Descendant of the Kings of the Torrentine. Kin to the great Ser Arthur Dayne. Blood of those named Sword of the Morning, wielders of Dawn.”

Just for a heartbeat, he thought he saw a flash of surprise cross her eyes. But it vanished quick as lightning. Then she struck with a smirk.

“Ah, but you are not Dawn’s wielder, are you?”

The gay characters in ASOIAF having the most romantic quotes was an incredible writing decision by GRRM:

“When the sun has set, no candle can replace it.”

— A Storm of Swords, Tyrion II

I rose too high, loved too hard, dared too much. I tried to grasp a star, overreached, and fell.

— A Dance With Dragons, The Griffin Reborn