Aegon (VI) & The Apple Of Discord

Might a request a Jaania for the fandom requests? <3

Jaania for you!

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.

Towering far above the rest, the heart tree's bone-white bark flashed stark against the common green brush that sprawled across Old Harren's grounds, gleaming a cold alabaster as bright as his own cloak. Leaves spilled from slender grasping limbs like a million splayed hands dipped in blood. And upon its trunk, a face.

The visage had been slashed deep. If it was the work of man or god, Arthur could not say. Crimson sap oozed from slanted eyes like ancient tears, frozen dry upon pale drawn cheeks. It watched him with knowing disdain. A weirwood, he thought in awe. The last one standing below the Neck.

It was then that he saw the supplicant. A slight figure knelt before the heart tree, head bowed low in prayer. Slim as a winter sapling, and so still he might have mistaken it for carved stone. Scarcely more than a smudge of shadow upon the hard earth.

At the stir of their footfalls, the figure trembled slightly, then hopped to its feet with the swift grace of a startled doe and whirled.

It was… a girl-child. He’d not misjudged; even whilst standing she was a tiny slip of a thing. A strange thing. Her coltish frame was wrapped in a dove-grey gown, streaked with soil and trailing like morning mist about small bared feet. Dark chestnut hair tumbled loose and tangled past thin shoulders, framing windburnt cheeks flushed rosy with chill. Her eyes were sharp and wild, her teeth bared—and in her hands a tree branch, raised like a sword!

Not a little doe then, thought Arthur.

Then, a break in the clouds. A shaft of dying light broke through the clearing, striking the crown of the heart tree with sudden radiance. The deep scarlet leaves flared and shimmered like bloody embers. And there, half-lost amongst the high fronds, something swayed.

A shield. Upon it, the painted face of a weirwood, grinning wide and red.

Arthur froze.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Snippet from A Crown of False Spring, Chapter 4.

Art by @adelikashere for A Crown of False Spring. The best birthday gift ever.

It was… a girl-child. He’d not misjudged; even whilst standing she was a tiny slip of a thing. A strange thing. Her coltish frame was wrapped in a dove-grey gown, streaked with soil and trailing like mist about small bared feet. Dark chestnut hair tumbled loose and tangled past thin shoulders, framing windburnt cheeks flushed rosy with chill. Her eyes were sharp and wild, her teeth bared—and in her hands a tree branch, raised like a sword! Not a little doe then, thought Arthur. Then, a break in the clouds. A shaft of dying light broke through the clearing, striking the crown of the heart tree with sudden radiance. The deep scarlet leaves flared and shimmered like bloody embers. And there, half-lost amongst the high fronds, something swayed. A shield. Upon it, the painted face of a weirwood, grinning wide and red.

"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

The house with the red door

"More Frills!" I say.

Alina Court Attire Redesign

Artist's Note: I looked at the design I made for Alina's Court Alchemist outfit, and something just didn't seem right to me. It was too simple. Dare I say...too plain So, I decided to add a few more details in small areas and I think it adds so much more to her outfit! I am satisfied!

Down below is the revised outfit concept ⬇️⬇️⬇️

Artist's Note: Not that different. Just the same image with a few more frills on one outfit.

I f***ing miss you Malcom.

listen to Balloonerism. 🎧💿🕊️

— Norm Macdonald, Based on a True Story: A Memoir

Child of Storm - repaint