#book version
“Mykhaleesi is sad?”
“Yes,” Dany admitted. Sad and lost.
“Should I pleasure the khaleesi?”
Dany stepped away from her. “No. Irri, you do not need to do that. What happened that night, when you woke… you’re no bed slave, I freed you, remember? You…”
“I am handmaid to the Mother of Dragons,” the girl said. “It is great honor to please my khaleesi.”
“I don’t want that,” she insisted. “I don’t.” She turned away sharply. “Leave me now. I want to be alone. To think.”
-George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
Human poses by: @the-simsation
Post link
“Not bad at all,” he said when he paused for a second to catch his breath, circling to her right.
“For a wench?”
“For a squire, say. A green one.” He laughed a ragged, breathless laugh. “Come on, come on my sweetling, the music’s still playing. Might I have this dance, my lady?”
-George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
Brienne’s CC by: @kellymarie69
Post link
“Tell the Westerosi whore to lower her eyes,” the slaver Kraznys mo Nakloz complained to the slave girl who spoke for him. “I deal in meat, not metal. The bronze is not for sale. Tell her to look at the soldiers. Even the dim purple eyes of a sunset savage can see how magnificent my creatures are, surely.”
“The good Master Kraznys asks, are they not magnificent?” The girl spoke the Common Tongue well, for one who had never been to Westeros.
“They might be adequate to my needs,” Dany answered. “Tell me of their training.”
“The Westerosi woman is pleased with them, but speaks no praise, to keep the price down,” the translator told her master. “She wishes to know how they were trained.”
“Are all Westerosi pigs so ignorant?” he complained. “All the world knows that the Unsullied are masters of spear and shield and shortsword.” He gave Dany a broad smile. “Tell her what she would know, slave, and be quick about it. The day is hot.”
“They are chosen young, for size and speed and strength,” the slave told her. “They begin their training at five. Every day they train from dawn to dusk, until they have mastered the shortsword, the shield, and the three spears. The training is most rigorous, Your Grace. Only one boy in three survives it. This is well known. Among the Unsullied it is said that on the day they win their spiked cap, the worst is done with, for no duty that will ever fall to them could be as hard as their training.”
Kraznys mo Nakloz supposedly spoke no word of the Common Tongue, but he bobbed his head as he listened, and from time to time gave the slave girl a poke with the end of his lash. “Tell her that these have been standing here for a day and a night, with no food nor water. Tell her that they will stand until they drop if I should command it, and when ninety-nine have collapsed to die upon the bricks, the last will stand there still, and never move until his own death claims him. Such is their courage. Tell her that.”
-George R. R. Martin, A Storm of Swords
Poses by: @ts4got
Post link
“What in the seven hells is it?” Greyjoy was saying.
“A wolf,” Robb told him.
“A freak,” Greyjoy said. “Look at the size of it.”
…Half-burried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death…
“It’s no freak,” Jon said calmly. “That’s a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind.”
Theon Greyjoy said, “There’s not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years.”
“I see one now,” Jon replied.
Bran tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in Robb’s arms. He gave a cry of delight and moved closer. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes still closed… “Go on,” Robb told him. “You can touch him.”
Bran gave the pup a quick nervous stroke, then turned as Jon said, “Here you go.” His half brother put a second pup into his arms. “There are five of them.”
“Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years,” muttered Hullen, the master of horse. “I like it not.”
“It is a sign,” Jory said.
Father frowned. “This is only a dead animal, Jory,” he said… “Do we know what killed her?”
“There’s something in the throat,” Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before his father even asked. “There, just under the jaw.”
His father knelt and groped under the beast’s head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood.
A sudden silence descended over the party… Even Bran could sense their fear, though he did not understand.
His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. “I’m surprised she lived long enough to whelp,” he said…
“Maybe she didn’t,” Jory said. “I’ve heard tales… maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came.”
…“No matter,” said Hullen. “They be dead soon enough too.”
Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay.
“The sooner the better,” Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword.
“Give the beast here, Bran.”
…“No!” Bran cried out fiercely. “It’s mine.”
“Put away your sword, Greyjoy,” Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding as their father, like the lord he would someday be. “We will keep these pups.”
“You cannot do that, boy,” said Harwin, who was Hullen’s son.
“It be a mercy to kill them,” Hullen said.
Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. “Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation.”
“No!” He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry in front of his father.
Robb resisted stubbornly. “Ser Rodrik’s red bitch whelped again last week,” he said. “It was a small litter only two live pups. She’ll have milk enough.”
“She’ll rip them apart when they try to nurse.”
“Lord Stark,” Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. “There are five pups,” he told Father. “Three male, two female.”
“What of it, Jon?”
“You have five trueborn children,” Jon said. “Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord.”
Bran saw his father’s face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.
Their father understood as well. “You want no pup for yourself, Jon?” he asked softly.
“The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark,” Jon pointed out. “I am no Stark, Father.”
Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. “I will nurse him myself, Father,” he promised. “I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that.”
“Me too!” Bran echoed.
The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. “Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants’ time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?”
Bran nodded eagerly…
“You must train them as well,” their father said. “You must train them. The kennelmaster will have nothing to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalize them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man’s arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?”
“Yes, Father,” Bran said.
“Yes,” Robb agreed.
“Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It’s time we were back to Winterfell.”
…Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.
“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.
“Can’t you hear it?”
“There,” Jon said… “He must have crawled away from the others.”
“Or been driven away, their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who died that morning. Bran thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind.
"An albino,” Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. “This one will die even faster than the others.”
Jon Snow gave his father’s ward a long, chilling look. “I think not, Greyjoy,” he said. “This one belongs to me.”
- George R.R. Martin, Bran I, A Game of Thrones
CC by: @kellymarie69,@dravenxivuk,@valhallansim, and more.
“Are you well Bran?”…
“Yes, Father,” Bran told him…“Rob said the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid.”
“What do you think?”
Bran thought about it. “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”
“That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him. “Do you understand why I did it?”
“He was a wildling,” Bran said. “They carry of women and sell them to the Others.”
His lord father smiled. “Old Nan has been telling you stories again. In truth, the man was an oathbreaker, a deserter from the Night’s Watch. No man is more dangerous. The deserter knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile. But you mistake me. The question was not why the man had to die, but why I must do it.”
Bran had no answer for that. “King Robert has a headman,” he said, uncertainly.
“He does,” his father admitted. “As did the Targaryen kings before him. Yet our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.
"One day, Bran, you will be Robb’s bannerman, holding a keep of your own for your brother and your king, and justice will fall to you. When that day comes, you must take no pleasure in the task, but neither must you look away. A ruler who hides behind paid executioners soon forgets what death is.”
- George R.R. Martin, Bran I, A Game of Thrones
CC by: @kellymarie69,@natalia-auditore,@dravenxivuk,@valhallansim,@simverses, and more.
Post link
Hi guys! I’ve made this comic (page by page) on my Patreon! And now I’ve made the whole PDF, you can buy and download too, this time :)
The whole comic is about their first physical interaction with their human form. It’s half explicit at the end pages. The comic is about Aziraphale and Crowley’s insecurities and prejudices about their own nature. I tried to stay in IC like in the book. I tried to respect their characterization, and I really hope you will enjoy it!
If you have a problem with PayPal payment send me a message here on Tumblr :) the Link and Info :
-Comic: black and white (nsfw)
-price: 23$
If you like, you can ask for the cover without the writing via-mail ([email protected]) :)
Previews:
page1-2-3
Post link
Work in progress: a winter Elf King crowned with holly.
A variation on the book-ish version of #Thranduil, and apt thing for the coldest, darkest time of year.
Merry Chrimbles to you all. ♥
Post link
Maybe the TV show will be great, even if it’s not so like the books, but I couldn’t resist borrowing the stills they’ve released so far and… Discworlding them up a bit.
I just wanted to see armour, dwarfs with beards, a bit of dragon love, and a majestically fat Sybil in wellies and sensible (singed) apron.
Pastels on paper, A4 (21x29 cms)
Post link
