"No creo que lo esté entendiendo muy bien... Entonces ahora Lady Cory no es más tu hermana, pero al mismo tiempo lo sigue siendo porque no pueden decir quién es su madre..."
Puede que Elijah fuera un niño pequeño, muy próximo a cumplir los ocho años cuando ocurrió aquello, pero desde que tenía conciencia, todo lo que tenía que ver con la princesa Alice lograba interesarle. La escuchaba atentamente y la seguía a todas partes. Tenía tres años cuando su hermana y los príncipes nacieron y aunque también cuidaba de Lucy, pasaba mucho más tiempo con esa niña que no parecía cansarse nunca y que le contaba todos sus secretos. Aquél sobre su familia, había sido de los primeros.
Al crecer no fue diferente. Cazaban juntos, entrenaban juntos. Iban juntos a todas partes, incluso sin un nombramiento oficial toda la corte lo consideraba su guardia personal.
La seguridad de la princesa también incluía estar todo el tiempo al tanto de lo que ocurría en el castillo, pero los cotilleos no eran algo que realmente ocupara su atención. Aunque ese rumor de que varios nobles de todos los rincones del reino habían sido invitados por el rey a un torneo con motivo del Día del Nombre número quince de los príncipes, estaba siendo muy difícil de ignorar. Principalmente porque se decía que sólo era un pretexto para que la futura reina conociera a quién en algún momento se convertiría en su consorte.
Sólo pensar en eso, le revolvía el estómago impidiéndole comer. Justo como en ese momento, estaba jugando con sus copos de avena, haciendo surcos en el tazón con la mirada perdida. ¿Cómo cambiarían las cosas a partir de que comprometieran a la princesa con un desconocido y ella dejara de necesitar que él estuviera alrededor? ¿Por qué Ally no le había dicho nada acerca del torneo? ¿Empezaba a alejarse como le dijeron siempre que pasaría?
Eran demasiadas preguntas que nunca se atrevería a pronunciar. Estaba tan distraído que ni siquiera notó que alguien se sentó junto a él.
It's not enough art based on @avatarthelastbackbender fic "A Song of Ice and Fire"?
Not, not for me.
Even if it's an slow-burn? YES
I love this fic, and deserves a lot of fanarts, and when i think about an arranged marriage this is the first thing that come to my mind.
@zukkaweek
ID under here!
[ID: A Mixed background in red and blue tones. In the middle are Zuko (left) and Sokka (right). Both wearing Southern robes for cold, and also brown gloves. But Sokka is behind Zuko, holding a bethrotel necklace under Zuko's neck (also looking this neck of him), who is looking away in the red side. Both serious, but seems there is something in the aire. Red and blue lights mixed in Zuko's face, showing how his confusion about who he is truly loyal: the Targaryen family, who sold him, or the Starks, who are his new family for marriage. Sokka, in the other side, is only with blue lights, showing he is clear about where his loyalty lies, except that the way he looks at Zuko. Hands almost touching in the left, it seems everything is mixed for these two. END ID]
WIP: GoT AU; Jaime/BrienneAU: The Long Night aftermath
So the GoT(tv) AU fic I’m writing diverges quite a bit from the show starting with the aftermath of Joffery’s death. There’s no wight hunt, for one. And the battle against the Night King takes place at the Wall, and it’s fought by more than just the Northern houses/Knights of the Vale, Daenerys’ army, and the free folk.
Jaime frantically yanked off his hook, and tugged at the sleeve the covered the end of his stump. He pressed it to Brienne’s bleeding face, scanning her for other injuries. Her left arm stuck out at an unnatural angle. He had to get her back down into the castle, but he could barely hobble on his wounded leg.
‘Need help, Kingkiller?’
Jaime looked up, feeling more relieved than he ever had to see the looming form of Tormund Giantsbane. He nodded. Tormund gestured to a few burly men behind him and two got on either side of Jaime and lifted him by the arms. ‘Wait. Her arm.’ Jaime pulled at his cloak. ‘Can someone tear a strip off this? Bind her arm with it.’ One of the wildlings used a dagger to cut away a swath of his cloak, then found a couple of pieces of splintered wood. He grasped Brienne’s wrist in one hand and pulled slowly, straightening her left arm, then used the wood and strips of cloth cut from Jaime’s cloak to splint it. One of the other wildlings tied a ragged strip of cloth around Brienne’s face to secure the sleeve to the sluggishly bleeding gash, then helped Tormund heft her into a position.
‘Got to walk a fair bit,’ Tormund grunted, shifting his grip on Brienne. ‘Stairs near here got destroyed.’
Even years later, telling the enthralling — and heavily edited — tale to his children, Jaime could vividly recall every agonizing step to the least damaged staircase, every jostle that sent jolting pain through his body from the top of the Wall to the ground, seven hundred feet below. Nor would he forget the stream of uncharacteristic profanity that emerged from Brienne when she regained consciousness halfway down he stairs.
‘Get your fucking hands off my tits or I’ll sever your cock from your body,’ she snarled at Tormund
Jaime began to laugh, not noticing the slightly unnerved expressions on the faces of the wildlings at the hysterical edge to it. ‘Not to defend the man, but he can’t even feel your breasts through armor,’ he pointed out, absurdly pleased with his irrefutable logic.
‘His hands are there,’ Brienne growled.
To his credit, Tormund only chuckled and rearranged his arms. The movement jarred her broken arm and she blanched under the mask of dried blood, soot, and gods only knew what else. ‘Let’s go.’ Tomund then began to spin fantastical tales about the time he killed a giant at the age of nine and suckled at the teat of his wife, claiming it was why he was so big. Jaime couldn’t understand why he was speaking such twaddle, then realized he hadn’t thought about the oozing gash on his thigh. Tormund was distracting them as they inched their way to the ground.
In the courtyard of Castle Black, Sansa directed various women and men seeing to the wounded with the ruthless efficiency of a general. She took one look at them and sent them to the hall. The young lord of Last Hearth, Ned Umber, pointed out an empty table, then hurried to it, carrying a steaming bucket and a jug. Tormund and the other men deposited Jaime and Brienne on the table, then went back into the courtyard. Little Ned Umber returned, and with the help of a wilding boy began to remove her armor. One of the older wildling women came to the table and peeled the makeshift bandage from Brienne’s face. ‘Can’t see your teeth from the outside. So that’s good.’
‘Can’t make me look worse…’ Brienne stiffened at the woman’s touch on her face. The fever of battle had begun to wear off, and Brienne felt every cut, scrape, and bruise on her body. She began to tremble as myriad emotions coursed through her. The pain of her wounds. The relief at surviving the battle. The wildling woman beckoned to someone behind her, shouting for something. Alys Karstark unfurled one of the spare Night’s Watch cloaks over Brienne, tucking it around her. It had been warmed in front of the fire.
Sansa’s face appeared, hovering over Brienne’s. One hand, smelling strongly of the harsh soap used in the laundry at Castle Black, traced the path of the cut on Brienne’s face. ‘Nose to jaw.’ She cupped Brienne’s uninjured cheek in her other hand.
‘Bad?’ Brienne managed through chattering teeth.
‘Can’t see your teeth, so that’s something,’ Sansa said, pulling a vial from her pocket. ‘You need to have it cleaned and stitched, though.’ She pulled the cork from the vial and held it to Brienne’s mouth. ‘Milk of the poppy. Just while we tend to you.’
‘No.’ Brienne would have jerked her head away, but the gash throbbed and stung with each movement of her head.
‘Brienne, drink the damn milk of the poppy!’ Jaime shouted, slamming his fist on the table.
Brienne’s eyes swivelled to where Jaime sat, clutching her right hand. ‘Don’t go,’ she pleaded.
Jaime’s stump came to rest on the crown of her head. ‘I won’t leave you alone. I promise.’
Brienne looked back and Sansa and nodded. Sansa tilted the vial and poured the white liquid into Brienne’s mouth. Within minutes, Brienne felt boneless, her eyes too heavy to keep open.
Sansa began to wash Brienne’s face, cleaning away the grime and dried blood. She poured boiling wine into the wound, then took up a clean needle that she’d once used to create delicate embroidery that was the pride of Septa Mordane, and began the painstaking work of stitching Brienne’s cheek back together. When she tied the last knot, Sansa smeared honey over the stitches, then covered it with a pad of linen. Sansa tied another strip of linen over it, then stepped back. She prodded the back of Jaime’s head. He’d gone white after the first stitch and buried his face against Brienne’s shoulder. ‘It’s done.’
‘She needs a maester,’ Jaime told her and pointed to Brienne’s splinted left arm. ‘Unless you know how to reset broken bones…’
Sansa peered through the hall. The Tarly, Lannister, and Tully maesters had come with their men, in addition to Maester Wolkan from Winterfell. ‘I’ll find one.’ She glanced at Jaime, taking in his blood-soaked trousers. In the flurry to care for Brienne, no one had noticed. Nor had he said a word about it. She quickly scrubbed her hands and used a small set of shears to cut away the fabric, stiff with dried blood. ‘Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I can wait.’ Jaime tilted his head at the rest of the hall. ‘There are other people with worse injuries than me.’
‘If you want it to get infected, fester, then kill you, fine. Wait.’ Sansa picked up the empty vial. ‘I’ll find a maester; and when I come back, I will see to your injuries.’ She hurried off, and Jaime let his head drop to Brienne’s shoulder.
‘She reminds me of you, you know,’ he muttered to Brienne and closed his eyes.
Game of Thrones AU: Andromeda Stormborn of House Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First men, Protector of the Realm, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains, Queen of Mereen has had a difficult life, she was through out of her birth place because her grandfather had gone mad and their enemies killed most of her family. Now, after bringing back to life 3 dragon eggs, she is gathering an army to go back to Westeros and get back what truly belongs to her.
Andromeda was sitting in the meeting room near, she was waiting for her counsellors to arrive to the war room, they had a plan but without ships there was little she could do to cross her army through the Narrow Sea. she might be able to request someone to build them, but who in the Free Cities knew about warships? Was there anyone in Westeros she could order these ships without her enemies noticing?
She was currently thinking all those things and more when she noticed someone approaching her. “Don’t you know is rude to make a queen wait?”
Based on the marvelous fanfic "A Soᥒg of Iᥴᥱ ᥲᥒd Fιrᥱ" by Iwovepizza (@avatarthelastbackbender ) , an Avatar AU from Game of Thrones. A zukka story with a narrative that reminds me Asoiaf/GOT. It's really good ;) I think this two are princes, but also fools.
And this is the last fanart for the zukka week. I did it! Yeah!
