Why is Daemon getting all this Old Gods magic thrown at him when... he's a Targaryen? He comes from a family with their own magic, not just dragon dreams but probably some sorcery that was conveniently lost after the Dance and/or Baelor, and even if it was more rumor than anything else, the writers had the power to make it more than rumor, AND a kind of magic that would make sense for the Targaryens AND help show what they would lose in the Dance. So why all the woods witch and old gods magic then? Am I missing something?
But probably some sorcery that was conveniently lost after the Dance and/or Baelor, and even if it was more rumor than anything else, the writers had the power to make it more than rumor.
Like they did with Aegon's Prophecy, which I think if it was "lost" amongst the Targs, it'd be when Maegor killed his nephew Aegon...bc Aenys would have told Aegon and Aegon the Uncrowned had no sons/declared heirs. Aegon I might not have told Maegor but maybe Visenya did. And even then Visenya died way before Jaehaerys took the throne so why would she tell Rhaena, Jaehaerys, Alysanne, or Alyssa Velaryon? Maegor likely didn't either.
Anyway, to your question. To "fix the toxic man" (superficial claim to feminist writing here & not bc men shouldn't grow but bec Daemon already showed loyalty to her & gave up chances to rule several times even in the show but they chose to fuck it all up) and give Daemon an arc this season. And to introduce Alys' magic/her role in the Riverlands/hype her up. Esp for Aemond's arrival and their own messed up relationship they know people are going to gag over. finally, bc they are in love with PARALLES-PARALLELS, in this case, Daemon's parallel to Rhaenyra's religiousity arc as well as juxtaposition to Aemond's own selfish rise to power.
Summary: She knows. Larys never told her of his very first dream, but when his feet found the weirwood he found her, too, dark hair braided over her shoulder, cotton dress stained with smudges of grass and dirt. She’d smiled at him, the way an older sibling should, the way ten-year-old Harwin never did to his crippled nine-year-old brother, and offered to pray to the old gods with him.
Her very presence had been prayer enough.
Or, nine-year-old Larys Strong and his fourteen-year-old half-sister, Alys, have more in common than just a father.
Characters: Young Larys Strong, Young Alys Rivers.
The dreams come in the blackest nights, in a flash of fire and smoke and a spreading pain behind his eyes, thrumming in tandem with his tempest of a heartbeat.
A flash of marbled silver, and two dragons dancing above Gods Eye; Harrenhal consumed by flame. Choking ash and blood spilling blood and blood spilling blood —
When Larys wakes, his skin sheened with sweat, a black bird with three beady eyes bears down upon him, crooning to him in the crackling voice of the Stranger. The only breath that can fill his lungs is thick and dark and acrid.
He does not realize the dream has ended until he feels the grass beneath his bare feet, his cane sinking into the mud, and the bleeding eyes of the weirwood boring into him. The summer air is warm, but he shivers anyways, because the Old Gods have only ever looked through him, never at him.
I’m still dreaming, Larys thinks, but the words pass through him like wind through stalks of ghost grass. The pale light of the full moon filters through the weirwood’s amber leaves, rustling in the wind; their shadows dance upon the earth. He falls splay-kneed in front of the tree.
Alys is behind him.
The old gods tell him. In the muffled footfalls in dirt, in the sound of grass brushing at the hem of her dress. She treads carefully in the godswood; Larys can only think of his brute of a big brother crashing through the trees as if the very land was made for him to desecrate.
She slips beneath the gnarled branches of the weirwood and sits beside him, sparing him no peace. “It happened again, didn’t it?”
Larys glances at her. It must be the hour of the wolf, but Alys’ eyes are bright, as if she hasn’t been sleeping at all; she’s only fourteen, tall and lean, but seems so much older and wiser in the dark.
“No,” he answers in a quiet, low voice.. He gnaws at his lip, even though the maester and his father have told him off for it more times than he can count. He feels the tips of his ears fluster fire-hot.
She knows. Larys never told her of his very first dream, but when his feet found the weirwood he found her, too, dark hair braided over her shoulder, cotton dress stained with smudges of grass and dirt. She’d smiled at him, the way an older sibling should, the way ten-year-old Harwin never did to his crippled nine-year-old brother, and offered to pray to the old gods with him.
Her very presence had been prayer enough.
Alys kneads her fingers into the white roots protruding from the ground, tilting her head. She looks more like him than Harwin does, all bone and willow-thin limbs that seem too long for her body. If he didn’t know any better, if his father hadn’t clout him on the ear the first and only time he’d suggested Alys was his full-blooded sister, he could have believed they had the same mother.
“What did you see this time?”
Her voice pulls at the words lodged in his throat, willing them free, when all Larys wants to do is sit in silence and pretend he’s the normal, no-name second son of Lyonel Strong, who has no clubfoot and doesn’t dream of the future’s fires.
“Harrenhal was…” Larys frowns. If his dreams are true, past and future, as Alys once said, what kind of power does he grant them by speaking them aloud? He rolls his lip between his teeth, harder, and the taste of iron spreads across his tongue.
Alys watches, but doesn’t scold; she only smiles, like he imagines their mother would have, and takes his hand. “We’ll strike a deal. I’ll tell you of my last green dream. You tell me yours.”
Through the darkness Larys sees her eyes, the same shade as sage and pine needles, lined with something black. A streak runs down her lips. She’s staring the same way the weirwood does; the same way the three-eyed raven did each time Larys awoke.
Witch, they call her, the same way they call him Clubfoot, but in front of him he only sees his half-sister, not quite his flesh and blood, but more than a stranger. He and Harwin share parents, but with Alys, Larys shares dreams, and shouldn’t that mean more than having the same mother?
“Okay,” he says tentatively, sighing, trying to ease the weight pressing down upon his shoulders. His breath comes heavy and thick. “You first.”
Alys nearly grins, canine teeth poking into the flesh of her lower lip. “A prince.” The words come from her lips quicker than lightning. “Silver-haired, with sapphire eyes. His great dragon danced above the Gods Eye. Her shadow swallowed the Riverlands whole.”
“I saw our home burn,” Larys sputters, not allowing the air between them breath for a single second. “The flames rose so high they touched the clouds. And— And I saw your dragon, too. I think. There were two. One was red, and…”
“Harrenhal hasn’t burned since Aegon’s Conquest,” Alys cuts in sharply. “We see the past too sometimes, you know.”
“It wasn’t Balerion who burned it, it was…” Larys rubs his fingers together and feels soot between them, mixed with something sticky and wet. The flush spreads to his cheeks “It doesn’t matter. You don’t believe me.”
“I will always believe you, little brother. You saw the past, that’s all.” Alys squeezes his hand. Her smile quivers. He thinks some of the ash rubs off on to her, but when she draws her hands back, the only thing they’re stained with is smudges of dirt. “We must stick together, you and I.”
“I know, sister.” The word is cloyingly sweet on his tongue. Only here, in witness of the gods, are they allowed to share blood and bone and dreams.
“The world will fear us some day, as they did the greenseers of old. You and me and my silver dragon prince.”
Larys nods, but mouth is full of cotton and his eyes heavy. He can only bring himself to look up at the eyes of the weirwood, twisted and scorned, glaring into him. He wipes his hands on his tunic and heaves himself onto his feet without waiting for Alys. Night melts into dawn across the godswood, at the corner of his eye; he wonders if his father would even care if he was found missing from his bed. Alys could go disappear for a moon and no one would bat an eye. He leans on his cane, legs aching and back burning. He tells himself it’s from sitting improperly, but everything has begun hurting more and more as of late.
Alys stands after him, takes his free hand again, and wordlessly they begin the walk through the godswood, back to Harrenhal. Her nails dig into his skin.
If she feels the blood dripping from his palms, or smells the ash clinging to his frame, she says nothing of it.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 63/?
Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Sansa Stark, Ned Stark, Arya Stark, Catelyn Tully Stark, Bran Stark, Tyrion Lannister, Jon "The Greatjon" Umber, Robb Stark
Additional Tags: BAMF Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark-centric, Old Gods, Greenseers & Greensight (A Song of Ice and Fire), Wargs & Warging (A Song of Ice and Fire)
Summary:
"I didn't even get to say goodbye," Sansa sniffled into his shirt.
"I was going to send her bones to Winterfell," Ned said slowly. "But the men found a weirwood tree near the road, about an hour north of here. They will bury her beneath it, and the old gods will watch over her."
Lady is buried beneath a weirwood tree, and Sansa prays to the old gods for Lady to stay with her. The gods hear her prayer, in a manner of speaking. Everything changes.
luchibelle ha risposto al tuo post “@contrasinfonia ha risposto al tuo post “Ok so the 3 eyed raven came...”
The 3eyedraven saved Bran and Jojen because they had the ability. They were born with it. Howland Reed hasn't appeared in the 5 books we have. He better make it to Winds of Winter because we need him in our lives.
Yo thank you fam! So that explains why Rickon might have it too... Nice!
Anyway I’ve barely even heard of Howland but I agree with you wholeheartedly, we need him in our lives ahah
it would seem the blackwoods have a trait for possessing the greensight. brynden rivers is the three eyed raven (three eyed crow in the books) and his mother was a blackwood. bran stark’s great grandmother was a blackwood as well. this is not the first time starks have married blackwoods, as lord cregan stark married “black aly” blackwood after the dance of the dragons.
interestingly, greensight is very similar to what are called dragon dreams, which are prophetic dreams had by certain members of house targaryen. they often involve dragons, though not always. one of the targaryens possessing dragon dreams is daenerys targaryen, whose great grandmother.... is a blackwood.
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I don’t know why my whole gallery (old art, new art, designs I sell, fanart, art of my characters) is floating around vk.Nobody from this site ever asked for my permission. Nobody on reddit asked for my permission. Did you think that maybe I wanted to post my art myself on these sites?
This is a piece I’ve been working on for the last 3 weeks or so. It started as a doodle in my sketchbook, but then I kinda liked the result. Sansa and Arya changed a bit since I used their outfits from the finale instead of the other two I first used (for Sansa the fur cape, for Arya that asimetric cape). I will try to work more on it.
