#myrandaofdreadfort

[bastxrdly-blog]

continued from here || @myrandaofdreadfort

          It’s not a question he puts out there lightly, this is a test and it’s a test he’s never yet put forth with another human being in his life so he finds himself automatically putting up a defensive wall of indifference in case the answer isn’t to his liking. Should she show any restraint, falter in her answer, whether it be yes or no, his trust in her will shatter...because hesitation is a sign of doubt. 

          Myranda had proven herself to be different from the moment he’d first seen her, dirty and mousy at a frail young age of eleven years. She was a fighter, who took her circumstances and used them the best she could, she had been so quiet back then and it had been one thing about her enjoyed immensely; she didn’t feel the need to talk to him when he simply sought to have someone along with him on his trips beyond the Dreadfort walls, or even within them. He supposed over time a sort of friendship had formed between them, or at least an easy bond of familiarity, but today...he had recognized something in her eyes when she loosed her arrow on the doe, a familiar spark of madness he was used to seeing in his own reflection in the mirror. Perhaps whatever powers that be out there among the thousands of gods had chosen to take pity on him at last and provide him with a companion of equal ferocity and bloodlust.

            The long silence that drew out between them was making his hand twitch, itching to draw the knife at his back and flash it across her throat to end this mistake he’d made. Of course she didn’t trust him...she was playing her part, pleasing him to stay alive, nothing more. She would be a fool to trust him.

            And yet....

            Yet her eyes held no doubt in them, merely surprise, so his hand halted on it’s trip to the sheath under his tunic and he gave her a moment, something he never gave anyone else. An answer was on the tip of her tongue, he could tell. Finally, when she spoke, it was as if a massive weight had lifted from his shoulders and his eyes widened slightly in pleased shock before returning to their impassive heavy lidded default and he nodded in acceptance of her genuine response. 

           “Good. Because next time we go on a hunt, it won’t be for something as boring as deer. You want to be with me, you’ll simply have to be able to stay by my side through whatever I ask of you.”

[lastxdragon]

Just thought about your dragons. If all of them are males there is no chance for back their power in the world. No female means no eggs. Are you sure that all three are boys? What do you think about it? // ooc question

Since you specified this as an OOC question, I’ll point you to the wiki that states no one actually knows for certain how dragons are sexed.

As far as Daenerys is concerned, the names she gives them is not indicative of their sex but in honor of people who she had lost who happened to be men. This is more telling of the world GRRM created because even women know that only men hold value in that world so she doesn’t name one after her mother, Rhaella, though she treasures her surname (Stormborn*) as it was her mother’s last “gift” to her. As far as I can recall, Daenerys has never referred to her dragons as “he”, she refers to them as “dragons” or “my dragons”.

This Mun believes dragons are essentially hermaphroditic. In that they are both sexes at the same time and all can produce eggs. Since there’s no writing on how the eggs are fertilized nor any writing about seeing dragons engaging in mating behavior, one can assume that in this fictional world, dragon eggs are fertilized via the producer prior to being laid.

It should be noted that Daenerys dragons are basically two year olds in terms of dragon age. This Mun doubts that dragons can produce eggs this young, but there is no indication of whether or not this is accurate from GRRM, who is, as the creator of the ASOIF world, the only authority on what is or isn’t in that world.

[maidenxfthemxuntains]

😱

Asta thought that she surly would die at the hands of Ramsay, with him torturing her or sicking his hounds on her. So how did she get here, laying on a road that was near the castle. Her side was throbbing and she was in a puddle of her own blood. Asta had no recollection of what had happened, she just knows it isn’t Ramsay’s work. It was getting harder to breath and she was trying hard to stay awake as she hears someone coming towards her. 

“H… He…. Help… Please…” Her voice wanted to yell it, but it seemed to take too much energy to do so. It comes out just above a whisper and Asta fears that no one will stop to help her.

~Your muse finds mine on the brink of death. Send “😱” for a starter. or send “😥” for my muse to find yours: Always Accepting~

[no-happi-endings]

WHAT Starter “What do we do now? “ (on the first trip against wildlings with well trained ovcharkas. Myranda has never been so far from Dreadfort.)

Kly’tem shushed her from the shadows where she and eight other men–not including Myranda–were waiting on their horses. They’d been sitting in wait since early that morning and had been watching and waiting long past sunset. The hour of the wolf had passed, and the hour of the witch was going to be soon upon them. The moors were mostly silent except for the faint sound of roaring cheers coming closer. 

Kly’tem had sent two men to push them into the low valley, then fall back. They thought they’d gotten away from the silly Southerners. That they were smarter, and they were, to a degree. They had no civil morals or codes, they lived in an extreme landscape and climate facing gods only know what, they were brutal and efficient in everything they did. So their hunters had to be fiercer and more brutal. Brutal enough to strike fear into the hearts of savages. 

“When they light their fires, we’ll walk up on them and ambush them. I’ll send the dogs in first to startle them. Once they come out of their shock, we’ll rush in,” she whispered to the other men. She looked at Myranda. “You stay out of the firelight and shoot anything trying to run or attack our backs. Don’t let them see you, they’re fast and meaty and will take advantage of your stature and build.” 

The glow of a flame started to illuminate a few of the large rocks, slowly glowing brighter. They soon smelled cooking meat. Most of them knew that smell. “Damn, it’s thenns. Nothing changes,” she dismounted her beast of a horse and shifted in her leather and steel gear. “You ready?” she asked Myranda as the dogs started sniffing around.

@myrandaofdreadfort

[iron-reborn]

@myrandaofdreadfort | cont from x

[📲 - Myranda] Well that isn’t the hit me up I want, so I will not share them

[boltxnbastard]

"You promised that you will have plenty time for me" she whispered with sadness in her voice.

❝ And what exactly would you call this? I’m here. Aren’t I?    I’m not going to apologize for having more responsibilities    these days. ❞

[bastxrdly-blog]

continued from here || @myrandaofdreadfort

          There was no need to ask what had happened to her, the situation was clear as new glass and speaking of it would do nothing but remind her of the events of the night prior. He should feel sorry or vengeful or...well, something, but really he only felt angry that these idiots would dare touch someone he had long before claimed. Six young men, she had claimed, all faced he knew when she described them...it would be a shame to loose able bodied workers so close to the hunting season when the Dreadfort meat stores would be restocked, but it would be even worse to allow them to get away with this act. He wouldn’t allow it because one moment of lenience and they would think they had some sort of power...and they did not.

          He offered to kill them for her, of course...but she surprised him, as she always did, with a quick no. He was about to shrug it off and simply punish them by creating the first eunuchs of the Dreadfort when she spoke again, her voice shaking slightly but full of determination and cold fury. She wanted her own revenge and it was a good deal for the both of them so he nodded his acceptance of her request, nodding his head towards the gateway.

           He led her to the underground entry to the dungeons below the castle, their journey ending in a large room that held two of the infamous Bolton crosses and he lit the torches along the walls to light the space. A quick word with the dungeon keeper and ten minutes later all six of the offenders were being dragged into the cell by loyal Bolton men, Ramsay’s own men. He ordered two of them tied to the crosses, the remaining four were to be bound firmly in spots where they could easily see what was happening to their comrades.

          “I won’t ask you again, you wanted this and you’re not backing out now. Here.” He pressed the hilt of a flaying knife into her palm, blue eyes bright and excited at the prospect of what was to unfold. “Now...what would you like to learn first?”

[bastxrdly-blog]

She is taking his face into her hands and kissing him deeply with a tongue "Welcome back, my lord" she's purring like a cat, pupils in her eyes are already dilaten. His sight is pure pleasure to her.

          He had barely dismounted and gotten both feet on the ground before he was pounced on by a thin, yet strong, shadow that came flying from the kennels and he let out a small “oof” sound a moment before he found his mouth occupied by hers. A warm welcome home indeed. A quick glance around and the assurance no one had seen this attack resulted in an equally ravenous response from himself, walking her backward till her back met the stone wall of the Dreadfort.

          When they parted their starving mouths for air, he chuckled in grim amusement.

         “Not a Lord yet, Myranda. But keep up the practice, you’ll be well versed in my proper title for when I achieve it.”