#witandwine

[wineinthewidow]

    so guess what?

     i only have four drafts.

[reignfyre]

@witandwine

Round and round she climbed, her pace slow and measured on the icy exterior steps of the tower. The wind threw her hair into a frenzy of silver about her head, damp where snow melted among the strands. Daenerys could have sighed in relief when at last she reached the top, the warm comfort of Winterfell’s library washing over her like a soft breath. 

She said nothing as she stepped inside, moving first to examine the scrolls perched upon the shelves. They numbered fewer than she expected, and she soon saw why: many of the their spines were scorched, their pages blackened. A fire. What little remained looked as though it might crumble at the faintest touch. She turned away.

“Jon told me I’d find you here,” Daenerys began, sinking into the seat opposite her hand. In place of the painted table only a scattering of maps sat between them, ink on supple vellum; they reduced the North to lines and a neat, elegant scrawl that listed each place of note. Barrowtown. Cerwyn. Torrhen’s Square. Hornwood. 

“What did you make of our march from White Harbor?” Violet eyes swept upwards from the map to regard him. “I saw no stray arrows, at the very least.” 

[zcldrizes-a]

» hand.

continued from the above link, with @witandwine

Despite her annoyances, a smile crosses her lips.

“No.”

Does she ever succeed? Questionable, at best. And yet, she’d been searching for some shred of proof, that she might not be insane for what she wants to do – for her ideas and plans, against his family, the pack of lions, in a war where they’re already so far behind. Or rather… she’d had him searching, for anything that might help them. He’s her right HAND in so many ways, and she finds that so sweetly ironic, that the lion’s paw grasps the dragon’s claws so firmly in her wavering grasp over her forces, to strengthen the hold in the only ways she can.

Despite herself, the stormborn places herself in the seat beside him.

“Then place your books down, Tyrion. What would you have me do?”

[musestm-blog]

@witandwine || plotting call

“Lord Tyrion, allow me to show you to your chambers so you can get settled.” 

All courtesies but no longer the FEARFUL sort during her time in King’s Landing. Now there is a bit more power behind them, and confidence. Not completely but still a sort of front, unsure how stable their footing was . . . just a mess of complications that would need to be sorted. 

“I am, happy to see you made it out alive.” 

There may have even been sincerity to that, after all, he had always been kind to her. & looking back, it was certainly an action she appreciated.

[northwarg]

               “TIME SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN UNKIND TO YOU, LORD TYRION.”     whether or not you intended on japing or simply making an observation, you’re sure to get some sort of reaction out of him. and frankly, it’s the truth; he looks weary, exhausted, eyes weighed down and bruised purple, looking prepared to down whole casks of wine on his own, or to sleep until the end of winter. and as you make these observations, you know that you yourself look no better -- you were once a happy boy, but winter does not wait for happy boys to become men, it creates men all on its own.     “may i invite you to sit?”

@witandwine​ liked.

[jaimelannisterthings]

[continued from here]

Tyrion failed to comprehend the mortal danger their escapade had landed him in. The pair had safely hidden themselves under a roof, behind four sturdy walls of stone. Whoever the occupants were, they did not seem to be there now. The immediate threat passed them by, but Jaime’s heart had jumped into his throat when his gaze finally landed on his brother’s injury. Neither of them could leave now. It would be suicide. Therefore, there was no way to find help. Jaime was not practiced in the ways of healing, and it slowly sank in that Tyrion’s life rested on his shoulders.

Admittedly, Jaime had not addressed the situation with the proper amount of shock or explanatory words to relay that message. The resulting lack of comprehension on Tyrion’s part might have been understandable, then.

“You need to be sober,” Jaime informed him, voice solemn, “At least mostly.” His eyes left Tyrion's face then, moving to better inspect the wound. It was not pretty. An apologetic tinge cast over his next words, quieter than the first, “I can’t do this with just my left hand; you’re going to have to help.”

“Or I need to leave and find help, but...”

@witandwine

[dorzalti]

@witandwine.    cont.  from  here.

                it  seemed  as  though  everything  dany  did  was  under  some  sort  of  judgement.    now  that  she  was  in  westeros,    she  couldn’t  afford  to  make  any  mistakes  as  she  had  in  meereen.    every  wrong  move  had  the  potential  to  loose  an  ally,    a  battle,    or  even  her  own  life.    her  hand  knew  this  as  well  as  she  did.    though  the  young  queen’s  back  was  turned  towards  tyrion,   she  noticeably  tensed  at  his  words.    for a  moment,    she  remained  still  as  she  gazed  out  the  window  across  the  island  of  a  dragonstone,    lost  in  thought.    she  finally  turned  towards  him.    ❛    but  i  cannot  pick  and  choose  who  i  will  deliver  justice  to.    ❜

                daenerys  sighed  as  her  attention  was  drawn  towards  the  painted  table,    the  centerpiece  of  the  room.    her  fingers  ran  over  its  crevices  as  she  intently  stared  down  at  the  map.    she  could  only  vaguely  remember  a  time  when  her  brother  would  talk  about  dragonstone.    he  would  tell  her  how  it  was  made  by  their  ancestors  who  conquered  and  then  united  all  of  westeros.   he  would  even  sometimes  mention  the  painted  map,    created  by  aegon  targaryen  to  plan  his  invasion  of  westeros.    viserys  would  then  swear  that  one  day  they  would  return  to  dragonstone  and  he  would  plan  his  invasion  on  this  very  same  map.    she  could  almost  laugh  about  his  ambitions  now.    ❛    i  have  three  dragons,    an  army  of  unsullied  and  dothraki,   and  allies  in  every  direction,    yet  even  with  all  this  power  i  feel  helpless.    ❜    she  paused,    her  fingers  halting  in  place  as  they  hovered  over  king’s  landing.    ❛    if  we  do  nothing,    i  will  be  remember  as  the  queen  who  preached  justice  at  her  own  convenience.    ❜

[khaleesiofvalyria]

@witandwine liked sc. 

The battle against the Lannister army had been quite successful for Daenerys, an unexpected punch against the only enemy standing between her and the Iron Throne in King’s Landing. It gave her a taste of winning, of seeing the enemy beaten. To be fair, she had gained a fair amount of experience before she had crossed to the borders of Westeros, however she had never doubted the superiority of her Unsullied or her Dothraki Bloodriders nor their loyalty and she had never felt more powerful than now. However, there was one thing she was not happy with– at all. As she arrived back at Dragonstone, the very first thing she had wanted to do was to meet her adviser, her right hand and someone indispensable for her. There was no one else in the throne room– but them and she decided that this would be best for now, before she’d meet them all at the open table. There was an unsettling, tense silence in the dark room while she stood below the stairs Tyrion was sitting on. Even after few seconds passed, her gaze stayed cold, emotionless– an unreadable mask.

She was not sure how he was feeling now, after the deed had been done through Dany’s hands. Perhaps she was seeing disappointment, perhaps a different kind of sorrow or grief. Whatever it was or not, she would not have it. Neither would she stay silent to his attempt to change Daenerys’ mind about Lord Tarly and his son’s fate. They had chosen which path they wanted to follow– or follow no longer. She wasn’t so sure if Tyrion however, had chosen which path he intended to follow.

“Do not question me in front of anyone, ever again.”