“Fuckin’ ell!” Tormund Giantsbane jolted back from the tree with one hand still tangled in his breeches, the other gropin’ for the hilt at his hip, cock not yet sheathed, snow sting still hot where it mattered. The bark bit his shoulder as he slammed into it, cursed again louder, and finally got his damn…
The corridors of Dragonstone had never known a great deal of warmth, but tonight the stone seemed to withhold even the slightest touch of comfort. Damp settled in Davos’s bones the way salt crusted a deck, stubborn and familiar. The once-smuggler kept his hands tucked behind his back as he walked, thumb worrying the stump…
(Last Chapter of the Royal Family in King’s Landing for this arc. Now, I’m going to sleep.) The chamber still stank of damp fur and candle smoke, the kind that clings to silk no matter how fine. Jaime shifted his weight against the stone pillar, thumb tracing the curve of his pommel like he was…
Myrcella sat where she always did now, back straight against the cushioned armrest, hands folded over the hem of her skirts, palms damp where the velvet met her skin. She didn’t blink as Pycelle leaned in again, his breath catching on every other word like his lungs had forgotten how to cooperate with his mouth….
This old stoneheap of a castle was built to last. Old stone, thick walls, towers cutting into the sky like they had a grudge against it. Not a castle, not really. A fortress first, a home second. Guts had seen places like it before—built for war, held by the strong, never meant for comfort. But…
The Great Hall of Winterfell was colder than Greg expected—not just the kind of cold that bit through layers and settled into your bones, though there was plenty of that, but the deeper, older kind, the kind that clung to the stones, settled into the banners overhead, and sat thick in the air between the…
The road down from the Eyrie was treacherous even under the best of conditions—narrow, steep, littered with loose stones waiting for a misstep. A careless rider could send themselves tumbling to their death with the smallest error in judgment. Tyrion hardly noticed. His pony trotted along at its steady, unhurried pace, hooves clopping dully against…
Greg walked fast enough that his boots hit the stone too hard, every step echoing down the corridor like it was making a point. He wasn’t trying to stomp, but he wasn’t not trying to stomp, either. Just—whatever. It wasn’t his fault the floors were built for dramatic exits. The old Bolton servants slinked out of…
The godswood was still, the cold settling deep as it sunk into Robb’s skin. And yet, he barely felt it at all. If anything, he had been feeling it less and less over the past weeks, the stress of war on all fronts keeping his mind far from the physical. The young lordstood before the…
The gates swung open way too loudly for his precious lordly ears, iron hinges screeching like nails across a chalkboard. Greg cringed, ears ringing, momentarily overwhelmed by the jarring noise even though he’d been perfectly fine with literal explosions an hour ago. Weird how that works. He blinked rapidly, forcing himself to straighten up, and managed a…
