ULF WHITE WAS INSIDE TUMBLETON, SLEEPING OFF A NIGHT OF DRINKING AT AN INN CALLED THE BAWDY BADGER THAT HE HAD TAKEN FOR HIS OWN.
an indie portrayal of ulf the white, rider of silverwing, from grrm's a song of ice and fire, drawing upon fire and blood and hbo's house of the dragon as well as headcanon. low - activity, mutuals - only. also found @sinfyre. triggers and spoilers abound. please check carrd for information prior to ic interaction. non - roleplay blogs do not interact!
THOUGH ATTEMPTS WERE MADE TO WAKE HIM FROM HIS DRUNKEN SLUMBER, HE PROVED IMPOSSIBLE TO ROUSE. INFAMOUSLY, HE ROLLED UNDER A TABLE AND SNORED THROUGH THE ENTIRE BATTLE.
a study in dragon's blood, king's blood, the price of loyalty, the boot that tramples over common people, and the chance to wear that boot.
CARRD. SIDEBLOG. HC TAG. PINTEREST. PLAYLIST. HUGH HAMMER. header credit.
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AND ANOTHER THING. ulf only has work insurance for his dragon?! he can’t even take her out for a joyride anymore??? when we see specifically how much fun he has riding silverwing from the very first moment??? 😭
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been thinking about ulf + his (perceived) place in the world like. he doesn’t know what he’s getting into. to him, and everyone around him, having a dragon is the ultimate status symbol. it’ll make him powerful; more than that, it’ll make him royalty. except it doesn’t. claiming a dragon isn’t an in to the targaryen family, even though they’ve insisted for hundreds of years that it is a power exclusive to targaryens. he gets to sit on the side of a cliff for three days waiting to fight for his life; he’s not allowed to choose to leave, or even to think; he doesn’t even get the reward of a castle, or of anything of value to a man like him.
ulf has signed up to be a solider in the queen’s war. rather than a member of the royal family, he’s now their property. he appeals to rhaenyra for favours – not for himself, for the people he cares about – and is put under house arrest instead. he attempts to greet daemon with a hug and is met with a literal slap in the face. do rhaenyra and daemon have justification, on their end, for treating him this way? sure. does ulf understand this? not at all. he doesn’t know how to operate within their world, no matter how much he wants to be a part of it. he might be a “dragonlord”, he might wear fine clothes now and try to mimic the way nobles talk, but they see through it and treat him like a peasant and bastard – because to them, that’s what he is. he just doesn’t fit in. and when he returns to his favourite tavern, yes, he’s greeted as a dragonlord as “more god than man”, but they still treat him like their old friend ulf – because to them, that’s what he is – except now he’s expected to pay for everyone’s drinks and solicit favours for them.
getting a dragon didn’t improve his life; his life has changed, yes, but he hasn’t magically changed with it, and now he doesn’t fit in anywhere. wherever you go, there you are, or whatever. you tell yourself this story – that you’re a prince in disguise – and the story turns out to be true, but the rest of your life is true as well, and no-one will let you forget it. wherever you go, in the whole wide world or down in history, you’ll never be the rogue prince — you’ll be ulf the sot, a bastard who got too big for his boots.
love when a mutual starts to care deeply about a minor character bc i start to care deeply about that minor character by proxy and any slight against them is like a slight against my family
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it's nature that drives her as well. though perhaps not the kind he's accustomed to. that much was obvious.
she moves like a shadowcat prowling, proud , unbothered, intentional with each step, each sound ( a snapping of twigs underfoot ) meant to announce her presence, befitting of the pelt adorned over pallid shoulders. a beast cloaked in the form of a woman, she is, meant to be disarming -- but he is not her prey, no , though there is amusement to be found in allowing him to think otherwise a while longer. instead her interests lie in the god he'd brought to her doorstep.
he is right to fear the stillness around them, any man well learned in the old ways would, more so than the manner she seemingly manifests out of nothing. that much closer each time he blinks. there is no breeze, nary a bird chirping, only a heaviness that seemed to grow , inspiring unease. a contrast to the tranquil portrait they found themselves in , untouched by the destructive hands of man.
if he pays close attention he might just catch the trees straining to reach their mistress, to hear her speak, holding their breath in anticipation, and after a moment more of silence, speak , she finally does.
❝ you are no northerner , ❞ it's a fact they both know to be true, not a question, though hardly a death sentence. ❝ the dragon, what is her name ? ❞ a strange dog with strange eyes heels at lira's side ( had it been there all along ? ) it's eyes not once deviating from the stranger.
no northerner, no — he’s not. EVERYONE ALWAYS SAID HIS HAIR WAS WHITE AS SNOW BUT HE WAS A MAN OF FIVE AND TEN ’FORE HE EVER SAW SNOW FOR TRUE. they say, up north, it snows all the time. they say, up north, that the wildling clans and those sworn to the old gods breed direwolves like targaryens hatch dragons — that up here, they’re more wolf than human. ( and don’t they say, too, that dragonlords are more god than man? ) ‘she—? oh, silverwing.’
ulf does not think twice about giving names away to strange women of the still forest — not one as ancient as his dragon. AND THAT DRAGON, BURIED IN SHADOW, GRUMBLES AND LETS LOOSE A WARNING PALE FLAME. THE LIGHT DANCES ON HER SCALES AND LEAPS FROM TREE TO TREE BEFORE IT’S SWALLOWED BY MOSS AND BRACKEN. THE WARMTH OF THE FIRE AT HIS BACK KEEPS HIM FROM ABJECT TERROR. ‘i’m ulf. ser ulf. the white.’ the hand that’d so eagerly pointed out the tree upon which he’d made his business known to the forest now gestures t’ward his hair, sweeps it back from his face, and his laugh is more the bleating of an uncertain sheep than anything else. what else could it be, in the face of a direwolf and its mistress? ( alright, a dog, then, but a fucking weird-looking dog. ) ‘and you…? and your… friend?’
the people — his people — love to be regaled of this tale. there is a time they will grow bored of it, but it is not this night. BY FUCK, IT’S THE THIRD TIME CLEY’S HEARD IT ALREADY, BUT HE HANGS ON EVERY WORD, LIKE IT’S A BALLAD TOLD BY THE FINEST SINGERS IN THE REALM. MAYBE ONE DAY IT WILL BE. maybe one day ulf will tire of telling it himself, though he doesn’t think he could even begin to dream of that day.
the stranger across the table is enraptured, and so’s he: he’ll tell whatever tale he needs to for her to keep looking at him like she does. this one begins with fire and blood, with screaming death, and then, ‘i could sense it. it were like blood calling to blood.’ no-one’d been there, no-one’d smelled the burning flesh nor felt they were drowning in smoke as a dozen clammy hands shoved them in the back. NONE HAD LOOKED UPON NOT ONE DRAGON, BUT TWO, AND LIVED TO TELL OF IT. ‘i found her, alone, in her lair.’ a heartbeat. ‘waiting.’
AND THE CROWD AROUND HIM WAITS, TOO, AT THE MERCY OF THE DRAGON TAMER; and though he’s had an ancient scion of old valyria between his thighs, he thinks this is the most power he’s ever wielded — and when he looks into the lavender eyes opposite, he feels half a dragon himself. the centuries of inheritance woven into his words are laden, now, with conviction.
‘silverwing’s not had a rider since queen alysanne died some thirty years past. but she bent her neck to me, the first time i ever set foot on dragonstone.’ while that lingers in the air, he slurps his ale; she’s got a tough job ahead of her if she intends on keeping his tankard full. ‘now,’ ulf sets it down with a thud and a splash, drives a finger into the resulting puddle, ‘you tell me that’s not the will of the gods.’
wait i just remembered in s1 viserys sniffs rhaenyra and says she smells of dragon and now we know ormund apparently has a strong sensitivity to odours…..is his crusade against the targaryens bc they smell bad? something to consider.
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