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I'm glad I introduced the concept of a flashback scene in Chapter 9 of "The Songs and the Stories, the Lies and the Glories" because gird your loins for a whole lot more
—
Dunk had very little memory of the hours after the Trial — Prince Baelor's sightless gaze staring up to the sky seemed to blot out all else save the pain, and when he at last came back to himself it was to peer up at blurred yellow silks above his head and a harper nearby, idly plucking out some tune that Dunk couldn't recognize.
"Finally," said a voice. "Have you any idea how boring it is to watch a man sleep? And you drooled all over my pillows, hardly attractive. Though at least you don't snore. I can't bear snoring."
"What's the hour?" Dunk asked. His left eye wouldn't open, the pain of it throbbing gently against his skull along with the beat of his heart. Had he lost his eye altogether? Even as the panic of it rose, he lifted his hand to press against the socket — surely he'd know if the thing had been plucked out, would feel the strange hollow of it like Mad Ser Robyn.
"Stop that," said the voice. The music came to an abrupt end as a hand with rough palms and smooth wrists swatted irritably at his. "They've just finished wrapping your head up like a prize pear, you'll get it all grubby. The state of your nails," he added reprovingly.
"What's the hour, Lyonel?"
"Just past noon. No, don't—"
But Dunk ignored him as he slowly levered himself up the pillows, not quite sitting but not sprawled out like a dead rat along the nicest bed he'd ever seen — very nearly the only one he'd ever been in. "What's the day?"
"This is a boring number of questions," Lyonel Baratheon, Lord of the Stormlands and Champion of the Lists at Ashford, as well as one of the six men who had risked their lives to prove Dunk's innocence, crossed his arms and sat sulking in his chair.
"What day?"Â
"You've been drooling for a day and a bit."
"Ser Hardying and Ser Beesbury are dead," Dunk said slowly, for he'd remembered that much. "Anyone else?"
"I've heard nothing of Ser Willem, he was carried insensate from the field. My maester didn't like his chances, but then he was convinced you'd be dead of putrid necrosis by now, whatever the seven fucks that is. And then of course there's the princeling," Lyonel said with a curl of his lip.
"Which princeling?" There had been four of them in the Trial, and Egg besides. What if it was Egg? Or Prince Baelor? Or Prince Daeron, coward though he was — or Prince Maekar, vindictive as he was? The only one whose death Dunk could not find it in him to regret was Prince Aerion, and even that would cause more problems for Dunk than it could ever solve.
"All of them, really," said Lyonel, picking his harp back up with a pleased chuckle. "The titchy one, Ham or Cheese or whatever his name is, he's fine. Keeps barging in here demanding to know if you've woken up, so gird your loins for that to happen in the next hour or so. But all the rest of them are abed with various bits missing. Daeron's lost an ear, they say Aerion's lost a stone — possibly both, gods willing. Maekar's lost his pride and Baelor's likely lost his wits."
Dunk sagged back against the pillows, smacking his head against the wooden headboard. Who brought an entire bed along to a tourney? Lyonel Baratheon, it would seem.
But even the pain — from his head, from his eye, from his hand that had got a knife stuck through and a leg that had got a sword stuck through and a belly that had got a lance stuck through — couldn't wash away the grief. He'd scattered Prince Baelor's wits into the mud of that tourney field as surely as Prince Maekar had, if indeed it had been the brother's mace that had struck the blow. The greatest knight of the Seven Kingdoms, destined to become the greatest king the realm had ever known, and he might as well be dead and dust and ashes. Mayhap that would be better, though Dunk could not picture a world without the reality of Baelor Breakspear, after living so long with the dream of him in it.
Just then there was a commotion at the tent entrance and Egg — wearing his finery still, some black velvet jerkin over a black tunic with red buttons along the wrist — came darting in. "Ser Duncan!" he yelped, and Dunk had an armful of Targaryen boy, the fuzz upon his head scraping against Dunk's chin.
Dunk held him tight a moment. No matter what else may be, the lad had lived through it none the worse for wear, he thought, putting him out to arm's distance to look him over. Red eyes and marks on his cheeks from where he'd been crying, and no doubt with cause, but he was whole and healthy and in that moment, Dunk cared for nothing else.
lemons/limes (this needs to make up the bulk of the fruit being used, like at least 80%)
whatever other fruits or fruit scraps you want, plus any herbs/other flavorings you want to try. by fruit scraps I mean things like cherry pits, apple peels, pineapple cores, strawberry ends, things like that.
granulated white sugar, the coarser the better, 50% by weight of total citrus rinds + 100% by weight of any additional fruit. you'll measure this after you prep the fruit.
water as needed
equipment:
a few nonmetallic mixing bowls
a mesh strainer
a chinoise, ricer or some cheesecloth
a kitchen scale
a citrus juicer or reamer (manual or electric)
a potato masher
juice the citrus through a strainer - saving all rinds -Â and refrigerate the juice for the time being. dice the rinds and other fruits if any, keeping the rinds separate. make note of weights, and measure your sugar.
 Place sugar in a large nonmetallic bowl. If using non-citrus fruits and/or any other flavorings, mix them in with the sugar and mash with potato masher. add diced citrus rinds, mix thoroughly, and mash again. cover and let stand at room temperature for at least 4 hours. this allows the sugar to draw out flavors that would otherwise get discarded with the rinds, and the rinds' acids should be enough to dissolve the sugar into a syrup.
Afterward, mash one last time, then collect the syrup by pressing the macerated mixture through a strainer/chinoise or ricer, or squeeze it through cheesecloth. if you want, this can be saved as a standalone syrup at this point, for use in cocktails or desserts. if not, slowly pour the reserved juice through the solids to to help get the remaining syrup out, and squeeze/press again. do the same thing one more time with warm water (roughly the same amount of water as juice). discard solids (or try making sangria with them!).
taste the mixture and add more water if necessary. a stronger mix is totally fine if you anticipate serving over ice on a hot day, or adding booze, or if there was a lot of non-sour fruit. keep in mind that it will taste a bit less sweet once it's chilled. pour into a pitcher and refrigerate.
citrus oils will float to the top, so stir/shake before serving. love you. enjoy.
some tried and true flavor combos:
straight lemon or lime, or any combination of the two, is of course an untouchable classic
lemon & strawberries (that's pussy babe!)
lemon & orange with a hint of vanilla (creamsiclemonade...?)
lemon & apples or apple peels with cinnamon/ginger/allspice (for late summer)
some cocktail type combos, booze optional:
lemon or lime & berries with basil + gin
lime & mint + white rum
lime & ginger + dark rum
lime & cucumber + gin
lime & orange (berries optional) + tequila
lemon, orange & cherry + brandy, bourbon, or rye whiskey
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my friend and i were discussing a dnd campaign made up entirely of shakespearean characters but we were debating who would be what and if there would be any that aren't bards
my pitches were for barbarian beatrice (let her be filled with rage) and warlock hamlet whose pact was slowly driving him to insanity
Ariel makes sense as a familiar/ Mephit if Prospero is a wizard but I so much prefer readings that grant both Caliban and Ariel full agency so what if Prospero is an NPC and is the patron to both Ariel and Caliban’s pacts?
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my friend and i were discussing a dnd campaign made up entirely of shakespearean characters but we were debating who would be what and if there would be any that aren't bards
my pitches were for barbarian beatrice (let her be filled with rage) and warlock hamlet whose pact was slowly driving him to insanity
my friend and i were discussing a dnd campaign made up entirely of shakespearean characters but we were debating who would be what and if there would be any that aren't bards
my pitches were for barbarian beatrice (let her be filled with rage) and warlock hamlet whose pact was slowly driving him to insanity
my friend and i were discussing a dnd campaign made up entirely of shakespearean characters but we were debating who would be what and if there would be any that aren't bards
my pitches were for barbarian beatrice (let her be filled with rage) and warlock hamlet whose pact was slowly driving him to insanity
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
something about the way shakespeare's plays are positioned to just barely cover the untold tragedies lurking underneath. lady macbeth knows how tender the babe is that milks her yet the macbeths have no child to pass the crown to. iago mentions that othello saw his own brother shot to pieces by cannons. olivia was planning to grieve her brother for 7 years until she met viola. beatrice knew benedick of old. lady capulet was only fourteen when she gave birth to juliet. it drives me crazy to see all the untold stories peeking out between the lines of the main plot.
