#warbcunds

@warbcunds​ // AMBROSIA ARRYN HOW PRECIOUS THE THINGS THAT LOOK PRETTY YET HURT. Artem has never forgotten how small and noisy the Westerosi are. They celebrate with the most frivolous of spirits that which are the most mundane. Some Martell is marrying some Fowler, and on with the ale and wines and rich spices they go. Everyone’s belly is full and sated, and hell raises undisturbed in the company of sheep. He knows his way around these walls and paths and hedges - he’s grown up here, fucked and drank by the very fountain young lovers play coy. Once he was a Lord or Prince of a Great House. Now Artem is but a shadow of his making - cares little for the these fools. He passes through bodies and laughter of the easily entertained and found himself entering the fort of the gardens. Here, too, he has fucked and drank - but he is sober now. The former can wait as he does. “She will be here,” he whispers to the small, pale flowers at bloom. “Pretty things attract pretty things.”

@warbcunds​ // SELINA TARGARYEN A SMALL FIRE THAT WARMS IS BETTER THAN A BIG FIRE THAT BURNS. Her nephew is King, first of his name. He is king and he small, pink, and playing with his own spit as he sits upon Una’s lap. All babes look a like until they take upon their own fates and start resembling a parent or both. Draemon is a Targaryen: he is a dragon; and the little dragon looks up to Una with a bubble on his mouth that pops and makes himself laugh. “You are a joy,” she says to him, knowing full well that the child can barely speak. He has his set of teeth about him, and he looks healthy. Una is beyond fond.