A Song Of Ice And Fire - Blog Posts

I love them

book accurate Dany with Viserion 💜

At this point where her dragons are that big her hair should be longer but I was brainless it was 4 am when I drew this

The older I get,

the more I see

how women are described

as having gone mad

when what they’ve actually become

is knowledgeable

and powerful

and fucking furious.

- Sophie Heawood

THE DANCE OF DRAGONS for the Game of Thrones: Season 5 blu-ray

Last year I had the opportunity to work on an animated featurette for Game of Thrones! 

The Dance of Dragons is a 20 minutes animation based on G.R.R. Martin’s novella The Princess and the Queen, which takes place 200 years before the events in Game of Thrones. It tells the story of the struggle in which Targaryen turned against Targaryen, resulting in civil war and destroying most of their dragons in the process.

In addition to being in the blu-ray, it was shown at a few events in the run-up to the season 6 premiere. Pretty much a dream project, thanks to the people at  Buddha Jones + LAssociates - particularly the producer Adam Vadnais.

(Tumblr // Twitter // Instagram)

(Just a note: I was in charge of drawing the characters + dragons; the colours and background were handled by other people for the finished product. So it looks fairly different to these frames.) 

ASOIAF POV Characters + Ages when they enter the series

Some characters’ ages are estimates.  Ages/estimates depend on which book they enter the series during, not necessarily their ages at a consistent time.  Calculated using | Fancasting 

Did a small sketch of my fav asoiaf oc xdd @dwellordream

They're so adorable and wholesome, it's giving me cuteness aggression ☺️

Makes me want to gobble the babies up. I adore big brother Rhaegar and his tiny siblings, it's a scenario —a what-if in another, much happier universe where he won— that really makes me melt 🥺

My mans looking hella fine too! 😍 The otherworldly beauty of Targaryens should be illegal - please have some mercy on us poor souls 🥵 And to you bestie, I say:

Rhaegar with baby Daenerys and Viserys

the calm before the storm

IT IS DONE!!!!!!

The Winged Shadow

WIP

I swear to god (aka the valyrian gods), this is probably going to get more notes than the finished version 😭

Daenerys Targaryen

Snowstorm; a love woven in the threads of fate between two people on either ends of a world soon to be changed.

i heavily fuck with Drogon looking as if he has an unholy amount of eyes like hell yeah my little minecraft spider, dracarys them all, you little eldritch monstrosity

doodles of my dany & jon designs around acok

Happy New Year! Here’s a drawing I made of my family for Christmas, in A Song of Ice and Fire inspired clothing.

Haunting Illustration of Lady Stoneheart by weremoon

Erotic song for couples, like and share please

🥵🍑💦

Star Wars Asoiaf Crossover Fanart

Made only line art for now. Feeling a bit tired.

Lyanna Stark after meeting her betrothed (-J-).

THIS those kids are so fucking interesting to me like those four where screwed the moment they were all born, aegon was like most likely an infant when people started to think about him being on the throne instead of rhaenyra like their all so tragic helaena being cursed to know that she and her siblings and children will die is just *chefs kiss* aemond losing his eye due to claiming a dragon agted being bullied for not having one, daeron being sent away to live at old Town not really knowing his siblings all that well but willing to die to protect and avenge his family is just *cries* alicent the mother out living all of her children (and I think grandchildren 2) and hating the colour green, the same colour of the dress she wore to be her own person to defend her children and fight for them

like obviously the team black/team green divide is stupid and missing the point of the dance and like obviously the show is written with a rhaenyra bias but likeeeeeee. HOW can you not be endlessly compelled by how irretrievably doomed the team green kids are. how can you not be intrigued and endeared by how narratively fucked these poor stupid teenagers are. pov: you were born to be a weapon in a civil war started by people who don’t care about you. that is the reason for your existence. you are obviously fated to die young and tragic and everybody knows it. you are a team green kid.

honestly tho they so would like yes they have a dysfunctional family but they care about each other they'd do a lot for each other, and like they want me to believe that show aemond is aemond from the book like I'm sorry but that is two diffrent people so glad the shows it's own canon and the books are their own canon

Just thinking about how book Alicent and Aemond react to the way their show version treat Aegon kill me 😂

Alicent: what's this bitch is doing to my sweet son? Oh no–

*Show Alicent slap Aegon*

Alicent:...

Aegon: mother? Are you ok–

Alicent: *throw the remote and break the TV*

Alicent: *hugs Aegon tightly, almost suffocating him*

Aegon: M-Mother, can't breathe–

Alicent: Shh, it's ok now, my love. Mother loves you, darling. No more nasty TV for you.

Aemond: what is happening? W-wait don't tell me...

*show Aemond trying to kill Aegon*

Aemond: *face go blank* my king?...

Aegon: hm?

Aemond: forgive me...

Aegon: oh come on it's just a stupid show no need–

Aemond: not that, I'm apologizing for what I'm about to do...

Aemond: *pull his sword out and put it on his own neck*

Aegon: wha... WHAT ARE YOU DOING???!

Aemond: PLEASE DON'T TRY TO STOP ME–

Aemond: *suddenly fall to the ground*

Aegon: *look back up and see Daeron standing there with a flowerpot in his hand*

Daeron: you're welcome.

rewatching game of thrones right now and the scene where cersei asks for lady to be killed in nymeria’s place is such a good metaphor/foreshadowing for sansa’s experience over the course of the rest of the show (for a while). she lies and allies herself with the lannisters for her own safety, playing the perfect lady, but ultimately she is repeatedly the one punished for her family’s actions because she’s simply the stark they have lying around. killing lady symbolized them cutting her off from her family and heritage at the same time they ‘defanged’ her.

As a young woman i know that i wouldn't make a good mother, and i knowladge that. This is why i don't plan to have childeren.

I think this is why i sympathize with Alicent so much.

I feel like she know she wasn't ready to be a mother, even when she was a adult she wasn't ready but she became a mother at 16, the very same age with me and now she has four kids.

I am not saying her abusing her kids was right, if i were her i would try my best to be a good mother and i think this was her trying her best to be a good mother. Unfortunatly she didn't know better

"I will end you today." — Daemon Targaryen The Rogue Prince inspired by The Blacks & The Greens by SweetestPopcorn

I wanted to change the style to comic and he is very easy to draw to try this out 😋

Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince inspired by The Blacks & The Greens by @sweetestpopcorn

A Pawn or a Player? { 3 }

_________________________________________

"Do you know what the most dangerous piece on the board is?

A pawn that refuses to stay one."

_________________________________________

Petyr Baelish never told me I was shaped.

He didn’t have to.

The thing about growing up in the shadow of a man like him is that you begin to understand silence better than words. You learn the meaning of a glance, the weight of a pause, the way power curls itself around a room like smoke, barely visible but impossible to ignore.

I was ten the first time he let me sit beside him while he played cyvasse against a visiting merchant.

It was not a lesson, not officially. Petyr never wasted time on things so direct.

But when the game was over and the merchant had left, my father turned to me and asked, as if it were nothing, “Did you see how I won?”

I hesitated. “You trapped his dragon.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “No, sweetling. I let him believe he was winning. Until he wasn’t.”

---

I learned quickly after that.

Petyr never told me to watch. But I did.

I watched the way he spoke to lords, all soft smiles and careful charm. I watched the way he moved through a room, unassuming yet ever-present. I watched the way people underestimated him, the way they dismissed him as nothing more than a minor lord with a sharp tongue and sharper ambition.

I watched the way he let them.

And I watched the way he won.

---

The first time I played cyvasse against him, I lost.

I was eleven, and I had thought myself clever. I moved my pieces with confidence, mirroring the strategy I had seen him use before.

He beat me in seven moves.

“Why? I asked, frowning at the board. “I did everything right.”

His fingers traced the edge of a pawn, thoughtful. “Did you?”

I looked again.

And then I saw it—the mistake. The opening I had left without realizing it.

The moment I had lost, before I even knew the game was over.

Petyr smiled, reaching out to smooth a hand over my hair, his touch as light as his voice. “You learn quickly, Rowan. But so do your enemies.”

---

I did not trust my father.

I respected him. I studied him.

But trust? No.

Petyr Baelish was not a man who inspired trust. He inspired awe, perhaps. Caution. Admiration, in the way one might admire a well-forged blade.

But never trust.

And he knew it.

Which was why, I think, he never asked me to.

---

I let him shape me. But only so far.

I let him teach me how to speak, how to smile, how to make a man believe I was harmless even as I unraveled his secrets.

But I also watched.

I watched him as much as he watched me.

Because if he was making me into a tool, then I needed to know what kind.

A dagger is not the same as a key. A shield is not the same as a lockpick.

And I did not intend to be used blindly.

-----

“You are too clever for your own good,” he told me once, when I was twelve.

I only smiled. “I wonder where I got it from.”

He laughed at that, shaking his head.

But he did not answer.

Because he knew.

And so did I.

—End of Chapter Three—

_____________________________

Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸

This chapter focuses heavily on Rowan and Petyr’s dynamic—the push and pull of power, trust, and manipulation between them. She plays the role he expects, but beneath it, she’s always watching, always learning. It’s a complicated relationship, built on something that resembles loyalty but is laced with too much calculation to be love.

I wanted to explore that tension—how much of her father’s influence she accepts, how much she resents, and how much she quietly resists.

---

Let me know what you think! Does their relationship feel as layered as I intended? Feel free to comment, share your thoughts, or ask any questions about Rowan!

✨Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨

A Girl Among Snakes { 2 }

_________________________________________

“You must learn the difference between a pet and a viper. And then you must learn how to hold both without getting bitten.”

_________________________________________

A court is a nest of snakes, but the trick is knowing which ones have venom and which ones are just pretending.

I learned this early. I had to.

Petyr Baelish never sat me down and taught me the rules of the game. He never needed to. My education was in his words, his glances, the way he could make a promise sound like a threat and a threat sound like a gift.

“My sweet Rowan,” he once said, fingers tilting my chin up so that my eyes met his. “Do you know why a mockingbird sings?”

I had been eight, still young enough to think his questions had answers. “Because it is happy?”

His smile was fond, yes. but not kind. “No. Because it is listening.”

-----

Myrcella was the first person to call me a friend.

It was not something I had ever expected to have, but Myrcella had a way of making things seem simpler than they were. She liked to pluck flowers and talk about knights, about love, about things that were soft and golden and good.

I let her believe in them.

For her, I was gentle. For her, I was kind.

But there was always a part of me—small and sharp—that knew better.

When she told me she wanted to be queen one day, I only smiled.

When she said she hoped Joffrey would be a good king, I did not answer.

Some dreams are too sweet to break.

---

Joffrey was something else entirely.

He liked me, but only because I let him think I was his to command.

Joffrey liked the illusion of power more than power itself. He liked to hold it in his hands, to wield it, to see people flinch when he spoke.

But I never flinched.

And that, more than anything, fascinated him.

“Rowan, do you love me?” he once asked, his voice filled with that arrogant certainty that only princes and fools possess.

I tilted my head, smiled just enough. “Of course, Your Grace.”

It was a lie.

But it was a beautiful one.

And beautiful lies are the ones that people love most of all.

-----

The brothels were my father’s kingdom.

He did not love them, not really, but he owned them the way a man owns a sword—because it was useful.

I was never meant to belong there, but I learned quickly that belonging was a matter of perception. If you knew how to wear a place, it would wear you back.

The whores were kinder than the ladies of the court. They saw me for what I was, not what I pretended to be. They called me sweetling, little bird, pretty thing. They brushed my hair and told me stories and laughed when I mimicked my father’s voice, sharp and knowing.

But they also taught me.

Men talk when they think no one is listening. They talk to women they do not fear. They talk when they drink, when they want, when they think they are safe.

I listened.

Because a mockingbird sings, yes—but only when it knows what song is worth singing.

-----

Petyr caught me once, slipping through the halls of his finest establishment.

He was not angry. Not truly. He only looked at me for a long moment, then sighed, as if I were a puzzle he had already solved.

“You think yourself clever,” he murmured.

“I am,” I said.

He smiled, and there was something unreadable in his expression. “Yes. That is what worries me.”

It should have worried me, too.

But I was young. And I was my father’s daughter.

And the game had only just begun.

—End of Chapter Two—

_____________________________

Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸

I know, I know—you might be thinking this chapter feels a bit too similar to the first. But I really wanted to slow things down and dig deeper into Rowan’s relationships, her thoughts, and how she’s beginning to navigate the world around her. This isn’t just about her learning manipulation; it’s about understanding the people in her life and the roles they play—whether as allies, pawns, or something in between.

Hopefully, this gives you a better sense of her dynamic with Petyr, Myrcella, and even Joffrey (because that’s a whole thing).

---

Let me know what you think—does it work? Should I have approached it differently? Feel free to comment, ask questions, or share your thoughts!

✨ Bye and take care, hope you all have a good day ✨

The Daughter of Littlefinger { 1 }

________________________________________

"They call me Baelish’s girl. A whisper behind silk fans, a name spoken with knowing smirks and hushed amusement, as if I am some pet my father keeps in his pocket, trained to play his games. But I am not a pet. Nor a pawn. Nor a fool. I am something else entirely—though, if I were wise, I would not admit to what."

_________________________________________

I was born in a brothel, though no one in court would ever say it aloud.

They would whisper it, of course, behind painted fans and smirks, in the same breath that they called me Baelish’s girl. Not quite a lady, not quite a bastard, something between a shadow and a secret.

My mother was a whore. She had hair like autumn and eyes like the first bloom of spring—Catelyn Stark’s ghost in a cheaper dress. She was beautiful in the way that made men reckless, and that, I suppose, was her first and final mistake.

I do not remember much of her. A voice, soft and humming. A hand, cool against my forehead. The way she smelled—lavender and something warm, something fading. When I try too hard to summon her, she dissolves into candlelight and smoke.

She died when I was four.

No one ever told me how. Some said illness, some said an accident, some said a jealous man who did not take kindly to her affections being divided. Maybe it was all of them. Maybe it was none. I used to think that if I asked my father, he would tell me, but I never did.

And perhaps that is the truest thing about us—our relationship was built not on what was said, but on what we both refused to say.

-----

Petyr Baelish took me in, but he did not raise me.

No, I think I raised myself.

I learned early that silence was my strongest armor. That men would mistake beauty for softness, that kindness was only currency, that power was not about strength, but about knowing which strings to pull and when.

I watched my father, listened to him, memorized the way he twisted words into something sweet and sharp all at once. I learned when he lied and when he only made people think he was lying. I learned that truth is a weapon like any other.

And I loved him, in my own way.

How could I not?

He was the one who took me from the filth of that brothel, who dressed me in silk, who gave me a name that people whispered with something like fear. I could have been nothing. I could have been dead.

Instead, I was here. In the capital. In the court. In the game.

-----

The first lesson my father ever taught me was this: Power is an illusion, and the best illusions are the ones people choose to believe.

He told me this when I was seven, sitting across from me at a table too grand for two people alone. His fingers toyed with the stem of his wine cup, a casual gesture, but I knew better than to think my father’s hands ever moved without purpose.

"Tell me, Rowan," he had asked, voice soft, almost amused, "do you know why men follow kings?"

I had hesitated, uncertain. Because they must? Because the king commands them? Because that is how the world works?

But even then, I had understood that my father rarely asked questions to hear simple answers. So I did what any good daughter of Petyr Baelish would do.

I smiled and said, "Because they choose to."

He had leaned back, his expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he had nodded. "Smart girl."

I had known then that I had pleased him.

But what I did not know—what I could not know—was how much that lesson would shape me.

-----

Court life was a performance, and I was a fast learner.

At first, I was merely the little shadow at my father’s side. A girl with clever eyes and a too-sweet smile, always listening, always watching.

The lords dismissed me. The ladies pitied me. But Myrcella Baratheon found me interesting.

It was not a friendship in the way of stories— no promises of forever—but I was her lady-in-waiting, and she was the closest thing to a true friend I could afford.

She looked up to me, I think. She liked how I carried myself, how I never shrank away.

I exist in the spaces between. A girl who listens more than she speaks, who watches more than she acts. I am careful. Cautious. A shadow in silk.

And yet, I am not invisible.

She calls me her dearest friend, her wisest lady-in-waiting, though she is far too young to understand what wisdom truly costs. She clings to my arm and tells me her dreams, her hopes, her childish fears. I listen. I nod. I smile when required.

“You’re not afraid of anything,” she once told me.

And I smiled, because I had already learned that fear was not something you showed. It was something you used.

-----

Joffrey liked me too, in his own way.

Or perhaps he just liked that I was never foolish enough to cower before him. I knew how to speak to him. Knew when to flatter, when to feign laughter, when to let him think he had won.

He once asked me if I was loyal to him.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

It was the only answer he wanted.

But later, when I was alone, I thought of my father and all the times I had asked myself the same question.

Was I loyal?

To whom?

my father?

To myself, I decided. That would have to be enough.

-----

People think power is won in battle, in blood, in steel.

But I knew better.

Power was a whisper in the right ear. A secret traded at the right time. A name spoken in the right room.

It was knowing when to smile and when to strike.

And I was my father’s daughter, after all.

Even if I was trying, so desperately, not to be.

—End of Chapter One—

-----

Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸

So, here it is—chapter one of Life and Lies of Lady Rowan Baelish. Honestly, writing this introduction felt like stepping straight into the viper’s nest that is Westeros. Rowan’s childhood, her mother’s death, and her first real taste of court life—this chapter lays the groundwork for everything she’ll become.

I wanted it to feel real, not just as an origin story but as a reflection of how survival shapes people differently. Do you think it captures that? Does it need more? Less? Let me know your thoughts—I’d love to hear what you all think.

---

Comment, ask questions, or just scream about the chaos to come. I’m here for all of it lol.

✨ Bye and take care, Hope you all have a good day ✨

Gay people are so crazy… what do you mean you married her dad but you’re thinking it could maybe still work out🧐🤨

I painted Rhaenyra Targaryen and Harwin Strong as Hellelil and Hildebrand from Frederic William Burton's The Meeting on the Turret Stairs. I struggled a bit with this painting, but it's my first master's study, so I'm actually proud of finishing it.

FYI this is available as a sticker on redbubble! Only a sticker because I made the original illustration in a weird size.