josherka



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  1. Rec *

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    Prince Baelor Targaryen, Hand of the King, has been trained (and trained well) in what his wife Jena calls, "The Art." Gossip is as much an art as it is a sport as it is a science, and the prosperity of the kingdom can sometimes hinge on rumor alone. When he and his retinue arrive in Ashford Meadow, Baelor overhears something rather incredible:

    Lyonel Baratheon has folk-married a hedge knight.

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    21 Apr 2026

  2. Rec 60

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    “Who are you?” the newcomer grunts, gaze trailing up and down Hans’ body.
    Oh. Now that’s a question he hasn’t heard in… a while.
    “You don’t know who I am?” he blurts out, unable to hold his surprise back.
    The blacksmith removes a glove and wipes his forehead on the sleeve of a rundown, simple shirt.
    “Should I?”
    Well, that’s an obvious answer but… Hans takes a look at himself. His clothes are fine, yes, but not leagues more than a wealthy merchant’s, or a noble passing through town. He also hasn’t washed in two days, and his hair must be an incomprehensible mess. He will count himself lucky if he doesn’t have straw stuck in there.
    “Uh…”
    Only then does he notice just how clear the blacksmith’s eyes are. They blink, without ever moving away from Hans, awaiting an answer.
    He doesn’t know what possesses him to say:
    “I’m Hans.”

    --

    There is a new blacksmith in Rattay and Hans Capon, having deserted his duties as a lord, has nothing better to do than bother him, watch him work and feed him kolaches, in no particular order. If he pretends to be a filthy commoner while he does so, and Henry buys it, it shall not be used as any measure of either their intelligence.

    Language:
    English
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    08 Apr 2026

    Bookmarker's Notes

    Funny and warm and beautiful

  3. Rec *

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    Ser Duncan wins the Trial, and dies of his wounds an hour later. He wakes up in a grave that night.

    Ser Lyonel, on Storm's End, mourns a man. He has never been good at being gentle nor kind.

    A storm is coming.

    Language:
    English
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    4/6
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    21 Mar 2026

  4. Rec 51

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    He did not know how best to put it into words. I dreamed of you, he could say, because there had not been a night in months where he had not been hunted in his sleep by a brindled hart with wolf’s teeth. I thought you were taken mad, he could say, but Lyonel’s eyes were black and gold and the light of frenzy was in his face, and he could very well be mad. He certainly did not look like a man in his right mind, but the madness threw his features into contrast and made him more handsome somehow. It seemed unwise to let you be alone, he could say, because there was a blooming seed of fear in his gut that poor half-mad, half-beast Lyonel on his own in the rainwood would fall victim to bear or wolf or some lost hunter—

    Foolish, Dunk knew, since the hart had survived his heats near as long as Dunk had been alive. Even a direwolf might pause at the sight of Lyonel and his splendid rack of antlers, forked like lightning with tines like arrowheads. He was a creature of sleek hard strength and blooded instinct. When his gaze met Dunk’s, it was Dunk who flinched away. What fool would think of hunting him?

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    15 Mar 2026

  5. Public Bookmark 66

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    A metallic hand flexes unnaturally, holding the collar. Red glows pulse beneath his skin. Robert hasn't belonged to himself in years. Tonight he's cutting the leash off even if it kills him.

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    12 Mar 2026