"She Was Kind And Clever, With A Gentle Heart.

"She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart.”

— from june 10th to june 16th

— use #elia martell week when posting

— the prompts are not specific to any day so feel free to pick any to post about on any day

— remember to mark the posts with the tag :)

(we also have a discord server where we share our ideas for elia week so if you're interested in joining the server please message me)

Day 03 Martell Week: Favorite Moment

Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel. I preferred to amuse myself by mocking my sister's suitors.

This challenge is more late than anything else, but I will finish what I promised. A nice moment of a happy Elia receiving the attention they deserve, the boys who court her are from the Chester and Grimm house. Elia's clothes are a combination of Westerosi and Dornish fashion at the time, due to her journey and her mother who was a friend of the queen.

Oberyn and her nose presenting the delayed week

Sansa Stark - Fashion & Style

Let me know if you find more :)

A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

Sansa already looked her best. She had brushed out her long auburn hair until it shone, and picked her nicest blue silks.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa II

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa III

It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansa wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again.

[...]

Lord Eddard was bent over a huge leather-bound book when Septa Mordane marched her into the solar, his plaster-wrapped leg stiff beneath the table. "Come here, Sansa," he said, not unkindly, when the septa had gone for her sister. "Sit beside me." He closed the book.

Septa Mordane returned with Arya squirming in her grasp. Sansa had put on a lovely pale green damask gown and a look of remorse, but her sister was still wearing the ratty leathers and roughspun she'd worn at breakfast. "Here is the other one," the septa announced.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa IV

She went to sleep wondering, restless, and fearful. Was her beautiful Joffrey the king now? Or had they killed him too? She was afraid for him, and for her father. If only they would tell her what was happening …

That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown of woven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, to bend the knee and say their courtesies.

The next morning, the morning of the third day, Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard came to escort her to the queen.

[...]

She chose a simple dress of dark grey wool, plainly cut but richly embroidered around the collar and sleeves. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she struggled with the silver fastenings without the benefit of servants.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa V [= AGOT Sansa III]

When the king's herald moved forward, Sansa realized the moment was almost at hand. She smoothed down the cloth of her skirt nervously. She was dressed in mourning, as a sign of respect for the dead king, but she had taken special care to make herself beautiful. Her gown was the ivory silk that the queen had given her, the one Arya had ruined, but she'd had them dye it black and you couldn't see the stain at all. She had fretted over her jewelry for hours and finally decided upon the elegant simplicity of a plain silver chain.

A Game of Thrones - Arya V

And there in their midst was Sansa, dressed in sky-blue silk, with her long auburn hair washed and curled and silver bracelets on her wrists. Arya scowled, wondering what her sister was doing here, why she looked so happy.

A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI   [= AGOT Sansa II]

Her maids sluiced the blood off her face, scrubbed the dirt from her back, washed her hair and brushed it out until it sprang back in thick auburn curls. Sansa did not speak to them, except to give them commands; they were Lannister servants, not her own, and she did not trust them. When the time came to dress, she chose the green silk gown that she had worn to the tourney. She recalled how gallant Joff had been to her that night at the feast. Perhaps it would make him remember as well, and treat her more gently.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

Sansa closed the shutters and turned sharply away from the window. "You look very lovely today, my lady," Ser Arys said.

"Thank you, ser." Knowing that Joffrey would require her to attend the tourney in his honor, Sansa had taken special care with her face and clothes. She wore a gown of pale purple silk and a moonstone hair net that had been a gift from Joffrey. The gown had long sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. Those were Joffrey's gifts as well. When they told him that Robb had been proclaimed King in the North, his rage had been a fearsome thing, and he had sent Ser Boros to beat her.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa II

Sansa threw a plain grey cloak over her shoulders and picked up the knife she used to cut her meat. If it is some trap, better that I die than let them hurt me more, she told herself. She hid the blade under her cloak.

A Clash of Kings - Sansa III

Had Joffrey found out about her meetings with Ser Dontos? Please no, she thought as she brushed out her hair. Ser Dontos was her only hope. I have to look pretty, Joff likes me to look pretty, he's always liked me in this gown, this color. She smoothed the cloth down. The fabric was tight across her chest.

[...]

Sansa covered herself with her hands, staggering every time the fruit pounded her, her hair sticky by the second blow. People were laughing. The melon flew to pieces. Laugh, Joffrey, she prayed as the juice ran down her face and the front of her blue silk gown. Laugh and be satisfied.

A Clash of Kings - Tyrion IX

Sansa Stark rode a chesnut mare at his side, looking neither right nor left, her thick auburn hair flowing to her shoulders beneath a net of moonstones. Two of the Kingsguard flanked the couple, the Hound on the king's right hand and Ser Mandon Moore to the left of the Stark girl.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa II

A new gown?" she said, as wary as she was astonished.

"More lovely than any you have worn, my lady," the old woman promised. She measured Sansa's hips with a length of knotted string. "All silk and Myrish lace, with satin linings. You will be very beautiful. The queen herself has commanded it."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

Cersei's own bedmaid trimmed her nails and brushed and curled her auburn hair so it fell down her back in soft ringlets. She brought a dozen of the queen's favorite scents as well. Sansa chose a sharp sweet fragrance with a hint of lemon in it under the smell of flowers. The maid dabbed some on her finger and touched Sansa behind each ear, and under her chin, and then lightly on her nipples.

Cersei herself arrived with the seamstress, and watched as they dressed Sansa in her new clothes. The smallclothes were all silk, but the gown itself was ivory samite and cloth-of-silver, and lined with silvery satin. The points of the long dagged sleeves almost touched the ground when she lowered her arms. And it was a woman's gown, not a little girl's, there was no doubt of that. The bodice was slashed in front almost to her belly, the deep vee covered over with a panel of ornate Myrish lace in dove-grey. The skirts were long and full, the waist so tight that Sansa had to hold her breath as they laced her into it. They brought her new shoes as well, slippers of soft grey doeskin that hugged her feet like lovers. "You are very beautiful, my lady," the seamstress said when she was dressed.

"I am, aren't I?" Sansa giggled, and spun, her skirts swirling around her.

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion VIII

Sansa wore a gown of silvery satin trimmed in vair, with dagged sleeves that almost touched the floor, lined in soft purple felt. Shae had arranged her hair artfully in a delicate silver net winking with dark purple gemstones. Tyrion had never seen her look more lovely, yet she wore sorrow on those long satin sleeves. "Lady Sansa," he told her, "you shall be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight."

A Storm of Swords - Sansa V

Dress warmly, Ser Dontos had told her, and dress dark. She had no blacks, so she chose a dress of thick brown wool. The bodice was decorated with freshwater pearls, though. The cloak will cover them. The cloak was a deep green, with a large hood. She slipped the dress over her head, and donned the cloak, though she left the hood down for the moment. There were shoes as well, simple and sturdy, with flat heels and square toes. The gods heard my prayer, she thought. She felt so numb and dreamy. My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel. Her hands moved stiffly, awkwardly, as if they had never let down her hair before. For a moment she wished Shae was there, to help her with the net.

When she pulled it free, her long auburn hair cascaded down her back and across her shoulders. The web of spun silver hung from her fingers, the fine metal glimmering softly, the stones black in the moonlight. Black amethysts from Asshai. One of them was missing. Sansa lifted the net for a closer look. There was a dark smudge in the silver socket where the stone had fallen out.

A Storm of Swords - Sansa VII

Sansa left the shutters open as she dressed. It would be cold, she knew, though the Eyrie's towers encircled the garden and protected it from the worst of the mountain winds. She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift, and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool. Two pairs of hose for her legs, boots that laced up to her knees, heavy leather gloves, and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne I

This morning her eye was caught by a parti-colored gown of Tully red and blue, lined with vair. Gretchel helped her slide her arms into the belled sleeves and laced her back, then brushed and pinned her hair. Alayne had darkened it again last night before she went to bed. The wash her aunt had given her changed her own rich auburn into Alayne's burnt brown, but it was seldom long before the red began creeping back at the roots. And what must I do when the dye runs out? The wash had come from Tyrosh, across the narrow sea.

[...]

Alayne looked down at her dress, the deep blue and rich dark red of Riverrun. "Is it too—"

"It is too Tully. The Lords Declarant will not be pleased by the sight of my bastard daughter prancing about in my dead wife's clothes. Choose something else. Need I remind you to avoid sky blue and cream?”

[…]

There was a gown of purple silk that gave her pause, and another of dark blue velvet slashed with silver that would have woken all the color in her eyes, but in the end she remembered that Alayne was after all a bastard, and must not presume to dress above her station. The dress she picked was lambswool, dark brown and simply cut, with leaves and vines embroidered around the bodice, sleeves, and hem in golden thread. It was modest and becoming, though scarce richer than something a serving girl might wear. Petyr had given her all of Lady Lysa's jewels as well, and she tried on several necklaces, but they all seemed ostentatious. In the end she chose a simple velvet ribbon in autumn gold. When Gretchel fetched her Lysa's silvered looking glass, the color seemed just perfect with Alayne's mass of dark brown hair. Lord Royce will never know me, she thought. Why, I hardly know myself.

A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

Beyond the walls, the wind picked up sharply. They were above the tree line here, exposed to the elements. Alayne was thankful that she'd dressed so warmly. Her cloak was flapping noisily behind her, and a sudden gust blew back her hood. She laughed, but a few yards ahead Lord Robert squirmed, and said, "It's too cold. We should go back and wait until it's warmer.”

[...]

Her eyes widened. "He is not Lady Waynwood's heir. He's Robert's heir. If Robert were to die . . ."

Petyr arched an eyebrow. "When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?"

Whoever sent this to Bethany needs to go FUCK THEMSELVES

Like I know the HOTD fandom is VERY comfortable with their racism and their general hatred but to send direct hate to the actors?? Woooow

On another note HER RESPONSE:

Also the fact that Anna is there 👀

listening to an analysis of sansa - by a CHILD THERAPIST i think this is a great angle, recced by @transdimensional-void - and he said something about Sansa seeming a bit lonely, which made me think about how like, for both Theon and Sansa, there’s an enddate to what they feel is a sort of misery (tho wildly different sorts of miseries) - one day she’ll be married and a proper lady surrounded by other proper ladies and not in the drab, dull north, and one day Balon will die and Theon will be Lord of Pyke and not under constant threat of death meant to be loyal to a family who cannot conceive of the stress he’s under. Contrast to Arya & Jon, who don’t have that “end date” to look forward to - Arya will never be free to live the way she wants, at some point her tomboyishness will stop being cute to the men around her and start being a sign that she’s too wild, and Jon will never be free from the taint of bastardry so long as he lives, this confusing underclass of man where he is noble by birth and yet also lowborn and unworthy is a fate he can never truly escape.

I think it explains both why Theon & Sansa romanticize the terrible things around them, with the repeated focus on beauty, on songs and stories, because they want to live up to the expectations by being the Perfect Lady and Perfect Wife, by being the Perfect Hostage and Perfect Lord, because this freedom they’ve built up in their minds has to be worth it. Theon was taken away from home for this, Lady died for this, it HAS to be worth the cost. BUT ALSO, whereas, because Jon and Arya feel there’s no reprieve coming, there’s nothing good in their future, there’s an emphasis for them on the idea that who they are now isn’t wrong, or dirty but instead a strength. They don’t deserve the bad that happens to them, but their identity as outsiders makes them suited to survive it, and their suffering has ~meaning.

But for all four of them, what ultimately matters is identity - whether they are hoping for the day when they’ll stop being who they are or dreading it, or outrunning it, all four have to grapple with a changing identity and come to terms with the idea that there is nothing wrong with who they are, but there IS something wrong in how they were all raised to believe they must change to accepted.

Day 06 Martell Week: Favorite Martell Fanfic

Ptolemaea by @sunsetstarroguein AO3

It's a pretty good fanfic and I loved the scene with the cousins talking and plotting. The truth is that life stole that from us. So a nice fanart of all of them together. In the fanfic Rhaenys is queen so I put a crown on her. Sarella telling an adventure from her travels. It was very beautiful to draw them

A small drawing of Aegon 6 announcing the week. Aegon baby.