#[sobbing] we need more love for Gregor in this world | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

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Blood in the Rivers: VI

A/N: Mkay. Thank you to everyone who read, commented on, and reblogged the last chapter. You’re all angels and I would marry all of you if polygamy wasn’t illegal. Smut is not my forte but I tried.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: NC-17 for fingering, blow jobs, my over-use of italics

Word Count: 9.1k (yeah...I hate me too)

Read Chapters I-V here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Six: Ruins in Moonlight

Whispers followed her through King’s Landing. Eyes watched her every step.

“She killed The Mountain!”

“Her? Surely not. Prince Oberyn more like.”

“No! Truly!”

Y/N tilted her head back to catch the sun for a moment as Daisy kept a firm lock about her arm. She hadn’t slept. Ellaria had come rushing in with Daisy as Oberyn held her and they quickly sent most of the others back out into the hall. Ellaria pressed a kiss to her blood-stained lips without care and with tears in her eyes. None of them had parted from her side for the rest of the night, even when Cersei and Tywin had come in. The pair surveyed the carnage with a muted sort of surprise before Cersei asked, “how do we know that you did not invite him into your bed?”

And, for once, she didn’t have an answer.

Oberyn held her close as he made it clear that he knew the halls had been emptied to give Gregor few obstacles to get to her door. Daemon had come to give food to the guards at her door and had noticed the eerily empty hall near her chamber and had gone to fetch the prince at once. “But which one of you gave the order for them to leave? For Gregor to touch my betrothed?” Before he received an answer, Tommen and Margaery appeared, followed by a wash with morbidly curious nobles from The Reach. Both king and queen quickly apologized to Y/N for “the incident” and promised her anything she wanted. And, with the assembled audience, there was little that could be said without revealing motives.

Y/N asked for Gregor’s head and watched as both Tywin and Cersei twisted their mouths into poorly hidden and matching grimaces.

Daemon cleaved the man’s head off right there in her chambers and then shoved it in a box to be taken to Dorne.

The rest of the night was filled with Ellaria and Daisy carefully washing the blood from her skin as Oberyn watched, mouth pulled into a firm line as he stood with his back to the door. A quiet sentry.

There was no sleep to be had that night.

Daisy helped her into the wheelhouse as it arrived in front of the Red Keep’s steps and then settled in beside her. As soon as the door was closed, the wheelhouse lurched forward. She did not lean out toward the window to catch a final glimpse at the fortress. She did not try to remember how it smelled as the gates to the city opened and they were let through. She did not want any memories from that horrid place. But her attention was soon drawn to Daisy as she held out a small canteen.

“Prince Oberyn sent this for you, my lady. So you may sleep while we travel.” Her lips twisted to the side. “And for the pain.”

Y/N resisted the urge to touch her swollen cheek. The cut that bisected her cheek had been deeper than she had originally thought and would likely leave yet another scar. She took the canteen and uncorked it before taking a large gulp of its contents. It tasted like dreamwine sweetened heavily with honey—she took several more gulps before pushing the cork back in and handing it back to Daisy. “Where is he, by the way? And Ellaria?” He and Ellaria had both been called away as Y/N had readied for the day. Y/N had been too tired to ask where they were going.

“I believe he is only a few paces ahead of our wheelhouse, my lady. And Ellaria is traveling with her father in his.” Daisy pulled something else from the small satchel at her side and handed it to her. It was two rolls of parchment. “They both insisted you read these, to help you sleep.”

Y/N frowned but took the offered rolls and unfurled the first. It was the letter of arrangement between Prince Doran and her father. It spoke of a modest dowry and the promise of her new title and the life she would lead in Dorne. She frowned as she noticed the color of her father’s signature. It was in a pretty green-blue that seemed to shimmer in the sunlight. In all her years, he had only ever used black ink in his missives. Uncle Hoster, on the other hand, had loved a shade of ink very similar to the one on the parchment. He had the ink specially made and always requested that the finest pearls be crushed into the ink to make it shimmer. Her finger brushed against his signature as her mind, starting to fog with the dreamwine, rolled over a sneaking suspicion.

Had Oberyn gone to Riverrun?

Either way, the next roll nearly had her crying the instant she unfurled it. It was a letter to her, in her father’s familiar tilted handwriting in the same green-blue ink.

My darling girl- I am so sorry I am not there to give you this news in person. It has been too long since I have looked upon your face. When this war is over and won, I shall hold you tight. I promise you that. But you, my daughter, know I must finish what has started. Little Robb must be king. Your cousin Catelyn died saving him at the Twins, taking the blade and arrow meant for him. I cannot rest until my family is whole again. Your betrothed is a good man. My largest sorrow in this world is that I will not be there to remove the maiden’s cloak from your shoulders and see you wrapped in his colors. I asked him to give you this letter before we parted—he is a valiant warrior, if not a little hotheaded. But he speaks about you as if he has known you all his life. You have much of your mother in you, I know that. She weaved the same spell over me as you have done with him. And his paramour, it would seem, too. As long as you are happy, my darling girl, I am as well. All I have ever wanted was your happiness. Damn the rest. But, if the prince is to ever make you unhappy, I shall spirit you away at once. No man would stop me. Just send a raven and I will run to you. I should have seen you grow into the woman you are now. My mistakes will haunt me for the rest of my days even though your gentle heart has forgiven me. Just know I love you.

Y/N pressed the parchment to her chest and sobbed. It crinkled under her grip as tears streaked down her cheeks and soaked the neck of her dress.

Daisy quickly leapt to her side of the rocking wheelhouse and instantly devolved into trying to discern what had upset her so. Y/N could only hand over the letter through hiccups. Daisy quickly read it and then pulled Y/N into her arms as she was so fond of doing and let her weep. But soon, the dreamwine and exhaustion pulled at her eyes and she fell asleep in the quiet hold of her handmaiden.

It was midday when she woke and the wheelhouse had grown warm. Y/N blearily opened her eyes and expected to see that she was on Daisy’s lap—but instead found her head resting on a pair of sturdy legs covered in soft linen trousers. Across the wheelhouse, Ellaria was reading a book in her lap with her legs crossed under her on the cushion. Y/N turned and saw Oberyn looking out the wheelhouse window as his fingers idly traced the stitching of her dress.

“My love,” Ellaria said, “she’s awake.”

Oberyn looked down at her with a soft smile. His hand settled on her uninjured cheek and his thumb swept across her skin. “Or are you still dreaming, My Tully?”

“This feels like a dream.” She leaned a little closer to his hold. “Where is Daisy?”

“She is riding with Ser Daemon,” Ellaria answered with a mischievous glint in her eye as she set her book aside. “They are quite the match.”

“They are,” Y/N said as she sat up, despite Oberyn huffing when she did so. “I would see them happy.” She wiped the sleep from her eyes, only partly mindful of her injured cheek and glanced outside. “We must be halfway to the Stormlands by now, no?”

“We are. We should make it to Summerhall by nightfall.”

Y/N nodded and kept her eyes on the passing greenery. Her mind was still fuzzy from the dreamwine and long nap. “Thank you for giving me the letters.”

“Your father was insistent.”

“But how did you get them?”

Oberyn shared a look with Ellaria before he sighed. “I rode to Riverrun.”

Her head snapped to the side so quickly she felt something pinch in her neck. “What?”

“I rode to Riverrun,” he repeated. “There had been whispers of your father being seen at Oldstones and then Fairmarket, the Whispering Wood—a small band of men at his side. It did not take long to find him.”

Her mouth had gone dry. Questions bubbled and turned over in her mind.

“The Freys’ defenses were easily outmaneuvered and I did what he needed of me so he could take back your home.”

“But…but why…” Why had he gone? Why had he helped her father?

Oberyn reached out and gently grasped one of her hands and raised it to press a kiss against her palm. “Consider it a betrothal gift.” His smirk made her huff out a laugh as he continued, “the Realm needs allies—strong allies. Your Father in Riverrun. Starks in the North. The Reach. Dorne.”

Ellaria moved to sit beside her and held her other hand.

“I don’t understand.” And she didn’t. All of it seemed so convoluted and she was sure she only had half the pieces to this puzzle. But there was a voice at the back of her mind telling her that he did it for her. And why did that make her heart speed its beat like a dragonfly’s wing?

“We are in the long game now, My Tully. We will be rid of the Lannisters and the Realm will have peace.”

Ellaria squeezed her hand. “We did not want to involve you until we were certain that your father was alive. We could not be the ones to give you the news that he had perished. Breaking your heart…” Her smile was sad. “We couldn’t bear it.”

“But we did anyway when we kept it from you.”

And now, Y/N was seated between them, each holding one of her hands and gazes filled with sorrow and warmth. For her. For each other. “Tell me of this plan you have of to rid the Realm of its Lannister stain.”

And so they did. Oberyn spoke of alliances across the Realm to outnumber and outwit Tywin Lannister—the man House Martell held responsible for the deaths of Elia and her children. Gregor Clegane may have committed the act, but they knew The Mountain did not move unless Tywin commanded it. Years of bloodshed, war—they were Tywin’s doing. Ellaria spoke of meetings with lords and ladies who felt slighted by the Lannisters or Baratheons. All a carefully crafted plot to turn anyone and everyone against the most powerful man in Westeros.

“But what of Tommen and Myrcella? They are innocents.”

“They are,” Ellaria said.

“They will be allowed to go to Essos with their household and part of their riches—unharmed. But they are never allowed to step foot in Westeros again.”

It felt cruel to leave gentle Tommen and little Myrcella to a life of exile. But it was kinder than the end Rhaenys and Aegon saw at the hands of Tywin Lannister. And this was war—fought in shadows and in secret, but a war all the same. Y/N nodded. But then a thought struck her, pressing its sharpened blade between her ribs and twisting to open a wound she thought nearly healed. The want to pull away and curl into herself reared its head but she tightened her grip on their hands instead. She just needed truth. “And…I was the key to the Riverlands? Would it not have been simpler just to liberate Edmure from Casterly Rock?”

Oberyn chuckled as Ellaria smiled. “You were always meant to be ours. War or not, we would have you. But the formality of having an agreement between my brother and your father was a necessity so they could not try to force your hand. I had Doran draw it up before we left for King's Landing--I could forge your father's signature if had come to that. But I made sure that the Dornish forces were ready should the need arise to have to pull you from their clutches,” he said. “They are all waiting at the mouth of the Boneway.”

“And while Oberyn was out cutting down Freys, I was taking tea with Lady Olenna and that new Queen, Margaery to be sure of their alliances.”

“My Ellaria is a master negotiator,” Oberyn said, pride blooming in his tone but then his dark eyes focused again on Y/N. “And we’d do it all—the fighting, the long, insipid dinners—all of it, again for you.”

“Oh.” The sound warbled in her throat. “Are you sure? Are you certain you still-”

Ellaria hooked a finger under Y/N’s chin and made her look into her eyes. “Never doubt that. We have kept you in the dark for our own selfish reasons. It will never happen again. You are Our Tully. In this world and into the next: ours.”

Oberyn slid closer to her side, pressing his body against hers. He raised their clasped hands and pressed a kiss to her palm, lips then dragging to her wrist. Teeth scratched against her pulse. She shivered at the contact, lower belly clenching. “Do you still wish to be ours?”

Y/N felt the answer bubbling in her throat but her eyes dipped down to Ellaria’s pink lips. Soft and supple. She leaned forward slowly and saw the question rise in Ellaria’s beautiful eyes. Did she want this? Was she ready? Tentatively, slowly, she pressed her lips to Ellaria’s. It was a relief to feel Ellaria’s smile press against her mouth and easily let Ellaria assume control and guide her lips to open. The Dornishwoman stole her breath as she licked into her mouth with an effortless ease, coaxing her to follow.

Y/N let loose her grip on their hands to hold Ellaria closer, fingers curling into the loose fabric of her skirts and sighing against her pretty mouth. Not to be outdone, Oberyn pressed ever closer to lathe kisses against the side of Y/N’s neck. His hands slid across her stomach and the heat of him quickly soaked through the fabric of her dress as his fingers crept up to cup her breasts. A single squeeze had her moaning into Ellaria’s mouth.

She wanted them everywhere, anywhere. Wanted their touch branded on her skin for all the world to see. She wanted to lose herself to their kisses and touches and forget everything outside this small wheelhouse. Wanted to forget that The Mountain had ever touched her. Y/N would rather bathe in his blood a thousand times over than to remember what his hands felt like.

Her injured cheek suddenly throbbed in pain and she drew back quickly with a wince, fingers pressing to the broken skin as if the touch would help—only to catch the end of the cut with her nail. “Seven hells,” Y/N hissed.

“What is it?” Oberyn quickly asked, his mouth leaving her neck at her sudden movement, hands quickly pulling back and then hovering over her like he was ready to stem any hurt she might have.

“I am afraid we have been too enthusiastic with Our Tully,” Ellaria murmured. She reached out to pull Y/N’s hand away from her cheek with a careful hand. “We never meant to hurt you.” She pressed a kiss to Y/N’s fingers in a quiet apology as Oberyn hummed his assent, his fingers falling to rub comforting circles into her shoulders.

“It was my fault,” Y/N murmured. “I do want…to have you touch me, to touch you. I simply forgot my injury for a moment.”

“Your battle wound,” Oberyn said with a smile. “My fierce princess. Slayer of The Mountain.”

Y/N snorted and then winced as it once again agitated her cheek. “That moniker will never take and you know it.” She sighed and settled a little further into her cushioned seat as Ellaria and Oberyn both looked at her, fondness coloring their features and her chest filled with warmth at the sight. “I want us to be happy. Always. No more secrets kept about my welfare or half-truths. Happiness. That is all I want.”

“And you shall have it,” Oberyn whispered. “You shall have every happiness.”

She had never been to the Stormlands. She had heard of its verdant forests and lowing valleys that crested up to meet the Red Mountains but never truly seen it outside the illustrations in her books. The travelling party settled for the night at the mouth of a valley abutting a small outcropping of evergreens. The ruins of Summerhall were at her back and she wanted so desperately to explore them, touch its crumbling rock. But a handful of others in the party had insisted that she tell them the story of how toppled The Mountain. Even hardened knights had settled near her to listen. But their eyes all carefully dragged across her discolored and scabbed cheek and she fought the urge to hide it beneath her fingers. There was no jokes at her expense. No calling it a stroke of luck. Only careful nods and questions about the blade she used. She readily handed it over for inspection. It seemed that her killing of Gregor had given her an air of blood-filled sanctity in their eyes. She had heard the whispers of the Dornish as they had made camp for the night—they were much kinder than those of King’s Landing.

Her eyes drifted over to see that Oberyn had found their small gathering and leaned against a tree with his mouth lifting into a small smile only when someone asked how she came to use a blade. “Most Northern ladies don’t like it,” he said.

Y/N’s lips pulled into a small smile of her own, still bemused at how the Dornish thought anything and everyone above Dorne was ‘northern.’ “My father found me playing with one of his blades when I was just a child. He thought it would be wiser for me to know how to use it properly so I wouldn’t hurt myself on accident. When I left for Riverrun, Uncle Hoster always grumbled when Ser Desmond, our master-at-arms, would place a bow in my hands or blade. But he knew I am my father’s daughter.” She laughed a bit. “But he nearly collapsed when Ser Desmond somehow befriended some former Second Son and had him train me in exchange for a bit coin.”

“A Second Son? What was his name?” Oberyn asked, stepping closer. The gathered crowd murmured at his arrival. Everyone knew of Oberyn’s time with the Second Sons when he was sent to exile for a handful of years when he was younger. Even Y/N had heard the stories.

She smiled a little more openly as he stepped to her side, warm hand sliding down her spine to settle at the small of her back. “Ser Maegyr. He was quite a rogue and I was sure I was half in love with him until he was caught stealing from our storehouses.” She chuckled at the memory. “He managed to escape our dungeons the first night and we never saw him again. Did you know him, My Prince?”

“Maegyr?” Oberyn repeated as his thumb rubbed circles into her back. “He was a fine swordsman. But a terrible mercenary. He disappeared one night before he was to report to a commander about his battalions’ dealings with a Volantene merchant. I am surprised he made it this far west.”

Y/N looked at him in the dying light of the day and felt her heart pleasantly tighten in her chest. She should ask him more about his time in Essos, about what he had seen. She was sure he could never cease to ply her with his tales of blood and glory and she would never cease to wonder at them, at him.

“She is a fine lady, my prince,” a man draped in the colors of House Manwoody said. “The Seven have smiled on you.”

Oberyn pulled the small blade from his hands and looked at. The thumb of his nail picked at the dried blood still caking the sharp edge before he turned his gaze back to Y/N. “Yes. They have.”

Without realizing it, she curled a little closer to him as he held her dagger and felt a strange bit of peace in the depths of her soul, even as her eyes dragged over the blade. But the moment was soon broken by a servant saying that the food had been served for the last meal of the day. Dinner was an assortment of berries and cheeses and wines that sated her hunger and left Y/N feeling comfortably full as the moon rose higher into the dark sky. She met Harmen Uller, Ellaria’s father, an affable man who instantly endeared himself to her by regaling her of tales from Ellaria’s childhood.

“…and then she leapt from her horse’s back and into the Brimstone,” he finished his story with a chuckle. “The stench of Sulphur stuck to her hair for nearly a moon cycle.”

Y/N laughed and felt Ellaria’s fingers trail across her thigh before suddenly grasping it in a strong grip. Her knee nearly hit the table out of reflex and had Ellaria laughing quietly into her ear. Oberyn smiled at them from across the table and slid a berry into his mouth.

“You must see Hellholt, my lady. After the wedding, of course.” Harmen leaned forward to pointedly look at his daughter with a playful sort of anger. “Since it will be the only wedding I will be attending for quite some time, it seems.”

Ellaria scoffed. “Father, must you always do this?”

Harmen huffed and tried to hide his smile. “My Ellaria told me when she was not but eight that she would never take a husband.”

“And I still haven’t,” Ellaria said with a matching smile, her fingers starting to massage the meat of Y/N’s thigh and sending small, but pleasurable zings up her spine. “And I am better for it. I now have a prince and a princess to call my own.” Ellaria pressed a kiss just below Y/N’s ear and delighted in the shiver it created.

“Are you sure?” Y/N asked as she looked to Ellaria. To be truthful, it had been a question whispering at the back of her mind. Did she care that she would be Oberyn’s wife?

But the easy smile Ellaria gave her was enough. “I have never been one for marriage. It creates shackles I swore to myself I would never let ensnare me. But I am happy to have captured you both.” Another squeeze to her thigh. “Truly.”

Y/N’s eyes glanced back over to Oberyn to see him fondly watching them as the lord next to him prattled on about something, clearly under the assumption the prince was listening. Warmth bloomed in her chest. With all of the turmoil and heartache and bloodshed she had fought through—this moment right now, with Ellaria’s hand on her thigh and her breath on her neck, and Oberyn’s affectionate gaze, all of it was worth it. This happy moment.

The meal was finished with more berries and wine and then songs sung by a few of the knights as the moon was fully seated in the night sky. She was pleasantly full and buzzing with Ellaria’s constant touches. Against her thigh, curling against her knee, trailing against her hip. All of it was so pleasant and perfect that she assumed that it would carry over to her dreams.

Oberyn had erected a tent in the center of the camp for her and Daisy, draped with silks in every shade of red and filled with cushions that nearly swallowed the bed whole. It was a lovely, extravagant way to spend the night and he kissed her soundly as he told her goodnight, curling his fingers at the back of her neck so he could hold her close, keep her still. Ellaria quickly followed suit and reveled in the little gasps she emitted. It left Y/N smiling and a little dazed as Daisy helped her out of her dress and they settled in for the night.

It was supposed to be perfect.

But as she started to dream, mind filled with the touch of silk and Oberyn’s lips and Ellaira’s fingers, it all went wrong.

She woke only a handful of hours later, feeling the phantom fingers of Gregor Clegane. Her dream had been cruel. The dagger to his throat had not stopped him. He bled all over her and took what he wanted before wrapping his hands around her throat and squeezing until she woke with a gasp.

Daisy was still sleeping peacefully in the small bed on the other side of the tent, unhearing of her panicked breathing or her hammering heart. She rubbed at her throat as if that would ease the invisible ache and tried to steady her pulse to little avail. There would be no sleeping after that. Y/N stood from her bed and pulled her discarded dress back on and tied the laces at the back as best she could before shoving her feet into shoes.

The camp was largely quiet, most having retired for the night and retreated to their tents or their sleeping rolls under the stars. A handful of knights were in the middle of a drinking game at one of the empty tables and guards were stationed around the perimeter. She pulled a torch from its metal stand and ventured out on her own, feet sinking into the lush grass with each step. If she could not sleep, she could have a bit of adventure. It had been a habit of hers when she was a child. She would wander the halls of her father’s keep at the Bloody Gate or slip out of her chambers at Riverrun to ride her favorite steed bareback along the riverbanks. Tonight, she would see the ruined palace of Summerhall.

She started up the hill but caught the eye of two knights emerging from the trees. They had been part of the group who had heard her tale against the Mountain.

“My lady?” One of them started, confusion coloring his tone.

“I am unable to sleep. Do not worry yourselves. Please rest for the night.”

The two knights seemed to war with themselves before they each nodded. “As you wish, my lady.”

And as they continued on back to camp, she trekked forward and soon she was gazing up at the blackened stone of the former palace with a bit of awe distracting her from her nightmare. Quiet steps echoed in the night. She wandered through the half-destroyed halls and let them lead her this way or that as shadows danced alongside. Pieces of stained glass still clung to the frames of a few windows and the bright moonlight glittered in blue and green and red behind them.

Narrow halls gave way to an opened room and the remnants of a dragon-head mosaic in the stone had her pondering if this was the great hall of this once-beautiful palace. Ivy covered most of the rock and rubble and a mess of small, white flowers had managed to bloom amongst them. The entire west wall was gone and gave her quite the view of the valley below. Y/N set her torch on the ground and settled onto crossed legs. She watched the wind blow through the trees and rattle the branches. She knew of the tragedy that had befallen the Targaryens here. Wildfire had swept through its halls and killed the king, prince, Commander of the Kingsguard, and countless others generations ago. But it had once been a place of luxury, beauty. She wondered if there were ever dances in this hall. If kisses were stolen beneath the stained glass windows. If they ever stopped to look out over the valley like she did now.

She heard muffled yelling in the distance—probably from the drinking game she’d witnessed earlier.

It did not matter.

Y/N turned back to the view and pulled in a few deep breaths as her mind once again drifted to think of her nightmare. It was not the first time she had killed a man—the Riot of King’s Landing had her seeing two men to their graves as they chased her and Sansa through the mud-caked streets, intent on having their fill. Sandor had found them not long after and slew the rest of the hoard of men that pulled at their skirts. He had been gentle with Sansa then, making sure she was all right before pocketing Y/N’s dagger as his own to keep anyone from asking questions. It was then that she knew she could trust him with Sansa’s life and care.

That had been two and she had felt nothing but relief when she had watched their lifeless bodies fall to the ground. So why did this third seem to shake something innate in her marrow? Was it that she had to pretend to want it? Was it because she had his blood fill her mouth?

“Y/N!”

She leapt at the sound of her name being yelled through the night air. Hurrying to her feet, she turned to see Oberyn and Ellaria rushing into the remains of the hall, a torch held in his hand and casting dark shadows against the ivy. Daemon quickly followed. Oberyn’s entire being sagged when he looked at her and Ellaria placed a hand against his chest, as if she were the only thing keeping his heart behind his ribs.

“What is it?” She asked, feeling the tension. “Has something happened?”

“You were not in your tent, My Tully,” Ellaria answered.

“Tell the others that she has been found. Unharmed,” Oberyn said to the knight beside him. Daemon nodded and then slipped back into the blackness of the ruins without a word.

“The night after we almost lose you and I cannot find you in your bed.” Oberyn’s voice wavered the slightest bit. “I had dreams of you… of finding you dead under The Mountain, dead like Elia.” His lips pulled tight against his teeth and the sharp planes of his face looked even harsher in the dancing firelight.

“I told him to simply look at you while you slept, to rest his heart.” Even Ellaria’s soothing voice twisted in her throat.

“But you were not there.”

Y/N grimaced as shame bubbled in her gut. “I did not mean to frighten you. I…had dreams of my own that would not let me sleep.” She sighed. “I would never intentionally cause either of you duress. Walking simply helps me breathe after my mind is cruel at night.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were quiet for a moment before he set down his torch. He waved her forward and Y/N quickly did as he bid and suppressed a gasp when he grabbed her wrist when she was within his reach and hauled her close. His mouth descended on hers and robbed the air from her lungs as he laid claim to her in a kiss that she was sure would consume her entirely. Of all the kisses she’d ever had, she had never been kissed like this. She had never been kissed by someone who had thought they had lost her forever to the clutches of The Stranger. His tongue licked into her mouth as his hand cradled the back of her head, holding her tight against his heaving chest. Her hands pressed against his chest, robe and tunic left open to the night air and rumpled with disturbed sleep and the ensuing worry. It was only when she whimpered against his mouth, desperate for more but aching for breath, that he pulled away from her. Ellaria followed suit and pressed her lips against her shining mouth and coaxed more whines and moans from her throat.

She could kiss them forever if her lungs allowed it.

But Ellaria pulled away, too, before quickly pressing another kiss to her forehead. “Never do that again, My Tully,” she whispered.

And Y/N could only nod in return.

The three of them collectively sighed. Oberyn turned and nosed beneath Ellaria’s jaw and made her laugh as his teeth scratched against her pulse. “We all need a bit of release to help us sleep.” His hand slipped down and patted Ellaria’s butt as she smiled. “I have an idea.” He fixed his dark gaze on her and Y/N suddenly felt like a trapped lamb. “You will hide.”

“Here?” Ellaria’s smile started to grow to match Oberyn’s and Y/N’s poor heart hammered in her chest as her foot took an uneasy step back, snapping an old twig under her heel. “In the ruins?”

“You wanted to see the ruins. Now, go. Hide in the shadows.” His smile was more of a display of teeth and had Y/N skittering backward, into the darkened, half-standing halls without her torch. “We will find you!” He called out. It echoed against the rock.

Y/N quickly dashed away, skirting through the broken halls and around corners until she was so deep in the ruined palace she was sure no one would find her. Her heart thundered. The look in Oberyn’s eyes had been frightening—but it had her thighs clenching now, as she thought of it again. And the promise of him and Ellaria both trying to find her with the promise of something…it sent heat straight through her. She tucked herself into shadows of what seemed to be a bedchamber and listened for any footsteps approaching. If either of them came in, she could escape from the north door or through the hole in the east wall.

She couldn’t stop the smile she felt forming, even as her heart sped its beat like she was preparing for a fight or race. But then the soft footsteps echoed against the broken stone and she pressed closer to the wall at her back.

“Y/N,” Oberyn sang and it sent a shiver down her spine. “You know I’ll find you.”

His footsteps drew closer and she put a hand over her mouth to stifle her panted breaths.

He sang her name again and through the dark she saw him lean in through the crumbling doorway and swivel his head one way and then the next to try and spot her in the moonlight. Y/N didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, wanting to stretch this game out a little longer. But she knew she had been discovered when a familiar smirk split his face.

“Found you.”

She dashed toward the hole in the wall and leapt through it and into the adjacent room. He readily followed with a laugh. Y/N sped through the room, back out into the hall and slipped into another room before backing into the shadows again, skirts catching on the rubble.

Oberyn steadfastly followed and once again found her.

A giggle bubbled in her throat as he sprinted toward her with arms outstretched. But she dodged his hold and tried to slip by him and made it one two three steps before his arms wrapped around her waist and hauled her back against his chest as it rumbled with another laugh. Oberyn tucked his face into her neck and she could feel him smiling against her skin. “Can’t run from me, My Tully.” He planted his hands on her hips and turned her around so he could look at her. “You are beautiful in the sunlight but you are celestial in moonlight.” One of his hands gently held her face, mindful of her bruising.

Y/N slunk away from the compliment. “I think it has played tricks on your eyes, my prince.”

Oberyn pulled her closer, fingers a little tighter on her hip and grip a little more insistent on her cheek. “I do not lie and my eyes do not deceive me. You are beautiful.” His dark eyes were black in the moonlight. “Tell me you’re beautiful.”

“My prince, I-”

“Tell me.”

“I’m beautiful,” she mumbled.

He hummed and nodded. And they were quiet for a moment as he continued to hold her. “Tell me of your dreams.”

Her eyes shut and she pulled her face away from his hand to settle her forehead against his collar. “I can almost feel his hands on me as if he were standing here.”

“That is what you dreamed of?”

Y/N sighed but didn’t answer and closed her eyes, listening to the wind whistle through the stone.

“Where do you feel him touch you?” His hands hovered over her. “Tell me.”

She could tell him. She could whisper the places she felt Gregor’s fingers try to rip her apart. But she wanted to feel him—her prince—instead, with a little shame. Without pulling her head from its resting place, she grabbed Oberyn’s hands and placed them over her hips before dragging them up to her breasts for a moment and then having them encircle her throat. And then slowly, she pushed them down to the crux of her thighs as tears pricked at the corner of her eyes. “I feel him everywhere.”

His fingers never pulled or pushed or prodded. They did not dig into her in search of something. He gently curled his fingers over her hips again and rested his cheek atop her hair. The wind whistled again.

“Can you touch me?” She turned her face and asked the question into the fabric of his tunic. “I…I want to feel you. Feel your hands instead.” She felt him push out a long breath.

“Are you sure? Are you certain you want me now?”

It was only then that she dared look up at him. “Please.” It was barely a whisper.

His grip on her hips tightened and he pushed her backward until she was pressed against the nearest wall and he loomed over her. The moonlight framed his head and made him look like some dark, avenging god before his mouth claimed hers again. It had all the heat and intensity his other kisses held, but it was slower. Like he was trying to draw it out for as long as possible in long, strong strokes of his tongue against her own. But then his hands started to move, to knead her hips and then sliding up to grasp at her breasts through the fabric of her hastily tied dress.

A familiar coiling pulled tight in her stomach as her shaking fingers sunk into the sturdy weight of his shoulders. “Oh,” Y/N gasped out as his mouth left hers to press open-mouthed kisses against her jaw and down to her neck.

“No one will touch you again. I’ll have their hands on spikes before they even dream of touching the edges of your skirts.” He breathed the words against her neck and she shivered despite the warm night air, dampness starting to pool between her legs. “No one is worthy to feel your skin like this.” His nose skirted the edge of her jaw and tipped her head back so he could scrape his teeth against her throat. “But I shall tempt the gods’ wrath every time you let me.”

“You are to be my husband. I want no other man’s hands. I will never want another man’s touch,” she breathed out, eyes unfocused as they opened to see him smirk against the top of her breast.

“You are going to be my wife.” His breath came out in a sigh as he kissed her again.

“Yes,” she said, the single word coming out in a gasp against his mouth as she felt his hands start to gather her skirts, pulling them up up up.

“You are going to be mine. Forever. And mine alone.”

“And Ellaria,” she managed to say as his fingers started to slide up her leg, leaving a burn in their wake before cupping her, pressing the heel of his palm against her clit through the barrier of her small clothes.

Oberyn chuckled. “Oh yes, she will have you, too. And we will take you apart together.”

Her breaths were coming out in hot, labored pants even as he nearly devoured her mouth in a kiss. Deft fingers pushed aside her clothes and found her heat. He dug into it slowly, gathering the wetness before pressing against her clit again, circling circling circling. He mouthed at her neck as the first cry broke her lips.

“Yes, sing for me, My Tully.”

Her shaking hands wrapped around his wrist as he continued to work at her; to push him away or pull him closer, she didn’t know. “Oh-oh, my prince-” Another moan had her choking on the word, coiling something terrifying and beautiful in her stomach.

“Say my name.” The words were hot against her neck then trailing down against the tops of her breasts and he lathed his claim there, too, as his fingers continued to swirl. “Say it.”

“Oberyn.” It was a gasp and nearly scream as he dove inside with a single finger. “Oberyn.”

“Again,” he commanded, thumb now pressing against her bud, slowly working a second finger in.

“Oberyn.”

She was leaking all over his hand, she was sure of it, but could not find it in herself to be embarrassed. This touch felt good. This touch was wanted. This touch left her heart singing and thighs quaking.

He bit at her throat as his fingers continued to thrust and he could feel each of her moans as they came, higher and higher and higher until she crumpled.

She squeezed his fingers with a broken sort of moan still on her tongue but he worked her through it until her knees were shaking and she finally did push his hand away, afraid of another. But, she watched with a thundering heart as he raised his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. And he did it all with a smile on his face as he looked at her.

When he finally finished, he said, “the moonlight suits you.”

“Does she taste as good as we had thought?” Ellaria’s question had them both turning to see her leaning against the remains of the doorway, looking smug. Y/N righted her skirts and bodice to distract from her embarrassment.

“Even better than imagined, my love.” Oberyn held out his hand for her and Ellaria quickly took it but Y/N had one last soft sigh left in her when Ellaria pulled Oberyn’s fingers into her mouth to suck the last bit of her slick from his skin.

“Next time, I get to taste her first.” Then Ellaria’s hand trailed down to the top of Oberyn’s breeches and palmed the obvious bulge. “But it seems I can still have some fun tonight.”

Oberyn pressed a kiss to her mouth as her fingers unlaced him with a practiced ease.

Y/N could only watch in a hazed trance as Ellaria sunk to her knees before Oberyn and pulled his cock out before licking a firm stripe up the underside. Her still-slick pussy throbbed at the sight and she curled her hands into fists at her sides in a poor attempt at relief. He was unabashed at letting his moans out into the night air and they echoed like a forgotten, ancient god of desire. Ellaria’s mouth worked in tandem with her hands and soon had him thrusting down her throat with his hands in her dark hair.

Y/N continued to watch and found herself wanting to know what it felt like, wanting to know what he tasted like, what Ellaria tasted like.

Oberyn sucked in a quick breath between his teeth and Ellaria crooked at finger at Y/N and the younger woman quickly shuffled to her side and knelt, listening to the wet sounds of his cock moving against her talented tongue. Spit had started to leak out of the side of her mouth but Y/N only found that it made it more beautiful in a strange way, more debauched. Ellaria pulled her mouth off him and continued to stroke him in long, firm tugs.

“Put your mouth on him,” Ellaria instructed as she moved to the side just slightly.

“What?” It came out a squeak.

“Hurry. Or you’ll waste it. Watch your teeth,” She quickly added with a smile before licking her lips.

Y/N moved closer and opened her mouth. Her tongue caught the underside of the head of his cock and Oberyn groaned. Her lips closed around him and she tasted the salty-sweetness of his skin. Mindful of her teeth, she clumsily took him a little further into her mouth and it wasn’t much until she gagged and tears filled her eyes.

“Aren’t you perfect,” Ellaria cooed into her ear. “Just relax.”

Oberyn’s hands suddenly found the back of her head and he thrust once, twice, and one more time before he shoved his cock further and spilled down her throat and it left her gagging and gasping and only further increased the ache between her thighs. The taste of it still filled her mouth and she swallowed instinctively, earning a twitch against her tongue before he pulled out from between her spit-slicked lips. She didn’t even notice if her cheek ached from the mess of it all. He quickly helped her and Ellaria both up to their feet and fussed over their knees before kissing them soundly on the lips with a sigh. He tucked himself back into his breeches as Y/N looked at Ellaria.

“Shouldn’t we…” And now she was at a loss for words. “Wouldn’t you like to…” A vague hand gesture.

Ellaria, ever astute, knew exactly what Y/N was trying to imply. “Unlike you two heathens, I prefer my pleasures to beds and cushions—and the occasional chair.”

Oberyn hauled her close. “And we do have a bed waiting for us.”

“Oh,” Y/N started, a strange sort of courage blooming in her chest. “May I watch?”

Sunspear was a gilded fortress of sand-colored stone and gold. It touched the sky with domed towers and glinted like a precious gem in the sunlight. Y/N was sure she had never seen anything so beautiful as they finally spotted it in the distance.

Dorne was a delight to the senses. They had crossed through the Boneway and it seemed the world devolved into a wash of reds and yellows and browns under a crystal blue sky. The air was warm and fresh. (As the Red Mountains flattened into a dry, flat expanse of sand and rock, she was gifted a sight that had her heart roaring. An army, as promised, was camped. Tens of thousands of knights and infantrymen waiting for the command of their prince. An army raised for her.) The traveling party was on the road for nearly two weeks and it had shrunk little by little as lords and ladies and knights returned to their keeps along the way until only the royal party were left. Every night, she dreamt of Oberyn and Ellaria. They consumed her thoughts and dreams, blotting out the specter of the dead Mountain. She no longer felt his touch, only theirs. Her cheek healed and the scar was minimal. It wasn’t a perfect solution, and she knew she would need to speak to a septa to truly soothe her rattled soul, but they had been a balm to her very being. They spoke to her every day and into every night.

They were her companions, her friends—her lovers, even if she still maintained her virginity. They both insisted that she wait for the bedding after the wedding ceremony but had taken great delight in watching her fall apart on their fingers or teaching her how take Oberyn’s cock down her throat (Y/N’s favorite, truth be told, was just watching Ellaria and Oberyn together). But the twinkling of their eyes and secretive shared glances gave Y/N the thought that they might be planning something. It did not matter. She would let them do whatever they wanted. She trusted them both implicitly.

And perhaps it was too soon to truly say, but she knew she was falling in love with them—again.

Oberyn leaned next to her and murmured each part of the fortress, naming the Sandship, the Winding Walls, the Spear Tower, and the Tower of the Sun as he pointed them out over her shoulder. His warmth was a calming touch to her racing heart. Y/N was still nervous. This was still unknown territory. She might have Oberyn and Ellaria in her bed but that did not mean all of Dorne would welcome her.

As if feeling her turmoil, Oberyn pressed a kiss against her shoulder. “Relax, my moonlight. This is home.”

She smiled at the new moniker—it had been his name for her since that night at Summerhall and it never ceased to make her heart sing.

“We have a surprise for you,” Ellaria said as they finally pulled into the gates.

“You must not spoil me so. I will grow quite vexing, I’m sure.”

Ellaria chuckled. “Too late. We have decided to spoil you to our heart’s content.”

The wheelhouse eventually slowed to a stop at the steps leading to the heart of the castle and Oberyn exited first and helped Ellaria and Y/N out with a careful hand. There were serving men and women lined up to unload the wheelhouses and horses and each of them bowed or curtseyed as Y/N was announced. They smiled and Y/N found herself smiling, too. It felt worlds apart from the whispers and plots of King’s Landing.

“Come,” Ellaria said as she pulled on her hands. “The surprise awaits.” She tugged Y/N up the steps and into the heart of the fortress and Y/N could scarcely see the domed, painted ceilings or marble floors inlaid with gold as Ellaria continued to pull her along until they slowed to a stop in front of a door of white-washed wood and banded with gold. She held up a finger to her mouth and quietly pushed the door open before nudging Y/N into the room.

“And what happened then?” A child’s voice asked.

The room was large and open and draped in soft tones of ivory and tan from the silk carpets to the drapes fluttering in the wind at the open balcony doors. But all Y/N could see was the pair sitting on a chair on the balcony. One was the child, a cherubic looking girl with dark hair and matching, laughing eyes and the other was Sansa. A book was perched over the little girl’s lap as she sat on Sansa’s legs.

“The knight grasped his sword and slew the bear!” Sansa read and pointed to the illustrated page.

“He did?”

“He did!”

The girl giggled and clapped before grabbing at the book and quickly flipping the pages to find another tale to be read.

And she could not stop the tears then, even as Sansa continued to read to the little girl and did not notice her stepping farther into the room. She listened to Sansa read more, softly answering all of the girl’s questions and even doing different voices for different characters—like Catelyn used to do when they were children. It squeezed her heart in a grip of melancholic happiness.

“Loreza!” Ellaria called from the hall.

“Mother is back!” The girl smiled up at Sansa before squirming off her lap. She barely cast Y/N a second glance before dashing away.

Sansa laughed to herself before closing the book and standing. She froze as she saw Y/N standing just inside the room. But then she was running toward her and throwing her arms around her shoulders with a cry that Y/N quickly matched. They held each other tight until their arms cried for reprieve but it still felt like it was too short of an embrace. They had been separated for too long. Too much had happened since they parted. To be reunited felt like a splinter of her soul had been slotted back in place.

“Oh, let me look at you,” Y/N said, holding Sansa at arm’s length. “Still gorgeous as ever.” She reached up to hold Sansa’s smiling cheek in her hand, thumb sliding against her skin. “The sun has made you pink, little one. Your freckles are beautiful.”

Sansa laughed and nodded. “It is beautiful here. But it is as if the sun never sets.”

Y/N smiled and pulled her close for another hug, tucking her nose into Sansa’s auburn hair and breathing her in. She still smelled of lemon cakes and freshly bloomed flowers. “I have missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too. But you’re here now. That’s all that matters.” Sansa’s fingers trailed up and down Y/N’s back, nails catching on the tight laces of her dress. And the pair simply held each other for a moment, stretching into another. “You saved my life.”

“I’m sure Sandor saved you more than I did, little one.”

Sansa sighed. “He is a good man.”

And there was something in the young Stark’s tone that had Y/N pulling back with a small smile. “Do not tell me you have developed some sort of longing for him.”

Sansa’s pink face burned red. “I..I-I-”

Y/N chuckled and patted her shoulder. The infatuation would end eventually. Y/N knew that--she’d had her own crush on Ser Maegyr when she was Sansa’s age. “You have quite the taste in men. A rogue prince of your own, hm? Just like the stories Catelyn would read to you.”

Her blush grew darker. “He is not a prince.”

“Oh no, of course not. You’ve had your share of princes.”

They both laughed but stopped as sounds of an argument grabbed their attention. Y/N laced her fingers with Sansa’s and pulled them toward the noise, down a hallway and around a corner as she followed where the sound led. As they grew nearer, Y/N’s heart leapt into her throat, recognizing the voices. Her footsteps hurried and Sansa quickly moved to match her pace.

“You are not welcome here, Dog,” Oberyn nearly hissed.

“I’m not here for you. She-”

Y/N thrust open the door and her knees nearly buckled. Standing behind Sandor, nearly hidden, was Arya.

A/N: The next chapter will finally see a few more familiar faces and some fall out from the Lannisters’ anger.

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #oberyn martell #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf

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thebluelemontree · 5 years ago

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Hey, sorry to be a bother but do you know any metas about Driftwood and the mythological significance of have Stranger called such? If not, could you please help me find any metas about the importance of Stranger (the horse and the god) to Sandor's future? Thank you!!

It’s no bother at all. I love talking about this stuff. I don’t recall any other metas specifically on that topic, but I do go into the meaning of Driftwood/Stranger in Part VI of my Winds prediction essay for Sandor. I’m staying narrowly focused on your question here, but mythological significance branches out much farther and features heavily throughout each section of that essay if you have any further interest.

And the seventh face … the Stranger was neither male nor female, yet both, ever the outcast, the wanderer from far places, less and more than human, unknown and unknowable. Here the face was a black oval, a shadow with stars for eyes. It made Catelyn uneasy. – Catelyn IV, ACOK.

Of the Seven, the Stranger is the one most regarded with fear for his/her association with death and the unknown. He/she’s either depicted as a shrouded half-human, half-animal, or with a blacked-out void for a face. Sandor has that thematic aesthetic going on with his hound’s head helm, which gives him the appearance of being both a man and a beast. That is a reflection of the duality of his identity between Sandor and the Hound. He frequently enters a scene by stepping out from the shadows, so he also fits with the shadowy figure version. Sandor also isn’t one to allow others to know his true self, at least until Sansa, Arya, and the Elder Brother. Rarely does any worshipper pray to the Stranger as few are eager to invite death itself in, of course. It’s no wonder that the outcasts of society might identify with that lonely aspect of being an unwelcome presence and having nowhere to belong.

For Sandor to give his horse such a blasphemous name, it’s because he views himself as someone who is feared and misunderstood, and as an outsider who stands on the outside looking in at the world. This is especially true as he is immersed in the culture of knighthood but emphatically rebels against it. There is much of ordinary life that is closed off to Sandor, and it’s not all due to his trauma response and poor coping skills alienating him from other people. A lot of it is just unfair. His perceived ugliness in a society that overwhelmingly favors physically beautiful people and despises disability or disfigurement has hindered his ability to create meaningful connections with others. That resentment has only built up throughout his life. He’s a second son who is forced to make his own way in the world since Gregor is the sole beneficiary of the Clegane lands and incomes. It’s Gregor that got the home and wife (three to be exact), which is the domestic life that would normally ground a man, giving him a sense of purpose and satisfying his emotional needs. Gregor doesn’t care for any of that, but there is a hint that Sandor feels this is something that has been denied him. Since many people fail to distinguish Sandor as different from his brother, Gregor’s infamy and the rumors surrounding the deaths of his wives and family members really don’t help either. After the BotBW, Sandor is really cut adrift from society by his desertion. He’s unfairly marked as a craven, and then in a tragic case of mistaken identity is wanted for the rape and massacre of the Saltpans. That’s about as hated and reviled as one can get.

Like other instances of named horses being a reflection of their riders, Stranger’s nature says a lot about Sandor’s. He’s proficient in battle, brave, disciplined, but extremely ill-tempered, and dangerous; however, with gentle handling from a master that has earned his trust, he’s able to respond in kind.

The horse was a heavy courser, almost as big as a destrier but much faster. Stranger, the Hound called him. Arya had tried to steal him once, when Clegane was taking a piss against a tree, thinking she could ride off before he could catch her. Stranger had almost bitten her face off. He was gentle as an old gelding with his master, but otherwise he had a temper as black as he was. She had never known a horse so quick to bite or kick.

There’s a bond there. The horse isn’t just a tool or weapon to be used. Sandor cares for this big, scary boy that no one else can get close to. After rescuing Sansa from the riot, his next thought is to go back to find his horse in the chaos and fire. Because Sandor gave him the name, it shows that he has the self-awareness of how his issues and anti-social behavior have only served to increase his sense of isolation and cement other people’s negative opinions. The only reason an animal would so readily bite or kick indiscriminately is that it’s in constant fear of being hurt by people (*sob*). It’s possible Sandor recognized a warhorse that was trained with brutal methods, not unlike his own childhood and adolescence. One can imagine how much patience, kindness, and courage it took to bring such an ornery beast to the point where he can trust and reciprocate.

People are more complicated than animals, of course; however, this is definitely meant to mirror his relationship with Sansa and her gentleness, compassion, and courage in the face of his anger issues. Though not many are not keen on giving attention to the Stranger in their prayers, Sansa does pray for Sandor’s safety and well-being. The Stranger is the last deity people turn to for comfort, and yet Sansa views Sandor as her protector and ally. She wishes for his presence at times, even after seeing him at his worst. And I love, love, love this line from Cersei about Sansa, who is deep into the unkiss rabbit hole at this point:

“… but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss.“ – Cersei IV, AFFC.

So that brings us to Stranger’s renaming to Driftwood, but first, we need to ask what exactly is the Quiet Isle? Quoting from Part IV of my essay:

“The Quiet Isle is also a place to cross over into the afterlife in more than one way. Sometimes the dead and dying wash up on the shores, as did the Elder Brother. Sometimes they are brought there like the Hound or the people of the Saltpans after the massacre to die or be healed. The metaphoric and most common way is for penitents to abandon their old lives to be reborn in a new monastic life. In a sense, the brothers on the isle are dead to the outside world. They don’t speak with few exceptions. Many cover their faces as well, obscuring their past identity. Their brown robes and cowls are like the dead driftwood that washes up there, but even driftwood gets reborn as beautiful polished furniture and cups. If you want to come on the Quiet Isle, you need Elder Brother’s or one of his proctor’s permission. There’s a ferry to the isle which is evocative of Charon. So that makes Elder Brother, like Garth Greenhand, a psychopomp. He’s a gatekeeper between life and death, literal and metaphoric, and can also return people to the world of the living. The imagery is evocative of the Elysian Fields and especially Avalon, where King Arthur was taken to recover from wounds sustained against Mordred at the Battle of Camlann and is destined to return from. ”

Driftwood was dead and washed up, but then it is collected, reshaped and polished into something beautiful with a new purpose in its second life. Driftwood in this context is a metaphor for healing and redemption.

“The furnishings were strange but simple; a long table, a settle, a chest, several tall cases full of books, and chairs. All were made from driftwood, oddly shaped pieces cunningly joined together and polished till they shone a deep gold in the candlelight.” – Brienne VI, AFFC.

Amazing Grace, How sweet the soundThat saved a wretch like meI once was lost, but now am foundT'was blind but now I see

I zero doubts that Sandor’s character is undergoing a radical and profound transformation on the Quiet Isle. He was broken down enough to be open to it when the Elder Brother picked him up from the shore of the Trident. Also kinda miraculous that Stranger must have allowed himself to be led by another person while Sandor was incapacitated; however, it’s obvious Stranger is never going to spend the rest of his days as a plowhorse.

Brother Narbert sighed. “The Seven send us blessings, and the Seven send us trials. Handsome he may be, but Driftwood was surely whelped in hell. When we sought to harness him to a plow he kicked Brother Rawney and broke his shinbone in two places. We had hoped gelding might improve the beast’s ill temper, but … Brother Gillam, will you show them?”

Brother Gillam lowered his cowl. Underneath he had a mop of blond hair, a tonsured scalp, and a bloodstained bandage where he should have had an ear. – Brienne VI, AFFC.

This makes me laugh because although I believe Sandor has learned to have a healthier mindset through humble service and meaningful penance, he probably has been a veritable pill through the process. As Stranger kicks and rebels, we should definitely conclude that Sandor’s time with the holy brothers is not permanent. Especially considering that the horse adamantly refuses to be gelded, Sandor will not be submitting to the celibate life of a monk. The new name likely won’t stick, because Sandor didn’t so much need a whole new identity, but to restore his original one. The Hound is dead, but Sandor Clegane lives, polished and remade with a new purpose to his life.

#valyrian scrolls #sandor clegane #sandor clegane meta #asoiaf meta #twow spec #twow theories #stranger #driftwood #the quiet isle #elder brother #mythological references #mythology in asoiaf #symbolism in asoiaf #sansan meta #asoiaf characterization #my meta

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anstarwar · 4 years ago

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A Beautiful Day

This little story wouldn’t leave my brain alone, so I had to get it out.

Characters: Ahsoka + Rex (my fav BroTP) Word Count: 1,717 Content Warning: Character Death, sadness Synopsis: It’s around 10 ABY. Rex lay dying, but at peace. Ahsoka and Rex reflect on the war, life, and each other

I get a little sappy when it comes to these two, and I’m not a great writer by a long shot, but if you’re reading, I hope you enjoy!

The sun streamed through the open windows and front door of the small cabin. The dappled light painted the room and everything seemed to shimmer. Rex smiled to himself, quietly observing his small home and reflecting. He never could have imagined the end would look like this.

His life was spent on the edge. In battle, constantly assuming each moment would be his last. In downtime, nerves shot and body ready to spring into action at the slightest hint of disturbance. All the clones carried that with them, it’s what they were made for, death and destruction. None of them dared hold the thought of peace and normalcy too close, it just wasn’t in the cards for them.

For many it wasn’t, but somehow, against all odds, it was for Rex. But, then again, his life was never quite like that of his brothers. He had lived the last 5 years of his life in relative peace, finding a quiet cabin on a forested Outer Rim planet to spend his remaining years. He had lost Gregor on Lothal and Wolffe to the battle of Endor.

Despite his losses, he was lucky. Again he smiled to himself, what a funny word to use, “lucky.” Someone on the outside might not agree. He had seen so much death, lost so many people he loved, but he still felt lucky.

Somehow he had been spared time after time and in his quiet moments he wondered: was something looking out for him? Was it the Force that wrapped itself around him when he was first created, for some reason choosing him to continue where others fell? Here, at the end of it, he latched onto that thought, taking comfort in knowing there might be something out there greater than himself, greater than all living things.

A small knock on the door frame roused him from his reflection. The figure was in shadow, but he knew the form all too well. His Commander, his greatest friend, checking-in on him.

“Come-in, Commander.” Rex said through raspy, slow breaths. He attempted to sit up, but he was feeling every bit his (un)natural age. He was a mere 42 years old, but the accelerated aging programmed into his Clone DNA had caused his body to break down so much faster than it should.

“Rex, we haven’t been at war for a few years, and I haven’t been your Commander for even longer.” Ahsoka kneeled beside his bed on the floor, taking his hand in hers. “How are you feeling today?” She asked, but she already knew. Reaching out through the Force, she knew these would be the last hours she’d have with her oldest friend, and that he was in pain. Like always, he didn’t show it.

“Old habit…Ahsoka…” Rex coughed, his attempts at suppressing it making it worse.

Ahsoka winced. She never let herself think that this day would come. She locked it away like so many other memories and emotions, and had convinced herself that Rex would go on forever, that he’d be there with her til the end.

Now there were so few people left who could share in their memories of the Clone Wars and the hard-won and hard-lost battles that were fought. When he was gone, who else could she turn to to laugh about the good times, and the fun they had between battles. Who would be left to ease the pain when thoughts about their fallen brothers clutched at the edges of her mind, and the guilt was too much to bare?

Rex’s other hand came up to her face and smoothed away the tears forming at the edges of her eyes. “Ahsoka it’s going to be ok, I’ll always be with you, you know that better than anyone.”

She tried so hard to smile through her grief, she wanted to be strong for him this one last time. They sat in silence for a few minutes, each not really sure what to say to comfort the other, and each knowing that sometimes just being present was enough.

Rex broke the silence: “Cody once said, in war, sometimes it’s harder to be the one that survives.” Ahsoka cocked her head, unsure where he might be going with it, and afraid she couldn’t handle it.

“I think about that a lot. He was so very right, and I never got a chance to tell him, to thank him for attempting to ease the burden, to understand. It just wasn’t something that we felt we were allowed to discuss with each other. We were bred for war and pain, but we never felt it was ok to acknowledge it to each other…the pain, I mean. I…I want to thank you for allowing me to burden you with so much of mine. You were a kid, and you had the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, and still you let me talk through it all and grieve every lost brother, every moment of regret and hesitation. You saw me as a person, not a number…”

He paused again, collecting his thoughts. “I guess…” he sighed. “I regret that I never told Cody, and I don’t want to go without telling you…thank you for everything, Ahsoka.”

Squeezing her hand, and looking into her eyes, he hoped his words didn’t sound like the crazy ramblings of a dying man. Ahsoka would miss those eyes, now clouded and blurry with age, no hint of the shining amber she knew so well.

“Oh Rex,” she bowed her head with the weight of it. “Thank you for your kind words. I’ll carry them with me…always.” The room was fading from soft yellows, to the oranges and reds of the setting sun. Her mind slipped back to old memories, of the times post-battle when the small group of brothers, their little sister in tow, would slip away to watch the sunset on whatever world they happened to inhabit. She wondered…”Rex, are you able to move?”

He arched an eyebrow, wanting to say yes, but unsure. “What are you thinking?”

“I just thought, it might be nice to watch the sunset…like old times.”

“Yes, I think I have a little pep left in me. Can you…?” Ahsoka wrapped her arms under his shoulders and helped him to his feet. He felt so frail and light, a shell of the soldier he used to be. She helped him lean against the wall as she gathered blankets and pillows. Together they moved slowly to the grassy hill outside the cabin.

Outside, they arranged themselves like they would all those years ago, Ahsoka lay her head in the crook of his neck, Rex holding her hand across his heart, as they watched the sky darken. They could feel the shadows of their fallen brothers surrounding them, holding them close.

“I love you, you know? You’re the only family I have left, and I’m not ready for this,” she could feel the tears forming again. She had been alone so much of her life, but she always knew he was out there somewhere. It was only now dawning on her how much she relied on that solace.

“If I could stay, you know I would, ad’ika. We knew this day would come, and I’m so grateful you’re here with me,” he sighed, his breathing feeling more shallow with each passing moment. “You’re not alone, cyare. Not really.” He searched for the right words, anything to distract her from her sadness. “Remember how you use to tell us those old Jedi stories?” He paused hoping this would work. “Could you tell me one again?”

Ahsoka couldn’t help but laugh at the absurd simplicity of his request. “You sure that’s what you want right now?

“Of course, you’ve got a knack for it, and I could certainly use the distraction.”

“Ok, if you insist,” she searched her memory, it had been a lifetime since she last thought about those stories, but she had to try. Clearing her throat, “It was a long time ago…”

The next few hours were spent telling stories, laughing, crying and sharing truths that had gone too long unspoken, saying their goodbyes. As the sun peaked over the distant horizon Ahsoka yawned and pushed herself up from the ground. She stretched and smiled, feeling the sun warming away the nighttime dew.

“It’s going to be another beautiful day, Rex,” her back twinged, reminding her of her own years. “Sorry I didn’t mean to keep us outside for so long, you must be sore.” She turned and kneeled to help her friend up and back into his house. Her hands flew to her mouth, a poor attempt to suppress the sob in her throat.

Rex lay perfectly still, his eyes closed, a meager smile graced his lips. Ahsoka gently nudged his shoulder,

“Rex?,” she squeaked out. “Oh no, oh please no!” Her fingers grasped desperately at his shirt, the blanket, anything in an attempt to prevent her from flying out of her skin. “It’s ok, everything is fine. We’ll…we’ll just get you back into the cabin and…”

She steadied her breathing, attempting to refocus her energies and bring herself a sense of calm she so desperately needed. Never before had she been so grateful for her meditative training. Gently she picked up Rex’s cold hand, the one she had been holding most of the night, and brought it to her lips for one final kiss goodbye. She set about crossing it over his other hand and covering him with the blanket, murmuring somber meditations to herself.

Ahsoka found a quiet spot beneath a tree that overlooked the valley, a spot she knew he would like. As she worked, she hummed a song Rex would sing to himself as the 501st marched through uncertain terrain. She wondered if he knew how much that song calmed both herself and their brothers in those dark hours.

When her task was done she stood, eyes lowered, a sad smile crossing her face:

“Until we meet again, my dear friend,” she saluted. “May the Force be with you, always.”

Ahsoka’s gentle sobs were all that echoed over the grassy valley outside the small cabin on the forested world. It was going to be a beautiful day.

#star wars #the clone wars #rebels #ahsoka tano #captain rex #cw character death #star wars rebels #rebels spoilers #it hurts so good #short story #brain worm #all the feels #life and death

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unfortunate-stranger-losers · 5 years ago

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Six Baudelaires AU, Part Three {AO3} {Masterlist} {Part One} {Part Two}

Chapter Twenty → in which Lilac leads a jailbreak

Lilac launched herself forwards, throwing her arms around Nick and hugging him close. “We’re getting out! I promise! We’re getting out before they can hurt you again!”

Nick didn’t say anything; he opened his mouth to try and speak, but all that came out were strangled sobs and screams. He gripped tight onto his eldest sister, burying his face in her shirt and shaking uncontrollably.

“Nick, Nick, look at me. Look at me!” Lilac said, trying to pull away. “Nick, look at me! We’re getting out!”

Her younger brother finally pulled away, but only to run off to the corner of the small brig, where he leaned over and vomited onto the floor, barely keeping his own balance. Lilac jumped to her feet and dragged him towards the wall, as he shook more and clung to her arm.

“We need to get out of here.” Fiona said, kneeling in front of the knob. “Lilac, what kind of lock is this?”

“I…” Lilac slid onto a hard bench, where Nick sat beside her and refused to stop clinging to her side. “I glanced at the locks on our way in. They’re ordinary enough pin-tumbler locks, so- hold on a moment. Nick, Nick, please-”

Nick shuddered beside her, and he finally choked out, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

“No! No, don’t be-”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-” he didn’t seem able to say anything else, and after a minute or so of just saying that while Lilac hugged him tight, he burst into sobs again.

“Nick, it’ll be okay. We’ll be out before they can get to us. Promise.” Lilac said.

Carefully, Fiona crept forwards, also putting an arm around Nick to try and provide some form of comfort. Lilac pulled them both closer, and then she said, “Fi, they’re pin-tumbler locks. But I don’t have a hairpin…”

Fiona opened her mouth to admit she didn’t have one, either, but then she paused, and slowly reached into her pocket. She pulled out the item the recruit had given her, and held it out.

A hairpin.

“One of those kids slipped it to me.” Fiona said. “She must’ve known how to break out of the locks, or guessed.”

“Good to know we have someone on our side.” Lilac said, relief in her voice. “Do you know how to pick a lock?”

Fiona smiled slightly. “Do you know how to fix a lamp?”

Lilac smirked a little. “I’ll help Nick if you get the door.”

“Absolutely. Then we’ll all bust out.”

Fiona ran to the door, kneeling down to work the lock, and Lilac said, “See, Nick? We’re getting out. We’re-”

“No. No, no, no…” Nick muttered, hugging her tight. “No, no, no, no…”

“We’re getting out!”

“We can’t get out, we can’t get out, we can’t get out, we… he’s going to kill us, he’s… Lilac, I… I don’t want to…”

Lilac shut her eyes and started to rock back-and-forth, keeping her arms very tight around her brother. “Shh. Shh.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” he repeated this until he couldn’t speak any more, his throat too choked up and the tears coming too fast.

And then Lilac quietly sang, “Pretty when the window blows, I love my tree in autumn… Like I love my tree in summer, like I love my tree in winter… They put me in a room, and I thought of you in autumn…”

She shut her eyes, humming the next line, and then she picked up again. Fiona kept working on the lock, and Nick kept clinging to Lilac, terrified to let go, and she kept singing.

“Pretty when you sing me a new song in autumn, or a new song in winter, or a new song in summer…”

“Let us go!” Violet pounded on the door, shouting at the top of her lungs. “Let us out, you son of a fuck!”

Klaus was sitting on the bench, with both Soli and Sunny curled up in his lap. Soli was leaning against his arm, coughing, while Sunny kept looking around the cell for anything that might bust them out.

“We need to get out of here!” Klaus said desperately. “Violet, what can we use to open the door?”

“Sunny,” Violet spun around on her heels, running to the bench and tying her hair back as fast as she could, “Bite the chains binding his bench to the wall until they fall off. We can use it as a battering ram.”

“I mean,” Klaus said, as Sunny gave Solitude a pat on the hand and then slid off towards the chains, “I meant, is there a lockpick-”

“I’m not Lilac, buddy, we’re breaking down the door.” Violet considered, glancing around. “Think we could make a flamethrower instead? What’ve we got?”

At that moment, though, the door swung open, and in walked the Hook-Handed Man.

Violet leapt in front of her siblings, and Klaus reached out to grab Sunny, who honestly didn’t look too worried.

“Alright, orphans,” he said, “I’m not gonna sugarcoat this, I’m here to torture you.”

“You can torture us all you want-” Violet began.

“I am gonna torture you all I want.”

“We don’t know where the Sugar Bowl is,” Violet finished, “And we don’t care!”

Solitude started coughing again, as the Hook-Handed Man said, “Shut up! Now, the boss has questions, and so do I. Why were you on the Queequeg? What are you playing at?”

“What?” Klaus asked.

The Hook-Handed Man glanced towards him, narrowing his eyes. “Why’s that baby got a diving suit still on?”

“She’s sick!” Klaus said. “If we don’t get her back to the submarine, she’ll die!”

“I don’t have time for tricks!” the Hook-Handed Man moved forwards, reaching out for Solitude, but then he froze, staring inside her helmet.

“Please?” Sunny crawled over, putting her hands on one of his hooks and tilting her head.

But the Hook-Handed Man didn’t look at her; he stared at the mushrooms, poking out of the helmet as Soli coughed. “She’s infected with the Medusoid Mycelium.” he said, astonished. He turned towards the other Baudelaires, saying, “Do you know how dangerous that fungus is?”

“Of course we do!” Violet said, glancing at the door; the Hook-Handed Man had left it unlocked behind them, slightly ajar, but she couldn’t run while he was right next to her siblings. “That’s why we have to get her back!”

“You have to help us, please!” Klaus begged.

Sunny clutched harder onto his hooks, until the man looked down at her. She stared up at him, pleading with her eyes. Then, she said, in a very small voice, “She’s our sister.” The Hook-Handed Man stared, and then she added, “Please.”

He opened and closed his mouth multiple times, before finally saying, “I- where are your other siblings?”

Violet peered over at him. Did this mean he would help? “They’re in the other brig-”

They heard a door slam open.

“And they just escaped.” she said, nodding.

“Well, that’s just great.” the Hook-Handed Man sighed, pulling away from Sunny and Klaus and crossing his hooks. “The boss is gonna hate this.”

“Why do you care? He’s a fucking bastard.” Klaus said.

“Hey-” the Hook-Handed Man began.

The door swung open, and the siblings looked to see that Lilac had seemingly kicked it open; she and Fiona both had their arms around Nick to support him, as he was still shaking like a leaf and had his eyes shut tight, though it thankfully seemed that he’d recently stopped crying.

“Jailbreak! Everyone out!” Lilac shouted. Her eyes fell on the Hook-Handed Man, and she said, “Violet, you have full permission to-”

“No, no, we’ve solved this, but thank you, I will hold onto that permission.” Violet said.

“He’s going to help us, I think.” Klaus said, running over with Solitude still in his arms. “Is Nick okay?”

“No, we have-” Lilac paused. “Fiona?”

Fiona had frozen, her eyes locked with the Hook-Handed Man. They stared at each other for a very long time, and then Fiona shouted, “Fernald?”

“Fiona?”

Fiona let go of Nick, rushing forwards, and Klaus managed to grab his brother’s other arm before she threw her arms around the henchperson, shouting, “Fernald! Fernald, you’re alive!”

“Fiona? What are you doing here?”

“They captured the Queequeg!”

“Yes, but the Count said Widdershins wasn’t on it.”

“I was!”

“Well, he didn’t say that!”

The Baudelaires looked to each other in shock, and then Violet said, “Hi! Hello! What the fuck?”

Fiona and the Hook-Handed Man jumped, as if suddenly realizing that the others were in the room. The mycologist turned and said, “It’s my brother! Fernald!”

Lilac gaped at her, and then said, “Your brother is working for Count Olaf!”

Fiona paused. “Oh, yeah. Fernald, what the fuck?”

“Long story.” he said.

“Why did you leave?” she let go of him a second, staring up at him. “What happened to your hands?”

“What? Did Widdershins never tell you?”

“He said you disappeared after Mother died.”

“Son of a bitch, of course he did. He never could admit-” Fernald sighed.

“Admit what?” Lilac snapped, straightening up. When she realized that Nick seemed to be alright supporting himself, she let go of him and walked forwards, pulling the newspaper scrap from the cave out of her pocket. “We found this in Anwhistle Aquatics! Do you know what it says?”

Fernald gave the scrap a dark look. “I definitely do.”

“It says that you burned Anwhistle Aquatics!” Lilac said. “It’s called ‘Verifying Fernald’s Defection’ for heaven’s sake! You set the place on fire and murdered Gregor Anwhistle!”

Fiona looked to her brother in shock, while Sunny slid off the bench and ran over to Violet, holding up her arms so her sister could lift her.

Fernald simply looked at Lilac carefully, and then said, “You should know by now, Baudelaires, that newspapers are not always reliable. I won’t say I didn’t participate in that fire, but you should know it’s not as black-and-white as you’re making it.”

“Someone died!” Lilac said. “And you burned a research facility!”

“A facility that created the Medusoid Mycelium that poisoned your sister.” Fernald gestured to Soli, who was still coughing. “They were going to send it all over the world. Do you know how many people that would have killed?”

“They wouldn’t have done that.” Klaus said. “The Aquatics was on the right side of the schism.”

Nick shivered, and Fernald said, “There is no right side of the schism.”

“So you set a building on fire and murdered someone.” Lilac said.

“You should have seen the fire.” he said quietly. “From a distance, it looked like an enormous black plume of smoke, rising straight out of the water. It was like the entire sea was burning down.”

“You must have been proud of your handiwork.” Fiona said bitterly.

“Proud?” Fernald said. “It was the worst day of my life. That plume of smoke was the saddest thing I ever saw.” He sighed, and said, “Something you children should understand is that the world isn’t divided into good and evil. Just as the poison of a deadly fungus can be the source of some wonderful medicines, someone like Jacques Snicket, who wrote that blasted article, can do something villainous, and someone like Count Olaf can do something noble. Even your parents-”

“Fernald, please.” Fiona said, staring at him. “Answer directly. Did you kill Gregor Anwhistle?”

Fernald gave her a look, and then said, “The last time you saw me, Fiona, I had two hands instead of hooks. Our stepfather probably didn’t tell you what happened to me- he always said there were secrets in the world too terrible for young people to know. What a fool!”

“He’s…” Fiona glanced at the ground. “He’s a noble man.”

“People aren’t either wicked or noble.” Fernald said. “They’re like chef’s salads, with good things and bad things chopped and mixed together in a vinaigrette of confusion and conflict.”

They were silent for a moment, and then Solitude coughed again, and Lilac straightened up. “Prove it.”

“What?”

“Prove it, and get us back to the goddamn submarine.” she said. “Help us save Solitude, and prove you’re not a wicked person.”

Fernald met her gaze, and then looked to the coughing toddler, and then to Fiona.

“I will go,” he said, “If you take me with you.”

They all shared looks; they weren’t sure they could trust him, but it was a better option than just waiting for Soli to die in the brig.

“Aye!” Sunny shouted, smiling over at him.

“Of course.” Fiona said. “Of course you can come.”

“Okay.” Violet said. “But we have to hurry.”

“That’ll be tricky.” Fernald said. “The only way out is through the rowing room, which Esme will have returned to by now. We’ll have to figure out a way to sneak past.”

He moved past them, gesturing for them to follow. Klaus still held tightly onto Nick, who looked shell-shocked, and Violet ran to Fiona, saying, “Fiona, are we really taking him with us?”

“Aye.” Fiona nodded. “He’s my brother. You wouldn’t abandon your siblings, would you?”

Violet bit her lip, and then looked to Soil and shook her head.

“For my third dance, I will twirl around and around while all of you clap as hard as you can! It is a dance of celebration, in honor of the most adorable tap-dancing ballerina fairy princess veterinarian in the world!”

The Baudelaires glanced at each other as they heard the recruits groan and Esme slap her noodle whip.

“Okay,” Fernald said, “You see those stone pillars in the room? If we walk and hide behind those while Camelita sings, everyone will be focused on her and not on us, and we should be able to sneak by.”

“That sounds risky.” Lilac said, glancing towards Nick and Klaus.

“Do you have a better plan?”

“We could pretend the Great Unknown showed up and is about to eat everyone.” Violet said.

“I’m sorry, do you have a small black statue that can imitate its call?” Fernald said.

“Why would I-”

“Then we need to hurry. Come on.”

The Baudelaires sighed, and Lilac said, “Soli, please try to keep quiet.” In Klaus’s arms, Soli coughed much more quietly.

The group started to run, ducking behind pillars and occasionally glancing out to make sure everyone was focused on Carmelita, who was twirling and singing at the top of her lungs.

“C is for cute, A is for adorablle! R is for ravishing! M is for gorgeous!”

“I want to strangle her so bad.” Klaus whispered to Nick, hoping that would cheer him up, but Nick still had his eyes shut and was clinging to Klaus and Solitude as if they were his only lifeline. Violet and Lilac stuck close to him, with Sunny leaning on Violet’s shoulder, while Fernald and Fiona raced up ahead.

“E is for excellent! L is for lovable! I is for I’m the Best! T is for talented! And A is for a tap-dancing ballerina fairy prin- hey! Cakesniffers!”

The Baudelaires froze, but then saw that Carmelita was not pointing at them, but at Fiona and Fernald, who were standing awkwardly between two oars.

“How dare you, Hooky?” Esme shouted. “You’re interrupting a very In recital by an unspeakably darling little girl!”

“I’m very sorry, your Esmeness.” the Hook-Handed Man said quickly. “I would sooner lose both hands all over again than interrupt Carmelita when she’s dancing.”

“Now I have to recite the entire recital all over again!” Carmelita pouted.

The rowers groaned, and the Baudelaires took the opportunity to move down a pillar, though Lilac was very worriedly watching Fiona.

“Your Esmeness, I…” Fernald said nervously. “I just was wondering if I could borrow your giant noode to torture the Baudelaires with.”

“But I need it to make these recruits behave.” Esme said. “Besides, I don’t like to lend things.”

Fiona quickly stood up straight, and said, “But we’re so close to learning the location of the Sugar Bowl.”

Esme glanced at her. “Weren’t you with the orphans?”

“Um, no.” Fernald said, putting a hook around her shoulder. “This is my sister, Fiona, and she’s joining the crew of the Carmelita.”

“Fiona isn’t a very In name.” Esme said. “I think I’ll call her Triangle Eyes. Triangle Eyes, are you willing to join us?”

“Aye.” Fiona said.

“Then take my noodle and scram while Carmelita starts her In recital again.” Esme said.

Just as Fernald and Fiona stepped in front of Esme, the Baudelaires took the opportunity to run as fast as they could.

“When is Fiona going to join us?” Lilac glanced behind them as she pushed her siblings ahead of her.

“I don’t know. Who knows how long they’ll have to stall?” Klaus said.

“We’ll just need to find the antidote on our own.” Violet said. “Come on! Go!”

They ran down the halls and back to the Queequeg, hurrying through the hatch and sliding down the ladder. As soon as they reached the inside, Violet said, “I have a plan. Everyone hurry to the study to find Fiona’s mycology books, while I get Nick’s sweater to chill him out. Will that help, Nick?”

Nick shrugged, leaning onto Klaus, who said, “We don’t need all her books. She left the one we need in the main hall.”

“Then go there!” Violet said, her voice breaking. “We don’t have much time!”

As soon as they reached the main hall, Klaus put Solitude onto the table to rest while he ran for Mushroom Minutiae. Lilac helped Nick sink into a chair, while Sunny ran towards the sagging VFD balloons and bit into the strings, in case they needed some kind of rope. It wasn’t very helpful, but Sunny wasn’t sure what else to do.

At that moment, Babbitt hopped in from the kitchen, chirping indignantly, as if pissed that they’d left them out of an adventure.

“Babbitt, we don’t have time for whatever it is!” Lilac said. “Solitude’s sick, and we need to find the antidote!”

Babbitt stared at her blankly for a moment, and then let out an incredibly loud squeal and made a running leap onto the table. They ran up to Soli, jumping on her shoulder and making a lot of noises very fast, as if trying to get her to tell them it wasn’t true. Then they let out what sounded like a cry and pressed themselves against her helmet as she kept coughing.

“Here we go. Chapter Forty, The Gorgonian Grotto.” Klaus flipped to the page, skimming.

Violet ran in, carrying Nick’s blue sweater in her hands. She handed it to him, and he immediately threw it on over his uniform, hugging himself and rocking back-and-forth.

“A single spore has such grim power / That you may die within the hour.” Klaus read. “Is dilution simple? But of course! / Just one small dose of root of horse.”

“Horses don’t have roots!” Lilac said, reaching forwards to hug Solitude very tight.

“I know that!” Klaus snapped. “Usually antidotes are- are certain botanical extractions, like flower pollen or plant stems.”

“Wait a minute.” Lilac looked up again. “That letter! That letter-”

“What letter?” Violet asked.

“The letter in the grotto!” Lilac said. “The writer, Kit something, she said that there was a factory making dilution-”

“Yes!” Klaus pulled his commonplace book out, moving back to the table and sitting down to flip through it. “Here! It says that a factory at Lousy Lane-”

“We traveled along Lousy Lane.” Violet said.

“Smelled like horseradish.” Sunny nodded.

They froze.

“Horseradish!” Lilac leapt to her feet, grabbing Solitude. “Come on, we have to run!”

They raced to the kitchen, where Lilac placed Soli onto a table again, and Nick sat beside her, clutching her very tight and quietly crying. Babbitt leapt from Soli’s shoulder to his, once again making a lot of very fast noises.

Each of the other siblings ran to a cupboard; even Sunny, who clambered up onto a counter, managed to dig through.

“Gum!” Lilac shouted. “There’s nothing in here but boxes of gum!”

“I found two cans of water chestnuts and a bag of sesame seeds!” Klaus started to cry behind his glasses.

“Here, I’ll check the fridge!” Viole said. “Maybe-”

She threw open the door, and then froze.

“Violet? What is it?” Lilac ran over, and Klaus followed quickly. Nick even peered up to look between them and see inside.

Violet slowly reached onto the bottom shelf, and pulled out a plate, placing it onto the table. On the plate was a coconut cream cake, heavily frosted and with sprinkles spelling out, on the top, Violet’s Fifteenth Date.

“That’s what the balloons were for.” Violet whispered, tears running down her face.

“Oh my God.” Lilac put a hand over her mouth.

“We forgot.” Klaus’s voice broke.

“I turned fifteen last night, while you were all in the grotto, and Nick and I…” Violet whispered. “We all forgot.”

Then quietly, Sunny said, “Soli didn’t.” They turned to the toddler on the counter, and she said, “Yad,” which meant, “She remembered the date and told me, and we were planning a party when everyone returned from the grotto, so we could all celebrate.”

Violet blinked back tears, and then backed up as fast as she could, sliding against the wall, to the ground. “Wh-what are we going to do?” she cried. “We can’t lose Soli. We can’t lose her!”

“Sunny!” Lilac turned to the toddler, panic in her eyes. “You know about cooking. What could be used as a substitute for horseradish?”

Sunny considered, looking very panicked as she slid from the counter and ran to the table, trying to hoist herself up to be with her sister. “Wormwood? Um… Wasabi?”

Klaus gaped. “Did you say wasabi?”

Sunny nodded quickly, and Klaus opened up his pocket, and pulled out the can of wasabi. “She got this for you in the grotto. I almost forgot.”

Sunny grabbed the can from him, opening it and cheering when she saw some inside.

“Get her out!” Lilac said, rushing forwards and grabbing a spoon from the drawer.

Violet ran to the toddler, and said, “Nick, you have to let her go, just for a moment, I promise.”

Hesitantly, Nick placed Babbitt onto a spot beside him and then placed the girl onto the table, before wiping his eyes with his sleeves and helping Violet remove Solitude’s helmet. They all held their breath as the helmet came off, and then Violet slammed it onto a metal plate beside them to prevent the spores from spreading through the air. Nick helped Solitude sit up, and then held back a sob.

Her skin was pale and had a greenish tinge, and her hair was limply hanging around her face, and her eyes were bloodshot and watery. As she opened her mouth to cough, they all let out cries as they saw gray stalks sprouting from her throat.

She looked an inch from death.

Lilac put the spoon into the jar of wasabi, taking as much of it as she could, and then she held it out. Solitude leaned forwards, eating it as fast as she dared, flinching at how hot it felt, her eyes watering even more. She shook and slid back so she was against Nick, who put his arms around her and pressed his face onto the top of her head.

For a moment, it seemed like nothing would happen, and everything was lost. And then Solitude opened her mouth, as if to cough again, but they could see that instead, the mushrooms inside her throat were shrinking back, as if terrified of the wasabi. Her skin started to brighten before their eyes, and she blinked back the last of her tears, running a hand through her hair. Then she held out her tiny palm, and Babbitt leapt onto her, chirping with delight. The frog ran up her arm and onto her shoulder, pressing against her in their version of a hug.

“W-water.” Solitude muttered, and Violet quickly ran to the sink, making her a glass of water. By the time she returned, Nick was hugging her to his chest as if he never intended to let go; he did, however, loosen a little when Violet held out the glass, and Solitude chugged the drink.

“Th-thank you.” she stumbled, turning first to Sunny, and then the rest of her siblings in turn. “You saved me.”

“You saved yourself.” Lilac said, kneeling in front of her. “We wouldn’t have had that wasabi if you hadn’t been thinking of Sunny.”

“Sunny knew.” Solitude said, as Sunny gave her a hug. “You broke out of the submarine. You all saved me.”

“But you helped yourself, too.” Klaus said. “We all saved each other.”

Nick embraced Solitude and Sunny, and then Violet ran forwards and hugged them, too. Klaus and Lilac joined in, then, and soon they were all hugging and sobbing in the middle of the kitchen.

#asoue #asoue netflix #asoue movie #a series of unfortunate events #six baudelaires au #six baudelaires official fic #my fanfic #mine

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broomballkraken · 6 years ago

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Title: Cold Embrace

Fandom: Fire Emblem Awakening

Pairing: Gregor/Cordelia

Word count: 1989

Warnings: None

Summary: Cordelia cannot imagine how she will go on without the one person who gave her the strength to keep on fighting.

As the fierce battle raged on around her, Cordelia prayed hard to the gods for the strength to make it out alive. She was currently in a tight spot; she was stuck battling on foot because she had ordered Aurora to flee from the battle with an injured Ricken. Her heart was heavy, because she wasn't sure if he would make it back to safety alive with the injuries that he had sustained.

At the moment, however, she was more concerned about her own odds of survival, for she was stuck hiding behind a large rock, while the risen searched for her. She panted heavily and her heart rate quickened when a couple of risen headed in her direction. She tightened the grip on her lance and readied her self to attack when they got close enough. She hoped that she could take them out without alerting the others.

When one of the risen passed by her hiding spot, she quickly shoved her lance at it and impaled it through the head, killing it instantly. The other one had managed to sneak up behind her, but luckily Cordelia's reflexes were good enough that she was able to turn around in time to block its sword with her lance. She grit her teeth as she struggled to push the risen away, but suddenly the beast let out a screech of pain as a sword was shoved through its chest from behind. As its body fell to the ground and dissolved into purple dust, Cordelia's heart filled with relief as Gregor stood before her.

“Oi! Is Cordelia alright?” he said, ducking behind the rock with her as he placed his hands on her shoulders. He looked her over quickly, his demeanor serious as his eyes were filled with concern.

“Y-yes, I'm okay.” she said, nodding slowly. Her eyes then widened as she noticed that he was bleeding from a wound on his side. It didn't look too serious, but it was still fresh and she noticed that he was wincing in pain.

“Gregor! You're hurt!” she said, placing a gentle hand on his chest as she squatted down to examine the wound more closely.

“Eh, it not too bad. It take more than this to stop Gregor.” he said, a small smile crossing his face. The smile quickly faded however and was replaced with a grim look as he carefully poked his head out of their hiding spot to survey their surroundings.

“Need to find others. Frederick tell Gregor that fell dragon most likely on its way here.” The color drained from Cordelia's face as she listened silently as Gregor spoke. “Gregor will protect his Cordelia. Not matter what.” He reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“W-where do we need to go? There are risen everywhere.” Cordelia said as she shifted with unease. She looked behind them and saw that they were near a steep hill that led into a forest at the bottom. It didn't look too steep though, so sliding down it would probably not be a problem.

“Maybe we can sneak over and slide down the hill? We could probably escape into the trees.” Cordelia suggested as she looked back at Gregor.

“Good idea. We most likely be spotted though. Must be quick.” Gregor said, taking a deep breath as he placed a hand over his wound.

“Can you run, Gregor?” Cordelia asked, gulping nervously. Gregor grinned slightly and nodded.

“Hehe, Cordelia underestimates him again. Gregor can run. He be fine.” he said, chuckling. Cordelia was not convinced as she frowned.

“Gregor-” she began, but was interrupted as the rock they were hiding behind was hit with a wind spell and broke apart.

“Run! Now!” Gregor yelled as he grabbed Cordelia's hand and they both sprinted towards the top of the hill. Cordelia glanced behind them and saw the risen giving chase, and her eyes widened in fear as she saw archers nocking arrows. They weren't going to make it.

“Sorry, my Cordelia!” she heard Gregor say before he let go of her hand and used all of his strength to shove her forward. Cordelia yelped in surprise as she left her feet and fell over the side of the embankment. She managed to look up in time to see arrows wiz by overhead, before she hit the ground and rolled down the rest of embankment. She groaned in pain and pushed herself up, just in time to see Gregor's limp body slide to a stop a few feet away.

“Gregor!” Cordelia yelled as she scrambled to her feet and ran to his side. She grabbed him and rolled him onto his back, and the blood drained from her face. Arrows were embedded throughout his body; two in his right shoulder, one in his gut, one in his left thigh, and one in the right side of his chest. Gregor's face was contorted in pain, with his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth set in a grimace.

“N-no...” Cordelia choked, tears already spilling down her face. She took a few deep breaths to try and calm herself as she looked up to where they had fallen from. The risen were not there yet, so she had time to get Gregor and herself out of sight before they were found. She quickly looped her arms under his and dragged him with her into the forest. When they were in the safety of the trees, she propped Gregor against a large trunk and looked him over.

Cordelia really hoped that this was all a huge nightmare, because Gregor's condition looked grim. Blood was oozing from where the arrows pierced him, and some was leaking out from the corner of his mouth. She raised a shaky hand and placed it on his cheek; it was cold to the touch.

“Gregor, please...” Cordelia said as she broke down sobbing. She could feel her heart breaking, and every breath she took was like fire in her throat. This couldn't happen to her. She couldn't lose him, not now. They had too much to fight for. She couldn't fight alone. An image of Severa popped into her mind, causing her to sob harder. She didn't want to return to their daughter without him.

“C-Cordelia...” Gregor said weakly as his eyes slowly opened. His breathing was ragged, and he coughed as more blood seeped from his mouth. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out as she choked on her sobs.

“Cordelia...Gregor is so glad you not hurt...So glad...” he breathed, a small smile crossing his pale face. He reached up with a shaky hand and cupped her cheek, wiping some of the tears from her face, but leaving a streak of blood behind.

“Gregor...I-I'll go find help!” Cordelia said as she started to stand up, but Gregor grabbed her arm and stopped her.

“N-no, please stay with Gregor. He...is not long for this world now.” he said softly, his own eyes filling with tears.

“Please don't say that! You can't die here!” Cordelia wailed as she reached out and placed her hands on his chest, her hands desperately gripping his shirt. “Please...Please don't leave me...I love you so much...And Severa...”

At the mention of Severa, the tears filling Gregor's eyes finally spilled down his face. “My little Severa...Gregor so sorry he leave her...And his Cordelia.” He took a deep, shaky breath and wrapped a hand around Cordelia's back, weakly pulling her closer.

“Gregor need to thank Cordelia, for giving him gift of wonderful and happy life. He was so loved by the most amazing woman in land. He not regret saving her life.” He choked out as he coughed up more blood. “Please...promise Gregor you live on and protect our dear daughter, Cordelia. Tell her he sorry he not live to see her grow up...”

“G-Gregor, I...” Cordelia began, but she couldn't continue as she was raked with more sobs. She had so much she wanted to say, but nothing came out, and she didn't have enough time to say it all.

“Cordelia, please do one thing for Gregor.” he said softly, running a shaky hand through her hair. “Please, smile for Gregor? Will be a good parting image of this world, he thinks.” Cordelia sniffed and took a deep breath. She had no idea if she would be able to smile at a time like this, but she would try. She thought of all the good times they had together, and she forced a small smile to cross her face.

“Ah, thank you. Such a beautiful sight...Gregor so lucky...” he said weakly, offering his own strained smile. “Gregor loves you Cordelia, so much more than words could ever describe. He is so, so sorry.”

“I love you too, Gregor. So much.” Cordelia said softly as Gregor's hand slowly dropped from her face. He took a strained breath as his eyes slowly shut, and he sighed as the air left his lungs for the last time. Cordelia's heart shattered as she let out an anguished wail. She threw her arms around Gregor's lifeless body and screamed into his chest. Every breath she took felt like fire in her lungs, and she couldn't think of anything other than the fact that the love of her life was gone forever. She didn't know how long she sat embracing the body of her dead husband, but she was only pulled from her sorrowful state when someone shook her violently and screamed her name.

“Cordelia, please snap out of it!”

Cordelia didn't have time to react as someone pulled her away from Gregor's body and slapped her across the face. Stunned into silence, she looked up to find Sumia looking down at her, tears running down her face.

“Su...mi...a...” Cordelia croaked, her voice strained from all of her sobbing. Sumia tried to pull her friend to her feet, but Cordelia would not loosen her grip on Gregor.

“Please, we have to get out of here. My pegasus can't carry us both and Gregor's body.” Sumia said softly.

“No! I will not leave him!” Cordelia said angrily, glaring at Sumia as she hugged Gregor's body tighter.

“I will take him!”

The two women turned to see Frederick ride up to them on his horse, a grim expression on his face. He dismounted and hurried over to Cordelia, and he lifted Gregor's body into his arms as Cordelia reluctantly let go. The knight lay the body on his horse beside another, its while robes and blond hair stained dark with blood. Cordelia felt sick when she finally recognized who it was: Libra. If a man totally devoted to the gods was forsaken, what chance did the rest of them have?

“Get to the rendezvous point. I will not let anything happen to Gregor's body, Cordelia.” Frederick said, and he quickly urged his horse onward and he disappeared back into the forest. Cordelia suddenly felt very weak and her legs almost gave out, but Sumia managed to catch her in time.

“Oh, Cordelia, I'm so sorry.” Sumia whispered, hugging her best friend tightly. Cordelia didn't respond, and instead clung to Sumia for dear life. The little hope that she had been clinging to had quickly diminished. How was she supposed to go on without the one person who gave her the strength to? How would she protect their daughter without him?

“W-We need to go.” Sumia said as she grabbed Cordelia's hand and they quickly mounted her pegasus. They flew off to regroup with the survivors, and Cordelia's heart was darkened. Her future was now bleak and empty, and she closed her eyes and tried to think of a way to tell Severa of her father's demise. It would not be an easy task, and she was not confident that the future would treat them well at all.

#fire emblem awakening #fe fanfiction #fe gregor #fe cordelia #gregor/cordelia #fire emblem #gregor #cordelia #fanficiton #i made myself sad writing this #rare pair hell is a terrible place #Jade writes fanfiction #fanfiction

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lilbreck · 7 years ago

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AGoT Chapters 14 - 18

If you want to follow along, I'm tagging my ASoIaF reading as tonya rereads asoiaf.

Chapter 14: Catelyn III

Catelyn is cracking. Her world completely stopped. Thankfully Robb is there to try and pull her back.

Sobbing, she pulled her hand free of his and covered her ears against those terrible howls. “Make them stop!” she cried. “I can’t stand it, make them stop, make them stop, kill them all if you must, just make them stop!”

I think this really highlights that, although she’s married to a Stark and her children are Starks, there is a part of them that she will never share. Much like Tyrion and the others, she seems to regard the direwolves with… trepidation.

Looking on the scene where the man comes to the tower to kill Bran and I have to believe that it’s not a coincidence that he almost slits her throat but she stops it. I knew that Bran’s direwolf would save the day, but I’m so glad that we see her fighting hard to live. I’m also very glad that, after her rest, she’s back to being the woman that Winterfell and her children need her to be.

Yeah, I have my issues with her, but I can’t help but love her as well.

Catelyn gave her firstborn a challenging look. “If you are to rule in the north, you must think these things through, Robb. Answer your own question. Why would anyone want to kill a sleeping child?”

While I love that she’s teaching him this now, this is shit they should have been teaching him from a young age. He’s the heir to Winterfell, he should have been trained. Again, I love Ned at Cat, but they’ve coddled their children too much.

I fucking love that Catelyn is figuring this shit out, but why wasn’t someone figuring it out while she was in her grief fugue? Why do they not have a paranoid asshole always suspicious? Okay, I’m not sure if this really earns the “fucking northern fools” tag, but the fact that Robb wasn’t trained does, so we’ll wave this one in as well.

I’d like to mention that Catelyn riding off to take care of shit fills me with joy. We know it’s not going to work, but I still love it.

Chapter 15: Sansa I

Age 11

Not gonna lie, I’ve been waiting for this chapter. It’s going to hurt, because I know what’s in store for her, but she’s still my baby. Granted, she starts out as a prissy, entitled, stuck up baby, but the Oompa Loompas had a song about where that comes from.

The septa was not appeased. “You’re a good girl, Sansa, but I do vow, when it comes to that creature you’re as willful as your sister Arya.” She scowled. “And where is Arya this morning?”

“She wasn’t hungry,” Sansa said, knowing full well that her sister had probably stolen down to the kitchen hours ago and wheedled a breakfast out of some cook’s boy.

I’d like to point out two things here: It’s obvious that the septa uses Arya as an example of how “bad girls” act in order to make sure Sansa stays in line. It’s possible that her mother does the same thing. You know what this does? Pits sisters against each other. However, Sansa still covers for Arya here, knowing that her septa would probably not look favorably on Arya’s actions. If Sansa really was a nasty bully like people claim, she would have relished the chance here to get her sister in trouble.

Reading this chapter it just drives home both how young both Sansa and Arya are and how sheltered. Sansa was raised to be such a proper lady and all of her septa and mother’s teachings seemed to have made her look down on anyone who was below her in station. And Arya doesn’t seem to realize that she can’t just get away with anything and everything.

One day she came back grinning her horsey grin, her hair all tangled and her clothes covered in mud, clutching a raggedy bunch of purple and green flowers for Father. Sansa kept hoping he would tell Arya to behave herself and act like the highborn lady she was supposed to be, but he never did, he only hugged her and thanked her for the flowers. That just made her worse.

This right there. They are traveling with the King and his family, but Ned doesn’t even try to reign in his daughter. This shit is part of what leads to everything going wrong, IIRC. Yet another subtle example of questionable parenting in the series. If you coddle your children, they’re headed for a world of pain.

This scene where Sansa is terrified by Ilyn Payne, notice that Lady reacts. This shows that Lady and Sansa were already bonded. Just imagine what that means for her losing Lady when they were already that close. I think, because Lady is lost so early in the series, people like to dismiss what that meant for Sansa. Of course, a lot of those people like to pretend that she’s not really a Stark at all.

I’m amused that Sandor was under the impression that he was the one who frightened Sansa. Did he not notice she was shaking and terrified before she turned around and saw him? Hell, he had to grab her shoulders before she turned around.

And then there comes Joffrey playing the part of the gallant prince. For a girl fed a steady diet of fairy tales and songs then told she would marry a wonderful prince, he had to have seemed like a dream. My poor baby. She does manage to find her feet, even feeling foolish, and pay a compliment to Cersei.

“I can answer,” Sansa said quickly, to quell her prince’s anger.

Even though she’s infatuated with Joffrey, she’s quick to want to head off his anger. Given that her father doesn’t seem one to fly off the handle, you have to wonder if she’s getting some sort of subconscious feeling that he’s temperamental and that’s not a good thing. Of course, this could just be a throw away line that means nothing.

He drew his sword and showed it to her; a longsword adroitly shrunken to suit a boy of twelve, gleaming blue steel, castle-forged and double-edged, with a leather grip and a lion’s-head pommel in gold.

I just wanted to put this here to compare it with how Robb was reprimanded the chapter before this:

“…Never draw your sword unless you mean to use it. How many times must I tell you, foolish boy?”

Yeah, I don’t think Joffrey was all that well trained either. When Sansa thinks to herself that “her prince would never love her if she seemed stupid” you really have to wonder this shit that everyone put into her mind when they were training her to be some lord’s trophy wife. Yeah, I’m bitter, what of it?

You remember when I said that Ned’s indulging of Arya helps lead to everything going wrong? The scene at the Trident is exactly what I’m talking about. Arya knows damn well they’ve been interrupted by the prince, but she yells at him like they were in the North and he was just another lord up there. Hell, she even starts throwing rocks at him. If Joffrey had killed Arya, I doubt a damn thing would have happened to him. And Sansa, who’s been fed on a steady stream of songs and fairy tales is no help as she yells at both of them that they’re spoiling everything.

I’m pretty sure that Nymeria saved Arya’s life here. I have no doubt that Joffrey would have killed her, and she was weaponless and backed against a tree. As soon as Arya attacked Joffrey, I’m sure Myca’s fate was sealed, and as soon as Nymeria attacked him, a direwolf was going to have to die.

When I finish this book, my wrap up post is going to talk about how this chapter shows the core of what character traits in both Stark girls that are going to be sharped, honed, and perfected for where I think their story will ultimately end up in the series.

Chapter 16: Eddard III

You know, all the people who claim that Sansa is the reason that Lady and Myca died…

What the fuck did you think her word would do?

Cersei was damn determined to have a pelt and Lady was the only direwolf around. Robert clearly didn’t give a fuck and, even if Sansa had sworn up and down that Arya was telling the truth, Cersei would have still demanded and Robert would have given in. And Myca was already dead.

Lady didn’t die as a punishment for Sansa’s imagined sins. She died because Joffrey was humiliated and Cersei couldn’t stand that. She died because Robert had no fucking backbone.

Man, I’m a fucking huge Sansa fan and even I don’t think she has as much power as some of her haters seem to think she has.

Chapter 17: Bran III

Okay, I’m a sucker for a good dream sequence and this opening one is fucking wonderful, IMO.

He saw Sansa crying herself to sleep at night, and he saw Arya watching in silence and holding her secrets hard in her heart.

Okay, I feel slow, but what secrets is he talking about here? Unless it’s about where she had Nymeria. If that’s not it, someone please let me know. I have more questions:

One shadow was dark as ash, with the terrible face of a hound. Another was armored like the sun, golden and beautiful. Over them both loomed a giant in armor made of stone, but when he opened his visor, there was nothing inside but darkness and thick black blood.

These three are, I’m assuming Sandor, Jaime, and the third I’m guessing is Gregor. Am I right in that? I mean, he’s a giant of a man and the “darkness and thick black blood” would fit with his death via Oberyn’s poison and the removal of his head.

As we go through this dream and see Bran realize that the Night King is coming and he’s told that’s why he has to live, remember this is a SEVEN YEAR OLD CHILD. Sorry, my babies suffer so much.

“Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?” he heard his own voice saying, small and far away.

And his father’s voice replied to him. “That is the only time a man can be brave.”

Now, Bran, the crow urged. Choose. Fly or die.

Death reached for him, screaming.

Bran spread his arms and flew.

Yeah, I’m gonna be over here crying for a bit. Okay, I’ve got a scary confession. I can see an endgame for Arya, Jon, and Sansa after the battle with the Night King is over. I can see the roles they could play in the world after. I don’t remember seeing what role Bran would play, and that scares me. Because, what if he ends up like the three eyed raven?

Chapter 18: Catelyn IV

“…I had to beg Brandon to spare Petyr’s life. He let him off with a scar.”

How much of these books would be different if Brandon had just went ahead and killed him. Seriously, just think about it. You know how I said I wanted all the men around Daenerys impaled like Vlad did to his enemies? Petyr should be right there beside them, suffering because the damn pike didn’t go through his brain. I’ve got some damn feelings on this.

That’s all I’m reading for tonight, but I’ll definitely be reading more tomorrow. Probably another ten chapters at least. A Jon chapter is next!

#asoiaf #asoiaf:agot #tonya reads books #tonya rereads asoiaf #questionable parenting skills in asoiaf #fucking northern fools #my baby starks deserve better

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