#☆* answered asks. ⸻ ravens from oldtown.

[sappfyre]

tags

[vertbalise]

tags

[factorydefaultlu]

Well first of all I hope you are having a good day/night and secondly what do you think of yandere's reaction Aegon* Aemond* Daemon* (separated) let's pretend that his wife (reader) noticed his unhealthy tendencies and decided escape from them to another kingdom and they search for her a year passes and they finally find her and see that she has a baby with white hair and violet eyes (obviously her son) because she ran away when she was pregnant. sorry if this is too long :( but i wanted to make it as understandable as possible :) i love your writing it's fantastic. take care of yourself.

When you first married Aemond, you had just thought he was an overprotective husband. You didn't mind, you thought it was endearing how devoted he was to you.

Soon as the months went by, you noticed your freedoms being taken. You could no longer go to the gardens alone, or the library. It came to the point where you couldn't even see Helaena without permission.

You knew you had to get out.

When Aemond was called for a political meeting in Oldtown, you knew it was your time to strike.

Late at night, after he had been gone for hours, halfway to Oldtown you assumed. You opened the windows to your room. Looking down at the ground below.

You swallowed hard, and began climbing down the trellis. Your feet hit the ground, you were nearly free.

You pulled your hood over your head, and made your way out of the Keep, through King's Landing, and onto a boat bound for Pentos.

Aemond received a letter from a raven the next morning. His wife was nowhere to be found. He immediately made his way back to the Keep.

He practically turned the city on its head looking for her. Thousands of people were questioned, and yet no one had an answer for him.

Soon news of an actress that had just given birth to a strange child floated across the sea.

Aemond was never one for gossip, but when he heard the child had silver hair and violet eyes, he immediately boarded a boat.

Tearing through Pentos he had finally found you. Living in a caravan with carnies, actors and fortune tellers.

He was pissed, but he melted as soon as he saw the baby. Aemond dropped to his knees before you.

"Please my love. Come back to me."

Aegon was a difficult husband, he tried to care but it was hard for him. He was always spending nights in brothels and other women's beds.

He never changed his lifestyle after marriage. But you were expected to be a doting wife.

He had eyes on you at all times, sure you had everything you could ever want. Except a door. He kept you in his chambers at all hours of the day, guards placed in front of the door.

He would take you out when he wanted to flaunt you, but then put you back in your cage when he was done.

You had come up with a plan to gain your freedom. Subtly asking for different herbs throughout the week.

You slowly made a tea that would put someone to sleep. You knocked on the door, and the guard opened it. He looked at you curiously.

"The maid brought two cups of tea but Aegon is not here. Would you want the extra cup?"

The guard kindly accepted. Minutes later you heard the clatter of armor in the hall.

Wrapped in a cloak you stepped into the hallway. You carefully made your way out of the castle, and fled north.

You found a home in Winterfell as a maid. It wasn't as luxurious as the Red Keep. But you could breath.

Nearly a year later, you bore a son. Silver hair and purple eyes, just like his father.

The other servants at Winterfell whispered rumors and they circled their way back to King's Landing.

The queen had gone missing a year before, and now a maid has given birth to a child that resembles a Targaryen.

Aegon sent nearly a whole army to retrieve this maid with the odd child. The lords of Winterfell handed you over easily, not wanting conflict.

You were soon brought to the steps of the Iron Throne, clutching your son to your chest.

"Who are you to keep me from my heir?"

Daemon was always possesive, even before marriage. He was always by your side. You didn't mind, you loved the attention the handsome man gave you.

But now, months into the marriage, it was tiring. You wanted time to yourself, to walk around Dragonstone without Daemon or his guards.

You had always heard of the three feral dragons that lived near the castle. All three were mean, vicious beasts.

But maybe they could be your escape.

One night, you had managed to sneak out of your and Daemon's bed. You pattered quietly through the halls, careful to not be seen.

Making your way to the forest behind the castle. You were on edge, the dragons could be anywhere in this great wood.

Luckily for you, as you traversed through the trees, Sheepstealer spotted you. The great dragon placed itself in front of you threateningly.

It took everything within you to not scream.

The dragon studied you, and moved closer. He sniffed your belly and made a purring sound. The dragon then leaned down, in a submissive way.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you got closer the feral dragon. He grumbles when you touched him, but didn't move.

You slowly climbed on top of his back. The dragon shifted, never having had a rider.

"Take me away from here."

Sheepstealer obeyed, the dragon flew you to Dorne. You manged to find a shack in a small village, trading shelter for work.

You expected the dragon to leave you, but Sheepstealer stayed by your side. The people of the village were absolutely terrified, but the creature never ate anything but sheep. He could stay they supposed.

Daemon searched high and low for you all across Westeros and even into Essos, it did not slip his mind that he had not seen Sheepstealer stalking the woods after your disappearance.

Soon rumors of a lady with a dragon, and a Targaryen son made their way across the Sea of Dorne.

Daemon immediately knew, of course that's how you were able to mount Sheepstealer.

He made his way to Dorne, tracking down from city to village. He soon found you, sitting at the edge of a creek. Sheepstealer was curled around your body as you nursed your son.

The dragon growled as he saw Daemon approach. Your husband immediately knelt before you.

"My love, please come home to me."

[starogeorgina]

Violent delights

Warnings: Swearing, character death

Pairings: Jacaerys Velaryon x oc

1.09

You push and slap at Daemon’s chest as he tries to hold you close. He says nothing as you take your anger and grief out on him. It’s not until your screams wake the children sleeping in the bedchamber next to your own that you finally snap out of the state you find yourself in. Daemon holds onto your hands as you crumble to your knees.

Lucerys was gone.

You look up at him through blurry eyes and ask, “Where’s my mother?”

“Being consoled by your grandmother and grandsire.”

Your lip begins to tremble. It didn’t seem real; Luke couldn’t be gone. Although you knew Daemon would never lie about something like this, you desperately wanted to believe it was a mistake. Lies being spread to cause the breakdown of the blacks—you didn’t want to believe Aemond had actually killed him. Your mouth is extremely dry as you ask, “What is to be done about this?”

“As of yet, nothing?”

“Nothing?” His answer enrages you. “My brother is gone. Murdered! The greens need to pay for what they have done.”

“Indeed, they will, my girl, but we need to think strategically. The one-eyed cunt will be well guarded, as will the rest of the greens, including the usurper. They will be waiting for us to attack.”

“Cat and mouse,” you mumble.

Daemon looks worried while helping you stand again. “I don’t quite understand.”

“A mouse hopes to make a break for freedom but doesn't for fear of being eaten by a cat. It’s something Alicent once told me.”

Unsure what to say, Daemon stares at you blankly, waiting for you to continue.

“They will think we are too afraid to leave Dragonstone. I’d place my bets on them coming here to surround us, then attacking.”

You straighten the crinkled material of your dress, and you think of all the times you watched Alicent do it. Whenever Aegon did something that could embarrass her, she would try her best to keep up appearances. Your mind goes to all the ways the greens could twist Aemond into being a kinslayer, but there is none. He will be damned by the gods for the remainder of his days, but now that the first death has happened, there is nothing preventing a full-blown war.

Daemon recognises the look on your face. “Lyarra, what is it?”

“They aren’t afraid of us.”

Even after Aegon usurped your own mother, you didn’t want to believe a war of such violence was going to happen between House Targaryen.

“Two wars are going to happen. The one for your mother's throne, and another for your granddaughter.”

—

You stand in front of a small part of the black council. Your mother had been weeping in her bedchamber for hours; she was inconsolable. Daemon was busy putting things in place for part of his plan to protect his family, which required him to leave Dragonstone, and with Jacaerys in Winterfell, it fell upon you to try and hold the fort. A burden you wished not to bear.

“Where are the queen and prince, Consort?” Your grandsire asks.

“Prince Daemon is currently attending to other matters, and her grace is still suffering from her recent losses,” your grandmother answers. “With Prince Jacaerys securing the support of the north, the burden of war falls upon our granddaughter.”

You gulp down. Ser Erryk, Baela, Rhaena, and your grandparents wait for you to continue. “Admittedly, I know little about war strategies, but I was married to the usurper, and I believe that might give me some insight.”

Your grandsire raises his brows. “Insight?”

“Alicent will do whatever she can to try and salvage the green’s reputation, which will be even more difficult after last night.” Whispers had reached the island, and Aegon threw a feast to celebrate his brother Aemond killing Lucerys. “I have sent a raven to OldTown addressed to Prince Daeron, expressing my concern for the safety of his sister and her children. And I’ve sent a raven to Otto Hightower, telling him the same thing.”

Rhaena steps forward and asks, “Why? The greens usurped the rightful heir to the throne—”

“As guilty as Aegon is, his children didn’t steal my mother's throne or kill my brother.” Daemon’s words of eye for eye echo in your mind, and although you wanted revenge, you disagreed. “If we do anything to harm the innocent,” you take a deep breath and push back tears, causing your voice to shake. “Lucerys was just a boy and deserved so much better, and his death shall be avenged, but if any of us do harm to Princess Helaena’s children, they will come for mine and my siblings. It will just turn into a vicious cycle until all the Targaryen children are gone.”

“And what of Princess Aemma? Otto has already made it clear that the usurper wants her back at the king's landing.”

Gritting your teeth, you say, “The Prince consort and I discussed this at length, and it’s been decided that the safest thing for my children is for us to leave. I will be traveling to Winterfell tonight to join my husband, who is still unaware of what’s happened to Lucerys. Once we are sure of our children’s safety, we will return to help fight for our mother's throne.”

“What of the queen’s other children?”

“My mother wishes for my siblings to remain by her side.”

Your grandsire takes over as the conversation turns to battle strategies, and not long after, Daemon joins you by the painted table. He gives you a curt nod, letting you know that part of the plan is done.

—

Elinda Massey, your mother's most loyal lady in waiting, was a saint; she somehow managed to cut your son's hair and dye it darker with mixed herbs and crushed roots from plants that grew on the island, along with your daughter, while Clara dyed yours. Clara had offered to travel along with you and your children, which you greatly appreciated since you would have felt guilty asking.

“Oh, my girl,” your mother says teary-eyed. “I wish it never came to this. I wish you and my grandchildren didn’t need to leave.”

“This isn’t forever. I will return soon with Jacaerys by my side, and then as soon as you’re sitting upon the iron throne, your grandchildren will return.”

“I’m proud of you, my sweetling.”

Before you can reply, Ser Erryk enters the room and says, “My queen, princess. The boat leaving Dragonstone is ready.”

“Thank you, Ser Erryke; the princess will be down shortly,” your mother says.

He bows his head and leaves.

Clara, Elinda, and yourself manage to carry your sleeping children to the boat while your mother holds Aemma in her arms while holding back tears. “Soon as they are safe, I will return, and I promise we will make things right.” You kiss your mother on the cheek before taking your daughter from her. “I love you, muña.”

“Take care, my girl.”

When the boat leaves Dragonstone, you take one last look at your home, watching it disappear into the distance quickly due to the darkness of the night sky. The last conversation with your stepfather replays in your head.

“It will never work. Firstly, Jace would never allow me to go through with it, and Alicent would see right through my act.” The plan Daemon had proposed was risky, but you understood his reasoning behind it. What concerned you was keeping it a secret; you couldn’t look your mother or husband in the eye and be dishonest.

“She would believe you are a mother doing anything you could to protect your child. As for Prince Jac—”

“He’d never forgive me.”

“Rhaenyra and Jacaerys will be furious with us at first, but trust me, they will in time come to agree that this is the only way.”

Muña - Mother

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Interpretations of the red comet:

Daenerys:

Jhogo spied it first." There" he said in a husted voice. Dany looked and saw it low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red; the dragon's tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

AGOT, DAENERYS X

It is the herald of my coming, she told herself as she gazed up the night sky with wonder in her heart. The gods have send it to show me the way.

ACOK, DAENERYS I

Maester Cressen:

An omen of blood,foretelling murder...yes

ACOK, PROLOGUE

Ser Arys Oakheart:

[Sansa]"What do you think it means?"she asked him.

"Glory to your bethrothed" Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the Gods themselves have raised a banner in his honor[...]

ACOK, SANSA I

Smallfolk on Kings Landing:

[Ser Arys]" The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's comet".

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's tail".

ACOK, SANSA I

Osha:

[...]The way she said it made him silver, and when he asked what he comet meant, she answered" Blood and fire, boy, and nothing sweet"

ACOK, BRAN I

Septon Chayle:

Bran asked Septon Chayle about the comet while they were sorting through some scrolls snatched from the library fire. "It is the sword that slays the season", he replied and soon after the white raven came from Oldtown, bringing word of autumn, so doubtless he was right.

ACOK, BRAN I

Old Nan:

Through Old Nan did not think so, and she'd lived longer than any of them. "Dragons" she said lifting her head and sniffing. She was near blind and could not see the comet, yet she claimed she could smell it."It be dragons, boy" she insisted. Bran got no princes from Nan, no more than he ever had.

ACOK, BRAN I

Greatjon Umber, Edmure Tully, Catelyn Stark and Brynden Tully:

[Catelyn]"The Greatjon told Robb that the old gods have unfurled a red flag of vengeance for Ned. Edmure thinks it's an omen for victory for Riverrun - he sees a fish with a long tail, in the tully colors, red against blue."She sighed . "I wish I had their faith. Crimson is a Lannister color".

"That thing's not crimson" Ser Brynden said.Nor Tully red, the mud red of the river. That's blood up there, child, smeared across the sky".

ACOK, CATELYN I

Theon Greyjoy:

It's my comet, Theon told himself, sliding a hand into his fur-lined coat to touch the oilskin pouch snug in its pocket.

ACOK, THEON I

Selyse Florent:

Queen Selyse was adamant" None of them was chosen by R'hllor. No red comet blazed across the heavens to herald their coming. None of them wielded the Lightbringer, the red sword of heroes.And none of the paid the price. Lady Melisandre will tell you, my lord.Only death can pay for life".

ASOS, DAVOS V

Melisandre:

[Melisandre]"You are he who must stand against the Other. The one whose coming was prophesied five thousand years ago. The red comet was your herald. You are the prince that was promised and if you fail, the world falls with you".

ASOS, DAVOS VI

Aeron Greyjoy:

The priest had dreamed the same dream, when he'd first seen the red comet in the sky. We shall sweep over the green lands with fire and sword, root out the seven gods from the septons and the white trees of the northmen...

AFFC, THE DROWNED MAN

[daltongreyjoy-rp]

Dalton was hiding in his mother's chambers. Along with his siblings and his new salt wife. The screams echoed in the castle's walls. « He's killing her. »

—Her name is Mara... —Dalton whisper to himself, soon everyone will act as she never existed. Mara was taken from somewhere in the North. Forced to be his father's eighth salt wife and soon she would become his father's eighth dead salt wife.

A knock in the door alarmed everyone, until his uncle's familiar voice could be heard from the other side and his mother let him through. In his hands were clothes for the six of them, all tiny, smelly, worn and old.

—Get changed. Fast!

They changed their garments in silence, Dalton could see the bruised skin in his brother's arms. A gift from their father. Dalton learned to not say a word about it. His new salt wive, Tess, was in the farthest corner of the room; but even in the distance, Dalton noticed the fear —and anger— in her eyes. Tess hated his uncle Vickon. He stole her from Oldtown, a gift for Dalton's fourteenth nameday. Some nights she tried to kill him, she never did. For some reason, Dalton now wakes up yearning for Tess to put a knife in his throat and started to get mad when she didn't. He never said his hopes aloud. After a year forced to share chambers, Dalton grew used to her presence. They even had an arrangement for sleeping: Dalton on the floor while Tess slept in the bed.

Another scream. His sister, Esgred, started to cry and his mother got annoyed. « Silence! If he heards you he'll be furious! » His brother Veron gave Esgred a doll, she hugged it like her life depended on it. Maybe it did. Sometimes their father didn't even bother to notice which one of his children he was hurting, and even with that Dalton noticed his sisters were beated more often. He had the luck of being ignored instead of harmed... most of the time.

The next scream was weaker than the last, a signal Mara was dying, no one would go save her. Dalton felt like he couldn't breathe. After one of them died, his father would ask for him. He'll lecture him about the fragility and worthlessness of women, he'll encourage Dalton to hurt his own wife « He'll hit me if I don't do it, again. »

Dalton was scared. « Ironborn do not frightened. » He panicked, his father would eventually come looking for him. And Dalton couldn't hide anymore, he was almost a man grown. He stared at his siblings, each one of them more scared than the other. « I should be the example. » Dalton tried to put a strong and calmed face. He crossed the room and hold Tess' hand, her discomfort was obvious, but Dalton ignored it. He was trying to look in control.

The screams became whimpers. « He'll come for me next. » His mother finally finish to dress his sister Gysella, she was five years old next week. She left his sister in his uncle's arms.

—Leave. Before its too late.

Their uncle Vickon guieded from the sea tower, crossing the three bridges into a secret port to the shores of Lordsport; a small boat was waiting for them. They escaped covered by darkness. The cold breeze blowing. Hiding beneath a blanket, while their uncle sculled. They arrived at the "Raven", his uncle's ship, at midnight.

—Where are we going? —Veron asked.

—Wherever the drowned god guides us —His uncle answer. They set sail and didn't come back to the Iron Islands until his father was dead.

[iamfina5]

The Kinslayer Couple

Summary: The ground falls out from beneath Valaena Velaryon’s feet within the span of a week. The week begins with the death of her grandsire, making her mother queen and her Princess of Dragonstone. It ends with the death of her brother Lucerys at the hands of her husband, Aemond Targaryen. From there, Valaena embarks on a perilous journey to win a war against her own kin, forced to discern who are friends and who are foes on both sides of the conflict.

Chapter Sixteen: Blond-Headed Babe

First  Prev/Next

135 A.C.

A week past Aemond’s departure from King’s Landing, word arrives that the city has fallen to the Blacks. He takes the news with considerable poise, only slashing through one wall of his tent. Echoing him, Vhagar torches a clump of trees.

Once his initial fury has burnt away, his scorching blood cooling to a more febrile temperature, dread and shame set in. He had left his family in King’s Landing, taking with him the vast majority of their men and their only dragon, and now, they are all surely dead. Only Daeron, stuck in the Reach, and Helaena and her children, nowhere to be found, are left, and they will undoubtedly condemn him for this loss. All this for Harrenhal, which is still more than a week’s journey along the Kingsroad from him. There, he suspects a battle far bloodier than he had originally expected awaits him, the Blacks evidently aware of his plans.

Am I king, he wonders, his head spinning. With Aegon’s children still missing, he remains the Prince of Dragonstone, though if Aegon has perished, he is as good as king. There will be no definitive declaration until a crown might be placed on his head, but having a son of his own and being Aegon’s eldest brother, it is terribly unlikely that he would be passed over for Daeron. He still carries the mantle of Lord Protector of the Realm, so he might already possess the crown had he not left it in King’s Landing at Aegon’s request. He hardly spares a thought for it now, however.

His breath caught in his throat, he asks the squire who holds the raven’s message, “How did—Aegon and—” His voice dies out, so restless for the answer is he that he cannot form a single other thought as he anticipates it.

The man shakes his head. “The king is alive, my prince. When your half-sister took the Red Keep, her men found his bedchamber deserted.”

Unspeakably relieved, Aemond heaves a great sigh. Aegon may be the least favorite of his brothers, but he is still among Aemond’s closest kin, and he shudders to think of a life without him. Aegon’s good fortune also lends Aemond hope as to their mother’s fate. Surely, Aegon and Alicent had absconded from the Red Keep together, and hopefully, he thinks fleetingly, they had taken with them the crown of Aegon the Dragon.

“Where have they gone? Do they mean to retreat to Oldtown,” he inquires. Aegon’s dragon, Sunfyre the Golden, still languishes near Rook’s Rest, so perhaps they intend to venture there first.

Looking the missive over again, the man reports, “I do not know, my prince. When His Grace your brother escaped—”

Aemond holds up a finger, halting the man’s speech. Suspicion prompts him to ask, “He escaped? He—Who was with him?”

Nervously, the man takes a step back. “I do not know, my prince. The letter, all it says—”

Weary of conferring with the squire, Aemond tears the missive from his hands. His eye scours the top of the letter.

King’s Landing and the Red Keep have fallen to Princess Rhaenyra. By the grace of the gods, His Grace the King Aegon managed to escape her clutches. The Princess’s men found his bedchamber empty when they stormed the royal apartments. Alas, the Dowager Queen Alicent and her father Ser Otto Hightower were forced to surrender. Her Grace the dowager queen is left as her step-daughter’s prisoner, and her father suffered a worse fate. His head is mounted on the castle walls, alongside those of Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Rosby, Lord Stokeworth, and several others.

Aemond stops reading, digesting that which he has learnt thus far. For whatever reason, Rhaenyra has spared his mother. This alone, though deeply perplexing, is an incredible solace. For Rhaenyra to have taken King’s Landing—while a devastating defeat—without Alicent or Aegon losing their lives in the process, is nothing short of a miracle.

Otto is another story. Appreciating that the man is gone and Aemond will never see or speak to him again, he feels a spark of mournful sorrow, though not for long. Ever since he learnt that Otto long held plans to assassinate Valaena, as well as that he had gone ahead with his plot for the Battle of the Gullet despite Aemond’s fervent disavowal of it, he had lost his love for the man. Otto Hightower might have been his grandsire, but Aemond suspects he has only ever been a pawn in the man’s obscure game, and he has tired of playing it.

Secure in the knowledge that his mother and Aegon are alive and presumably well, Aemond reads on.

The Princess has installed considerable defenses. The gold cloaks have flocked to her, and her dragon Syrax dwells within the outer ward of the Red Keep. Ser Addam Velaryon guards the Dragonpit, where his dragon Seasmoke resides, as well as the other Black dragons, Veraxes, Meleys, Vermithor, Silverwing, Sheepstealer, and Caraxes.

The last word on the page has Aemond’s rage returning to him in full force. Daemon has abandoned Harrenhal, he realizes. Rather than a fearsome battle, there is no one to face Aemond in the old castle. His uncle clearly thinks nothing of him, to the point that he would rather hand the most impressive seat in the riverlands over to him than do him the courtesy of facing him on his dragon.

Furious, Aemond’s first instinct is to continue onward to Harrenhal and sack the ruin, dispatching any of the men that Daemon might have left behind, or mayhaps scorching the riverlands as a whole atop Vhagar. As he continues to fume as to the neglected holdfast awaiting him, however, his anger soon dispels.

There is another neglected holdfast out there, one that contains a far greater treasure than any Strong prize that Harrenhal may house. Dragonstone stands to the east, bereft of all its capable dragons. To his count, there are ten dragons left to the Blacks following the Battle of the Gullet. The eight adults gather in King’s Landing. Tyraxes is off with Joffrey, wherever that may be. Moondancer still resides on Dragonstone with Baela, but the she-dragon is yet too small to bear his cousin’s weight.

Casting the letter onto a firepit, Aemond declares, “This host is to reverse and join its western brother, and it shall do so without me.” Picking up his sword, he strides from the tent and moves swiftly toward Vhagar.

Harried, the squire hurries after him. “What of Harrenhal, my prince?”

Darkly, he asserts, “If Daemon does not want Harrenhal, neither do I.”

Approaching his dragon, he leaves the man behind. Vhagar appears irritable at the prospect of rising when she has only just settled down after a long day of flying, but Aemond is inflexible, urging her up from the ground despite her rumbling protests. Together, they take to the air, and without a host of four-thousand men-at-arms with a long baggage train, they soon arrive at a similar camp near Acorn Hall.

The young Lord Roland Reyne meets him at the edge of the encampment. Before the man can speak a word in greeting, he orders, “Show me to Lord Lannister.”

“Lord Jason is dead, my prince,” reports Roland. Aemond stops in his tracks. A question must sit on his face, as Roland soon expands, “He was slain on the Red Fork.”

The Lannister host having set out so recently, Aemond is displeased in hearing that it has already lost its foremost commander. Nevertheless, he knows the Lannisters’ leal lords will carry on in his stead. “Very well. Where is Tarbeck?” Roland winces. Incredulous, Aemond deadpans, “You jest.”

“A hedge knight slew him some days past.” He points to a large tent, beside which rests an elaborate litter. “Lord Lefford leads us now.”

Sighing, Aemond makes his way over to the commander’s tent. Two soldiers pull back the tarpaulin for him as he approaches, and he and Roland march inside. Various lords and knights crowd around a table strewn with maps and battle plans. Nearby, Lord Humfrey Lefford reclines in a low chair, his aged body swathed in bandages and leaking blood and pus.

Aemond just barely represses a grimace. “Lord Lefford.” He nods shortly to the other highborn men in the room, and they return the gesture.

“My prince.” Humfrey tries in vain to rise from his seat, but after a full ten seconds of struggle, Aemond waves him off. “This is a welcome surprise.”

Aemond raises his chin. “I have decided that the advance on Harrenhal is no more. I require a thousand men from you so that I might take Dragonstone.” When he visited Dragonstone with Valaena two years past, the castle had hosted thirty knights, a hundred crossbowmen, and three-hundred men-at-arms. Should he turn up with a thousand men, he is confident that Criston will surrender Dragonstone to him without bloodshed, leaving less for Valaena to complain about when she makes her return to the castle.

Humfrey appears hesitant. “My prince, we have suffered many losses. I fear I cannot afford to lend you the men you need and continue to defend your brother’s claim.”

“My own host numbers four-thousand strong. I have ordered them to join you here,” he informs Humfrey, whose face clears in hearing so.

“In that case,” begins Humfrey, though he trails off as he thinks on the matter.

Zealously, Roland proffers, “It would be an honor for myself and mine house to join you in your quest, my prince. I have three-hundred-fifty men under my command, thirty of whom are knights and squires.”

Appreciative, Aemond takes the offer. With three-hundred-fifty men and Vhagar, he could take Dragonstone, though not without bloodshed, which he is loath to risk. As of now, Dragonstone is Valaena’s domain, and her siblings and their child reside there. After what transpired with Lucerys, he wishes neither to cause her anymore grief, nor incur any more rancor from her. He has enough to make up for already.

He looks back to Humfrey, who, thankfully, has come up with a proposal of his own. He addresses Lord Swyft. “Alastor, what say you? You’ve enough men to make up the difference.”

Alastor, who matches Humfrey in years but is far haler, contemplates the proposition. Aemond directs a menacing stare at the old man, hoping to incite his obedience, but he hardly seems swayed. Notwithstanding that, his agreement comes after a moment, and Aemond has the men he needs.

Nodding succinctly, he says, “Each man shall have his own horse and carry his own luggage. We will ride fast and arrive at Dragonstone before next week’s end. We leave at dawn.”

Keep Reading

[calla-lefford]

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN LEO LEFFORD AND CALLA LEFFORD

Context: Lady Calla managed to send a raven to her brother while he was away at war in which she informed him about the end of her marriage. Upon Leo’s return from war, the siblings reunite.

CALLA: Her expression softened at the sight of Leo, eyes bright. “Brother,” she rushed towards him, holding him tight. She could finally breathe easy in what felt like an eternity. She pulled away only to glance up and cup his face in her hands. “You look well. Thank gods, you’re back”.

LEO: Even though his body stayed tense, his eyes softened at the sight of his sister. She was his kin, no matter the bonds that burdened them in life. “It's good to see you” he mustered a smile. “And yet the battlefield now seems less complicated.”

CALLA: Everything seemed less complicated in retrospect, she imagined. How could war feel less so for her brother she didn't know, but she didn't counter him on that. “Come, you must be starving,” she took him by the arm. “You deserve a fine meal after what you went through”.

LEO: If the lord were honest, he had little appetite, not while knowing the kind of questions he would have to ask. Yet he still followed his sister, not saying anything yet. “Thank you Calla. But please sit. I think you and I both know we have more important matters to discuss.”

CALLA: It was the last thing she wanted to talk about, not wishing to sour their reunion with her current situation. It had to be discussed sooner or later, though. “I suppose we do,” she answered as she sat down. “I'm no longer to be Lady of Oldtown, as you know”.

LEO: It surprised him, her curt manner of speaking. As if the topic of their conversation was not of the highest importance. “And how exactly did that happen? Was it him, did he wish to end it?” If he was honest, he did not care if Calla did not wish to discuss it. It had to be done

CALLA: She swallowed hard, trying to remain steady rather than raging with the emotions held inside of her. “He did,” she stated plainly. “A grieving wife is too much of a nuisance for him, it would seem”. How desperately she wanted her brother to stand by her on this matter, but when it came to politics, she knew it could be too much to ask of him... nothing frightened her more. “I did what I could, Leo. I swear to you, I did what I could to salvage things”.

LEO: Even if he was not known for his temper, he could feel anger brewing under that cold visage. “He is a shell of a man. Broken. You should have never married him,” blue eyes fixed on his sister. “I know you did. We should have known on your wedding day. But this is a slight. An insult to our family.”

CALLA: “Mother arranged it and I did my duty,” she stated, a light shrug accompanying her words. And how eager she’d been to get married after meeting her betrothed… “He’s no longer the man I married,” Calla muttered. The man she married in the North and the man who insulted her at the time of asking for the annulment were not the same. “I’m sure he’ll find a way to make it seem as if no insult took place at all”.

LEO: “There is no way it won't be seen as one.” The lord of Golden Tooth found himself in the unusual position of raising his voice, he could not remember the last time that happened with his sister. “You do not understand. How will this look to the other families. Lord Hightower sending you back home. We should have stopped this. Killed this unfortunate union in its crib,” he gripped the edges of the table trying to contain his rage.

CALLA: “Well, we can't undo what's been done Leo,” she snapped back, tears beginning to prickle her eyes. “We can't,” she repeated, her voice steadier. She blinked a few times to avoid crying. She wouldn't cry over this, not before her brother. “And... my mistake has been greater than you think”.

LEO: “No. I do not wish to hear it,” he quickly stood up, wanting to hear nothing more about the doomed marriage or the mistake his sister alluded to. “We will deal with this the proper way, the way your marriage should have been.” Turning around to exit the chamber, he looked back to his sister one last time. “Do not speak of this, Calla. To anyone.”

CALLA: Calla blinked fast, the knot inside tightening more and more. “And what shall be the proper way in which you'll deal with me, brother?” she asked, standing up as he did, emerald eyes locked on him as Leo turned around to walk away. “Do I still have a home in Golden Tooth or is this shame too much for you? Am I such a horrid stain to our family now?” A part of her wished to believe their bond as siblings weighed more than what propriety or pride could drive him to do. She didn't even know what to believe now, really.

LEO: He paused at the door, listening to his sister's final remark. His tone was quiet and he steadied himself, his eyes fluttering shut. “You are my blood Calla, and as much of a Lefford as I. Golden Tooth is your home and I your oldest brother. I will not turn you away, but Gods help me, I will not be forced to act pleased about this. So you will rejoin our family, but do not forget. I am now your Lord first, sister. And to alleviate this mess, you will do as you are told.” With that he opened the door and left, wanting to hear nothing more

THE END.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Cersei VIII (Chapter 36)

Get in loser, it's YMBQ time.

The news from the Reach seemed to grow more dire with every raven. The ironmen had not been content with their new rocks, it seemed. They were raiding up the Mander in strength, and had gone so far as to attack the Arbor and the smaller islands that surrounded it. The Redwynes had kept no more than a dozen warships in their home waters, and all those had been overwhelmed, taken, or sunk. And now there were reports that this madman who called himself Euron Crow's Eye was even sending longships up Whispering Sound toward Oldtown.

Is it wrong that I kind of like that the reach is getting ravaged? Don't answer that.

It's time they get a little taste of this war, okay? Fair is fair.

+.+.+ 

"Your Grace," he [Aurane Waters] said with a broad smile, "Dragonstone is yours."

[...]

"Do we have Ser Loras to thank for this triumph?"

[...]

"I never saw a braver knight," Waters said, "but he turned what could have been a bloodless victory into a slaughter. A thousand men are dead, or near enough to make no matter. Most of them our own. And not just common men, Your Grace, but knights and young lords, the best and the bravest."

"And Ser Loras himself?"

"He will make a thousand and one. They carried him inside the castle after the battle, but his wounds are grievous. He has lost so much blood that the maesters will not even leech him."

I bet that pissed off a lot of nobles.

At no point does she think this will be a problem for her in the future.

+.+.+

"Tell me," Cersei commanded. "I want to know all of it, from the beginning to the end."

[...]

As they supped, she bid Aurane to tell the tale again, so she would remember all the details correctly. "I do not want our precious Margaery to hear these tidings from a stranger, after all," she said. "I will tell her myself."

Lol, she's so sick in the head.

+.+.+

"Your Grace is kind," said Waters with a smile. A wicked smile, the queen thought. Aurane did not resemble Prince Rhaegar as much as she had thought. He has the hair, but so do half the whores in Lys, if the tales are true. Rhaegar was a man. This is a sly boy, no more. Useful in his way, though.

This is considered fAegon evidence.

+.+.+

Loras was the first one through the breach when the ram broke the castle gates. He rode straight into the dragon's mouth, they say, all in white and swinging his morningstar about his head, slaying left and right."

Megga Tyrell was sobbing openly by then. "How did he die?" she asked. "Who killed him?"

"No one man has that honor," said Cersei. "Ser Loras took a quarrel through the thigh and another through the shoulder, but he fought on gallantly, though the blood was streaming from him. Later he suffered a mace blow that broke some ribs. After that . . . but no, I would spare you the worst of it."

"Tell me," said Margaery. "I command it."

Command it? Cersei paused a moment, then decided she would let that pass. "The defenders fell back to an inner keep once the curtain wall was taken. Loras led the attack there as well. He was doused with boiling oil."

Many have theorized that Loras is alive and well, and they've included boiling oil in the story so his corpse can't be properly identified.

That's possible, but I'm not convinced.

+.+.+

Cersei took Margaery in her arms to comfort her. "He saved the realm." When she kissed the little queen upon the cheek, she could taste the salt of her tears. "Jaime will enter all his deeds in the White Book, and the singers will sing of him for a thousand years."

Margaery wrenched free of her embrace, so violently that Cersei almost fell. "Dying is not dead," she said.

"No, but the maesters say—"

"Dying is not dead!"

"I only want to spare you—"

"I know what you want. Get out."

I'm siding with Margaery here. Dying is not dead. The author wouldn't prolong his death unless he had more plans for Ser Loras.

Like always, this will somehow backfire.

+.+.+

Now you know how I felt, the night my Joffrey died. 

I mean, yeah. It wasn't Margaery's fault, but she has a point.

A son for a son, as Walder Frey might say.

+.+.+

"Four?" The queen was pleasantly surprised. A steady stream of informers had been making their way to the Red Keep, claiming knowledge of Tyrion, but four in one day was unusual.

[...]

He laid his hand upon his chest. "I bring you justice. I bring you the head of your valonqar."

The old Valyrian word sent a chill through her, though it also gave her a tingle of hope. "The Imp is no longer my brother, if he ever was," she declared. 

That line is used to support Tyrion Targaryen theories, because of a similar line found in ASOS.

Jon had never met anyone so stubborn, except maybe for his little sister Arya. Is she still my sister? he wondered. Was she ever? - Jon III, ASOS

Here's the problem with that. Jon and Arya aren't siblings, they have different parents.

Even if Aerys was Tyrion's father (or he fathered the twins), both Cersei and Tyrion would still share the same mother. He'd still be her half brother.

Not the same. It doesn't work.

+.+.+

"In Tyrosh we name him Redhands, for the blood running from his fingers. A king's blood, and a father's. Some say he slew his mother too, ripping his way from her womb with savage claws."

What nonsense, Cersei thought.

I'm surprised she didn't jump all over that.

+.+.+

Sad to say, the three would-be informers proved no more useful than the Tyroshi. One said that the Imp was hiding in an Oldtown brothel, pleasuring men with his mouth. It made for a droll picture, but Cersei did not believe it for an instant. The second claimed to have seen the dwarf in a mummer's show in Braavos. The third insisted Tyrion had become a hermit in the riverlands, living on some haunted hill. 

Bobono, and the Ghost of High Heart.

Who knows, maybe we'll meet the Oldtown one too.

+.+.+

"May I have the honor of accompanying Your Grace to court?"

"If you can bear the tedium," said Cersei. "Robert was a fool about most things, but he was right in one regard. It is wearisome work to rule a kingdom."

rofl.

The rest was a tedium the queen knew well. She sat upon her cushions, listening, one foot jiggling with impatience. - Daenerys VII, ADWD

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

"As you will, my prince," said Ser Rodrik. "You did well." Bran flushed with pleasure. Being a lord was not so tedious as he had feared - Bran II, ACOK

+.+.+

Lord Hallyne of the Guild of Alchemists presented himself, to ask that his pyromancers be allowed to hatch any dragon's eggs that might turn up upon Dragonstone, now that the isle was safely back in royal hands. "If any such eggs remained, Stannis would have sold them to pay for his rebellion," the queen told him. She refrained from saying that the plan was mad. Ever since the last Targaryen dragon had died, all such attempts had ended in death, disaster, or disgrace.

Bless Stannis and Daenerys for keeping the streak alive.

+.+.+

The Braavosi were demanding repayment of their outstanding debts, it seemed, and refusing all new loans. We need our own bank, Cersei decided, the Golden Bank of Lannisport. Perhaps when Tommen's throne was secure, she could make that happen. 

"Why don't we just print more money?"

+.+.+

And then there was Lancel. She had thought Qyburn must be japing when he had told her that her mooncalf cousin had forsaken castle, lands, and wife and wandered back to the city to join the Noble and Puissant Order of the Warrior's Sons, yet there he stood with the other pious fools.

Cersei liked that not at all. Nor was she pleased by the High Sparrow's endless truculence and ingratitude. 

Tell us what you're going to do about it.

+.+.+

Septon Raynard assumed a regretful tone. "His High Holiness sent me in his stead, and bade me tell Your Grace that the Seven have sent him forth to battle wickedness."

"How? By preaching chastity along the Street of Silk? Does he think praying over whores will turn them back to virgins?"

"Our bodies were shaped by our Father and Mother so we might join male to female and beget trueborn children," Raynard replied. "It is base and sinful for women to sell their holy parts for coin."

LAME. You're lame. You're wrong, and you're lame.

Different views on sex in back-to-back chapters.

+.+.+

"These sinners feed the royal coffers," the queen said bluntly, "and their pennies help pay the wages of my gold cloaks and build galleys to defend our shores. There is trade to be considered as well. If King's Landing had no brothels, the ships would go to Duskendale or Gulltown. His High Holiness promised me peace in my streets. Whoring helps to keep that peace. Common men deprived of whores are apt to turn to rape. Henceforth let His High Holiness do his praying in the sept where it belongs."

It's not every day Cersei is this correct.

+.+.+

"Lord Gyles has had that cough for years, and it never killed him before," she complained. "He coughed through half of Robert's reign and all of Joffrey's. If he is dying now, it can only be because someone wants him dead."

Grand Maester Pycelle blinked in disbelief. "Your Grace? Wh-who would want Lord Gyles dead?"

"His heir, perhaps." Or the little queen. "Some woman he once scorned." Margaery and Mace and the Queen of Thorns, why not? Gyles is in their way. "An old enemy. A new one. You."

+.+.+

"Be that as it may. You will return to Lord Gyles and inform him that he does not have my leave to die."

Lmao.

+.+.+

"I should go to court with you every day, to listen. Margaery says—"

"—a deal too much," Cersei snapped. "For half a groat I'd gladly have her tongue torn out."

"Don't you say that," Tommen shouted suddenly, his round little face turning red. "You leave her tongue alone. Don't you touch her. I'm the king, not you."

She stared at him, incredulous. "What did you say?"

"I'm the king. I get to say who has their tongues torn out, not you. I won't let you hurt Margaery. I won't. I forbid it."

Cersei took him by the ear and dragged him squealing to the door, where she found Ser Boros Blount standing guard. "Ser Boros, His Grace has forgotten himself. Kindly escort him to his bedchamber and bring up Pate. This time I want Tommen to whip the boy himself. He is to continue until the boy is bleeding from both cheeks. If His Grace refuses, or says one word of protest, summon Qyburn and tell him to remove Pate's tongue, so His Grace can learn the cost of insolence."

Yeesh.

Cersei, please don't drive him to self-harm.

+.+.+

The queen smiled as she lay her head upon the pillow. When I kissed her cheek, I could taste the salt of her tears.

She dreamt an old dream, of three girls in brown cloaks, a wattled crone, and a tent that smelled of death.

Completely deranged thoughts on Margaery.

Still haven't made sense of this,

He dreamt an old dream, of three knights in white cloaks, and a tower long fallen, and Lyanna in her bed of blood. - Eddard X, AGOT

Not everything has to mean something, I guess.

+.+.+

The crone's tent was dark, with a tall peaked roof. She did not want to go in, no more than she had wanted to at ten, but the other girls were watching her, so she could not turn away. 

[...]

Cersei watched the girls huddling, whispering to one another. Go back, she tried to tell them. Turn away. There is nothing here for you. But though she moved her mouth, no words came out.

[...]

The sorceress was sleeping in the dream, as once she'd slept in life. Leave her be, the queen wanted to cry out. You little fools, never wake a sleeping sorceress. Without a tongue, she could only watch as the girl threw off her cloak, kicked the witch's bed, and said, "Wake up, we want our futures told."

[...]

Listen to her, the queen would have cried if she had her tongue. You still have time to flee. Run, you little fools!

Well, shit.

We're introduced to this prophecy by an older Cersei watching a younger, more beautiful Cersei make an irreversible mistake. Never put that one together!

So we're on the same page, as you're reading my thoughts:

I believe Cersei is the YMBQ.

+.+.+

The old woman's eyes were yellow, and crusted all about with something vile. In Lannisport it was said that she had been young and beautiful when her husband had brought her back from the east with a load of spices, but age and evil had left their marks on her.

Oh, so there was a younger, more beautiful version of the now older, more evil Maggy? Fascinating.

+.+.+

The girl with the golden curls put her hands upon her hips. "Give us our foretelling, or I'll go to my lord father and have you whipped for insolence."

"Please," begged Melara. "Just tell us our futures, then we'll go."

"Some are here who have no futures," Maggy muttered in her terrible deep voice. She pulled her robe about her shoulders and beckoned the girls closer. "Come, if you will not go. Fools. Come, yes. I must taste your blood."

The girl with the golden curls. Third person narration. Like she's describing a different person. That's good, kudos to the author.

Bold Melara, willing to flip that coin. Sorry hun, it's you.

+.+.+

The queen could still remember how queer and cold her mouth had been.

"Three questions may you ask," the crone said, once she'd had her drink. "You will not like my answers. Ask, or begone with you."

Go, the dreaming queen thought, hold your tongue, and flee. But the girl did not have sense enough to be afraid.

"When will I wed the prince?" she asked.

"Never. You will wed the king."

The dreaming queen vs. the girl with no sense. Once again, as if they're two different people.

Speaking of marrying kings,

"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon."

Arya screwed up her face. "No," she said, "that's Sansa." - Eddard V, AGOT

+.+.+

"I will be queen, though?" asked the younger her.

"Aye." Malice gleamed in Maggy's yellow eyes. "Queen you shall be . . . until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."

Like right now!

+.+.+

"If she tries I will have my brother kill her." Even then she would not stop, willful child as she was. She still had one more question due her, one more glimpse into her life to come.

The willful child is you! You! It's you!

And look at that, she's going to have Jaime kill the queen. . . with poison. Hehehe.

If you know, you know.

+.+.+

"Will the king and I have children?" she asked.

"Oh, aye. Six-and-ten for him, and three for you."

Do we know of all 16? I don't think so.

Not that it matters.

+.+.+

The old woman was not done with her, however. "Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds," she said. "And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."

I'm too lazy to make this a whole thing, so I'll link.

Myrcella's food will be poisoned by Tyene Sand.

Tommen will jump from Maegor's Holdfast, and land on the iron spikes in the dry moat.

Knowing it's the end, with a castle crumbling over top of them, Jaime and Cersei will commit suicide by drinking poison. I'm guessing Cersei will drink it from Jaime's hands.

+.+.+

"What is a valonqar? Some monster?" The golden girl did not like that foretelling. "You're a liar and a warty frog and a smelly old savage, and I don't believe a word of what you say. Come away, Melara. She is not worth hearing."

The golden girl is you! You! It's you!

+.+.+

"I get three questions too," her friend insisted. And when Cersei tugged upon her arm, she wriggled free and turned back to the crone. "Will I marry Jaime?" she blurted out.

You stupid girl, the queen thought, angry even now. Jaime does not even know you are alive. Back then her brother lived only for swords and dogs and horses . . . and for her, his twin.

"Not Jaime, nor any other man," said Maggy. "Worms will have your maidenhead. Your death is here tonight, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close."

So close she's standing right next to you.

A young girl sat beneath a fountain, drenched in spray, and stared at her with Melara Hetherspoon's accusing eyes. - Cersei II, ADWD

+.+.+

The valonqar shall wrap his hands about your throat, the queen heard, but the voice did not belong to the old woman. The hands emerged from the mists of her dream and coiled around her neck; thick hands, and strong. Above them floated his face, leering down at her with his mismatched eyes. No, the queen tried to cry out, but the dwarf's fingers dug deep into her neck, choking off her protests. She kicked and screamed to no avail. Before long she was making the same sound her son had made, the terrible thin sucking sound that marked Joff's last breath on earth.

Oh you mean when he was poisoned? Is that the noise you're making? You're dreaming of the valonqar prophecy and now you're making the same noise as Joffrey? When he drank poison? Is that what's happening? k.

+.+.+

"No. There is no need to involve that . . . to involve Qyburn. Dreamless sleep. You shall have your potion."

"Good. You may go." As he turned toward the door, though, she called him back. "One more thing. What does the Citadel teach concerning prophecy? Can our morrows be foretold?"

The old man hesitated. One wrinkled hand groped blindly at his chest, as if to stroke the beard that was not there. "Can our morrows be foretold?" he repeated slowly. "Mayhaps. There are certain spells in the old books . . . but Your Grace might ask instead, 'Should our morrows be foretold?' And to that I should answer, 'No.' Some doors are best left closed."

Too late now. That younger queen is on a rampage trying to make sure this prophecy doesn't materialize.

I hate wise Pycelle. It doesn't work for me. Get rid of him.

+.+.+

As she watched the cats frolic about his feet, Cersei felt a little better. No harm will ever come to Tommen whilst I still live. She would kill half the lords in Westeros and all the common people, if that was what it took to keep him safe.

What if I told you killing half the court and common people will be the reason for his death?

+.+.+

"A woods witch? Most are harmless creatures. They know a little herb-craft and some midwifery, but elsewise . . ."

"She was more than that. Half of Lannisport used to go to her for charms and potions. She was mother to a petty lord, a wealthy merchant upjumped by my grandsire. This lord's father had found her whilst trading in the east. Some say she cast a spell on him, though more like the only charm she needed was the one between her thighs. She was not always hideous, or so they said. I don't recall the woman's name. Something long and eastern and outlandish. The smallfolk used to call her Maggy."

"Maegi?"

(She's speaking to Qyburn.)

For those unaware, Maggy (Maegi?) the Frog is Jeyne Westerling's great-grandmother. The petty lord founded House Spicer.

+.+.+

"Bloodmagic is the darkest kind of sorcery. Some say it is the most powerful as well."

Cersei did not want to hear that. "This maegi made certain prophecies. I laughed at them at first, but . . . she foretold the death of one of my bedmaids. At the time she made the prophecy, the girl was one-and-ten, healthy as a little horse and safe within the Rock. Yet she soon fell down a well and drowned." Melara had begged her never to speak of the things they heard that night in the maegi's tent. If we never talk about it we'll soon forget, and then it will be just a bad dream we had, Melara had said. Bad dreams never come true. The both of them had been so young, that had sounded almost wise.

"Do you still grieve for this friend of your childhood?" Qyburn asked. "Is that what troubles you, Your Grace?"

"Melara? No. I can hardly recall what she looked like. It is just . . . the maegi knew how many children I would have, and she knew of Robert's bastards. Years before he'd sired even the first of them, she knew. She promised me I should be queen, but said another queen would come . . ." Younger and more beautiful, she said. ". . . another queen, who would take from me all I loved."

This is incredible. She fears the prophecy in part because of Melara's fate that night, as if she wasn't the one who chose to kill Melara.

It's Cersei's choices that are making the prophecy come true. Cersei is the YMBQ.

(And for the record, Daenerys is in the exact same boat when it comes to prophecy.)

+.+.+

"And you wish to forestall this prophecy?"

More than anything, she thought. "Can it be forestalled?"

"Oh, yes. Never doubt that."

"How?"

"I think Your Grace knows how."

She did. I knew it all along, she thought. Even in the tent. "If she tries I will have my brother kill her."

Correct, your brother will kill her. Hehehe.

I don't trust this Qyburn fellow. You would think he'd know the trouble that comes from attempting to forestall prophecy.

+.+.+

Knowing what needed to be done was one thing, though; knowing how to do it was another. Jaime could no longer be relied on. A sudden sickness would be best, but the gods were seldom so obliging. How then? A knife, a pillow, a cup of heart's bane?

No real speculation here, but I find it interesting the Tarly sword is named that.

We've seen the pillow, Cersei will cover the poison, when can we see the knife? :)

+.+.+

Swords have two edges, though. The very men who guard her could be used to bring her down. The evidence would need to be so overwhelming that even Margaery's own lord father would have no choice but to consent to her execution. That would not be easy. Her lovers are not like to confess, knowing it would mean their heads as well as hers. Unless . . .

[...]

"If it came to it, could he defeat Ser Boros Blount?"

"Boros the Belly?" Ser Osmund chortled. "He's what, forty? Fifty? Half-drunk half the time, fat even when he's sober. If he ever had a taste for battle, he's lost it. Aye, Your Grace, if Ser Boros wants for killing, Osney could do it easy enough. Why? Has Boros done some treason?"

"No," she said. But Osney has.

Cersei, who is fucking Osney Kettleblack, is going to convince Osney Kettleblack to wrongly confess to sleeping with the other queen, Margaery Tyrell.

Does anyone have any predictions for how that might blow up in her face?

Final thoughts:

Thinking out loud about ways this Loras plot could badly backfire.

There is a possible scenario in which Loras is still recovering at Dragonstone when Daenerys arrives.

I'm not saying I think that will happen, I'm only pointing out that the possibility exists.

-> return to menu <-

[greenhikingboots]

A Rabbit Hole of Fan Theories - The Faceless Man, The Elder Brother, and More (Updated)

Here’s nearly 6,000 words of ASOIAF fan theory exploration. On the one hand, a lot of it sounds like crackpot, tinfoil nonsense to me. On the other hand, I might be a genius who has solved some mysteries. Feel free to disregard or indulge, whichever you prefer.

Okay, so it started like this: I was thinking about how TWOW might go, more specifically how Robb’s letter legitimizing Jon and making him an heir might finally come into play. I was wondering what happened to the letter, which led me to this post. It makes a strong case for the letter being sent with the captain of the Myraham to either White Harbor or Oldtown. As for White Harbor, the post says Robb would have sent the letter there because Wyman Manderly, wealthy and loyal to the Starks, has the means necessary to “champion the contents of Robb’s letter.” That wasn’t enough reason to excite me, truth be told, but I kept reading anyway.

As for Oldtown, Sam’s there now (more specifically at the Citadel), so Robb’s letter finding its way there would tie story lines together in an interesting way. Additionally, I’ve always found a certain scene from the show rather suspect. “A raven came from the Citadel. A white raven. Winter is here.” It’s a nice nod to House Stark’s words, and it gives Jon a chance to bring up Ned. And maybe that’s all it was ever meant to be. But I don’t recall the show mentioning white ravens at any other point, so I thought, “Maybe it’s a nod to something that will happen in the books.” With that in mind, I went searching for information about white ravens. In the ACAK prologue, there’s this: “They are larger than other ravens, and more clever, bred to carry only the most important messages. This one came to tell us that the Conclave has met, considered the reports and measurements made by maesters all over the realm, and declared this great summer done at last.” I hate to make generalizations about the fandom, but there seems to be this false idea that white ravens only announce the transition of seasons, but as I’ve just noted they actually announce “the most important messages,” and the transition of seasons is but one example. So that got me thinking that Robb would have wanted his letter to make it to the Citadel so that his legitimizing Jon was known far and wide. (For what it’s worth, I tried to find out if there is a precedent for this in the books — if this is the sort of thing that white ravens have been used for at any point in the already published story — but no luck. Still, I think the theory holds weight).

Recent addition: I think the maesters are neutral for the most part, or at least they’re supposed to be (though Marwyn’s obviously up to something). Meaning, their sending out a bunch of white ravens about Jon being legitimized isn’t necessarily an indicator that they support the North’s independence. I think of it more like them saying, “Hey, here’s the latest news everyone needs to know.” This reddit post (from 9 years ago!) has some good conversations about it. 

After that, I read more about Sam at the Citadel because I want to make my fanfic ideas as canon compliant as possible. I’d previously read the chapter where he arrives there, but overall I wasn’t a careful reader of the books. With each one, I skimmed more and more and skipped some POV chapters completely. And while House Martell sounds wonderful when I read about them online, I struggled to get into chapters which feature them. So I missed it completely, that Sarella Sand and Alleras the Sphinx are one in the same. But after reading some fan theories on it, it seems more than plausible to me. It seems indisputable, actually. “Well, then how do I want to incorporate that into my writing?” I asked myself. I mean, Sarella wants to be at the Citadel badly enough that she’s pretending to be a boy to do so. But why? Sure, she could be seeking knowledge simply for the sake of it, but this is ASOIAF so that seems unlikely, doesn't it? After all, the Citadel has all the answers to all the ancient secrets, right? The last copy of certain books, information about dragons and Valyerian steel and dragonglass and magic… Meaning Sarella probably has a specific agenda in support of House Martell. I don’t know enough about them to guess quite what it is, but put a pin in that anyway because I’ll come back to it later. A lot later and only briefly. But it will happen. Moving on now. Wait, wait, wait. Sidebar before moving on. I should note that  because the Sarella = Alleras fan theory is indisputable in my opinion and because examples of it are easier to find than the one I linked above about Robb’s letter being sent with the captain of the Myraham, I chose not to link anything for it. Just an FYI for why I give links sometimes and not others. That pattern will continue throughout this post. Okay, so what else is happening at the Citadel? Jaqen H’ghar, of course! Arya’s Faceless Man friend is there, passing as Pate. “Pate, like the pig boy.” Like Sarella = Alleras, this becomes quite clear after reading up on it a bit. And also like Sarella = Alleras, I doubt Jaqen is there simply for the pursuit of knowledge. That dude has a mission and it has something to do with — well, with a dragon egg, right?

Hey, look! A fan theory I knew about before falling into this rabbit hole! It’s a popular one, but in case you aren’t familiar: Euron Greyjoy had a dragon egg at one point, but he used it as payment to the Faceless Men when he hired them to kill Balon. So, most likely, Jaqen is at the Citadel wanting to learn how to hatch a dragon egg. Well, even though that seemed pretty straightforward for me, I went on to read about Jaqen anyway. Just in case. Now, I could be misinterpreting my internet findings, but it seems these next fan theories I’m going to talk about aren’t as widely known as Sarella = Alleras or Jaqen = Pate, despite there being several Quora and Reddit posts about them. Perhaps because there’s more to dispute? Let me explain. Jaqen H'ghar is a Targaryen, everybody. Or so the theories go. More specifically, he’s either the real Aegon or Rhaegar resurrected. Oof. Sounds complicated, right? Have you heard these theories before? I’m really not sure how popular they are, therefore I’m not sure how much I should dive into them. Whatever, here goes, I guess. Some points to support Jaqen being either the real Aegon or Rhaegar resurrected: First, he’s got the Targaryen look in some ways. Second, there are parallels between him/Arya/Gendry and Rhaegar/Lyanna/Robert. Third, in ACOK, just before Arya gives Jaqen his own name, she says, “Anyone? A man, a woman, a little baby, or Lord Tywin, or the High Septon, or your father?” And he replies, “A man’s sire is long dead…”

 Sire? Hmm. Interesting. Okay, Arya again: “Even if I named the king?” Jaqen: “Is it Joffrey?”Arya: “It’s Jaqen H’ghar.”  That could totally be a clue, right? Classic, GRRM, you know. Oh, and how about the fan theory that says Jaqen has gone rogue, that he’s not doing Faceless Man things the way a Faceless Man is supposed to? This link sums that up nicely. I like it a lot. Wait, another sidebar! When discussing Jaqen, I especially like the questions, “How did he end up in King’s Landing? Why was he taken prisoner and set on the path to the Night’s Watch?” I’ve read some theories about those questions too, but I’m not going to go there in this post. I’ve got enough to try to unravel as it stands. Back to speaking more generally. Why would GRMM have Jaqen go rogue and be important to the story if he’s just some random Faceless Man? Isn’t it more interesting and doesn’t it tie story lines together better if he is in fact the real Aegon or Rhaegar resurrected? So there I was after reading a lot more fan theories, thinking, “Okay, yeah, I’m fully on board with Jaqen being one of those Targaryens, but which one?” Maybe I was overthinking it. Given Jaqen’s age and given that Rhaegar, after being resurrected, probably wouldn’t just go into hiding and wind up a Faceless Man, Jaqen being the real Aegon does seem the better theory. But I guess I’ve always liked the idea of Young Griff being the real Aegon because… Well, I don’t really know why, really. Everyone seems to expect him to be an imposter, so wouldn’t it be more interesting if he wasn’t? Maybe I just need to drive into the Blackfyre Theory more. Only, every time I try, my head spins uncomfortably fast and I give up. Young Griff and Varys and Illyrio and Serra and JonCon and Septa Lemore. Ugh. I can’t keep track of it all. (I haven’t read this particular post in full, only skimmed it, but it looks like an extremely detailed summation of the Blackfyre Theory, if anyone is interested. I know I’ve got it bookmarked and will be returning to it in the coming days). Want more on the theory that Jaqen is the real Aegon? This Quora user makes the case for it in great detail across several posts. I’ve only read a few so far, but much of what I’ve read made me think, “That’s good, but it doesn’t necessarily rule out the other theory I’m seeing, that Jaqen could be Rhaegar resurrected. It still sounds like it could be either of them.” I mean, Faceless Men could be a different age they appear, right? So I kept digging, but with more of a Rhaegar angle. I’ll say it again: oof! Where to begin with that theory?

Well, we know Rhaegar was obsessed with prophecies. He’d been trying to make sense of them for a long time and even changed his mind about which parts apply to him vs. his child/children. So it seems he understood prophecies are — well, fickle bitches, right? (To paraphrase another fandom which was paraphrasing an author who is not GRMM. That is, Ben Linus from Lost referencing Black Company by Glen Cook. Oh, I digress.)

Anyway, when it came time for Rhaegar to join the fight against Robert’s Rebellion, he was probably worried he’d die before getting it all sorted out, before doing all he needed to do to ensure the prince who was promised would one day deliver the world from darkness. Well, what if from his place of worry, his heightened motivation to survive and get the prophecy right, he came up with a plan? “Not today, death,” he might have said. Just kidding. Kind of. I’ve read that fan theory too by the way, that Jaqen = Syrio. But I’m not buying it. This is just a little jaunt into cheekiness. Back to the point. So at first I thought, “Maybe Rhaegar just brought a red priest or priestess along to the battle, came back to life, and went on to be known as Jaqen H’ghar from some TBD reason.” But then, as I was researching the likelihood of that, I read this Reddit post that talks about the possibility of Rhaegar’s rubies being used as a glamour. Body switch style. Mance and Rattleshirt, anyone? Now, unless it’s buried in the comments somewhere, I don’t think any connections are made in that last link to Jaqen, but it got me thinking. We know from Melisandre’s time at the Wall that there are some rubies that can be used to glamour people. So what if Rhaegar planned to have someone glamoured to look like him, to fight and then die in his place? Wait, wait, wait! But the fan theory I’d been exploring said Jaqen was Rhaegar resurrected, not just Rheagar who faked his death but never died. (I can’t find it back now, but I particularly liked a post that related the Jaqen = Rhaegar resurrected theory to one of Dany’s visions in the House of the Undying). So I started to feel overwhelmed. I’d gotten even deeper in the rabbit hole but was no closer to making book predictions (or decisions about how to write my fanfic for that matter). I’d switched from the Jaqen = real Aegon angle to Jaqen = Rheagr resurrected angle, and now I needed to switch again? To the Rhaegar faked his death angle? I didn’t want to. Instead, I asked myself,  “What do I know about other resurrections in ASOIAF? What clues do I already have?” Well, I know that Thoros “kissed” Beric and Beric “kissed” Catelyn… but only after Thoros refused to do it himself. *Looks at the camera like I’m in The Office.” I’ll come back to that later. For now, recall that Catelyn had been dead for so long that it became a trading of lives; Beric died to bring her back. and even then she became… well, Lady Stoneheart. This suggests a few things, not all of which are super relevant, but I’ll spell them out just in case. 1. Less relevant: The person who performs the “kiss” loses something — let’s call it health — in doing so. This is further supported by Thoros becoming loose skinned and gray haired the more times he brings Beric back to life. (For what it’s worth, we also saw this in the show: Melisandre looks loose skinned and gray when not using her ruby necklace/glamour. But I can’t remember if that is included in her POV chapter or not). 2. More relevant: Beric wasn’t a Red Priest in the past the way Thoros was, and yet he’s able to “kiss” Catelyn. I think this means the ability to resurrect someone is duplicated in anyone who receives a “kiss.” (Catelyn’s probably an exception to this rule though, don’t you think?) Emphasis on duplicated, not transferred. Otherwise Thoros wouldn’t have been able to bring Beric back more than once, right? Um… did I say I had a few things for this list, not a couple things? Well, it turns out my list is actually rather short. I thought I’d have had more to add, but I’m now realizing otherwise. Nothing to add about resurrections that I can conclude based on what I know about Thoros and Beric alone. *Looks at camera again.*

“What about the Elder Brother and Sandor Clegane?” I asked myself. “What can they tell us about resurrections in ASOIAF?” Actually, not much? I mean, I knew about this theory which says the gravedigger Brienne sees when she visits Quiet Isle is Sandor Clegane, resurrected by the Elder Brother. And based on what I’d read about Thoros and Beric, I figured Sandor can probably now resurrect people too. So that’s cool. But the theory doesn’t do a lot for me, you know? As with Sarella = Alleras and Jaqen = Pate, I’m fully on board, but that doesn’t mean I’m any closer to answers. Does Jaqen = real Aegon, or Rhaegar resurrected, or Rheagar who never died thanks to his magic rubies? I still didn’t know! I gave up for a bit. Went on with my life for a day and a half. Showered, ate dinner, went to bed, woke up again. The usual stuff. But then I returned to the Elder Brother, wondering if I’d missed anything there. “He’s just a guy. There doesn’t need to be a mystery,” Reddit told me. “I wish people could accept that some characters don’t have mysterious pasts and are just who they say they are.” Okay, fair. But the Elder Brother!? The guy who has a veined red nose and shaved head? Who was a Knight who fought for House Targaryen at the Battle of the Trident? Who said others thought him dead so they stripped his armor, dumped his body, and then he floated downstream to the Quiet Isle? And then he spent the next ten years there in silence? That’s a fascinating backstory for someone who’s “just a guy.” “What’s really going on with him?” I wondered. I tried to make it fit with Jaqen = Rhaegar resurrected or Jaqen = Rheagar who never died, but I wasn’t able to come up with a clean idea. I did, however, find myself liking those rubies more and more. What if Rhaegar had a ruby related plan for survival, but something went wrong and the Elder Brother was involved somehow? I kept stewing on it, switching angles back and forth, moving between them more rapidly than before. Again, I thought of how I agreed with that one Reddit comment, sometimes a guy is just a guy. But if the Elder Brother was someone important, who would he be? “Maybe his title is a hint,” I thought. “So who in ASOIAF is important because of their role as an elder brother?” *Looks at the camera like I’m in The Office yet again.” No, not Thoros. I’ll get back to him soon, I swear. No, the Elder Brother is… Brandon Stark resurrected.

Wait, what? I’m so serious, everyone. Hear me out. Brandon Stark, Ned’s brother, died by strangulation. Signs and symptoms of strangulation? Well, among other things they include broken blood vessels in the nose and damage to vocal cords. Remember? The Elder Brother had a veined red nose and spent ten years in silence. What, that’s not enough, you say? Because what about everything else we know about him, that he was a knight who fought for House Targaryen at the trident? Why would GRRM include all that just for it to be a lie? And on the other hand, how could it be true? Why would Brandon Stark, resurrected, have fought for House Targaryen? Well, I don’t think that he did, not exactly. Okay, here’s my theory. Thoros — woop, there he is — I think he was present when the Mad King tortured and killed Rickard and Brandon Stark. We know Thoros came from Myr to try and curb the king’s fire obsession and that he was distrubed by the violent acts against Elia and her children. So it stands to reason that he was also disturbed by what happened to Rickard and Brandon. Oh, okay. What happened next, you say? Well, Thoros went to wherever dead bodies are dumped, performed the “kiss” but believed his attempts failed. Remember how in the show everyone was already out of the room by the time Jon gasped for air, convinced Mel’s efforts hadn’t worked? So, yeah, Thoros believed he failed, which helps explain why his faith was so shaken when he joined Beric and the brotherhood without banners, why resurrecting Beric reaffirmed his faith, and why — here it comes — he wouldn’t attempt to resurrect Catelyn. A lot of Thoros build up for a payoff that isn’t that great, I admit, but it fits, right? I mean, I think by the time the brotherhood encountered Catelyn, Thoros had started to realize there are levels of dead, and some folks are just too dead to ever be brought back to life. So there’s that. But it doesn’t explain why Brandon would kind of, sort of, not really have fought for House Targaryen. Let me get back to that. In my theory, poor Rickard was dead dead, so after grieving for him some more, Brandon had to decide what to do next. And he decided he could use his new situation to his advantage, go undercover to learn Lyanna’s whereabouts. He shaved his head to make himself harder to recognize, then joined the Targaryen army to get closer to Rhaegar. If you read the Robert’s Rebellion timeline and/or Rhaegar’s main page, you can see he didn’t fight in any battles before the Battle of the Trident. He was probably at the tower of joy with Lyanna. But then he returned to the crownlands to take control over the Targaryen army. So that would have been Brandon Stark’s chance to go undercover without doing any real fighting for House Targaryen. Maybe at some point he did something outside of battle to be named a knight? Maybe — I’m moving further and further into wild speculation territory, I know, but go with it, okay — maybe he realized Rhaegar actually loved Lyanna, didn’t see the point in the war anymore, didn’t want to fight against Stark and Baratheon forces, figured he was meant to be dead anyway, somehow learns there’s a ruby-related plan for Rhaegar’s survival, and he volunteers to be the one glamoured to look like him? Or something kinda, sorta along those lines? Maybe? He figures he might as well help Lyanna get her crown prince back. And because of that, Rhaegar names him a knight? “Arise, Ser Silent the Body Double,” Rhaegar might have said. Because, don’t forget, the ten years of silence would already have already started for the Elder Brother = Brandon Stark resurrected.

Just over here thinking like a crazy fanfiction writer, I guess. Anyway, has a theory like this been shared before? I wanted to know, so I went searching yet again. But I wasn’t able to find anything. If it's out there somewhere while I’m over here acting like I’m the first person to invent it, I am so, so sorry. But like I said, I wasn’t able to find it. But then that made me second guess myself, you know? “Maybe it’s a fun fanfiction idea,” I thought, “but not at all where GRRM is headed.” Well, hang on a second! I didn’t find a theory to match mine, but I did find this Elder Brother theory which says that he and Ser Morgarth are one in the same. Ser Morgarth? Remember him? If not, don’t worry. I didn’t either. Now, I’ve only skimmed that last link, but it seems that theory goes like this: in Sansa’s final chapter of AFFC, she’s sent to speak with Littlefinger. Before they get into all that talk about Harry the Heir, she’s introduced to three hedge knights. One is Ser Morgarth, who is described as having “red nose bulbous with broken veins,” a similar description to the Elder Brother, you’ll recall. (If I remember correctly, he’s also the least talkative of the three). Now, to be fair, he’s also described as having a thick beard and salt and pepper hair, which doesn’t fit the shaved head description of the Elder Brother, but, hey, hair grows, right? Also, I know Littlefinger challenged Brandon to a duel over Catelyn way back when. So that raises an objection. “But Littlefigner would recognize him!” But if you think someone is dead, are you really gonna be like, “Oh, I guess not because this guy kinda, sorta looks like an older version of him.” No, only crazy people who are trying to predict GRRM’s books think like that! (Besides, maybe that’s why he’s the least talkative of the group, doesn’t want Littlefinger to get suspicious). Also in the room with Sansa, Littleginer, and Ser Morgarth is Ser Shadrich (and one other person whom  I’ll come back to soon). Earlier in AFFC, Ser Shadrich is the one who told Brienne he was looking for Sansa “for love.” And it turns out, there’s yet another fan theory floating around about him. It’s not based on much, just both of them being described as short, but some suspect Ser Shadrich is Howland Reed. Plenty of imagination stretching happening here, sure, but if you look at some of the above theories at the same time, they actually become more convincing, I think. It would mean neither Ser Morgarth nor Ser Shadrich are newly introduced randos, working independently to snatch Sansa and take her away from the Eyrie. They’re characters whose backstories we already know, whose motivations make sense, and they’re working together, “for love.” I’m inclined to believe Shadrich on that point at least. Okay, what about that third hedge knight, though? Because if the first two are working together, it seems the third would be in on it too. Let’s go to text! The third hedge knight is called Byron the Beautiful and he’s described as “an elegant young knight whose thick blond man cascaded well past his shoulders.” Brienne?

Listen! I know her last chapter in AFFC has her meeting Lady Stoneheart, who gives her an ultimatum: kill Jaime or die. And then in ADWD, Jaime’s POV has Brienne showing up at Pennytree talking about Sansa and Sandor. But what if it went down like this: Howland Reed and the Elder Brother/Brandon Stark meet up, discuss how they both met Brienne and she’s clearly looking for Sansa, and Howland’s like, “I tested her with lies and trickery, and she didn’t give in. I think she wants to protect her, same as us. Let’s go after her and get her and all work together.” So they go riding after her, and they save her from Lady Stoneheart just in the nick of time! Apparently GRRM has said the word Brienne shouted in her last AFFC chapter was “sword.” So I’m thinking she realizes folks are there to save her and she’s like, “Give me a sword! Let me help!” Maybe? Oh, also Brienne the Beauty (the backstory included in AFFC) = Bryon the Beautiful? I mean, it just fits, right? Plus I’m over here thinking how those who know Brienne to be a woman would judge her appearance differently than those who meet her when she’s presenting as a man. If one didn’t know better, she could come across as an elegant knight with cascading hair, I think. Also, I checked and book Brienne does have long hair. Ooooof! Over 4,000 words into this thing now. And more to go. Is anyone still reading? I just want to circle back to the top a bit, sprinkle in a few more thoughts, and then close out. So, what’s taking the captain of the Myraham so damn long to deliver Robb’s letter? I don’t know. Maybe it only seems like a long time because AFFC and ADWD run concurrently? Or, you know, because ADWD was published over a damn decade ago? Or maybe it actually is taking a long time and something went wrong for the captain? Sam saw some wreckage near White Harbor, right? Maybe the Myraham went there first, then the crew had to go by land to Oldtown because of a wreck (the Myraham is a trading cog from Oldtown, btw). Also, I don’t have any evidence to support this, but I’ve been wondering if the captain of the Myraham and Sarella = Alleras are connected in any way. That’s right, I’m finally back to her. Her mother is the captain of a ship as well, so… maybe the Myraham wrecked and it was Sarella’s mother and her crew who saved him? Maybe they confiscated Robb’s letter and have their own Martell family reason for holding on to it? Anyone who knows more than I do about the Martells want to help me speculate on that point? What else, what else?

Jaqen! Oh, Jaqen. Is he real Aegon? Is he Rhaegar? Or is he just a talented Faceless Man who has gone rogue and thinks he can hatch a dragon egg, even though he doesn’t have Targaryen blood? Someone make it make sense! As much as I initially found the idea fascinating, I’ve decided I’d actually hate it if Rhaegar was still around. So I’m leaning towards him trying to do something clever with magic rubies, but it didn’t work. Now he’s dead dead, but Brandon Stark resurrected was involved somehow, so maybe we can get the story for him. And therefore Jaqen is the real Aegon and Young Griff is the imposter. I mean, in my opinion, Young Griff being an imposter is more acceptable if the real Aegon is still around somewhere, lurking. And him being around somewhere, lurking, is more acceptable if GRRM has been doing a hiding-in-plain-sight sort of thing with him. By the way, I still can’t keep Blackfyre theory stuff straight, but I’m starting to agree with the folks who say Varys and Serra (Illyrio’s supposedly deceased wife) are siblings (making Varys and Illyrio brothers-in-law and Young Griff Varys’s nephew) and Serra is not in fact dead, she’s Septa Lemore. (I can’t find it back, but somewhere there’s a good post that talks about how Serra worked in a pillow house, which fits with Septa Lemore not acting very Septa like + something about how Septa Lemore cutting up baby clothes fits with this theory…?) Recent addition: While we’re on the topic of Septa Lemore… have you heard the theory that Ashara Dayne = Septa Lemore? Yeah, I’m not buying that one. I’m with the folks who say if that was true, Tyrion’s POV would have made note of Septa Lemore’s eye color, because Ashara’s eyes are violet. So then I was like, “Okay, sure. Why not go further down this rabbit hole. People are clearly trying to figure out what’s going on with Ashara, so might as well nibble at that too.” So if you don’t already know, Ashara was a lady-in-waiting to Elia and present at the infamous Tourney at Harrenhal. Some in Westeros say she and Ned Stark fell in love during the tourney, and since Brandon Stark was still alive at the time and promised to Catelyn, there was no shame in it. Pretty sure Catelyn’s first POV chapter in the series also says she thought Ashara was Jon’s real mother. Other parts of the text kinda, sorta suggest it might have actually been she and Brandon who fell in love and/or another unnamed party might have dishonored her during the tourney.

Basically, shit’s complicated with Ashara. And then! Supposedly Ashara’s brother, Arthur (more on him soon), died at the tower of joy, Ned returned his sword to House Dayne, and then (trigger warning!), she jumped from a castle tower to commit suicide. Her body was never found, and the reason she killed herself is unclear: maybe a broken heart, maybe a stillborn daughter, maybe a stolen child, maybe grief over her brother’s death. Oof. Okay, now to Arthur. He was a chivalrous knight and Rhaegar’s best friend. He supposedly died at the tower of joy, where Rhaegar left him, among others, to protect Lyanna. But there are clues in the text that leave readers wondering if that’s true. This Reddit post covers them well, but basically the theory goes that Arthur was the better fighter, would have totally killed Ned “if not for Holwand Reed” (Ned’s POV words) and Howland Reed, apparently, is great with words, so he must have been like, “Listen dudes, you both just want to protect Lyanna. Let’s cut a deal.” Plus! There’s this one tiny choice of word use (also in a Ned POV) that has given readers pause. Ned’s with Lyanna and says something about when they joined, not when he (Howland Reed) joined. And isn’t that exactly the sort of sneaky shit GRRM does? I mean, there’s also the unkiss and the intentional changing of the name of Joffrey’s sword, so…. So, yeah, as the Reddit post summarizes, “Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, does the only thing he can do to protect his charge: he dies. He hands over Dawn [sword], builds a phone funeral cairn, and disappears, leaving Jon in the hands of the only person who can still save him.” Oh! And! The Daynes still in Dorne go on to name a kid after Ned a while later. What’s up with that? Hmm…

Here’s the thing that really gets me, though. The fandom wants to figure out what’s going on with these Dayne siblings, but very few posts mention them at the same time. Like, a post will mention theories about one and comments on the post might sometimes mention the other, but there’s very little trying to solve their mysteries by looking at the at the same time. That’s bonkers to me.

Because clearly Ned helped them both fake their deaths, right? And the other Daynes know. (The “clearly” here is hyperbole. Nothing about ASOIAF is clear. For real, why do we put up with this shit from GRRM? He’s terrorizing us. He’s a terrorist.) So then I was like, “Well, if there’s more of this hiding-in-plain-sight sort of thing going on, who could the Daynes be now? The Rhaegar and Elia loving Daynes… the real Aegon Targaryen loving Daynes… Oh, seven hells. Here it comes. This is so ridiculous and I hate it and I don’t want it to be true, but what if they’re the Waif and the Kindly Man at the House of Black and White? I’ve only seen one other person say this (the Quora user I linked earlier). Actually, no. I think that user only said Ashara Dayne = the Waif, but never said the Kindly Man = Arthur. But, you know, maybe? Here’s a post I couldn’t fully wrap my head around, but it does say that the Waif told Arya at some point that she’s actually 36. Oh, and it says the cook at the House of Black and White, Umma, could also be Wylla (the wetnurse from Starfall, another woman who is sometimes suspected of being Jon’s mother). Oh, and before I forget: let’s say Jaqen is the real Aegon with a team of supporters at the House of Black and White. Well, doesn't it fit pretty well with the book foreshadowing of Arya taking down some Targaryens and/or dragons? Either she helps Jaqen = real Aegon take down Dany or she takes down Jaqen = real Aegon herself. Yeah? End of recent addition. Oof. Did I say earlier that I wanted to sprinkle in just a few more bits? And then I went on for forever anyway? Damn, that was a lot of sprinkles. Blame the Daynes. Almost done now. Truly. A question: are there any theories that attempt to explain the meaning behind the number of days Azor Ahai labors over the swords? As I was thinking about Jaqen theories, I had Azor Ahai theories in the back of my mind, trying to see if anything meshed together. No luck, but it reminded me that I’ve long been curious about those days - 30 days, then 50, then 100. What’s that about? What else, what else? Brandon, Howland, Brienne? Someone tell me I’m not crazy. I’m thinking they’ll help Sansa escape the Eyrie and then head to the Wall. Maybe they get separated at some point? By Ramsey’s dogs while he’s chasing after Jeyne? Because Sansa might still be the girl in gray, right? (Reddit link). But Mel’s vision has her by herself, not traveling with allies disguised as hedge knights, so who knows. Welp. That about does it. I know that makes for a TON of fake deaths, and fake identities and hiding-in-plain-sight and blah blah blah. And it sounds crazy. But like with the hege knights, when you start to look at it all at once instead of in fragmented pieces, it seems a little more likely. At least I think so. I feel like I should end on a more exciting note than that, but that’s all I got. Someone who hasn’t skimmed and skipped over so much of the books, please help! Which fan theories work? Which ones don't? Can we solve anything new together? Let’s try. Or at least iron out some damn good fanfic ideas. Thank you and goodnight!!

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VII

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I hope you guys still like this little story of mine.

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

Rating: T (Maybe M??) For Blood, allusions to smut, my continued overuse of italics, poorly written, soft confessions of feelings

Word Count: 8.3k (Someone please take my computer away)

Read Chapters I-VI here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Seven: The Price of Happiness

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach.

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear.

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries.

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water.

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind.

“Tell me what is burdening you.”

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured.

“Never.”

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.”

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips.

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh.

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek.

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

**

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a battle?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.”

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.”

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?”

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.”

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.”

“Did you truly kill Gregor?”

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.”

“Was it quick?”

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.”

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.”

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.)

“No,” he said, final and direct.

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything.

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.”

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.”

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder.

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.”

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose.

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.”

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way.

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so.

“But I have a question for you.”

“And I shall answer.”

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too.

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.”

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars.

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.”

And she believed him.

**

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward.

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked.

“Bad dream.”

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.”

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead.

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears.

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her.

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back.

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.”

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.”

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?”

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were still children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?”

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.”

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?”

Sansa nodded.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

**

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.”

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.”

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.”

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne.

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes.

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.”

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win.

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her.

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced.

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner.

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread.

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.”

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.”

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.”

“We never keep your time tables, brother.”

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.”

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile.

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.”

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear.

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.”

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added.

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face.

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious.

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box.

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them.

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne.

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.”

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on.

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.”

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

**

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing.

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne.

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced.

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was.

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.”

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.”

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air.

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile.

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach.

“Careful. Careful.”

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.”

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too.

It was all so…perfect.

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.”

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin.

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths.

“My lady.”

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush.

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?”

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.”

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.”

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.”

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?”

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone.

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could.

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.”

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne.

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya.

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation.

“Shall I fetch you some water?”

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?”

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short.

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?”

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face.

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace.

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.”

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.”

His smile faded. “What has happened?”

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, please.”

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

**

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them.

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary.

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue.”

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it.

Someone was whistling.

And she knew the tune.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave.

She was scared.

Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to please go faster as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers.

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened.

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!”

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall.

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would.

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach.

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled.

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help.

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl.

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it.

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs.

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

A/N: Welp. Please let me know what you think. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic​

[agentrouka-blog]

ASOIAF - Food symbolism: apples and Jon “You have to choose.”

Inspired by this amazing post by @thoughtsandgrumbles I felt compelled to look at apples a little. 

Apples are a deeply symbolic fruit on a good day, but I’m not going to go too deeply into the general use, because who has time for that? I’m looking at the text itself. This post will be all about apples in Jon’s chapters, once I get the preliminary rambles out of the way.

Warning: LONG. Many quotes.

Just a few things: 

Popularly associated with temptation and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the garden of eden, the realization of being nekkid, the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise as a result. (That would botanically not have been an apple, though.)

The apple “to the fairest” handed out by Eris, godess of discord, for Paris to choose among the three godesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite, ultimately leading to the Trojan War, which GRRM heavily draws from.

Snow White and the poison apple

Sansa is the name of a variety of apple that was developed in the 1970s, an early ripening mix of Gala and Akane.

Just by the general use, we get a theme of choice and destruction. Also Sansa is an apple. But - spoiler alert - that is NOT very central in Jon’s chapters. YET.

Also, some boring numbers, because this is not as easy a fruit as the persimmon to parse for the sheer amount of them:

Apples in general have 155 mentions in all searchable publications, 135 in the novels directly, 22 in Jon chapters. Only 9 of all the novel-mentions concern House Fossoway, 11 in the other literature. 

Top chapter uses: 

AFFC, Prologue - 14: Oldtown, Quill and Tankard inn backyard. Alleras shoots them with bow and arrow while the acolyte nerd squad discusses Dany and her dragon rumors. "Where's Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn't you say?" The apples are withered and wormy, the cider is fearsomely strong. Pate agonizes over his betrayal and theft for his creepy, obsessive love. His choice is “love”. Then he is killed. Complex.

ADWD, Jon V - 11: Jon passes out food and asks the wildlings at Mole’s Town to choose if they want to fight for the NW or not. Apples and onions, you have to choose. The apples are withered.

ADWD, Davos II - 7: Getting information about Manderly from an apple seller in White Harbor. Bad apple, good information. Theme in WH: who are you truly loyal to? The apple is dry and mealy, “bad”. Apples and onions, again.

ASOS, Bran III - 5, and ASOS, Jon V - 3: (8 combined) Rotten apples carpet the ground near an abandoned Queenscrown inn. They provide the background for Jon’s break with the Wildling Undercover Operation and flight back to the Watch. Theme: the abandonment of the Gift, the decline of the Watch, the Dream of Spring and Jon really doesn’t even really pretend to want a future with Ygritte. He chooses. The apples are rotten. 

POV uses: Jon 22, Arya 18, Prologue AFFC 14, Sansa 13, Davos 8, Jaime 8, Bran 8, Tyrion 8, Brienne 6, Catelyn 6, Dany 5, Eddard 5, Cersei 3, Theon 3, Samwell 2 JonCon 1, Asha 1, Quentyn 1, Arianne 1, Areo Hotah 1, Prologue ADWD: 1.

Jon is not only the single top POV character to feature the apple, he also has two of the top-use chapters that give the apple significance in setting the background. The apple is very closely tied to Jon. 

A short note on the  red apple Fossoways (Cider Hall) and the green apple Fossoways (New Barrel): 

The branches split at the trial of seven at the Tourney at Ashford (of the Ashford Theory), where the red apple fought for the bad guys (Aerion Targaryen) and the green apple for Ser Duncan the Tall.

Both had the red apple of the Fossoways painted on their shields, but the younger man's was soon hacked and chipped to pieces. "Here's an apple that's not ripe yet," the older said as he slammed the other's helm. (…)

"Ser Raymun, if you please." He cantered up, a grim smile lighting his face beneath his plumed helm. "My pardons, ser. I needed to make a small change to my sigil, lest I be mistaken for my dishonorable cousin." He showed them all his shield. The polished golden field remained the same, and the Fossoway apple, but this apple was green instead of red. "I fear I am still not ripe . . . but better green than wormy, eh?" 

(The Hedge Knight)

Again with the split of loyalty, with the following your moral code, with the choices. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So how do apples feature for Jon himself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apples are connected to Jon’s struggle of loyalty to the Night’s Watch, and with his inner struggle in general. Every time they show up, he is confronted with a choice of who to stay loyal to, what values to follow. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First apple: AGOT, Jon IX. 

Jon’s final chapter in the book. Big Drama!

Jon eats a brown, withered apple when he tries to flee the NW the first time. He is heading South because his father has been killed and he wants to join Robb. He is plagued by self-doubt and fear. Then he takes a break to eat. 

In his saddlebag, he found a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple. (...) He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart and juicy. He was down to the core when he heard the sounds: horses, and from the north.

Straight after, he is caught and prodded back in an incredibly moving, nonviolent confrontation by his new Brothers reciting the NW vows. 

"… and all the nights to come," finished Pyp. He reached over for Jon's reins. "So here are your choices. Kill me, or come back with me."

Jon lifted his sword … and lowered it, helpless. "Damn you," he said. "Damn you all." 

In his mind, Jon is determined to try and escape again, but the next day, Mormont lets him know they knew what happened. 

Jon’s throat was dry. “You know?” “Know,” the raven echoed from Mormont’s shoulder. “Know.” The Old Bear snorted. “Do you think they chose me Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch because I’m dumb as a stump, Snow? Aemon told me you’d go. I told him you’d be back. I know my men … and my boys too. Honor set you on the kingsroad … and honor brought you back.” “My friends brought me back,” Jon said. “Did I say it was your honor?” Mormont inspected his plate.

Jon thinks he’ll be executed. Instead, he will be taken along to the great ranging beyond the Wall. 

“So I will have an answer from you, Lord Snow, and I will have it now. Are you a brother of the Night’s Watch … or only a bastard boy who wants to play at war?” Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. “I am … yours, my lord. Your man. I swear it. I will not run again.” The Old Bear snorted. “Good. Now go put on your sword.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. Because the war against the Others is more important. 

Apple Quality: Brown and whithered. But still tart and juicy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second apple: ACOK, Jon I

A former green apple (the valiantly knightly Fossoway kind) is to be dispatched from the Wall to garner support from a Baratheon king... 

"Renly is not like to heed a quaking fat boy. I'll send Ser Arnell. He's a deal steadier, and his mother was one of the green-apple Fossoways."

"If it please my lord, what would you have of King Renly?"

The conversation turns toward maester Aemon, his repeated refusal to become king and the incredibly foreshadowy information about the ending of the dragon line. 

It made him feel odd. “My lord, why have you told me this, about Maester Aemon?” “Must I have a reason?” Mormont shifted in his seat, frowning. “Your brother Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A king for a brother.” “And this too,” said Jon. “A vow.” (…)

Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. “And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?” “What will you do?” Mormont asked. “Bastard as you are?” “Be troubled,” said Jon, “and keep my vows.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture is more important.

Apple Quality: green and unripe. (But honorable.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third apple: ACOK, Jon VII

Jon and the Qhorin Halfhand crew are on the losing side of a game of cat and mouse with the warg-powered wildlings. Squire Dalbridge is about to sacrifice his life by going to shoot the Wildlings that are stalking them. 

The squire bowed his head. "Leave me as many arrows as you can spare, brothers." He stroked his longbow. "And see my garron has an apple when you're home. He's earned it, poor beastie."

He's staying to die, Jon realized.  

And that’s almost right at the end of the chapter. This is the only apple chapter where Jon is NOT immediately confronted with a moral dilemma of loyalty or the making of choices. And Dalbridge’s self-sacrifice, his off-page death, all of that means it’s a more long-term projection of the dilemma. 

The next, final chapter, Jon and Qhorin Halfhand are captured and he is compelled to kill Qhorin to prove himself a turncloak to the Wildlings, in order to start his Undercover Operation. 

The flames were burning low by then, the warmth fading. “The fire will soon go out,” Qhorin said, “but if the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out.” There was nothing Jon could say to that. He nodded. “We may escape them yet,” the ranger said. “Or not.” “I’m not afraid to die.” It was only half a lie. “It may not be so easy as that, Jon.” He did not understand. “What do you mean?” 

(…)

Rattleshirt’s bone armor clattered loudly as he laughed. “Then kill the Halfhand, bastard.” “As if he could,” said Qhorin. “Turn, Snow, and die.” And then Qhorin’s sword was coming at him and somehow Longclaw leapt upward to block. The force of impact almost knocked the bastard blade from Jon’s hand, and sent him staggering backward. You must not balk, whatever is asked of you. 

(…)

He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me. He thought of Samwell Tarly then, of Grenn and Dolorous Edd, of Pyp and Toad back at Castle Black. Had he lost them all, as he had lost Bran and Rickon and Robb? Who was he now? What was he?

“Get him up.” Rough hands dragged him to his feet. Jon did not resist. “Do you have a name?” Ygritte answered for him. “His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark’s blood, of Winterfell.”

(ACOK, Jon VIII)

Ouch. From this point on, Jon will have to make his own choices, no longer guided by other people’s rules, other people’s honor. The choices will be harder, lonelier. They will be contradictory, they will involve even more tangible loss. They will involve dishonor. The reward is as distant as home. Sacrifice. Death.

But one day, the poor beastie will get an apple, he will have earned it. 

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture.

Apple quality: unknown. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth apple: ASOS, Jon I

As inconspicuously as above, the apple features in a memory of home, featuring not-yet-deserter Mance Rayder at Winterfell, meeting Robb and Jon up to shennanigans:

“I remember,” said Jon with a startled laugh. A young black brother on the wallwalk, yes … “You swore not to tell.”

"And kept my vow. That one, at least."

"We dumped the snow on Fat Tom. He was Father's slowest guardsman." Tom had chased them around the yard afterward, until all three were red as autumn apples. "But you said you saw me twice. When was the other time?"

"When King Robert came to Winterfell to make your father Hand," the King-beyond-the-Wall said lightly. (ASOS, Jon I)

A neat connection between desertion, vow-keeping and the events that led Jon to take his own path to the Wall. Before Meeting Mance, Ygritte has been praising the values of being “free” like the good Little Wildling Propagandist that she is. But Jon isn’t biting yet.

The following conversation gives the backstory of Mance Rayder’s desertion from the Wall. It was over a cloak, mended by a Wildling woman who tended to him while he was injured.

“And she sewed up the rents in my cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me.” He swept the cloak back over his shoulders. “But at the Shadow Tower, I was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, to go with my black breeches and black boots, my black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips nor tears … and most of all, no red. The men of the Night’s Watch dressed in black, Ser Denys Mallister reminded me sternly, as if I had forgotten. My old cloak was fit for burning now, he said. “I left the next morning … for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose.” He closed the clasp and sat back down again. “And you, Jon Snow?”

Jon uses Mance’s story of visiting Winterfell to spin his own lie:

“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?” Mance Rayder looked at Jon’s face for a long moment. “I think we had best find you a new cloak,” the king said, holding out his hand. 

What will the bastard do? Be troubled and keep his vows. So far, so true. But he did kill Qhorin Halfhand, he is pretending to be a deserter. Lines are a lot more blurry than they used to be.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Night’s Watch. Shifting more and more toward simply the bigger picture. 

Apple quality: red autumn apple. 

Red silk patches. Conflicting values. Women. There is uncertainty on the horizon. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifth apple. ASOS Jon V.  BIG apple chapter.

His final confrontation as an Undercover Wildling.

This confrontation takes place at the abandoned tower and village of Queenscrown, which gets a closer description in the accompanying Bran chapter: 

No one had lived in the village for long years, Bran could see. All the houses were falling down. Even the inn. It had never been much of an inn, to look at it, but now all that remained was a stone chimney and two cracked walls, set amongst a dozen apple trees. One was growing up through the common room, where a layer of wet brown leaves and rotting apples carpeted the floor. The air was thick with the smell of them, a cloying cidery scent that was almost overwhelming. Meera stabbed a few apples with her frog spear, trying to find some still good enough to eat, but they were all too brown and wormy. 

(ASOS, Bran III)

The abandonment of Brandon’s Gift is a subject of conflict between Jon and Ygritte. A carpet of rotting apples. It opens the very next Jon chapter, as they are on the way to Queenscrown. Ygritte mocks the farmers who left the Gift as fools. Jon doesn’t take the bait yet. He briefly indulges in a fantasy of introducing Ygritte to Winterfell before being overcome with guilt and shame again. Ygritte is super great at reading his mood: 

“Might be after we could come back here, and live in that tower,” she said. “Would you want that, Jon Snow? After?”

He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t answer for a while, it rather reminds him of Ned’s Dream of Spring, the plan to resettle the Gift. The Starks and the Watch. 

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father’s name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. “This land belongs to the Watch,” Jon said. Her nostrils flared. “No one lives here.”

Jon isn’t even tempted. Like, no, Jon, Bambi, you did not love this person, no matter what your telling yourself later. He doesn’t even really contemplate it. 

Instead of bonding them closer together, Ygritte’s invitation to make long-term plans has the opposite effect. It fans the flames of what divides them. They argue about raiding and rape. Ygritte spouts nonsense.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. Daughters are taken, not wives. You’re the ones who steal. You took the whole world, and built the Wall t’ keep the free folk out.”

Ygritte, no, that is not why the Wall was built. You think they built a gargantuan magic ice structure to keep out Styr, Magnar of Thenn, or what? Really? Jon is also sceptical of this version of history:

“Did we?” Sometimes Jon forgot how wild she was, and then she would remind him. “How did that happen?”

"The gods made the earth for all men t' share. Only when the kings come with their crowns and steel swords, they claimed it was all theirs. My trees, they said, you can't eat them apples. My stream, you can't fish here. My wood, you're not t' hunt. My earth, my water, my castle, my daughter, keep your hands away or I'll chop 'em off, but maybe if you kneel t' me I'll let you have a sniff. You call us thieves, but at least a thief has t' be brave and clever and quick. A kneeler only has t' kneel." 

Ygritte is basically a bland political extremist. I could sympathize with her criticism of feudal culture if it didn’t come hand in hand with her passionate defense of violent theft and rape culture. Like, you paragon of intelligence, not everyone resides at the fair top of the food chain like you do in your peak fitness status within your warrior culture. But of course, rape is fun! Just bring a knife!

"Harma and the Bag of Bones don't come raiding for fish and apples. They steal swords and axes. Spices, silks, and furs. They grab every coin and ring and jeweled cup they can find, casks of wine in summer and casks of beef in winter, and they take women in any season and carry them off beyond the Wall."

Apples in a breath with women. People should not be “stolen”. But Ygritte thinks men who successfully abduct and rape women are sexy. She’s like Dany that way. There are some cultural divides that cannot be pretended away, and their entire conversation circles around it. Jon is plagued by terrible guilt, he tries to warn Ygritte that their plan is doomed, she (rightfully) suspects his loyalty to the Wildlings and Jon believes himself in love but he never wavers in his actual allegiance to the NW.

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark’s son and a man of the Night’s Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk.

GRRM is going out of his way to undermine the supposed romance by constantly referring to the conflict between them and the apples-of-choice are just all over. 

Anyway, Jon is thoroughly eaten by guilt over having to betray these human beings who are a vicious and brutal threat to the place and people he loves and swore to protect. His true identity is hinted at:

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone.

Ghost. Not Ygritte. Not the wildlings. Not the Watch, even. Ghost. Wolf.  

They arrive at the Queenscrown inn and an old man is captured.

Jon walked away. A rotten apple squished beneath his heel. Styr will kill him. The Magnar had said as much at Greyguard; any kneelers they met were to be put to death at once, to make certain they could not raise the alarm. Ride with them, eat with them, fight with them. Did that mean he must stand mute and helpless while they slit an old man's throat?  

The apples are rotten. Jon spends one last moment with Ygritte contemplating Queenscrown and then the “kill the old man” business starts. He struggles but ultimately refuses. Bran’s wolf Summer disrupts the tension with a bloody attack and Jon doesn’t hesitate to Escape. Like when they met, Jon didn’t slit Ygritte’s throat, but she slit the old man’s. He will not shoot arrows at her, but she did at him. Love. 

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black. The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the old man’s horse. I am going home, he told himself. But if that was true, why did he feel so hollow?

Apple = choice. The choice is… NOT Ygritte. NOT the Wildlings. Time and again. But it also isn’t the Watch. Not as it had been before. Jon followed his instincts, his inner values, but it had a cost, it is hard. Jon is lost.

Apple Quality: rotten. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixth apple: ASOS, Jon VII  

The Battle at Castle Black They await the attack, Jon and Satin share a meal. And they get a nod to Renly’s peach quote:

"Eat," Jon told him. "There's no knowing when you'll have another chance." He took two buns himself. The nuts were pine nuts, and besides the raisins there were bits of dried apple.  (ASOS, Jon VII)

Compare to Renly, which also took place before a nightly sneak attack. 

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly said as he tossed the stone away. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. (ACOK, Catelyn III)

Peaches have an air of incest and hedonism about them, nostalgia and summer, Baratheons and Arya and Asha. The apple is different. It’s about choice, about conflicted loyalty and personal values, about identity and the bigger picture. (And again and again, they connect to women.)

Jon commands part of the fight, it’s grim. He recognizes some of the wildlings as they pepper them with arrows but cannot shoot at who he thinks is Ygritte. Wildlings die, his brothers die. The battle is brutal, Jon’s POV is distant. Satin remains by his side all throughout, grounding him. Jon remembers advice from Theon, from Ned. They eventually beat the wildling attackers with a horrifying fire trap on the stairs, they win. Immediately after, Jon goes looking for Ygritte, Satin still by his side.

The ice crystals had settled over her face, and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask. The arrow was black, Jon saw, but it was fletched with white duck feathers. Not mine, he told himself, not one of mine. But he felt as if it were.

We get a Dany-Val nod… 

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." (ADWD, Jon VIII)

...and a lovely double-layered “not mine, not one of mine”. Not his arrows, but he feels guilty. She is not his pack, but he feels guilty.

She just smiled at that. “D’you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.” “We’ll go back to the cave,” he said. “You’re not going to die, Ygritte. You’re not.” “Oh.” Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she sighed, dying.

Jon struggles to let go of the fantasy. He is loyal to the cause of the Watch, if not the letter of the vows, but he knows now that his souls want more. He indulges Ygritte’s fantasy of returning because it’s the only thing he has, the only thing he can offer. 

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Watch. But painfully. Numbly. No passion. Duty. 

Apple quality: dried. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventh apple: ASOS, Jon X 

Tormund’s daughter Munda.

After vicious attacking Janos Slynt for insulting Ned Stark during a hiostile interrogation in the previous chapter, Jon is sent to kill Mance Rayder under the pretense of parley to prove his loyalty. He is resigned and shame-filled, contemplating his future, where he will be remembered in honorless infamy.  Much bitterness, plenty of woe. His reception by Tormund is surprisingly jovial. They drink mead to honor their fallen Donal Noye and Ygritte, with surprisingly little bitterness. It helps Jon return some of his cheer.

"You bloody crows." Tormund's tone was gruff, yet strangely gentle. "That Longspear stole me daughter. Munda, me little autumn apple. Took her right out o' my tent with all four o' her brothers about.” Toregg slept through it, the great lout, and Torwynd … well, Torwynd the Tame, that says all that needs saying, don’t it? The young ones gave the lad a fight, though.”

“And Munda?” asked Jon. “She’s my own blood,” said Tormund proudly. “She broke his lip for him and bit one ear half off, and I hear he’s got so many scratches on his back he can’t wear a cloak. She likes him well enough, though. And why not? He don’t fight with no spear, you know. Never has. So where do you think he got that name? Har!”  Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here.

Autumn apple. Stolen women. Cloak. 

Stealing women was a hot topic with Ygritte and Jon is immediately concerned, but is reassured. The tenor of the conversation is conciliatory, while he is revealed to be loyal to the Watch, there is mutual respect. In Jon’s thoughts, Ygritte becomes a mentor voice, drifting away from the romantic woe of before. 

Easy for you to say, he thought back. You died brave in battle, storming the castle of a foe. I’m going to die a turncloak and a killer. Nor would his death be quick, unless it came on the end of Mance’s sword.

Similarly to Dany later, Jon is arguing with dead beloved abusers in his head, like she will do in ADWD with Viserys. Ygritte is less obviously horrific, but the “voices in my head” aspect and the sheer idealising that both of them engage in feels disconcerting. Never the less, we see Jon’s current identity status on Facebook is “turncloak”. Not Night’s Watch.

The rest of Mance’s “court” is less welcoming, but Mance draws him in for a private conference. The Horn of Winter is revealed, the mutual cause of the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch is identified.

“If I sound the Horn of Winter, the Wall will fall. Or so the songs would have me believe. There are those among my people who want nothing more …” “But once the Wall is fallen,” Dalla said, “what will stop the Others?”

(Dalla has the brains that Ygritte lacked. Why can SHE not be Jon’s mentor?) 

Mance offers to hand over the Horn of Joramun if they let the Wildlings pass through the Wall, or he will destroy the Wall in three days. Jon hesitates because he fears they will ransack the place, but he also has no negotiating credit with Thorne and Slynt. He contemplates just smashing the Horn, when suddenly Stannis attacks. The Wildlings are smashed, a helpless Jon enters the tent with Val to attend Dalla.

He is just... disillusioned.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the bigger picture. The Watch is headed by irrational scum, the Wildlings are no less dangerous to the North than they were before and Jon has no hope of saving his ruined reputation either way. He was about to murder Mance, then about to smash his bargaining chip, yet he has no ill will toward them. Only a depressed, numb resignation to preventing the worst of all outcomes. 

Apple Quality: autumn apple.

Again with the autumn apple. There are only 3 “autumn apples” in the books, all in ASOS. Jon I (above with Mance), Samwell II, and Jon X here. 

In Jon I it connected Mance’s disloyalty to the Watch to the red-and-black cloak given to him by a woman. Also Bael the Bard, deception and stealing. Jon consults his inner values, and chooses pragmatism. His break with “blind” honor will leave him flailing a bit.

In Jon X it specifically refers to a young woman being stolen. Jon consults his inner values, he chooses the bigger picture, but he’s frayed and his choice is interrupted. Stannis will offer him Winterfell. Ghost will remind him of who he is. Ultimately, he will become Lord Commander and his struggle with loyalty will cease for a long time.

What’s Sam’s autumn apple about?  They are listed with many foodstuffs that the angry NW brother’s at Craster’s after the fight at the Fist of the First Men expect to receive. Mormont just remembered the true purpose of the Watch. Gilly has just given birth to her son. Sam offers to take the boy, Craster gets mad. they bury a dead brother and the mood is mutinous.

“Apples,” said Garth of Greenaway. “Barrels and barrels of crisp autumn apples. There are apple trees out there, I saw ’em.”

A confrontation breaks out and they kill Craster and stab Mormont. Sam’s friends flee, the others raid and rape, Sam cradles a dying Mormont. Some wives approach and order Sam to take Gilly to safety. 

Gilly was crying. “Me and the babe. Please. I’ll be your wife, like I was Craster’s. Please, ser crow. He’s a boy, just like Nella said he’d be. If you don’t take him, they will.” “They?” said Sam, and the raven cocked its black head and echoed, “They. They. They.” “The boy’s brothers,” said the old woman on the left. “Craster’s sons. The white cold’s rising out there, crow. I can feel it in my bones. These poor old bones don’t lie. They’ll be here soon, the sons.”

The massive abundance of apples suggests a link to the abundance of women, to the connection to inner values over formal loyalty, to the “stealing” of Gilly to save her. To the massive bigger picture. With Jon it translates to his trademark quick-thinking pragmatism, with Sam it translates to compassion and identifying valuable information. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8th and final apple: ADWD, Jon V  - The Grand Appling.

ADWD Jon V is another big apple chapter:  you have to choose!

Much time has passed since the last apples were mentioned. Jon is Lord Commander and has sent away Sam, Gilly and maester Aemon. The Wildlings are south of the Wall. Food is a constant worry. Bowen Marsh is upset with Jon, Jon is super-diplomatic. Not. It’s time to bring provisions to the Wildlings at Mole’s Town. A Mirror to Dany in ADWD, Daenerys VI, bringing food to the Astapori refugees. The Wildlings are grumpy. Jon struggles to balance the culture clash between free folk, Stannis’ men and Wildlings.

Pig ignorance, Jon thought. The free folk were no different than the men of the Night’s Watch; some were clean, some dirty, but most were clean at times and dirty at other times.

Jon is much removed from his earlier woeful struggles or idealism. A weary pragmatism guides his every action. Grey.

Apples ensue:

"You can have an onion or an apple," Jon heard Hairy Hal tell one woman, "but not both. You got to pick."

The woman did not seem to understand. "I need two of each. One o' each for me, t'others for my boy. He's sick, but an apple will set him right." 

Hal shook his head. "He has to come get his own apple. Or his onion. Not both. Same as you. Now, is it an apple or an onion? Be quick about it, now, there's more behind you."

"An apple," she said, and he gave her one, an old dried thing, small and withered.

"Move along, woman," shouted a man three places back. "It's cold out here."

The woman paid the shout no mind. "Another apple," she said to Hairy Hal. "For my son. Please. This one is so little."

Hal looked to Jon. Jon shook his head. They would be out of apples soon enough. If they started giving two to everyone who wanted two, the latecomers would get none.

"Out of the way," a girl behind the woman said. Then she shoved her in the back. The woman staggered, lost her apple, and fell. The other foodstuffs in her arms went flying. Beans scattered, a turnip rolled into a mud puddle, a sack of flour split and spilled its precious contents in the snow. 

Apples are once again almost aggressively connected to choices. Apples or onions. Not both. You have to pick. 

Barring another meta, I can’t really say what the onion is supposed to represent. Some things that echoe Jon’s apple themes:

His sons were good fighters and better sailors, but they did not know how to talk to lords. They were lowborn, even as I was, but they do not like to recall that. When they look at our banner, all they see is a tall black ship flying on the wind. They close their eyes to the onion.  (ACOK, Davos I)

Denial. 

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men. (ACOK, Daenerys III)

Faithlessness.

The feast was a meager enough thing, a succession of fish stews, black bread, and spiceless goat. The tastiest thing Theon found to eat was an onion pie. Ale and wine continued to flow well after the last of the courses had been cleared away. (ACOK, Theon II)

Theon about to be ordered to attack Winterfell. Betrayal.

The last time it was life I brought to Storm's End, shaped to look like onions. This time it is death, in the shape of Melisandre of Asshai. (ACOK, Davos II)

Life and death brought by the same person.

Melisandre’s manichean world view vs. Davos’ more encompassing one:

"What if I am? It seems to me that most men are grey."

"If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil."  (ACOK, Davos II)

Bless you Sam. 

Hungry as he was, Sam knew he would retch if he so much as tried a bite. How could they eat the poor faithful garrons who had carried them so far? When Craster's wives brought onions, he seized one eagerly. One side was black with rot, but he cut that part off with his dagger and ate the good half raw. (ASOS, Samwell II)

Considering apples represent the choice you make to serve an ethical bigger picture (not necessarily loyalty to an order), onions seem to show a contrasting duality of bad and good, a refusal to position oneself honestly, dirty compromises, the darkness in human beings. 

Davos’ entire arc circles around being a very decent human being who none the less supports a whole lot of questionable crap. Our resident kraken Theon is torn inside unable to choose between Greyjoy and Stark identity and becomes monstrous. 

Melisandre downright denies the existence of grey. The presence of bad cancels out all good.  Samwell, on the other hand, embraces the good while disregarding the bad. 

Ygritte smelled of onion. Dany eats wild onion on her dragon grassland chapter,  Jorah eats onion. Brienne has onion soup on her way to Lady Stoneheart. Jon offers the Wildlings onion soup after they burn their god’s for Melisandre in echange for safety. Dark compromises. 

So the choice between apples and onions is the choice to MAKE a choice. Stop hedging your bets or practicing denial, position yourself, one way or the other. 

The woman who refuses to choose, loses her apple, loses the fruit that will set her sick son right, loses her cance at following her inner moral compass and doing the right thing. 

There is a tussle, Jon tries to rally them with a speech. They are in a Mutiny at Craster’s Keep kind of mood.

“You want more food?” asked Jon. “The food’s for fighters. Help us hold the Wall, and you’ll eat as well as any crow.” Or as poorly, when the food runs short. (…)

“Fight for you?” This voice was thickly accented. Sigorn, the young Magnar of Thenn, spoke the Common Tongue haltingly at best. “Not fight for you. Kill you better. Kill all you.” The raven flapped its wings. “Kill, kill.” Sigorn’s father, the old Magnar, had been crushed beneath the falling stair during his attack on Castle Black. I would feel the same if someone asked me to make common cause with the Lannisters, Jon told himself. “Your father tried to kill us all,” he reminded Sigorn. “The Magnar was a brave man, yet he failed. And if he had succeeded … who would hold the Wall?”

Jon believes in the greyness of men, but he also believes in choices. You don’t have to be perfect to do the right thing. But you have to do the right thing. Or a thing, anyway. You have to choose.

There is more commotion. Jon decides to make it simpler.

"Hal, what was it that you told this woman?"

Hal looked confused. "About the food, you mean? An apple or an onion? That's all I said. They got to pick."

"You have to pick," Jon Snow repeated. "All of you. No one is asking you to take our vows, and I do not care what gods you worship. My own gods are the old gods, the gods of the North, but you can keep the red god, or the Seven, or any other god who hears your prayers. It's spears we need. Bows. Eyes along the Wall. (…)

He recruits, actively. 

“The choice is yours,” Jon Snow told them. “Those who want to help us hold the Wall, return to Castle Black with me and I’ll see you armed and fed. The rest of you, get your turnips and your onions and crawl back inside your holes.”

Apples yay, onions nay. Dany killed the slavers of Astapor, and left alive only children under the age of 12. Jon recruit ages 12 and up for the Watch, girls and boys. Dany killed 163 random slavers. Jon recruits 63 Wildlings.

By the time the last withered apple had been handed out, the wagons were crowded with wildlings, and they were sixty-three stronger than when the column had set out from Castle Black that morning. 

The apples win out. No more mention of onions in this chapter. 

The chapter ends on a grey note, uncertain but hopeful. 

Marsh was unconvinced. “You’ve added sixty-three more mouths, my lord … but how many are fighters, and whose side will they fight on? If it’s the Others at the gates, most like they’ll stand with us, I grant you … but if it’s Tormund Giantsbane or the Weeping Man come calling with ten thousand howling killers, what then?” “Then we’ll know. So let us hope it never comes to that.”

Hilariously, it is not the treachery of the apple-choosing wildlings Jon will have to worry about. 

The abundance of onions and apples in this chapter sets up the struggle Jon faces in later ADWD chapters. The bigger picture v. Arya. Apples are done, for now, the onions stalk him. He tries to strikes a balance. He hesitates, he sends Mance, he struggles. In the end, the Pink Letter sends him over the edge.

Apples v. onions.  Jon has chosen. 

Apples = choice. The choices is… NOT the Watch. Arya. The North. The bigger picture. House Stark. 

Apple Quality: withered. Like the very first apple. 

Jon stood tall. He told himself that he would die well; that much he could do, at the least. “I know the penalty for desertion, my lord. I’m not afraid to die.” “Die!” the raven cried. “Nor live, I hope,” Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger and feeding a bite to the bird. (AGOT, Jon IX)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In conclusion:

Apples signal the necessity for Jon make a moral choice according to his own personal values. 

Jon always has his eyes on the bigger picture. 

His choices becomes increasingly divorced from the concept of loyalty to the Watch.

There is a pronounced conflict between apple and onion, between moral choice and refusal to choose. Jon tries to walk the line between the letter of his vows and his values. He ends up choosing his values. It goes badly. 

The quality of the apples has a relationship with the ease of choosing. 

whithered apples are fairly clean choices, 

rotten apples are traumatic choices, 

autumn apples relate to choices influenced by the wisdom of women, the stealing of women. 

There is a future apple promised to “the beastie” as a reward. 

If we want to draw a connection to the show, Jon will clearly face another apples v. onions conflict and the need to choose will feature heavily. It will go badly. But there is the promise of home and reward.

[ashleyfanfic]

Do you have any Jonerys nsfw fic recs? I need some smut in my life any kind extra points if it starts with Jon masturbating and turns into a hot session with his queen. 😏

Oh, Anon - this could take a while. Buckle up, this is gonna be a bumpy, but pleasurable, ride! I’ve divided this up from Modern AU and Canon/Canon Divergent. I know there are more than one entry for most of these authors, but what can I say? When I find an author I like, I usually consume everything they write.  CANON/CANON DIVERGENT Up Against the Wall - by @meisiesmut   A shameless love story told with a backdrop of war, politics, past trauma, heroes and villains, dragons and duty. Goes from Dragonstone, to Kings Landing, to the North, and eventually back again. Falling in love amidst the War for the Dawn, as told by Daenerys Targaryen. The explicit rating is no lie. Damsel In Distress by @meisiesmut   There is very little that is weak and defenseless about the Mother of Dragons, but sometimes it’s fun to pretend. In which Daenerys blows off some steam from the pressures of ruling, and her husband grudgingly indulges her, until the wolf comes out to play. Roleplay smut, trigger warning for dubious consent. Ozymandian - by @frostbitepandaaaaa​  She should have been more prudent, instead of falling into him like a spell. She should have handled this thing like the fatal tangle of thorns it was, instead of drinking the air from his lungs like the sweetest Arbor gold. She should have picked it up about the edges, holding it at arm’s length until she could find a safe enough place to rest it upon the earth and walk away forever. On Fire’s Gentle Shore - by @justwandering-neverlost​   This one shot is post season 8. Dany and Jon are ruling Westeros and escort Missandei back to her home in Naath. How We Heal - by @justwandering-neverlost​  What was intended to be some love-filled Jonerys drabbles, but has turned into a full-blown S8 canon adventure complete with romance, dragons, drama, angst, politics, prophecies, and the Battle for the Dawn. Fluff, smut, and all the feels still included. Go South, Get Warm - by @lawonderlandwriter​  An alternate route to Winterfell! After being resurrected, Jon Snow leaves for Oldtown to stay with the only person he can trust - Samwell Tarly. But after he receives a raven from his sister Sansa requesting help to take back their family home from the Boltons, Jon goes on a mission collecting allies in the South - the Tyrells of Highgarden, the Sand Snakes of Dorne, the portion of the ironborn fleet commanded by Yara Greyjoy...and of course, the queen across the sea, Daenerys Targaryen. Jon and Daenerys build a quick rapport and she soon makes him the Lord Commander of her armies. Together they face the Lannister, the Boltons, Euron Greyjoy...and finally, the Night King. Note: Main relationship of this fic is Jonerys and Dany comes into the story at chapter 8. A Wolf In The Sand - by @notpmahlem​  I did what I thought was right. And I got murdered for it. He died. He was resurrected. Coping with that betrayal, additional information upends him again and sends him to the last place anyone would expect him to go. In search of Dragons. The Burnt World - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​ Its been over two decades since the Mad King burnt the world.Now Daenerys has finally returned home to right the wrongs of her father. But once again a mad ruler threatens to burn the world anew.Up North, Jon Snow is racing against time to defeat a swarm of undead that threatens to kill all that remains. The Painted Table - by @muttpeeta​  Daenerys summons Jon to the Chamber of the Painted Table the night before his journey beyond the Wall to give him a proper farewell. Slight canon divergence. Held Captive - by @fierypen37​ - Upon landing in Westeros, Daenerys makes a pact with the King in the North, with interesting results. Or, in which Robb lives as King in the North and Jon is given to Daenerys as a hostage of war. Can I Be Your Prisoner? - by @tomakeitbeautifultolive​  Following their first tense meeting on Dragonstone, Jon is left stimulated in more ways than one when he asks the dragon queen whether or not he's her prisoner. After Daenerys clarifies by answering "Not yet", three dreaded words slip from his lips, to his horror—"Can I be?"

MODERN AU/AU You Heard Me. Take. It. Off. - by @meisiesmut  Jon and Daenerys are young professors at a spooky gothic pile of a university with a unique relationship. BDSM episodes in a modern setting, a somewhat dark and twisted little romance. Likely the only Modern AU I will ever attempt, enjoy the kink. The Pirate Queen - by @meisiesmut   In which Lord Commander Snow meets The Pirate Queen and her crew of cutthroats, much to his annoyance and later delight. AU, 18th Century Caribbean setting, pirates, scenery, bad jokes, canon winks, Jon in a pretty uniform (and eventually a dashing pirate outfit), and shameless smut. I got nothing else, enjoy. Lord Snow and the Madam - by @meisiesmut   Madam Daenerys runs the finest gentleman’s establishment in Mayfair, and knowing men and all their ways, has little time for the pleasures and distractions of an alluring stranger. But a persistent, mysterious visitor to her brothel may just change her mind. Alternative universe, Edwardian London setting, luscious smut, splendidly handsome mustache bean. Quality Assurance - by @muttpeeta​   AU where Dany and Jon are CEOs of competing sex toy companies and meet at a convention. Love In Leather - by @muttpeeta​  Before they dock at White Harbor and leave the safety of their ship, Daenerys wants to make Jon's wildest fantasies come true. Thumbprint Scar - by @frostbitepandaaaaa​   For so long, she had only dreamed about getting away, never of what that place might be. It wasn't until it had started to become a reality, to solidify under her hands, that she started to paint details into the visions of her sanctuary in earnest. Between the Raindrops - by @notpmahlem​   In modern Westeros, Daenerys Targaryen and her foreign army are joined by Jon Snow and the North to unseat Cersei Lannister. Written In the Scars of His Heart - by @notpmahlem​ and @jalenmara​  Daenerys Targaryen, supermodel and face of House Targaryen, a rising star in the world of Fashion, is commonly known as the most beautiful woman in the world. And someone wants her dead. Jon Snow, running from the ghosts of his own past, lands the job any man would kill for— protecting her. But can he protect his own heart from her? Mustache Rides - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​  Jon's sporting a new look and there's really only one thing Dany can do. A PROUD Contribution to the #RideJonsFace2019 and #Twenty69teen campaigns. Let's have Dany rub that mustache off. Vim and Vigor - by @xxthewolvenstormxx​  Seven smutty scenes to ring in the New Year. Jon and Daenerys are a Young Couple living their best life. The Oasis - by @fierypen37​  With uptight and stressed CEO Daenerys Targaryen's regular masseur on leave, she has to make do with the replacement Jon Snow. Relaxation is not something she can find with his hands on her. Too bad he doesn't feel the same. Except unbeknownst to her, he definitely does. When a threat on her life pushes them together, they must both learn to deal with their growing feelings. Sinfully Yours - by @adecila​   Jon Snow finds himself being summoned by a beautiful but dangerous woman. Daenerys Targaryen is a demon hunter looking for a precious treasure. He is a demon with a particular set of principles. However, he also has a dick; and he hasn't used it since way before he died. Instinct by @lawonderlandwriter​   "She heard a twig snap behind her and spun around, heart beating quick as a hummingbird’s wings inside her chest. A lone figure emerged from behind a tree, watching her; she should have known. HIM. The dark-featured male that had wandered into the area a few days ago. She sighed, somewhat in relief that it wasn't something else, but eyed him warily all the same. Sometimes newcomers were harmless. Other times they were not..." Can I Keep You - by @lawonderlandwriter​  "...She patted at her chest over her heart, pointed off in the distance, touched her hair yet again, and then pointed to a nearby dandelion with its wispy white seeds swaying gently in the breeze. Suddenly he thought he understood, at least the last part of it. Hair. White hair." Sequel to Instinct! Begins a little bit before Jon and Dany meet. Now You See Me - by @daenerys1417​  Dany has just moved into a new apartment which happens to have a crack in the shared wall between her and her next-door neighbor, Jon Snow. One night, she gets more than she bargained for when she decides to take a peek.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

@i-cba-rightnow​ asked:

What are winters like in kingdoms other than the North? There must be some hardship, but I can’t imagine it getting as cold and isolated as Winterfell.

You are quite lucky, as GRRM has already answered this question:

Q: And, by the way, does it snow in the South during the winter? GRRM: Yes, some times, in some places. The Mountains of the Moon get quite a lot of snow, the Vale and the riverlands and the west rather less, but some. King's Landing gets snow infrequently, the Storm Lands and the Reach rarely, Oldtown and Dorne almost never.

As for this current winter, we see at the end of ASOS (while it’s still autumn) that the passes of the Mountains of the Moon have filled with snow. By the end of AFFC, the Arryn household had to leave the Eyrie for the Gates of the Moon or else be snowed in until winter ends. As of the start of TWOW (Alayne I), the valley of the Vale is still enjoying autumn weather, but it’s becoming very difficult to travel through the mountains, and clever men are hoarding food for the winter.

In the Riverlands, snow started falling at the end of AFFC. Much of it had melted within a few days, but considering it wasn’t yet officially winter, it doesn’t bode well.

In King’s Landing, a blizzard hit at the end of ADWD, a day before the white raven arrived to officially begin winter. Three-foot-deep drifts filled the moat of Maegor’s Holdfast, and icicles long as spears hang from the castle eaves. Again, this doesn’t bode well -- in history, the plague called the Shivers struck King’s Landing in 59-60 AC while it was blanketed in snow (and killed more than a quarter of the population, including a Targaryen princess). And a blizzard also hit KL for two weeks at the end of 281 AC, the weather so cold that the Blackwater froze solid, right before Rhaegar disappeared with Lyanna.

We also have a little information about the Stormlands at the start of TWOW, where it’s the rainy season, but it’s falling “thin and cold” near Storm’s End. We’ll see if it turns to snow later in the book... and if there’s “rare” snow in the Reach as well, but the name of the book is very probably a sign that this winter will be one of the exceptional ones.

I hope that helps!

[nightqueendany]

The Original Final Season 7 - Episode 2: Greywater Watch

ON DRAGONSTONE 

The episode opens much the same way it opened in 7x02 (though there is no storm raging outside, no conversation about a storm), with Melisandre arriving and speaking with Dany about Jon Snow 

However, this is now the same meeting where Dany is planning her conquest of Westeros with all her allies - Olenna, Ellaria, and Yara. 

Dany’s allies convince her to listen to Melisandre and summon Jon Snow and hold off battle plans until he arrives - the Riverlands/Vale are in prime position to take Casterly Rock/the Capital so would be better to wait and see what the North can bring to the table

Varys informs Dany and co that Melisandre used to advise Stannis but Olenna reminds everyone that they all once served someone else so it shouldn’t be held against Mel

In private, Olenna and Melisandre warn Dany against Varys, Olenna saying that he is a “clever man” and she’s outlived clever men by ignoring them

Mel echoes these sentiments, reminding Dany that Varys served Robert Baratheon and the Lannisters and tried to have Dany killed several times, etc. 

Dany argues in Varys’ defense, saying he might not be loyal to monarchs but that he’s loyal to the realm and he’s exactly the kind of person the realm needs

Mel and Olenna are skeptical, Mel says that the realm is like a flock, they need a shepherd, not a spider, to keep them together - the shepherd being Dany. Olenna’s advice to Dany is much more blunt. She accuses the Lords of Westeros of being sheep. Is Dany a sheep? No, she’s a dragon. Be a dragon. Mel can’t disagree with that.

On Dany’s orders, Tyrion sends word to Jon about coming to treat with Dany on Dragonstone

IN WINTERFELL 

Arya arrives and reunites with Jon, Sansa, and Bran 

Arya informs Jon of Edmure’s allegiance

After Jon receives Tyrion’s raven about Daenerys, Baelish brings up the possibility of a marriage alliance and, though Jon doesn’t trust Baelish in particular, Davos agrees it may be a good option in order to gain armies, weapons, and dragons in order to fight the Army of the Dead - even with the Riverlands’ allegiance, they still don’t have enough fighting men to take on the AOTD without assistance

Baelish tries to plant ideas into Sansa’s head about Jon and Dany marrying, naming her their heir until they are to have one of their own, meaning if somehow they both die in the wars to come, she would become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms (much like the “if Robert were to die- When Robert dies” from the books), Sansa doesn’t have much to say to this, is more focused on one of Dany’s allies being the Greyjoys

The Hound, noticing Baelish’s scheming and weaselly ways, threatens him to stay away from Sansa (like Jon’s “touch my sister, I’ll kill you myself”)

When Baelish accuses Sandor of being just like him (i.e. wanting Sansa sexually/romantically), Sandor corrects him and says he’s only ever wanted to protect her and Arya and he will do so, even if it kills him

Sometime after his encounter with Sandor, Baelish finagles his way into an invite to accompany Jon and Davos to Dragonstone - it’s more central to all the action, right where Baelish likes to be

IN OLDTOWN 

Sam cures Ser Jorah of his greyscale

AT CASTLE BLACK: 

Edd and the other Black Brothers/few Free Folk who are hanging out there (not Tormund) discuss the Horn Edd found, some of the Free Folk believe it has the power to bring down the Wall, Mance had been trying to find it as opposed to battling the Night’s Watchmen 

Edd orders no one to touch it or go near it

IN KING’S LANDING: 

Cersei, in celebration of her pregnancy, commissions the courtyard ground painted with a map of Westeros, telling Jaime, “our child will rule Westeros, a dynasty that will last 1k years, what father had trained us for since we were children...”

She and Jaime also talk about allies and enemies - Enemies to the East, West, North, and South, Jaime asks “where are our allies?”...

Euron Greyjoy shows up in King’s Landing

Even with the news of the baby, Jaime is still distant with Cersei due to her behavior, constantly whispering to Qyburn, obsessing over news of her “enemies” - smallfolk in the city talking shit about her (like the guy in S6 who claimed he showed her his cock during her Walk of Atonement and got his skull crushed by the Mountain)

Euron tries to get Cersei into bed and though she rebuffs him, she tells Jaime she can’t do so for long, she’ll need to claim he’s the father of her child, further shutting Jaime out

BACK IN THE NORTH: 

As Jon prepares to leave for Dragonstone, Bran finally tells Jon there’s something he needs to know but he’s not the one to tell him, that on his way to Dragonstone, Jon needs to stop by Greywater Watch - Meera will accompany him so she can be reunited with her family

Jon, Davos, Baelish, and Meera arrive at Greywater Watch, Howland Reed finally tells Jon (in private) about R+L=J, Howland gives Jon Rhaegar’s harp, which was in Lyanna’s possession when she died

While Howland is telling Jon about his parents, Bran is at the weirwood attempting to control his visions and get a handle on them, and he flashes back to Rhaegar and Lyanna as Howland tells Jon the story, how they fell in love, their secret marriage, and Jon’s real name, “Aegon Targaryen”

The title is obviously for House Reed’s ancestral seat to mark the first time it’s ever been seen in the show (and in the books for that matter). 

Episode 2 Inside the Episode: Greywater Watch

1) Now, first thing people are probably wondering is: why does Jon find out about RLJ in Episode 2?? Before he meets Daenerys??

And the simple answer is...because it shouldn’t make a difference for him to hear about it later in the season. Remember, this is the FINAL season. So there’s no cliffhanger to leave us on. This is it. Jon’s no longer heading for an “information bomb” in Season 8 because there is no Season 8. And, we all know the aunt/nephew incest won’t matter in the books - as avunculate marriages have been established in House Stark - so it shouldn’t matter in the show.

Plus, Jon knowing who he is as he’s falling for Dany will create a nice tension there because he hates lying, and holding back the truth from her will be difficult once he’s already in love with her. It will be a good conflict for Jon for the season - tell Dany the truth, or keep it to himself?

2) Baelish heading to Dragonstone with Jon:

Probably the most basic no-brainer in the entire season. That Baelish stayed with Sansa in the North in S7 was really idiotic. Baelish never stays in one place too long, even if it’s to be near Sansa. He dropped her off at Winterfell once before, with the Boltons, and headed back south because it benefitted him most. Baelish staying in Winterfell in S7 makes no sense because it doesn’t benefit him. 

Baelish’s Season 7 Winterfell plot did nothing to further his ambition and designs on the Iron Throne. Baelish heading to Dragonstone with Jon would. If he can get Jon and Dany to marry, knock off Cersei, and name Sansa their heir before dying *somehow* in the War for the Dawn...his job is essentially done, he just needs to persuade Sansa to marry him after, which as he would have helped name her Queen, shouldn’t be too hard to do.

3) Mel’s meeting with Dany on Dragonstone...

Melisandre coming in during Dany’s meeting with Olenna, Ellaria, and Yara and Theon makes so much sense. If she were to speak before Dany’s whole council and convince everyone of summoning Jon, it would fulfill the idea that D&D tried to pass off in 7x02 as a “feminist” moment with all these powerful women strategizing and making decisions. You know, as opposed to the scene we actually got where the women just went along with what Tyrion planned and had no say in battle strategy at all which was so fucking dumb. 

Also, many on Dany’s council know the Starks and would be better at convincing Dany to seek an alliance with Jon than just Mel (whom Dany doesn’t know) and Tyrion, who hasn’t seen either Jon or Sansa in years. Theon and Olenna could vouch for Jon and Sansa, adding their voices of support for this alliance. Also, Ellaria Sand, a fellow bastard, may be impressed with Jon being named King, admire that the North has taken a page out of Dorne’s book to throw out this prejudice against bastards and named someone King who they actually believed in, which would jibe with Dany’s approach of judging people on their merits rather than names, titles, and status. 

Basically, everyone in Dany’s council would get on the Jonerys train, as they should.

4) Not necessarily mentioned in the outline of the episode above but wanted to address this, The War for the Iron Throne:

Now, obviously this new strategy nixes several battles from Season 7 and you guys are probably wondering why. 

Well, if we think about the structure of prior seasons, big set piece battles, like the Greyjoys vs Greyjoys of 7x02, the sack of Casterly Rock of 7x03, and the Field of Fire of 7x04, are really uncommon in early episodes. We usually get ONE battle per season and that’s the “Episode 9” battle. So to have a season filled with battles is 1) not the GOT norm and 2) really unnecessary. Dany has been all about strategizing in the past, waiting for people to come to her, sitting and waiting to persuade people to her side, connecting with the people first before the high lords. That’s her MO. Going in guns blazing is not Dany’s way.

Yes, Dany’s allies sided with her because of the promise of Fire and Blood. And they’ll get it. But they are also the kind of allies to wait. Olenna plotting Joffrey’s murder to get Margaery a better husband that again, she’d have to wait for. Yara and Theon going all the way to Meereen to get Dany on their side. Ellaria waiting to align with Olenna and Dany before going to war with Cersei. Dany is patient and so are her allies. They understand the importance of well planned revenge. Waiting for Jon and seeing what he can bring to the table is much more on par with what we’ve seen from all of them the last few seasons.

5) And lastly, Howland Reed

Many of us predicted we would see Howland Reed this season (Season 8) and we were obviously wrong. Now, some people may think Howland Reed showing up in the story is unrealistic, but in my opinion, Season 6 set this up for us already. Rather than not name any of Ned’s companions at the Tower of Joy (which they could have done), the show specifically points out Howland, and mentions that he’s Jojen and Meera’s father. Why would we be shown Howland, and have it implied that he’s the only other living soul (without psychic powers like Bran) who knows who Jon really is, and then NEVER do anything with that information?

To me, this was such a bullshit move on the show’s part. I mean, there are a lot of those. But we were owed a Howland Reed scene. We needed to see him in the series. We even got Meera in S7 saying she needed to go be with her family and then we never saw the Reeds in S8 - did they pull a Cersei and sit out the War for the Dawn as well??? I mean, it just makes no sense. There was set up for this and no pay-off. 

So having Jon learn from Howland - who actually has a personal and first hand connection to this information - tell Jon the truth about who he is rather than Sam - who had no personal connection to this info - finally pays off what was set up in Season 6 and gives Jon and the audience this information in a much more satisfying way. 

Aaand that’s it for Episode 2!

Original Final Season 7: Preface Post

Season 7 Episode 1: Family, Duty, Honor

Season 7 Episode 2: Greywater Watch (Current episode)

Season 7 Episode 3: The Last of the Dragons

Season 7 Episode 4: Dragonglass

Season 7 Episode 5: The Storm

Season 7 Episode 6: Summerhall 

Season 7 Episode 7: A City Fit For A King

Season 7 Episode 8: Protectors of the Realm

Season 7 Episode 9: The Battle For The Dawn

Season 7 Episode 10: ?

Keep an eye out next Tuesday for Episode 3!

[orionlakehastodie]

A Mountain of Miniscule Things: (1) Socks and Sonnets

The Present, Oldtown

“BRIENNE! Get your stinky socks of the table!”

Seven years he though, seven bloody years and she still placed her dirty rainbow striped socks on the table. How she managed to be a respectable surgeon, how she managed to get people to trust her to slice into their brains he would never know. Not when her smelly socks litter his kitchen before he got coffee.

She emerged from her room, in nothing but her boxer briefs which has all forms of cartoon characters (today was Bambi) and her old King’s Landing University basketball shirt. 

She grumblingly got the socks from him and crawled back to her room, which he knew had been left unclean since she started covering the ER for the week.

He shuddered at the notion of what he would find there, knowing she tended to throw things around when she was tired. 

With a sigh he set the coffee beans into the machine and wiped down the table to rid it of her feet germs. 

And when the coffee was done brewing he poured her a cup and ventured into her room to get her up and running for her morning rounds. 

Let it be said that Jaime Lannister is the best ever roommate, best friend and colleague ever in the whole of Westeros. 

And he did love snuggling with a warm and sleepy Brienne.

As soon as he entered her room, her nose shot up of her comforter, smelling the coffee in her mug and immediately held out a hand and scooted over to the edge of her bed, making room for Jaime to lay himself beside her, wincing as the hanger she left on the bed dugged into his butt.

“You’re a slob Brienne.”

“Shut your mouth. I clean up after you when you cover the stinking ER.”

That was true enough. He lifted an arm and allowed Brienne to rest her head against his shoulder. 

Here she was, half naked, warm and all but in his skin, and he wondered why he didn’t feel... anything. 

She was his bestfriend. If this was a movie he’d have those tingly feelings by now... he’d have fallen for her and pined.

He would have loved to fall in love with Brienne.

And yet...

He didn’t.

“I have to shower. I have rounds in an hour.”

She crawled out from under their cocoon and headed for her bathroom. 

He sighed and stared at her ceiling, wondering for the nth time why it couldn’t be Brienne.

---

The Beginning, King’s Landing (Seven Years Prior)

It was the easiest solution she could find. She needed a house. And she needed it cheap. But she also needed it clean, safe, with wi-fi and duvets on sun washed windowsills in a cool autumn day.

So she needed a house mate. And she needed it fast because the lease was a co-sign.

He needed a house too.

Like her, he needed it close to the hospital. He needed it fast. And cheap.

And though she has never spoken to him, not once in her life, she hands him the flyer and the offer.

"I heard you were going too. To the Citadel I mean. I found a house. But I need a housemate because the seven damned maesters bleed you drier than Braavos. If you want it we can-"

"I'll take it."

He folded the flyer and stuck it into the pocket of his white coat.

She did not expect him to.

He never liked her.

Well, no one did.

During her first year, there was a newly elected MP in Tarth and let's just say that she, even though merely a citizen was outraged at his audacity to claim that thieves from the Blue must be killed when he let corporate resorts almost ruin the Sapphire Isle.

Let's just say she was vocal on Hall of Faces about it.

Too vocal.

And then clinical year kicked in and she had been pumped up to answer all questions fielded left and right. And well, while in Tarth it was not appreciated, it sucked even worse in King's Landing.

And that was when she realized no matter where she went people would hate a freak like her. Then she might as well go to the place she dreamed of all her life.

And that was what pushed her to ask Jaime Lannister if he wanted to share the rent on her perfect house. She thought if he hated her she would not care. She's just focused on getting what she wants - becoming a Maester Surgeon.

Only it wasn't until Jaime accepted her offer that she realized she was bluffing.

She asked because she never expected him to accept the damned offer in the first place.

"Brienne?"

She blinked back at him and at the papers in his hands. Her house. Her house that will he half his.

Well, half rented by him, but still...

"Look, I want to get to Old Town as soon as possible. Rent's not cheap, seven curses to the Maesters. I would have asked you if you didn't approach me."

Jaime Lannister would have asked her to co-rent a house.

And they say pigs don't fly.

"Alright then. Lease is to be signed on Thursday. I'll send you a Raven with the details."

Jaime only nodded and went back to his screen, even the fatigue in his eyes could not mask the strength of his cheeks, the dangerous glint of his eyes the color of a foamy sea.

His grubby scrubs could not mask the fact that Jaime Lannister was the most handsome man she ever beheld.

And that she was a fool for thinking it.

---

He arrived in the Citadel before she did. His large SUV was taking up most of the space inside the four car garage, a BalerionX50, she should have known. Her clunky pick up looked old and rusty next to it.

Boxes lined his side of the garage. Hers were stacked neatly in hardy plastic transport drawers because her things were not going to smell like box paper.

She unloaded the large suitcase from the back of her car and wheeled it in, thinking of the ways she could cart her boxes all the way up to the rooms when the garage door opened and out walked a heavily sweaty Jaime, in nothing but his exercise shorts.

"Brienne. I thought you were coming in tomorrow?"

He certainly did not look pleased to see her. With a sigh she plastered a smile on her face.

"I sent you a Raven. Did you not check your phone? I said my flight got pushed earlier."

"When?"

"The day after we signed the lease!"

Granted Jaime went to the lawyer's, signed the paper handed his half of the check and booked as if his ass was on fire.

Then went on to pretend she did not exist for the next couple of weeks.

"Sorry. It's been chaotic. Moving. I'm sure you know."

And yet she managed to send a Raven. She wouldn't even have known Jaime was coming on this day if not for Tyrion who mentioned it to her while she referred a patient of hers to him for grief counselling and therapy.

They stand there in awkward silence until he notices her boxes.

"I'll help you with those."

Together they lugged her boxes to the second floor. Their house was simple enough. The garage door opens to a laundry room and beyond that the kitchen. The rest of the house was occupied by a wide and open floor layout with oakwood floors and glass. Lots of glass looking out at the lake behind the house.

Upstairs was divided into four rooms. One room they converted to an office. The other they agreed to keep for when family visits.

No family will visit her. She thought.

No one ever.

But she agreed anyway.

She only needed one room. Hers. With her large bed and her books and her high speed internet with a TV she can watch her shows on.

Jaime whistled at the size of the ginormous TV mounted on her wall.

"This is even bigger than mine! I didn't know you liked TV?"

"Jaime. This is why people's jaw dropped when I told them we were going to be housemates."

He merely shrugged at her and stood there awkwardly, his hands in his pockets looking around her room.

She always thought he was aloof.

He talked to her once on the Hall of Faces. And when she tried to talk to him again he was... well rude.

So she stopped trying as was her nature.

But.

He helped with her boxes.

So she turns to him and tries again.

"You need help with yours?"

---

They took her car because she was technically blocking the driveway.

He sat silently in her passenger seat, chin cupped in hand and staring out the window.

She hated nothing more than awkward silences.

When she stopped at a light, she flipped on her radio and the last song from her PaynePod blasted though the speakers.

Embarrassingly enough it was the new acoustic cover of The Rains of Castamere.

Jaime swivelled his head at her and smirked. "Oathbreakers huh."

Okay, so the song was about gruesome Lannisters, Jaime's ancestors in the Age of the Long Summer, but it wasn't really about him.

"I find it fascinating. How they sing about the historical houses..."

He scoffs. Of course. Everyone knew her fascination with history and philosophy. She often quacked about it on Hall of Faces.

But so what?

She was tired of being treated like an outsider just because she likes to use Hall of Faces.

"Yes. I'm sure you know."

She snapped at him and refused to regret it, even though the familiar pangs of guilt creeped into her gut. You cannot please everyone Brienne. She firmly reminded herself.

"It's nice that you have something you're passionate about. I don't blame you.We can't choose who we love."

"And we can't help who we are."

He grinned at her and he placed his chin again on his hand and looked out the window.

This time around the silence was not so bad.

---

For a very lean man, he sure could eat a lot.

The amount of food in their table was enough to amuse the local diner waitress into fits of giggles.

As a doctor she tried to be healthier.

But waffles and butter were too damned good to pass up.

Apparently Jaime thought so too.

"Ahh sweet butter. The folly of man."

He savored the bite on his fork and she snorts at him.

"What? You are in no position to laugh!"

He gestured to the waffle that was currently swimming in boatloads of maple syrup and grinned at her.

"Man you really have a sweet tooth don't you?"

She stops mid chew and tilts her head at him in question.

He winces and with a sheepish smile shrugs his shoulders.

"Renly. He used to share the pastries you gave him with us. He swore by them you see. I used to steal a bit or two from him. Annoyed him to no end. Threatened to kick me out of the flat. 'Course he forgot he made me sign the lease. Anyway... they were always generously sugared and buttered. "

A flush rose to her cheeks, remembering the first time she baked, she did because she wanted her feelings to reach Jaime. Knowing Renly can give him what she made. Albeit unknowingly.

It brought a warmth to her chest, knowing that he did in some way, get to receive her feelings.

"Sorry, I should have told you they were nice."

Her reverie shatters and she remembers once again. She was Brienne. And he was Jaime. And no amount of cookie batter can change it.

"Anyway it's all good now. I'm your roommate. I don't have to steal anything anymore."

He grins at her and pushes his half empty jug of maple syrup at her and steals a bite of her bacon.

But she grins.

Maybe cookie batter and waffles just might do the trick.

(To be continued)