#I REPEAT: HARMEN

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Blood in the Rivers: VIII

A/N: I apologize for the wait (again). Thank you to everyone who read, liked, reblogged, and commented on the last chapter. And thank you for all the shenanigans about dogs and unicorns last night. You all make me smile

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

Rating: T - mentions of death, unhealthy coping mechanisms, my continued overuse of italics

Word Count: 9.2k (Don’t look at me)

Read Chapters I-VII here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Eight: Pockets Full of Pebbles

“Raise your elbow.”

The bow was a bit too big for her little hands, even if it had been specially made just for her. But she did as her father bid and tried to focus on the target just a few feet away in the courtyard outside the keep’s armory.

“Perfect. Now loose.”

The arrow soared through the air and hit the side of the target. A shrieking giggle soon erupted from her throat as her father’s strong arms wrapped around her waist and hoisted her into the air.

“You are a natural, my darling girl! My little warrior!” His smiling lips pressed a kiss against her cheek as she continued to laugh.

“Oh, Brynden. You will have her running wild if you continue,” Vaella said, fondness in her tone betraying her love for her husband and child.

Brynden adjusted his grip on Y/N so he could hold her a little closer, little legs wrapping around his waist, and he pressed another kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “She is already wild. Aren’t you, Y/N?”

There were few rivers in Dorne. The Tullys drew their strength from the river, and it was to the river they returned when their lives had run their course. But the nearest was too far. She would not delay his soul’s rest any more than necessary. “All rivers lead to the sea, darling girl,” her father had once said. So, the Summer Sea was her only choice. It wasn’t the muddied rivers around Riverrun. It wasn’t The Trident in The Vale where her father had laid her mother to rest. “All rivers lead to the sea,” she repeated her father’s words.

She barely remembered filling a small boat with kindling and stones and small slips of parchment before carefully placing her father’s head inside, atop the makeshift body she’d made from rolls of black fabric and straw.

She would never recover the rest of his body. There had been a note shoved behind his teeth: his body was fed to a caged bear at Harrenhal. Another desecration. Oberyn had matched it by having Ilyn’s body hacked to pieces.

The words of a familiar prayer slipped by her lips as she finished, hoping his soul would find rest in the Seven Heavens and that he would be reunited with her mother. “Goodbye, papa.” The words were strangled in her throat.

Ellaria quietly stepped to her side. Oberyn soon followed. Harmen and Daisy took their places, too. Without a word, they each placed a hand on the boat and helped shove the small tender out onto the gentle waves of the sea. Her heart was in her throat as she watched it start to pull away from the shore and then Daemon was there, handing her the bow and arrow. Y/N nocked the arrow with her bandaged hand and murmured a quiet ‘thank you’ to an injured-but-healing Trystane as he lit the end, letting it blaze with orange fire. A steadying breath is all she gave herself before she pulled the bow taut with perfect posture, just like her father taught, and let it loose. The arrow hit the boat and it erupted in flames. Her hands shook as she finally let the bow drop to her side. The stitches on her palm had torn. She didn’t feel it. Blood dripped onto the sand.

The boat drifted away and she watched until it sunk beneath the water.

**

The Realm had descended into chaos. Myrcella and her Lannister guards had disappeared the night Ilyn had tried to kill Trystane and Doran. Westerland armies tried to cross the Red Mountains into Dorne on the Prince’s Pass but were largely pushed back by the House Fowler armies. House Yronwood raised their banners and fortified the Bone Way, waiting for the Lannisters to try again.

Y/N had been wordlessly invited to join Oberyn, a healing Doran, and the lords and ladies of Dorne who had been at the Water Gardens for the feast and never left. All of them were calling for retaliation. For war. The men and women sequestered in the cooled undercroft serving as a war room did not bat a lash when she joined them. Some even voiced their approval for her plans, stating that she was a natural tactician, “a woman after Princess Nymeria’s own heart!” It almost made her smile. It was a small solace, to know that her opinion was valued enough to earn a seat at the table.

But it had kept long hours. Longer still when she would hide away in Sunspear’s grand library, poring over centuries-old texts about the Red Keep or Casterly Rock, trying to find some slip of information that could be used as a tool against the Lannisters. It had almost become some sort of sad little game to wonder who would be sent in to ask her back to bed.

“You are falling asleep in your seat,” Sansa would say. “Go to bed.”

“You look ill. You will be ill if you do not sleep,” Arya would grumble.

"You must sleep, My Tully,” Ellaria would whisper as she would gently massage the back of her neck. “Come lay with me.”

And sometimes it would work. But sometimes she would wave them on. But she found a surprising companion. Obella, not yet seventeen, quietly helped her find books in the library and show Y/N her own findings—mostly battle formations that had faded from common knowledge but would be brutally efficient. They came to a soft companionability, taking turns to bring food and hot tea to the library when the night grew dark or relighting candles that snuffed themselves out.

“Why do you come here?” Y/N finally asked after their fifth night together.

“I cannot wield a sword like Obara or a bow like you—or even a lance like Elia. But I do want to help.”

She said it with such conviction that it fractured a part of Y/N’s already broken heart. She only nodded and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward her with a sad sort of smile. “You’re helping more than you know.”

Obara, Elia, and Arya were her companions at the training grounds. The two Sand Snakes seemed to innately know the anger that had infested her bloodstream and would silently bandage Y/N’s fingers when she would rub them raw with overuse against the string of her bow.

She was a fine archer and Obara had taken it upon herself to find Y/N a Martell guard who preferred the short blades she was more comfortable with to help her train with those as well.

Her hand ached. She pulled the stitches from her skin on her own, too early for the ugly, jagged wound to be fully healed. But she did it anyway in the dead of night, tired of feeling the scratch of the knots against her palm. Obara said nothing when she saw the messy work when she bandaged Y/N’s hand the morning after

Obara would stand behind her father’s chair when she cared to attend the war stratagem but largely kept to the training grounds with their cavalry and infantry.

Time had turned strange. Days and nights melting into each other without any sort of rest. Tracking the date had not been a necessity or want. She simply needed to do all she could to help. To train. To lend her voice at the stratagem meetings. She could rest later.

Just before one of these meetings Y/N noticed a shaking servant, holding a crumpled missive in his hands. The seal of the Tyrells was broken at the edge. The poor soul looked like he was headed toward the gallows. “I’ll take it for you,” she murmured.

The servant mumbled a quiet but reverent “thank you, Princess,” before all but shoving it into her hand and then pulling open the heavy door to let her in. Her thumb slid beneath the broken seal and she quickly scanned the words, stomach curling with each line of ink

Oberyn noticed the fright on her face within a moment. “What is it, my moonlight?” He asked and pressed a kiss to her cheek before she handed him the letter.

She was thankful that only Doran was present when Oberyn’s beautiful face slid into something monstrous as he read. He curled his fist around the letter as Doran lifted his head from the pile of missives from far-off Lords from the east coast of Dorne, keeping him abreast of any movement or changes in scheme they needed to employ. “Oberyn?”

“Myrcella and her guards washed up in Blackwater Bay.”

“And the Lannisters think we had a hand in it?”

“According to Olenna Tyrell, yes; Cersei thinks we killed Myrcella and she wants all of our heads on spikes.” Oberyn threw the remnants of the warning onto the table with a snarl.

While Y/N knew she would pray for the little princess’ soul to be carried off into the Seven Heavens when she was alone that night, her mind quickly turned toward how they would deal with this newest development. “They must have sailed near the Stepstones. Pirates and raiders-"

“The Lions do not care for logic, my moonlight. They have deemed us guilty.”

Her gut churned. She wanted blood, yes. But not Myrcella’s—not the innocent.

Before any other arguments or plans could be made—the door burst open and Elia was careening into the room, out of breath and dark eyes wild. “Ships! Greyjoy and Stark banners!”

Y/N scarcely recalled leaping up the stairs or dashing through the fortress and out into the dying sunlight to see the ships on the horizon—swathes of grey fabric and black wood rising from the waves like the Deep Ones of legend. Small tenders were already in the sea and rowing toward the shore. One of them had tied a bit of white fabric to their bow.

“Should we trust them?” Y/N asked.

Oberyn, at her back, sighed. “The Starks have not betrayed us yet. Remains to be seen with the Greyjoys.”

**

The fortress was abuzz with movement as the Northmen settled into their temporary lodging Sunspear was providing (the Ironborn loudly voiced that they’d rather row back out to their ships for rest). Battle plans were being drawn and redrawn. Alliances and promises made.

Y/N learned that after the Boltons had tortured and killed Theon as they took over Winterfell, Yara sent a raven to Robb. He would help her claim the throne of the Iron Islands against the claim of her uncle, Euron, in exchange for drawing the Boltons out beyond Winterfell’s walls so Robb’s men could attack them from behind and finally reclaim Winterfell and wipe out the Bolton line. They both had vengeance with the act and gained an ally.

The North was once again under the rule of House Stark. But Y/N could not delight in that bit of happy news as word was sent that Yara Greyjoy required a private audience with Y/N.

Daemon rowed her out to the Black Wind and promised to stay until she personally told him to go or she came back out to the tender to be taken back to Sunspear. “I would not have you languishing with the Ironborn longer than necessary, my lady,” he muttered before a rope ladder was thrown down.

As she reached the deck of the ship, several of the crew looked her up and down. She caught whispers of “the Mountain” and “princess” before she was led below deck by a man with a salt-and-pepper beard and cold, green eyes. He knocked twice on a sea-weathered door before a gruff, feminine voice called to let him in.

Y/N stepped inside and tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell. It reeked of old hay and excrement—probably a holding cell. Yara was waiting, standing under the single beam of light the room had and holding a chain in her hands. It snaked across the hay-strewn floor and disappeared into a dark corner. This was the first time Y/N had come in contact with Yara Greyjoy—but her reputation obviously preceded her and was well earned. The smirk she had splitting her face was enough to warrant the rumors of callous humor and bloodthirsty nature.

“Ah, you’ve come. Perhaps you can get something out of him before I rip his tongue out. We caught him just off the Stepstones, trying to hide his hideous face under a hood.” She pulled at the end of a chain. The metal links seemed to sing as she continued to yank until the prisoner stepped into her line of sight.

Y/N nearly balked at the sight. “Lord Tyrion. A surprise to be sure.”

Tyrion looked no worse than he did all that time ago in the Water Gardens but his limbs were now all encased in heavy steel and his hair was a little more unkempt. “My lady.” He even bowed a bit.

“The Imp refuses to speak to anyone but you,” Yara said as she stepped forward to hand Y/N the end of the chain with a curled frown. “Was this the one you were intended to marry?”

Y/N bristled but was unsurprised that Yara knew of the Lannisters’ plot. All of Dorne seemed to know it, too. “It was Tywin, actually. His father.”

Yara sneered. “I guess the old lion does still have a cock.” She then left without another word and the door closed loudly behind her.

With a sigh, Y/N set down the chain and wiped her hands on her skirts. “Why have you asked for me, Lord Tyrion? Prince Oberyn or Doran would be the only ones to grant you more comfortable accommodations in exchange for information.”

Tyrion shook his head. “I do not trust them, just as they do not trust me.”

Y/N hummed. “I am surprised they kept you alive at all. The last time you were in the company of Starks, you were accused to trying to murder Bran and only survived Catelyn’s wrath by the gods’ grace and the help of a sellsword.”

“It was more the sellsword than the grace of the gods, my lady, I assure you. But it was under Robb’s instruction that the Ironborn did not tie me to the front of their ship to be pecked to death by gulls.” He pursed his lips. “I was nearly to Essos when my ship was blown out of the water and I was scooped up like some dead fish.”

“Then perhaps you should consider it luck that they found you and not your sister. She wants you dead. Robb wants leverage.”

“If you had counseled your dear king, he would have known that I will hold no leverage as a hostage. They would prefer me dead.”

Y/N paused for a moment, thoughts stirring in her mind. “You asked me here for a reason, Lord Tyrion. And it is not because you fear me the least. What is it you’re offering?”

Something crossed Tyrion’s face then. It was almost a smile. “You would have made a fearsome Lady of the Rock, you know.” But as quickly as it came, it disappeared. “Tell me, are the rumors of Myrcella-”

“Dorne had nothing to do with it. Doran and Oberyn may not care for your family but they do not kill children. They know the ache of the loss of a child.”

Tears gathered in Tyrion’s eyes and tracked down his dirty cheeks. “She was good and gentle.”

“She was,” Y/N said softly. “And I am sorry that the gods have called her home so soon. But we need your help to see this through. You have my word that Tommen will not be harmed when we take King’s Landing.”

Oberyn and Ellaria were waiting for her when she stepped back onto shore hours later. Y/N had slips of parchment crumpled in her hand and streaks of ink staining her fingers and across her cheek. “Is Sarella still in Oldtown?”

**

“You cannot believe him!” Robb snarled.

Y/N pivoted in her seat to glare at him, uncaring of the other lords and soldiers in the room. “What cause does he have to lie?”

“He is a Lannister!”

“He is hated by his family. They tried to kill him.”

Robb’s face continued to contort in rage as he stood from his seat, fist slamming against the wood of the table. But whatever words he had wanted to say stilled in his throat as Oberyn stood from his seat, too. Oberyn said nothing as he loomed at Y/N’s back. He did not move his hand to the pommel of his sword but the promise of violence was not missed.

The King in the North seemed to swallow his pride at the quiet show of strength but did not sit down. “There is no way to see if this is not a trap.”

And that was when Y/N had a smirk of her own, pulled the rolled missive, stamped with the seal of the Citadel, from the folds of her dress and unfurled it on the table. “Tyrion’s claims of the cisterns and drains of Casterly Rock have been verified, as have the rumors of Wildfire under the whole of King’s Landing.” She pushed the parchment toward Robb and watched his face as he read Sarella’s handwriting. Her findings had given Y/N hope that this war could be won without an unending number of battles. Less bloodshed. Fewer dead Dornishmen. Fewer families without sons and husbands and brothers. Tyrion had told her of how he used to smuggle his favorite girls in and out of his rooms by the way of the drains of Casterly Rock and how that flaw in the Lannisters’ fortress could be exploited and allow for an outside naval force to sack his ancestral home. He’d provided crude drawings of how the tunnels curved and turned from the cliffside up to the balustrades and towers. Tyrion’s placement of the wildfire under the capital were less precise but still damning.

“And what does The Imp want in return for this information?”

“He wants to be set free-” There was an immediate and expected uproar from the Northmen and Ironborn and a handful of the Dornish lords and ladies but Y/N pressed on. “-to live in Essos with little Tommen when this is over.”

Robb held up his hand and quieted the rabble as his lips pressed into a thin line. “We will need scouts in the Westerlands to know of any movement of their armies.”

Lady Maege Mormont, pallid face red with the heat and slicked with sweat, suddenly moved her dark eyes to Y/N and the Dornish prince at her back. “The Riverlands armies are still waiting for command.”

“The Riverlands have not declared to King Robb’s cause aside from a handful of men who still hold Riverrun,” gruffed an Ironborn who tried to hold Oberyn’s gaze but quickly wilted under the Prince’s unwavering stare.

“That is inaccurate,” Robb said, voice cutting through the room’s din without effort. “There is still a small battalion of men loyal to Brynden Tully waiting for a command just outside Pinkmaiden. It would be a sufficient number.”

Oberyn’s warm hand reached down to gently grasp her shoulder and squeeze. A quiet show of support. “Why have they not joined you in Dorne?” Y/N asked, voice steady.

That was when Robb finally sat again and he tried to look her in the eye but failed and glanced down at the maps in front of him. “Your father was waiting for my command to take the Golden Tooth.”

Y/N nodded. He had never made it to Pinkmaiden.

And everyone in the room knew it.

But Y/N’s face did not move and Oberyn’s steadying hand did not falter in its grounding warmth. “Then it seems you have your scouts.”

The meeting continued on into the night and only adjourned when Lord Stonehouse let out a snore, slumped over his plate of half-eaten supper. Y/N wrapped a bit of chicken into her napkin and set out on her own after kissing Oberyn’s cheek before he went to Doran’s side.

She was…exhausted. But, she still sought out the one frivolous activity she would allow herself. Grey Wind, Robb’s hulking direwolf, was curled on the cool marble of the grand hall and lifted his large head when he heard her approach. Ned had told her stories of direwolves during her time at Winterfell and she, a bit childishly, wanted to see one as close as she could manage. Y/N unwrapped the chicken and held out to him with a small smile that grew only a fraction bigger when it was quickly devoured and her fingers were licked clean, too. The direwolf sniffed at her hand for a little longer before pressing his head against her palm, wanting to be pet. And that almost made her laugh, this giant animal who unnerved most others he encountered was gently asking to be scratched behind the ears. (Robb had grumbled his acceptance of Grey Wind not being present in the war room because of how uncomfortable it made some of the lords and ladies of Dorne.)

“You’re just a big pup, aren’t you?”

Grey Wind whined, offended.

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice rung out in the hall and Y/N quickly gave a handful more scratches before trying to find her handmaiden. When she did, Daisy explained that Ellaria had requested Daisy get Y/N “in bed with no distractions!” when she heard the meeting had been adjourned early. So, she let Daisy lead her back to her chambers with a sigh and fuss for a moment or two before she helped her out of her clothes and into her silken nightgown with a small smile. “I feel like I have not truly spoken with you in ages, my lady.”

“I apologize, Daisy.”

“Think nothing of it. I know your heart and mind are occupied.” When she finished, Daisy lingered at her back with a nervous expression. “I know it is not my place-”

“You are my friend, Daisy. Speak freely.” She turned to softly squeeze at Daisy’s fingers before dropping her hands back into her lap.

“I worry about you. And I know others do as well.”

“I am going to sleep-”

“It is not your lack of sleep that disturbs me, Y/N. You…you are not yourself. For as long as I have known you, you have worn your heart on your sleeve. Only tucking it away when you think someone will betray you. I know your heart is broken. Let it be broken. A heart that bleeds alone still bleeds. It is easier to bear with someone at your side.”

Y/N frowned. “You are with me-”

Disappointment colored Daisy’s face as she sighed, cutting off Y/N’s words. “I know you are not this stupid, Y/N. You know exactly what I mean.”

And that poked at the festering wound Y/N had tried to seal over with brick and steel in the cavity of her chest. “When this is over, I will… I will mourn as I should. It would be selfish to do it now.”

Daisy clicked her tongue with a shake of her head. “I have been told that war makes animals of men but I did not think it would make your heart stone. It is not selfish to love your father. It is not selfish to feel.” Before Y/N could even come up with some sort of rebuttal, her friend was striding toward the door and pulling it open. “Sleep, Y/N.” And then she was gone.

But Y/N did not sleep. She sat on her bed and listened to the night’s chatter die down as time slipped by. The fortress grew dark as only the necessary torches were kept aflame. The stars glittered in the moonless sky. Even as her body yearned for rest, she could not sleep.

All she could do was stare out to the sea.

But then she was moving. Slipping off her bed and slinking out of the fortress, wordlessly passing the stationed guards who made no move to stop her but watched her with careful, curious eyes.

“All rivers lead to the sea.” The words were murmured but felt like a rock had dislodged itself from the recesses of her lungs.

Cool marble gave way to paved stone and then to cold, wet sand she let squish between her toes as she walked closer to the sea’s edge. The water was calm. Gentle waves shimmered in starlight and lapped against the shore. She let the cool water splash against her ankles before she discarded her dressing gown. She took one step, then another, another, and another until she was treading open water in just her chemise, feeling the wet fabric glide around her in the water like a curious, silken fish. She dove beneath the waves to feel the chill and rhythm of the sea settle in her bones. For a moment, she wondered if she could spend forever at the bottom of the sea, looking up at the stars through the clear water, weighed down by pebbles sewn into her pockets. But when her lungs started to burn, she rose to the surface slowly and pulled in a deep breath of warm night air as she crested like a leviathan.

Y/N had always been a strong swimmer. Edmure had once joked that she was truly part trout when she would spend hot days swimming against the current of the waters around Riverrun. But she did not want to swim tonight. She wanted to simply feel the water on her skin. To feel the waves beat in time with her heart. To know that the water would always have a place for her.

Her legs stopped pumping and she let them rise to the surface and she floated atop the waves like a wash of seafoam.

The stars were shining above her in their celestial beds, bright and welcoming even as drops of salted water managed to sting at her eyes. She followed the lines of the constellations she knew by heart and licked the salt from her lips.

With each wave, she knew the shore grew closer. She could let herself mourn until then, let the salt of her tears finally meet the salt of the water. She could let herself cry here, mourn here, in the water that welcomed her family home.

They came slowly and then all at once. Great, heaving sobs shook her entire body and nearly took her under as water filled her mouth when she let out a wail—the sounds wrenching themselves free from their hiding places within her tired soul. She cried and sobbed and wept. For her father. Her mother. For Ned and Catelyn. For Rickon and Bran and Hoster. Finally letting herself feel something for longer than a few stolen minutes. Y/N barely registered the arms wrapping around her shoulders and under her knees, the grip keeping her head safely above water.

It wasn’t until the tears ebbed enough to clear her vision that she saw Oberyn standing in the water, cradling her weightless form against the waves. His features were soft in the starlight and he said nothing as her sobs came again and she curled further into his grip.

He let her cry until she was spent and then walked her closer to the shore and helped her stand.

Ellaria was waiting just outside the sea’s reach with a stack of linen towels neatly folded near her feet. She plucked one from the pile and wordlessly started to dry Y/N off with a gentle touch before wrapping another around her shoulders. Oberyn slung one around his damp breeches then leaned forward to press a kiss against Ellaria’s temple, lingering for a moment, before doing the same to Y/N.

“The night is losing its battle with dawn, my loves. We must sleep,” Ellaria said, reaching out to tighten the towel around Y/N’s shoulders.

Y/N nodded, beyond exhausted. But her heart felt the smallest fraction lighter. And perhaps it was not the end of her grieving—it was just the start. But she knew it was a step forward. When Ellaria pushed her into the warm silk and linen sheets of her and Oberyn’s bed and then climbed over her to settle like another blanket, Y/N knew she would finally sleep. Peacefully. Oberyn climbed in after them and murmured soft ‘sleep, my darlings. We will speak in the morning’ into their skin and snuffed out the single candle on the bedside table. One hand brushed against Ellaria’s back as his other brought Y/N’s palm up to his lips to breathe in the lingering scent of salt and water as his eyes closed. Oh yes, she could sleep for eternity if they just held her like this for a little longer.

And the sound of the water, ever-present and ever-moving, lulled them into a quiet, deep sleep.

**

Morning came sooner rather than later and Y/N woke to Oberyn pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, fingers sliding under the thin strap of her chemise to revel in her soft skin. Much like Ellaria had the night before, he was lounging across Y/N’s back, weight pressing her into the featherbed with a comforting pressure. Ellaria was sitting up, held up by her elbow to look down at her with a soft smile.

It was something Y/N could get used to seeing every morning. She breathed for a few moments, simply wondering in how quiet the room was, how gentle Oberyn and Ellaria were with her. Briefly, she thought of how her life had changed since she had sent that first raven to Dorne. Being this comfortable, wrapped in blankets that did not belong to her, in the arms of not one but two people she was not married to—the scandal of it all. It was a soft sort of loveliness, even with the hurt of her loss. It seemed the water and the forgiving touch of the couple she loved had given Y/N her soul back; fractured and hurt. But hers once again.

“How are you, my moonlight?” He asked, voice quiet in the still of the room.

“I think I will carry this ache until my soul leaves to join whichever of the Seven Heavens the gods deem fit for me. But I know it will be easier to bear with time. Just as it was with my mother. Knowing they are together again gives me a small bit of happiness.” Y/N tapped at his thigh so she could turn to face him, letting her fingers trail through his hair when he laid his cheek against her stomach as they once again settled in the mess of blankets. A handful of grey strands pulled her attention as she let her nails gently scratch against his scalp, gaining a soft groan in return. “Thank you for last night. You… you both seem to know what I require before I even speak.”

Oberyn looked up at her, dark eyes warm but sad. “We each have had our own brushes with loss, my moonlight.” He paused. “We watched you close yourself off to everything aside from the coming war. Your eyes did not sparkle. You did not laugh. We had you, could touch you, feel the warmth of your skin. But you were lost to us.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and reached over to let her fingers roam across her exposed collarbone and the corner of her mouth tilted up when she heard the next breath catch in Y/N’s throat.

“It was never my intention-”

“You have spent too long in places where you cannot feel. You have swallowed your pride and anger and joy and grief in order to survive.” Ellaria said, fingers continuing to trail, burning her in their wake. “That is not how we live here, that is not the life we want for you.”

Y/N pushed out a long breath and let her hands drop to the back of Oberyn’s head, twisting the black and grey locks around her fingers without thought. “What is the life you want for me?”

Oberyn suddenly moved. His hands planting on either side of her shoulders to loom over her like some beautiful, terrible heavenly body. Her legs parted as he moved, cradling his hips with her thighs. “We want you to live, my moonlight. To live freely. Without restraint.”

“We want you to be angry, to be sad, to be joyful—to feel,” Ellaria said, hooking her fingers under Y/N’s chin to make Y/N look at her. “We want you to feel.”

They spoke of their hurts and anger, of their happiness and triumphs as the sun started to rise. “But none of it means anything if you do not feel it.” Oberyn leaned down to steal a kiss and sighed against her mouth as she lifted a hand to slide against his side, delighting in how he shivered. “We want you to take the day. Do not attend the meetings. Do not go to the training yards. Sleep. Pray if it helps your heart. Eat something. Speak with Sansa and Arya. Let yourself feel.” He kissed her again before Ellaria stole another, too. But they eventually all made their way out of the haven of their soft blankets and dressed unhurriedly to meet the day.

“Join me for lunch. The little ones miss you,” Ellaria said, catching Y/N’s hand before she left.

“I will find you,” Y/N promised with a squeeze to her wrist before setting off to find Sansa.

The day passed smoothly, for the most part. She let herself cry again when she spoke with Sansa and joined Grey Wind and Arya in the sea before setting off to join Ellaria and the younger Sand Snakes for lunch as promised. The afternoon was filled with a trip to Sunspear’s sept for prayer and speaking with Daisy. No plans for battle. No talk of alliances. It was not all her heart needed to heal from her loss. But it was another step toward acceptance. As night descended on Dorne, she was rewrapping the leather binding on the handle of Dorea’s Morningstar, having nearly stepped on it when she was walking back to her chambers. The leather had been ripped and torn under Dorea’s exuberant thrashing and Y/N had a bit of leather to spare, not minding to part with it. Oberyn found her as she finished and smiled as she, a little bashfully, showed him her work.

“She will love it,” he said with a warm smile and tired eyes.

Oberyn led her toward Dorea’s chambers and they found Ellaria asleep in Dorea’s bed with a book of fairytales from the Riverlands opened on their laps. Oberyn only tiptoed in for a moment to press a kiss to his paramour and daughter’s cheeks. Y/N had followed to carefully pull the book away and set it on the bedside table and made sure that the blankets covered the pair, tucking them into bed against the sea-scented night air. She placed the Morningstar atop a table before they both slipped out.

“She must have had a nightmare. She rarely lets us leave her bed if some sort of monster has creeped its way into her mind,” Oberyn said softly as he closed the door.

“Does she have nightmares often?” Y/N asked.

“They come and go, as it is with all children.” He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her fingers with a tired smile. “You will see when you have babes of your own.”

“You want more children?” She asked, head filling with something other than plans for war for a brief moment.

Oberyn’s smile widened and he pressed a hand over her stomach, fingers splaying. “I want as many children as you desire to give me.”

Something playful and teasing and almost unfamiliar bubbled in her chest and she smiled and covered his hand with hers. “Oh, I see. You’ve seduced me in some attempt to fill these halls with little Martells. You have no love for me—just my ability to give you more heirs.” She even laughed, quiet in the hall.

But Oberyn did not smile now and his fingers curled into the fabric of her dress and yanked her close. The heat of his body enveloped her instantly and the burn of his gaze struck at her heart. “Do not say such things.”

“It was-”

“I love you, my moonlight. Even in jest, I will not have you speak of yourself that way.” He released his grip on her dress to gently hold her face in his roughened hands and swept his thumbs across her cheeks. “But it is good to hear you laugh again. I have missed the sound.”

Y/N nearly melted into his grip with a soft sigh and closed her eyes to savor his touch a little more. But then her mind started to wander, back to when she was still untouched by war and courtly politics. “I’ve always wanted one or two.”

He leaned forward to press his head against hers and Y/N could feel him smile as he kissed her forehead. “I can give you that.”

“I want them to have your eyes and good heart.”

Oberyn chuckled and then wrapped his arms around her, dragging her a little closer. “As long as they are healthy, my moonlight, I will be happy.”

And as she curled beneath her blankets that night, mouth still tingling from the kiss Oberyn left her with, she thought of little Loreza and Dorea trying to teach two little ones how to read on the shore as the Dornish sun warmed their skin.

And the thought carried over to her dreams where Oberyn crooned in her ear some lullaby she couldn’t place, a babe in his arms.

**

“Could you throw one more?” Y/N asked.

The young squire chuckled and nodded, pulling another bruised blood-orange from the pile collected from the groves and threw it into the air. Y/N quickly pulled back the bow’s string and loosed another arrow. It soared through the early morning air and pierced the skin of the orange and ripped through before it sunk into the target. It lined up almost perfectly with the six other speared blood-oranges on the target, dripping red-pink juice across the wood.

Y/N waved off the squire moving to clean off the target and said she didn’t mind the work. “I am sure I have kept you from your duties for far too long.”

“It is a pleasure to serve, Princess. You are a formidable archer.”

“Flatterer,” Y/N mused and watched the squire try to hide a shy smile before bowing and dismissing himself. She carefully pulled the arrows from the target and licked the juice from the tips and threw the discarded oranges out into the garden to let them feed the soil. It was still too early for most others to come to the courtyard to train. The last handful of days had seen most of the Dornish armies leave Sunspear to relieve the sorties at the border and to lead an incursion into the Stormlands.

A sudden noise had her turning and ready to nock another arrow. But it was just Robb, still haggard from sleep, with Grey Wind trailing beside him. The pair stared at each other for a moment and Y/N had to will herself to loosen her grip on the bow and carefully place the sticky arrows back into a pile. Robb approached her slowly. Much slower than Grey Wind who nosed at her leather breeches before letting out a low rumble as her gloved hand found the spot behind his left ear he loved having scratched.

“We have not spoken properly, cousin.” His mouth opened and closed twice. “I have missed you,” was all he managed.

Y/N nodded. She did miss him, too. “We are a long way from Winterfell.”

Robb’s smile was small but sincere. He took a step closer. And then another. And then his arms were wrapping around her and pulling her to his chest in a tight hug. Y/N’s arms wrapped around him tightly without a thought or care. Tears gathered in her eyes and she quickly shut them in a half-hearted attempt to keep them at bay. But then she was holding him in earnest and remembering how he and Jon would laugh in the Wolf’s Wood and string blue roses behind her ears with dirty fingers and would always make her smile whenever they could. It was so strange to see him now, the burden of a bloody crown on his head and scars littering his skin. It was strange that the boy she knew, full of smiles and fond of laughter, was now so quiet and serious.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

The tears were coming in earnest now and she felt Robb’s own trickling onto the shoulder of her tunic.

“You saved Sansa. Arya. You kept them alive and I repaid you with your father-”

“Don’t say it,” she said, biting back a whimper. “Do not say it.”

He held her tighter. And she tightened her hold, too.

“What happened to us, Stark?” She whispered.

The claimant king shuddered in her grip, the tears continuing their descent. “I do not know.”

And the pair held each other for a little longer until they heard other guards and soldiers approaching the training ground. Y/N stepped back first and noticed the sadness in his eyes but he blinked and turned his head and it was gone. The careful mask of kinghood was back in place. “I did come to speak to you of something else, Lady Tully. If you would permit me a moment of your time.”

She nodded, her own mask upon her face, too, and let him lead her toward a quiet corner of the training grounds with Grey Wind trailing beside them. And with each step, she noticed how Robb seemed to hold his shoulders higher to his ears. “What is it?” Y/N whispered when they finally slowed to a stop, mask slipping.

“Your father’s men want to fight. Riverrun still answers to the name Tully. And you, dear cousin, are the only Tully left alive and out of bondage.” When Y/N was quiet, Robb continued. “We sent the raven to Pinkmaiden—they responded that they wanted a commander. A leader.”

“And you think that I-”

“You are a Tully. You are Brynden Tully’s daughter. You have outmaneuvered the Lannisters at every turn. Who else would I send?”

**

She had kept Robb’s request to lead the Riverlanders’ forces to herself for only a handful of hours, trying to find the words to tell Ellaria and Oberyn. She thought time alone would help her, but all it did was wear on her nerves. A nervous tittering called her attention and she turned to see little Loreza staring at Grey Wind—the direwolf had made it a habit to splash around in the cool water of the Summer Sea at least a few times a day and was currently submerged up to his neck in the water, letting the waves wash over his back.

Y/N smiled despite her heavy heart and walked to Loreza’s side, biting back the question of how she’d managed to evade her Septa’s watchful eye this time. Seeing Loreza so nervous broke her heart a little. She was too young to be so scared. “He’s very big, isn’t he?”

“He’s almost as big as a horse,” the young girl murmured, dark eyes flittering back to the direwolf. “Obella said she saw him eat a man!”

“Obella is just teasing. Grey Wind is gentle—especially to little girls.” Y/N knelt down to Loreza’s level with a smile. “Would you like me to prove it to you?”

Loreza seemed to ponder it for a moment before nodding. Y/N held out a hand for her to take and led her over to the lounging direwolf. She held out her hand for Grey Wind to sniff and quickly lick before she scratched behind his ears. The water was starting to soak through her leathers but she turned to show Loreza how he liked to be scratched.

“Give him your hand, just like I did. Let him smell you.”

Loreza held out a shaking hand toward Grey Wind who sniffed all around before licking a wet strip across her little fingers and Loreza let out a loud giggle at the sensation. Her little dress was floating around her like a pale yellow lily pad.

“See? He likes you.”

Grey Wind continued to nose at Loreza’s arm as she started to run her fingers through his dark fur. “He’s soft!”

“I heard King Robb brushes him every night,” Y/N said with a waggle of her eyebrows. Loreza smiled at that and then let out a surprised squeal when Grey Wind licked at her face. “I think he likes you more than me!”

Loreza finally pulled her other hand from Y/N’s hold and happily pushed her little fingers through Grey Wind’s damp fur. A particularly tall wave washed over them and Loreza laughed as Grey Wind licked the water from her hands. “Would Father let me have a direwolf?”

“Direwolves are of the North, like King Robb and Sansa and Arya. And they are rare there, too.”

The girl pouted at that but did not stop her petting. “Will King Robb let me pet him while he is here?”

Y/N nodded and promised to speak to Robb on her behalf before she noticed a figure standing on the shoreline. “It seems your father has discovered us.”

Loreza looked back at the shore and grimaced. “I did miss my lessons today.”

Y/N urged her gently to find her septa, promising to speak with Oberyn, and watched her dash away through the water toward the sand and dodged her father’s hand as he reached for her with a teasing smile.

Y/N eventually pulled away from Grey Wind and squared her shoulders before pushing against the water toward Oberyn who waited for her.

“It is good to see you with them. You are gentle—but I do think you let them get away with far too many follies.”

Y/N smiled. “Even I missed a lesson or two when I was her age. A little rebellion is good character.”

He shook his head with a soft laugh and pulled her close despite her wet clothes before brushing his lips against her forehead. “I’ve spoken with Doran. He wants me to lead a command of my own into the Crownlands.”

“Oh,” was all she could manage. She knew he was a seasoned commander but the thought of him leaving the safety of Sunspear had not come to her. Perhaps she had deluded herself into thinking he would always be safe.

“And the wolf king has told me of his plans for you.” Oberyn looked at her and she held his gaze, even as she felt his sigh against her wet skin. Slowly, far too slowly for her liking, he reached up to hold her cheeks in his hands. “Do you truly mean to lead them? If this is the wolf king pressing you-”

“I have to, my prince. Robb or not.”

“Does your honor demand it?” He asked, almost teasing. But his tone lacked its usual warmth.

“It does.” Y/N reached up to cover his hands with hers and keep him close, half-scared that he would walk away, too. “Just as yours requires you to do the same.”

The pair was quiet for a moment, only the sound of the waves against the sand to listen to as time stretched on. Oberyn was looking at her, truly looking at her all the while and it was the sadness and resignation in his eyes that dug straight through her heart. He kissed her softly without a word before stepping back. “I would have you safe.”

And Y/N wanted to ask what he meant but he grasped at her hand and led her without a word toward the armory. “She is an archer, she needs to be able to move,” Oberyn said as he started to dig through the careful stacks of pieces of armor and accoutrements the blacksmith had forged for the Dornish forces. He quickly found pieces of light armor; shining mail, vambraces and pauldrons stamped with Martell suns, a light cuirass which would fit her feminine form. And as she gathered all of her armor to her chest, equal parts excited and anxious, she watched Oberyn turn to her. His dark eyes held some secret sentiment. Sad and proud and something else she could not place.

When they found Ellaria, she seemed to already know their news. “Oh, my two warriors.” And then she was gathering them close and lathing slow kisses against their lips and pushing them onto the bed. “Just let me have tonight, my loves. Just tonight before the Realm rips you away from me.”

And there was nothing carnal in the way they all burrowed under the blankets as the sliver of the moon rose or the way hands roamed and lips parted with gentle sighs. It was just love, simple and soft.

**

The younger Sand Snakes filtered into her rooms throughout the afternoon to watch Y/N pack away the essentials, just enough to fill two small saddlebags. Dorea tried to give Y/N her beloved Morningstar, “to keep you safe!” but Y/N quickly and gently pushed it back into the young girl’s hands. “You have to keep your mother safe until your father and I return. You cannot do that if I have your Morningstar, right?”

Elia sniffed at that and suspiciously turned her head away.

“And your sister, Elia, she will protect you," Y/N said, acknowledging Elia's pain without making it a point of conversation. Elia did not like to dwell on emotion.

It earned another sniff and a curt, “don’t die. I like having you around.” ("I do, too!" Dorea added.)

Nymeria and Tyene arrived soon after with words of encouragement and two matching vials of poison. “Just in case! Father likes to slick his blades with it. Perhaps you could dip a few of your arrows?” And that spoke volumes, at least to Y/N, about how they cared for her in their own way.

But Sansa was near tears despite the steadiness of her voice as she let herself into Y/N’s chambers. “Must you go? It feels like I've just had you return.”

“You know I must, little one. Robb’s asked it of me and I know you would do the same if Winterfell was still under Bolton colors.” Y/N reached out and pulled the redhead into a familiar hold and said nothing when she felt tears start to wet the fabric of her tunic. “But I will come ba-”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say something you cannot know to be true.”

Y/N pulled back and grasped at Sansa’s chin. “I am coming back. The Stranger themselves could not stop me.”

Sansa nodded with a watery hiccup and pulled her close for another hug before there was a knock at the door. Y/N kissed Sansa’s forehead before calling out a welcome to whomever it was. Ellaria stepped in, a roll tucked under her arm and Sansa quickly excused herself and shut the door tight on her way out.

Ellaria was quiet for a moment before she walked to Y/N’s side. There was a quietness to her features now but tears still pooled in her beautiful eyes. She pressed a kiss against her cheeks, her nose, her forehead, before touching her lips to hers in a soft, reverent kiss that tasted like citrus and salt. She sniffled just once as she pulled back and she handed the bundle to Y/N with a single wobble of her chin.

Y/N unwrapped it and marveled as more and more of the gift was revealed. The bow was black, darker than night and stronger than steel. It was dragonbone. A rare prize indeed.

“Father said it was one of the smaller bones from Meraxes. It was meant,” she had to clear her throat. “I meant to give it to you as a wedding gift. But I would rather you have it now. I know your aim will be true.”

Y/N quickly set the bow down on the bed and pulled Ellaria close without a word, trying to somehow convey the hope that she would return through the touch alone instead of words she knew would fail. “I love you,” was the only phrase she dared whisper. I love you. I love you. I love you.

When dawn broke the next morning two Northmen Robb entrusted with her care were waiting for her at the stables. Qēlos nuzzled into her palm as the mare's tack was secured and Y/N smuggled her an apple to devour as she swung up into the saddle. Y/N was finishing saying goodbye to a tearful Sansa when Ellaria and Oberyn appeared at the stables. Oberyn was already dressed in his light armor and Ellaria had donned a fauld of four lame across her waist. A little armor of her own. Everyone around them seemed to understand the need for privacy and quickly vacated the area or decidedly avoided pointing their gazes toward them.

“We will not try to dissuade you. Your wrath is justified and glorious.” His hands reached up to cover hers on the reins. The warmth slowed the wild beating of her heart just a fraction. “But we will ask that you do not forget us.”

Y/N’s poor heart leapt into her throat and she hurried to move her grip, pulling Oberyn’s hands up to her mouth to press a kiss against his knuckles. “The gods themselves could not take you from my mind or heart, my prince. I will see you again when this is over, when the Lions are dead and the Realm can have peace.”

Oberyn untangled his hands from hers only to grasp the back of her head to kiss her, artfully stealing the air from her lungs with ease as his mouth moved against hers in slow, unyielding ministrations. As he pulled back, he pressed another kiss to her forehead, breathing in the scent of her hair for a moment before releasing her. His fingers trailed down her arms to tighten the lacings of her vambrace. “Then I shall see you again, my moonlight.”

Ellaria was quiet but kissed her soundly. “Come back,” was all she said.

“I will,” Y/N whispered in return.

And then they were off. Y/N looked back at the gates of Sunspear after every new turn on the road, watching it grow smaller and smaller. The Northmen offered no words but did give sympathetic smiles after they caught her sad expression.

But then there was a thundering of hooves against the sand-covered road and Obara was at her side in a moment, dressed for battle and saddlebags packed. “You will not fight alone, Little Fish.”

And then Arya, on a horse that was definitely not hers, was galloping to her side, too. “I’m coming, too!”

Y/N knew she should tell them no. Send them back to Sunspear and Oberyn and Robb and Safety. But one look at their determined faces left her sighing. “Your father and brother are going to kill me, you know.”

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Obara said with a smirk. “I’ll protect you.”

A/N: Please let me know what you guys think! I really appreciate it. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut​ @lostinwonderland314​ @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills​ @nyrnerosmartell​ @5hundreddaysofsummer​ @honestlystop @huliabitch​ @youhavemyfantasticbeasts​ @karmezii​ @thesadvampire​ @sarcasmisakindofmagic @alexa4040​ @paintballkid711​

[ethereal-november]

5 & 15 for the oc you last wrote about!

thank you for the ask :0 <3. I wrote from Harmen’s perspective last time, so i’ll write about him :>

5.) Guilty Pleasures

he’s really busy trying to be a good king/preparing to be a good king, so he feels like he should only do king related stuff so he can live up to his family’s expectations. so he feels like a lot of his hobbies are guilty pleasures unfortunately :(. he really likes to read, paint, and watch movies/TV. + for a real guilty pleasure, he likes sweet baked goods a lot :)

15.) What it takes to make them cry

When Harmen was younger, probably not a lot. But in high school + beyond, he started to bottle up a lot of his emotions to present himself in a calm and composed manner at all times. he thought he would be seen as a better leader and crown prince this way + some push from his dad and family. Now, it would take him a lot of stress and repeated tragedy to break and let his emotions out.

[iimuchakk]

Can I have a scenario of Sinbad and his short male s/o getting caught doing the do by Jafar

Of course you can sweetie!! I hope you like it!! xx

Trigger warning : For anyone reading this who isn’t comfortable with smut (Sexual content) then this imagine isn’t for you.

——————————————————————⊳
                                           Sinbad and short male s/o getting caught in the act                                       
——————————————————————⊳

“Sinbad please. You’re dunk.”

“When has that ever stopped you before~?”

Letting out a sigh, s/o looked up towards the taller man, a small pout adorning his lips. A week ago Sinbad had announced a an upcoming Majrajan, due to a new southern creature inhabiting the water making a few unsuspected appearances. This morning however, the water beast was defeated and served up nicely by both Yamuraiha and Sharrkan who of course, made a nice competition out of it. Personally, s/o would have been ecstatic if not knowing what role he would play at the festival. S/o was tasked with looking after the drunken Sinbad and make sure no more unwanted heirs came from him by spending nights with ladies from his beloved Harmen.

“Sinbad. I have never slept with you before-”

“Oh. So you’re not one of my Harmen ladies?” An aggravated groan forced its way through s/o’s lips and his face grew a deep red from both annoyance and embarrassment. Not only did Sinbad want to have sex with him, but he wanted to have sex with him for being someone else. S/o’s eyes narrowed sharply and a darker aura emitted from his body differing from his last. All in all, his anger was portrayed as amusing. He was to short to be taken seriously in drunk Sinbad’s mind. The king did not voice that he couldn’t take s/o seriously however. Instead he just let out a slurred “Aweee” and stroked his hair in a soothing manner, as if s/o was a kitten.

“No Sinbad! I am s/o! God i wish Ja’far or one of the other generals could look after you! You really are a pain in the -” S/o was stopped abruptly in his act by Sinbad’s hand suddenly moving from his hair to his hip instead which was a while down since he was noticeably shorter. Despite this being the motion which caused s/o to fluster further. What really made them blush was the purring. “Sinbad what are you…?” S/o suddenly didn’t have the voice to speak. His vocals causing his voice to sound like a whisper the further he spoke.

“So you’re s/o.” Began Sinbad. His majesty’s voice deep and husky and his golden orbs practically boring into s/o’s own. The king almost seemed sober. But s/o had to much will power to become one of Sinbad’s one night stands. Gently, s/o pushed Sinbad’s hand off of his hip taking a step back and gently colliding into the wall. Fortunately Sinbad didn’t make any movement to trap s/o in-between both himself and the wall which was decorated in only the finest of paintings. Instead, he gave a toothy grin before whispering.

“No need to be scared little one. The king will take good care of you.”

How did the king ever talk s/o into something so rash? How did he manage to get him so sit back and relax on his plush bed. To allow him to slowly and teasingly strip both him and himself of all their wordily belongings until they were both left stark naked, the only light to allow either of them to see being a dimly lit candle on the bedside table and the moon light which shone through the window. S/o blushed deeply, realizing the size difference between his member and Sinbad’s. It wasn’t that his was small despite what his height would suggest. It was just that, Sinbad’s was very big.

All to suddenly, s/o was trapped in a fiery kiss that tasted like the finest wine in all of the kingdoms. Sinbad hovered over the smaller male, their chests pressed against one another before Sinbad moved one of his hands towards s/o’s member. Sinbad’s fingers gently began to stroke it in soothing motions, causing s/o to let out a satisfied groan at his actions.

“Already so hard?~” Sinbad managed to slurr out. The king knew exactly how to embarrass s/o, who lay submissively on the bed letting Sinbad pleasure him through out the night. Sinbad took s/o’s large member in his calloused hands before he started to pull it, jerking him off. This caused s/o to throw their neck backwards, emitting cute gargling sounds and grunts from their very lips. The sight of s/o’s face in the dim light as well as the feeling of his pre-cum leaking on Sinbads hand caused the king to have a little problem of his own.

When s/o’s was near to reaching their limit. Sinbad quickly retracted his hand grinning evilly down at the whimpering mess beneath him. S/o growled lowly, though it sounded more like a desperate whine. Sinbad was certainly hard now. The king had a thing for whiners because it showed he was good at teasing his lovers and putting them on edge. Wanting his length to the point they may even beg, but Sinbad was to drunk and aroused himself to make s/o beg.

A yelp left the small males lips as he was flipped over, his hips being grabbed by Sinbad before he purred. Feeling his asshole being teased by Sinbad’s tip. Though, this did cause him some distress.

“Sinbad a-are you sure we should go through with this - ahh~” The king grabbed s/o’s member smirking. He decided to pleasure him from both the front and the back to calm any doubts he may have about the love they will be making together.

“I’m certain.” Muttered the king. Chuckling as he yet again began jerking s/o off. His groans and grunts echoing around his bedroom. It was sweet music to Sinbads ears. He could even argue it was to sweet, as all it did for him was make his cock twitch in anticipation. Smirking, Sinbad lined his s/o’s butt up with his member before repeating words previously spoken to him.

“What was it you were saying earlier s/o? About me being such a pain in the -”

The door flung open, causing the two males on the bed to halt in their actions as another voice spoke up.

“Sinbad…”

“Ja’far…”

“S/o?”

“H-hi Ja’far…”

“What are you two doing...?”

“Having sex. Say Ja’far want to join?”

“SINBAD!”

[qwertsypage]

2020 Scrummer Reading List+

2020 Scrummer Reading List

We all know this is a very different kind of summer (or winter for our friends in the Southern Hemisphere). One where the need to escape, learn, grow maybe even more acute.  Our annual tribute to great reads (and listens) is here to help. 

We asked the team what books they are currently nose-deep in, or that they highly recommend others check-out. As always, they came back with some great suggestions across genres. 

JJ Sutherland, Chief Executive Officer recommends:

  "Both Flesh And Not " by David Foster Wallace

This posthumous collection may not be his best, but his worst is so much better than any other modern American essayist it’s criminal and suspicious. Mozart and tennis. The captive mind. 

        "Poet in New York " by Federico Garcia Lorca

Lorca is the greatest of gifts, an amazing poet I had yet to discover. Fitting this book was given to me as a birthday present. And I love the fact the Spanish and English versions appear side-by-side.  

  Jessica Larsen, Product Owner, Scrum Inc. Trying Program recommends:

"The Fearless Organization" by Amy Edmundson

Today's workforce spends more time collaborating (team-based work) than ever before; knowledge and innovation are crucial sources of competitive advantage in nearly every industry, yet 70-85% of the world's workforce is either not engaged or actively disengaged at their jobs. In this book, Edmundson discusses the importance of psychological safety and creating an environment of respect for people (a pillar of the Toyota Way) in improving workplace engagement. For me, this book provided great empirical evidence and theoretical basis for why the Scrum Values and pillars of the Toyota Way are so important in the workplace.

  Mark Rosania, Product Owner, Transformation Services recommends:

"The Bastard Brigade: The True Story of the Renegade Scientists and Spies who Sabotaged the Nazi Atomic Bomb" by Sam Kean

Scientists have always kept secrets. But rarely have the secrets been as vital as they were during WW II. In the middle of building an atomic bomb, the leaders of the Manhattan Project were alarmed to learn that Nazi Germany was far outpacing the Allies in nuclear weapons research; Hitler, with just a few pounds of uranium, would have the capability to reverse the entire D-Day operation and conquer Europe. So they assembled a rough and motley crew of geniuses - dubbed the Alsos mission - and sent them careening into Axis territory to spy on, sabotage, and even assassinate members of Nazi Germany's feared Uranium Club. No theater of the war, from battlefields to laboratories, was considered off-limits, and for good reason: the entire outcome of the war rested on Also's shoulders.

  Matthew Jacobs, Chief Product Owner, Agile Transformations recommends:

“A Brave New Work: Are You Ready to Reinvent Your Organization?” by Aaron Dignan

This is a fascinating book on the future of work and what a reinvented organization could look like. Dignan leverages a lot of Scrum principles in this work but sometimes with a twist.

  “The Splendid and the Vile: A Saga of Churchill, Family, and Defiance During the Blitz” by Erik Larson

A brilliantly researched book (as all of Larsen's are) but I have to disagree with the subtitle. As you read you realize this book also shows how Churchill leveraged “Agile techniques” to prepare England's respond to Hitler’s take over of Europe and to win the Battle of Britain

    Veronica Ruiz, Director, Marketing and Communications recommends:

Ghost Boys - by Jewell Parker Rhodes

Twelve-year-old Jerome is shot by a police officer who mistakes his toy gun for a real threat. As a ghost, he observes the devastation that’s been unleashed on his family and community in the wake of what they see as an unjust and brutal killing.

This book was assigned to my fifth grader, parents were also invited to read it. I am glad that I did. The book tackles timely issues like racial bias, bullying, and class directly, honestly, and deftly. It reflects current events and explores the long history of racism. It is a short and powerful book.

  Patrick Roach, Chief Product Owner, Training & Consulting recommends:

"Make Me Smart" hosted by Kai Ryssdal and Molly Wood

This is a daily news podcast focused on tech, the economy, and culture. It's ~15 minutes of well-researched content that only focuses on a few topics each day. Kai and Molly do a great job of making sense of what it all means. I learn something new every day.

    Brandon Cole, Art Director recommends:

"Atomic Habits, An Easy & Proven Way to Build Good Habits & Break Bad Ones"  by James Clear

Why do we struggle to change or improve our habits? James Clear writes one of my favorite reads of the last few years in Atomic Habits, discussing the importance of tiny changes and marginal gains. His balance of storytelling and statistics reminds me of a Malcolm Gladwell book where you find yourself grabbing a pencil or highlighter to document some of the information.

Find yourself questioning the norms of habit-forming in this excellent New York Times bestselling book.

      "Lean Presentation Design"  by Maurizio La Cava

Did you know many people spend more time designing and organizing in PowerPoint than they do creating the content? In Lean Presentation Design, Maurizio La Cava covers everything you need to know about creating successful presentations without being a designer.

  Jess Jagoditsh, Scrum of Scrums Master, Transformation recommends:

"Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine" by Gail Honeyman

This is a story about our inherent need for human connection. Events from Eleanor's past erased her understanding of why humans need each other and of the warm feelings that come with friendship and caring. The story is particularly relevant right now as the global pandemic and shelter-in-place have caused many of us to be at home, sometimes alone, every day. Let us not forget the importance of having relationships and community.

Jack Harmening, Transformation Team Member recommends:

"The Fate of Rome: Climate, Disease, and the End of an Empire" by Kyle Harper

The Fate of Rome is my first foray into a new kind of historical analysis that links biology, economics, and good old-fashioned archeology. It's just an awesome book for any fan of history. Harper describes how different experts have analyzed bones, cliffsides, soil, coins, viruses, bacteria, and of course, ancient documents, to track a complete history of the health and wealth of the Roman people, as well as the climate and disease ecologies they experienced. The Rise and Fall of Rome were both more linked to external variables than I ever imagined. Read this if you want to learn from the past, so that, maybe, we aren't doomed to repeat it.

"The Narrow Corridor: States, Societies, and the Fate of Liberty" by Daron Acemoglu and James A. Robinson

Another historical view of economics and institutions, I paired this one with 'The Fate of Rome' because Acemoglu has always been interested in how institutional design affects the wealth of nations. The conclusion here is that personal and political liberties persist when a set of institutions walk the 'narrow corridor,' dodging authoritarianism or weak governance on either side. Perhaps if the Romans not been dominated by "extractive" hierarchies, perhaps they could have innovated enough to survive the changing climate and plagues that shook its foundations. Read this if you want to learn more about why some nations fail, and others succeed.

Tom Bullock, Product Owner, Storyteller recommends:

  “Why We're Polarized" by Ezra Klein

Yes, this is a book about the causes and effects of America’s polarized political system. Dig a little deeper and it's about much more than that. Klein weaves in a significant amount of social science and data to help explain how and why polarization occurs. And it can occur anywhere. This non-partisan book about politics is a must for anyone thinking about change management.

        “What's Magic Without A Little Mischief" by Charlie Bullock

Sorry, you can't get a copy of this one, not yet at least. But I still think it's worth sharing. Charlie, our 9-year-old daughter, loves to write. Summer felt like the perfect time to start her first novel. What’s Magic WIthout a Little Mischief tells the tale of the Ko children as they discover the secrets their murdered parents never told them, including the magical abilities they all possess, and the threat they face in the shadows. Charlie is 6 chapters in, and I’m loving it!

      Megan Fremont-Smith, Transformation Team Member recommends:

"Dare to Lead"  by Brene Brown

This book is about using courage and vulnerability to lead. If you are looking for a good read on the human-centric approach to leadership this book is for you.

  Ray Robinson, Transformation Advisor recommends:

"Principles"  by Ray Dalio

I was drawn to Ray Dalio’s after seeing him on a 60 Minutes segment. In his most recent book, Mr. Dalio gives a biographical narrative to his successful rise in the financial industry. Through his experiences, he came to develop a fairly lengthy set of learned principles he has leveraged to reach his success.

Two favorite things about the book:

1) The backstory of Bridgewater Associates

2) Dalio does have a deep appreciation for the importance of people and culture in a successful organization

      The post 2020 Scrummer Reading List+ appeared first on Scrum Inc.

2020 Scrummer Reading List+ published first on https://koresolpage.tumblr.com/

[ladystylestores]

Suriname’s Strongman Shrugs Off Murder Sentence in Re-election Bid

Suriname’s 74-year-old president looked straight at a judge as she read his sentence for crimes committed during a 1982 political purge that cemented his grip on the small South American nation.

“You have been sentenced to 20 years in prison for committing murder,” she said that day this past January, according to witnesses.

The spectacle, virtually unheard-of for a sitting president, stunned the audience.

For the president, Desi Bouterse, his conviction before a military court in Suriname was just the latest chapter in a four-decade battle to maintain power. Appealing the ruling and avoiding prison through presidential immunity, he is instead running for re-election.

Monday’s vote will be one of the biggest tests of his career. Amid an economic crisis and a pandemic, Surinamese will decide whether Mr. Bouterse will spend his twilight years ruling the country or serving time.

“He’s a survivor, above all else,” said Hans Ramsoedh, a Netherlands-based Surinamese historian. “He has no beliefs, no ideological vision, apart from desire to remain in power.”

During his career, Mr. Bouterse has been a colonial careerist, a feared military dictator, a magnate and, recently, a populist.

He has staged two military coups, terrorized his opponents and forged the country’s first multiethnic political coalition. He has deceived the middle class but empowered Suriname’s poor.

Mr. Bouterse did not respond to repeated requests to be interviewed for this article. With his support sliding, his party has skipped all public debates and has instructed supporters to avoid the news media before the vote.

The 14 opposition parties contesting the general elections hope that crumbling living standards and corruption scandals will prevent Mr. Bouterse from retaining a majority in Parliament and force him to resign. But even they acknowledge that support for the charismatic president remains high among the poor and that his criminal convictions give him ample reason to hold power at all cost.

“My hope is that people will vote for change, because we deserve much better than this,” said Maisha Neus, 33, a businesswoman and opposition candidate for Parliament. “My outlook is more gloomy.”

Mr. Bouterse has built his recent popularity by adapting the populist and nationalist stances of allies in nearby Venezuela to Suriname’s diverse society, made up of descendants of enslaved Africans, Indian and Indonesian indentured laborers, Chinese merchants and Indigenous people.

He has promoted his humble origins and mixed race to set himself apart from Suriname’s traditional politicians, who tend to represent single ethnic groups. Over the years, his National Democratic Party has grown from a military clique into the country’s first major multiethnic political movement, breaking down the voting patterns that have divided Suriname since independence from the Netherlands.

“He knows the Surinamese society very well, and that’s the key to understanding his success,” said Peter Meel, an expert on Suriname’s history at Leiden University in the Netherlands. “He relates very easily to people from many different backgrounds. You can have a drink with him, get close to him.”

Similar to Hugo Chávez, Venezuela’s late strongman and Mr. Bouterse’s personal friend, Mr. Bouterse has showered supporters with cheap houses and food with little regard for the state’s coffers and captivated them with folksy speeches, singing and dancing. His spending has left the country practically bankrupt, forcing the government to raid banking reserves to import food ahead of the elections.

Mr. Bouterse often attributes the country’s struggles to “white men in shorts,” his moniker for foreign powers like the Netherlands, which governed Suriname for 300 years.

Mr. Bouterse was born into a poor family in Suriname’s sugar belt. A restless, ambitious youth, he dropped out of high school and enlisted in the Dutch Army, serving, among other places, at a NATO base in Germany during the Cold War, according to Nina Jurna, a Brazil-based Dutch author who wrote a book about Mr. Bouterse.

As Suriname was nearing independence in 1975, the Dutch invited Mr. Bouterse and a few dozen other Surinamese officers to return home and build the new national army.

Dissatisfied with the new country’s economic stagnation, Mr. Bouterse took power in a military coup in 1980 with the tacit support of Dutch officers stationed locally, according to Dirk Kruijt, a Suriname expert at the University of Utrecht in the Netherlands.

The exact role played by the Netherlands in Mr. Bouterse’s rise to power remains unclear. Despite calls for disclosure, the Dutch government has kept the official files related to the coup secret.

After taking power, Mr. Bouterse ruled Suriname through terror. Fearing a counter-coup, in 1982 Mr. Bouterse ordered his soldiers to round up, torture and execute 15 dissident officers, union leaders, journalists and businessmen.

The killings, known as the “December Murders,” crushed the core of Suriname’s nascent elite, traumatizing the small, peaceful country and altering its course.

“It was a war against Surinamese people,” said Amanda Sheombar, who was 12 when her cousin, an army sergeant, was killed in the massacre. “We lived in fear, everyone assumed they could be next targets.”

Mr. Bouterse would later accept “political responsibility” for the killings, but never personal responsibility. He has said, without offering evidence, that the executions prevented larger bloodshed by decapitating a coup plot.

The Dutch reacted to the killings by suspending a generous aid package. It was the beginning of Suriname’s economic decline, punctuated by regular currency crises, defaults, strikes and devaluations.

To compensate for the loss, Mr. Bouterse played the Americans and Soviets for financial support and even hosted a Libyan Embassy, a rarity under Col. Muammar el-Qaddafi, the Libyan dictator. Dutch prosecutors claim he also turned for revenue to Colombian cartels, earning him a drug-trafficking conviction in absentia in the Netherlands.

When asked once during the Cold War if he was left wing or right wing, Mr. Bouterse replied he was merely a military man, taught to march with “left foot, right foot.”

When Suriname transitioned to democracy in 1987, Mr. Bouterse ditched his military uniform for three-piece pinstriped suits and pocket kerchiefs — but he kept control of the army.

As he accumulated wealth, entering lucrative ventures in mining and real estate, he remained the real power behind the scenes, once even forcing Suriname’s entire government to resign with a telephone call.

He also began reinventing himself as a democrat and an alternative to Suriname’s colonial-era governing parties. Feared at first, his party steadily built support over the 1990s.

By the time he won an electoral victory in 2000, Mr. Bouterse, a Scotch-sipping power broker, had transformed into a cheerful man of the people, donning polo shirts and sipping beer with supporters in the poor quarters of Paramaribo, the capital. He was re-elected in 2005.

Under Mr. Bouterse’s elected governments, his past excesses were gradually forgotten. The massacre was never taught in Suriname’s schools, and a new generation born after the dictatorship had no interest in hearing about long-ago crimes, said Henri Behr, a Surinamese business consultant whose brother was killed in the December Murders.

But now justice may finally catch up with Mr. Bouterse, Mr. Behr said.

Mr. Bouterse’s court appearance in January, the first since the case began in 2007, was a cathartic moment for victims’ families.

“I was expecting to see a strongman,” said Mr. Behr, who was in the courtroom. “What I saw was great fear.”

Harmen Boerboom contributed reporting from Paramaribo, Suriname.

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[synthsizedproductions]

The Passage

I sat under the big tree in our yard, reading one of the books I had borrowed from the library. I had to return it when my mother and I went back that day, so I was speeding my way through the last few chapters. It also helped to distract me from the yelling coming from inside the house. 

My parents had been fighting all morning. I heard my name several times which usually meant my mother was trying to defy my father's will. Sometimes I wished I could be the warrior my father wanted me to be. It wouldn't be for my father's sake but my mother's so she didn't have to endure the maltreatment from defending me.

"Fine! Just take the boy!"

"The boy has a name!"

"Serin!"

I jumped to my feet when my father called my name. I ran inside, abandoning my books near the tree. I tried to hide my fear as I approached them. My father's cold eyes bore into me like daggers of ice. "Y-yes, Sir?"

"What would you rather do, train with me or go to the library? And don't lie to me. I will know."

I hesitated, glancing at my mother but finding no guidance in her eyes.

"Well?"

My gaze returned to my father as I considered my options as quickly as I could. "You want me to be honest, Sir?"

"That was the point, yes."

I gulped nervously. "Honestly, I want to go to the library. My ribs still ache from our training the other day." That wasn't quite true, but I hoped the excuse would be enough for him.

He narrowed his eyes at me before turning away. "Fine. Go." He stalked out of the front room.

My mother and I both let out our held breaths. She smiled at me. "That was very brave."

I shrugged, my eyes still glued to the doorway my father had left through. "He wanted the truth."

She knelt down and kissed my forehead. "Being honest in the face of adversity is brave, Serin. Are your books still outside?"

We quickly made our way to the library, my mother holding my hand tightly until we were safely in the fortress of knowledge. 

Nerif's welcoming smile turned to a concerned frown when he saw how upset my mother was. "Is everything alright, Maria?"

She gave him her best smile as she shooed me toward the book return area. "We can talk about it in a minute. Go return your book and find a new one, honey. I'll let you know when it's time to go."

I left the adult Angels to their conversation, finding a new book in no time and going to my reading corner. I was both surprised and happy to see Lyza already sitting there.

She looked over her book at me and smiled in that way that made my face feel warm. "Hey there, Ser. I was worried you wouldn't make it."

fI sat next to her, my book left unopened on my lap. "I almost didn't make it. My parents were fighting again. My father wanted me to do more physical training today."

"And you stood up to him? I'm impressed."

"It wasn't that impressive. All I did was tell him the truth."

"Yeah, but you stood up to a commander for what you wanted. I don't think I would have been that brave."

I blushed at the compliment and hid my face behind my book despite knowing she had seen my face redden. She laughed in her musical way that always made me shiver a little. We sat in comfortable silence as we both read our books.

"Go back home, Harmen."

My attention was pulled to the counter, surprised to see my father towering over my mother and Nerif. I tried to make myself as small as possible even though my father's full attention was directed at those in front of him.

"I just need to talk to you, Maria."

Nerif stood but was still remarkably shorter than my father. "She said you should leave."

My father glared coldly at the librarian. "Stay out of this. You've disturbed the order of my family enough."

Nerif was not deterred by my father's scowl, about to give a retort until my mother put a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Nerif."

Nerif sat sat down again but kept his glare on my father.

I panicked when my father began leading my mother to my corner. "No, no, no."

Lyza took my hand, pulling my focus to her. "Hey, it's okay. I know a place we can hide until he's gone." She pulled me up and toward a set of shelves I had never ventured to examine. It was filled with books on dangerously dark magic. She glanced around conspiratorially when we reached a shelf against the back wall. She put her finger to her lips as she pulled a black leather bound book. The bookcase swung open to reveal a hidden passage.

I followed her inside and we were plunged into darkness as she closed the secret entrance. "I didn't know this existed." My eyes quickly adapted to the lack of light and I could see we were in a long brick tunnel.

"Almost no one does, I think. I found it on accident the other day. I didn't explore much because I wanted to share that experience with you." She took my hand and led me into the unlit passage.

"Why? What if something dangerous is down here? I don't think I'll be very helpful if we get in a fight."

She laughed with a shake of her head. "Your father has you paranoid, Ser. What kind of physical danger could we really be in under the library?"

Though I could only barely see, it seemed like Lyza knew where she was going. We passed a couple staircases that all led into an inky abyss. She pulled me down one of them and my eyes were unable to adjust any further.

"Where are we going? I can't see anything down here."

"Don't worry, I can see just fine. It's amazing to have the gift of dark vision. I won't let you get hurt, Ser. You know you can trust me."

We stopped at the base of the stairs and Lyza rummaged in her pocket. "I know that key is here somewhere." I heard her slide a key into a lock and the passage was illuminated by the dim lights in the now unlocked room we stood in front of. "Come on. This is where they keep all the stuff they don't want us to see."

I followed her into the room, my eyes going wide when I saw the dusty cases full of magical objects and shelves of ancient looking books. "I don't think we should be here, Lyza…"

She went over to one of the cases and wiped some of the dust off to better see its contents. "Everything is fine, Ser. Live a little. It isn't like I'm going to take anything out of here. Besides, aren't you curious what hidden knowledge those books hold?"

I glanced at the shelves, unable to deny the pull I felt to examine them. "I guess it can't hurt…" I went to the first shelf and ran my fingers along the spine of each book. "None of them have titles on the spine." I stopped when I reached one that had several  almost completely faded symbols on it. "Except this one."

"You should give that one a look. I can almost feel your curiosity from here."

I touched the faded symbols, a static tingle going up my arm. 

What harm could it do?

I plucked the book from the shelf, wiping the layer of grime from it. The same unreadable symbols were on the cover. I traced each one with my finger, my breathing speeding up from anticipation. I slowly opened the cover and flipped through the first several pages.

"Ow!" I looked down at my hand to examine the paper cut running down the length of my finger. I tried to stop the bleeding, but wasn't fast enough to prevent spilling my blood on the ancient pages.

"You okay?"

I looked over at my concerned friend and held up my hand. "Just a paper cut."

She gave me a confused look. "I don't see a cut."

I reexamined my hand, perplexed at the injury's disappearance. I looked down at the book only to discover there was no blood on the pages.

"I...guess I imagined it…"

I continued flipping through the pages, this time being more careful of the edges. Realization dawned on me when I finally recognized the symbols.

"This is from the First Era...These are mystical writings. A spell book, I think."

Lyza moved to stand behind me. "Just looks confusing to me. Can you read any of it?"

I traced the symbols on the page I had open. "Maybe. This language has been long dead, lost when the Bloodlines were hunted down. At least, that's what I was told. I only recognize them because I saw Nerif sketching some in his notebook. He briefly explained how to unlock their meaning."

"Well? What does it say then?"

"Give me a minute." I concentrated on the writing, trying to piece together the text from my limited knowledge. 

"Time is a cycle. 

Fate repeats eternally. 

The spark of Creation lights the path. 

Wanderers beware the Darkness. 

A path taken cannot be returned from. 

Bound with blood. 

The journey begins." 

I felt a surge of power race through me and dropped the book.

"You okay?"

I stared at the open book on the floor, Lyza's words feeling far away. "Yeah...I'm okay."

She frowned and moved toward the door. "We should go, Ser. Your father has probably left by now." 

While her back was toward me, I grabbed the book and shoved it into my bag before following her. She took my hand and led me back into the pitch black stairway. We walked in silence as we made our way back to the library.

"Do you smell that?"

"Do I smell what, Ser?"

"It smells like sulfur."

As we got to the slightly more lit portion of the tunnels, we saw smoke billowing up from several of the other stairwells. The acrid smell filled my lungs, making me cough uncontrollably. I tried to block the smell out by pulling my tunic over my nose, but it only helped so much.

"We need to get out of here!"

We both ran as fast as we could toward the secret doorway, horrified to find it engulfed in flames. Lyza grabbed my hand again and pulled me down a side hall. "I know another way out!"

Despite our rapid pace, the smoke wasn't far behind us. I was relieved when another door came into sight. Lyza shoved at the door, but it wouldn't budge.

"Something is blocking it…"

Horror filled me as the smoke caught up with us, making breathing all but impossible. We huddled together in the corner and neither of us hid our terrified tears.

The door suddenly burst open, wood shrapnel flying past us. My mother ran in, scooping me up and pulling Lyza to her feet. She wordlessly ran through the burning library, making a beeline for the only exit not engulfed in flames. As we almost reached salvation, beams collapsed on us and the world went dark.

"Maria! Maria, wake up!"

I startled into consciousness when I heard my father's panicked shouts. I tried to sit up, but my body wouldn't respond. All I could do was let my head roll to the side his muffled voice had come from. He was kneeling over my mother's broken and bloody body. His clothes, hair, and feathers were burned, tears and blood streaming down his face. I had never seen my father cry before.

A healer approached my father cautiously. "Harmen, she's gone. We need to get you and the kids help. Please."

My father stood, somehow seeming smaller than usual. His attention moved to me when I attempted to get up again. "Don't try moving, Serin. I won't lose you too…"

I don't remember the trip to the hospital I woke up in. My entire body ached and it hurt to breathe. To my left was Lyza, unconscious and hooked up to just as many machines as I was. To my right was my father who was staring up at the ceiling with a blank expression. 

"F-father?"

He slowly turned his face in my direction. "Go back to sleep, Serin. You and I have much work to do when we are healed."

It was my turn to stare at the ceiling, haunted by the fact that my defender was gone forever.