#I raised that dragon from an egg! Look at the woman she became!

[ooc-miqojak]

Having thought about this prior... and strangely, at length? GW2 (Guild Wars 2) commander - because all the main character protags can only be defined by the setting they're in/held up against. As far as capabilities and power and also the ability to bring disparate peoples together, only the FFXIV WoL comes close to GW2 Commander. And Commander isn't like the WoL - they're not 'the chosen one', they don't have a lightning bolt on their forehead, or special powers from a time before time. The Commander is... just a guy (or gal, or whatever you want) - they're just a person who helped to save the planet once, and just kept getting roped into it. In a world where the gods have long since left, Commander is tasked with killing the only god left: the now-insane god of war.

Ans you fail. You die. You go to the realm of death, that has no keeper... but lots of failsafes, and despite being 'just some guy'... you do what has never been done before: you crawl right back out of the underworld. Because your friends need you. Because the world is in peril, and only you can lead the charge. Because you have to be there to see Taimi grow up - and Aurene, too. You have to give them a fighting chance in a world where nothing is certain anymore.

And when brawn and magic isn't enough, Commander isn't afraid to listen to their friends and peers - one of whom is a disabled child genius with a terminal illness. And sometimes, even though Commander is doing the heavy lifting... your friends' intelligence and courage is what actually saves the day - you just had to make sure they could enact their plans. It's not always about you, even though you're one of a kind yourself... by sheer virtue of the spite you're running on, I think, lol.

Commander suffers, though - they lose many a friend in the innumerable battles along the way, and I like the snark and weariness that begins to weight their voicelines. But you never forget those who died to aid you in your quest to save the world (- but it's not shoved down your throat like the constant Haurchefant stuff in XIV /cough).

In XIV, the story is predictable and the WoL is special - a chosen one, more powerful than anyone else by virtue of a soul rejoined many times over... and I appreciate Commander a bit more for not being special. They're forced to break limits, and even die for what they fight for - and their companions aren't perfect either. They're all fallible and relatable... and sometimes they fall in combat. Other times, they're just a young man with mommy issues who needs to find himself, and make a name for himself outside of his mother's shadow; and yet other times, your friends are a pair of lesbians who have lost their fair share of loved ones along the way, and couldn't be more different from one another, yet found a safe place in one another... and when the world is finally safe, your band of misfits comes together to celebrate their love at a small, beautiful wedding. I'll forever be more attached to those companions than any others, I think.

At least until this most recent expansion...GW2 story was solid, and despite not playing in a long while, it holds a special place in my heart. (Special mention to DA:O protag though /cough)

theres very limited options for this so i tried to pick the most "popular" ones i personally see from my mutuals !! if your favourite you think is an Obvious Choice isn't included you may curse me for 1,000 years.

ofc feel free to tag which specifically is your favourite :D and pls reblog for reach!!

[asumi2020202]

Everything has a Price to Pay

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: Daemon's hired men, whilst trying to slay Aemond in his bed, accidentally harmed his wife and his son and Aemond blames his wife for it.

A/n: The 2nd episode of s2 broke my heart. The way Helaena clung to her son's blanket. But anyways, this is something which is somewhat based on the storyline of ep 1 and 2 of s2 but unlike the directors taking out Alys Rivers from the show, I'm including her. Thank you for reading!

______ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ___________________________

All throughout the kingdom, you were known to be the gentlest of souls much like your sister. Though she was naive and all too forgiving, you were a bit unlike her. You preferred knowledge but both of you were kind.

Your marriage to Aemond was exactly like Aegon and Helaena's. To keep the bloodline pure. Except the only difference was that both of you loved each other and that he was not like Aegon.

You always stayed with either your sister or your husband ever since a child. Or sometimes you would accompany your eldest brother, he only had you who understood him.

Unlike his brother and nephews, you didn't tease and harrass Aemond, for you too knew what it felt like to not be heard. He felt as if he could only seek comfort in you and his mother as a child and even now.

When he had claimed Vhagar, he had to pay the cost with his eye.

He realised he loved you when the maester and maids tried to usher you away saying the stitching and mending to his face would too horrific to see for your gentle soul yet you stood your ground and held his hand while your mother pleaded for justice.

You felt hate for your father. For he blindly trusted his daughter, disregard anyone else. If someone even asks him your name he probably would not be able to say.

After that incident in the Red Keep, your half-sister's family fled to Dragonstone.

_________________________________________

War had started. Your mother along with your grandsire, successfully installed Aegon on the throne. Your husband Aemond had took the life of your nephew.

You knew that the House of the Dragon would tear each other apart. With no literal escape.

It was only some days before your child would be born. Having your first child with your husband. The only happiness in this devastating time.

Your happiness has crashed down when you got a raven. Your husband was laying with some bastard whore in Harrehal. The only thoughts you would get were

Did he not love me? He always swore that he would never leave me and stay by my side, that he will be different than our father.

He looked happy when he got to know of our child yet he is laying with another woman.

What did I do wrong?

Why did he lie?

He left you right when the war had been declared and he finalized it by killing your nephew.

Your mother tried to help you. Completely disappointed in her son. She raised him better yet he still did this. Harming her daughter, hurting her emotions and dishonouring her.

You stayed with Helaena until the pressure of it all became too much to bear and ultimately pushing you towards your labor.

_________________________________________

You laid in your bed crying, sweating and panting, while your husband was who knows where.

You held tight onto your mother's hand as Helaena quietly said "A price must be paid for all that is done."

Soon enough your child was born. It was a son. Your little Aenor.

Moonfyre's roar were heard. She could sense a new presence. One familiar to her bonded sister.

You cried as you took your son in your arms, your mother kissing your head as your sister gently rubbed your arms.

_________________________________________

Moonfyre had laid her eggs 3 weeks before your son's birth.

It had been a week since you had Aenor. Since your husband, if you can even call him that now, had not returned. You took it upon yourself to get him his own dragon egg.

As you walked through the dragon pit, you saw some dragon keepers scared.

"Moonfyre iksos daor īlva jikagon va zyhōn. Nyke suggest ziry would sagon wise naejot daor jikagon va zyhōn nykeā zyhōn drōma sir." Said a dragon keeper.

Moonfyre is not letting us go near her. I suggest it would be wise to not go near her or eggs now.

"Dīnagon aside. Nyke shall ūndegon skoros nyke kostagon gaomagon." Came your reply.

Move aside. I shall see what I can do.

As you walked further in, you saw you dragon, guarding her precious eggs.

You walked towards her. She's let's out a small noise upon recognising you. You gently placed your hand on her snout and then your forehead. With her wings she gently pushed you towards her eggs, guarding you.

You chose an egg for your son. Before leaving, you patted her snout and scratched it a bit, giving her some comfort.

_________________________________________

Night had already fallen over kings landing. You were with your son in your shared chambers. He had fallen asleep to your gentle humming.

As you were cradling your son to your chest, you heard the door being opened. You thought it was perhaps a maid but as you turned around you saw the rat catcher that comes everyday.

He was smirking and held a knife. Soon after him, entered a muscular man who had a knife as well.

"A son .. for a son he said." Said the muscular man. "Oh but look there, thats his son." Replied the rat catcher to the other man.

As the other one looked at you, you felt dangered.

"I.. have a necklace. It.. is of great value.." you cradled your son closer to your chest with one arm while with the other hand you tried to open the necklace.

The muscular man simply tore it away from your neck. Fear was evident in your eyes. You took a step back as the rat catcher said

"Hand him over and you'll live. We only need him."

As he approached you, you placed your right hand over your right thigh where your own dagger was kept.

The rat catcher tried to forcefully take your son but before he could do so, you kicked him in his crotch. While writhing in pain, he slashed your arm. The other one was coming towards your son, but as he tried to slash him in your arms you turned around.

His blade dug through your back. Muscles getting slashed. Extreme pain courses through you. Yet you didn't give up. U took out your dagger and slashed his cheek and stabbed his chest. As he flinched away, you took your chance and ran out the room, you nightgown red with your blood.

You didn't know where to go. Time was limited. You could hear faint moaning noises. Cradling your son closer to your chest, with your jaw on his head, you followed the noise.

You came infront of your mother's chambers and entered without a second thought. You saw her with Ser Cole but you didn't care about that. Your energy was running out. A lot of blood was lost. You didn't even know if you would survive.

With your remaining strength you said "Mother". You shakily walked to her and somehow gave her your son as you collapsed beside her bed.

Alicent's scream could be heard from everywhere. She couldn't believe her eye. Her little sweet y/n was bleeding out in front of her. She put Aenor on her bed as he wailed out loudly.

Alicent kneeled before her daughter and hugged her to her chest. Her blanket and body getting bloodied. She cried and cried.

Aegon and Helaena had appeared as well. Helaena couldn't watch, tears flowing from her eyes. She took Aenor as a maid escorted them away to her room.

Aegon rushed beside his mother and sister. Gently taking her in his arms as maester Orwyle came through hurriedly, asking Aegon to put you on the bed.

Aegon very carefully laid you on your stomach on the bed. While maester Orwyle asked them to leave the room, both your brother and mother did not stop crying.

_________________________________________

Aemond had landed on the Red Keep. Getting off of Vhagar, he walked inside the castle. As he entered, he could see a man being dragged to the dungeon. Blood everywhere. Maids rushing around.

He saw his brother. But he wasn't as he usually was. He knew after becoming the king, Aegon had changed, but now he looked completely different.

His hair not brushed. Eyes red and tired. Blood. He was covered in blood.

As Aemond walked towards him, he heard Aegon say to a guard "kill every rat catcher you can find. Spare none."

Aegon looked away from the guard and saw Aemond. His eyes filled with fury. He marched towards him and grabbed his collar.

"Finally came back huh brother? It could've been avoided with you here yet you chose your whore over everything else." Aegon said, trying to keep his calm which is very unlikely of him.

Aemond felt ashamed and confused. Ashamed for being disloyal to you and dishonouring the family and confused thinking about what Aegon was saying.

"Look I'm sorry brother, that was a mistake. But do explain what you mean by it could've been avoided. What has happened?"

"Our sister had given birth to your son a week ago. And today she-" Aegon stopped. His tears flowing uncontrollably. "T-today she and my nephew were attacked. She is badly wounded. Maester Orwyle is with her but he said that she lost a lot of blood. That she was already weak from the birth and now this." With this Aegon completely broke down.

Aemond's breathing stopped. He chose his whore over you. The one who always stood up for him. He felt ashamed. So ashamed that he might sink and drown.

He ran towards his mother's room after Aegon told him where you were while he went down the dungeons to deal with the man who dare hurt you.

As Aemond reached, he saw his mother. Scared and fearful. He knew he fucked up bad. As she noticed him, she walked up towards him, looked him in the eyes and slapped him. He deserved it.

_________________________________________

You slowly opened your eyes, trying to take in your surroundings. You saw your husband pacing around the room.

He noticed that you were awake and spoke. "You're awake" you remained silent as you recalled the events of last night.

"Aenor.... My son.. my son Aenor! Is he okay?! Did he get hurt?!" Your enquired as you suddenly sat up, ignoring the pain in your body. Worried for your son.

"He only had a small cut on his feet. Nothing else. He is okay." Aemond replied helping you back down. You felt relieved and finally acknowledged your pain and groaned.

He didn't knew what came over him in an instance. He felt anger towards the ones who hurt you and his son. He was angry with himself but instead it got directed at you.

"If only you had taken better care of the security, none of this would've happened.." he muttered.

"What?" You sat up again, not believing your ears.

"If only you knew how to fight, this would've never happened! You can't fight, can't run, you can't even protect our child like a mother should!! You should have called more guards!!" He shouted while pointing his finger at you.

You got up from your mother's bed and stood as you held onto the bed.

"It is my fault now?! Huh?! You're the one who's irresponsible. You left me!! You left me and my child to fend for ourselves!! You left us for your whore whom you sought comfort in instead of your wife!! Where were you when we were attacked huh?! Were you fucking your whore?! Were you creating your bastards?!

You promised me that you were different. That you would treat me with respect unlike other husbands with their wives. You said you were different but...... You're just more of the same.." your voice raised and came down as tears flowed rapidly. Your would reopened because of how tensed your body was. Your nightgown was starting to get bloodied again.

Aemond was shocked. He yelled at his precious wife. His gentle lady wife. And she who never raised her voice no matter how angry or raged up she may be, shouted at him.

He fucked up greatly.

You winced as you fell to the ground. Blood getting everywhere as Aemond rushed to your side and gently tried to pick you up but you refused.

"Don't. Do not touch me with the hands that you used to hold her. I may be a woman. I may be the most vulnerable, but I have an honor. Neither my son nor do I need you. I will ask Aegon to annul our marriage. After that you may return to your whore and I will raise my son alone." You said, wincing as pain shot through you body.

Your lady in waiting came in and got you up on the bed and called maester Orwyle.

As Aemond got up from the floor, he was speechless. He never knew one mistake would cost him his everything. The words you spoke hurt more than when he lost his eye.

The entire day those words circled his thoughts.

_________________________________________

It had been a week since the last time Aemond met you. He had went to Harrehal and returned. Aemond walked inside your shared chambers after he got to know that you shifted back there. Aegon provided two guards infront of your door.

He watched as you cradle your son to your chest with your left hand which was fine and hummed a valyrian song to him.

You stopped as you as noticed him. You gently put Aenor in his crib and straightened your back.

"I'm sorry" he started.

"You sorry means nothing to me. You say your sorry now but next chance you get you'll run back in her arms." You spoke, gazing out the window.

"There will be no next time. I got rid of everything that would come in between us." He replied as your body stilled after hearing his words.

"Whatever do you mean?" You asked, turning back to face him.

"I got rid of her. All i now need is your forgiveness. For you to accept me again. To trust me again. Please avy jorrāelan. Forgive me this once." He begged as he got down on his knees and held your hand.

You were shocked. He killed her. He killed her without a second thought. You wanted to loathe him but deep down you loved him.

"I don't know..... I don't know anymore. I want to trust you Aemond. But I can't. I can't trust you. You've hurt me far too much.

It'll take a while to heal the scar you inflicted upon me but I will try. I will try to forgive you." You replied shakily.

He got up and hugged you lightly not to press on your wounds.

"Thank you my love. Thank you" he spoke as he kissed your head.

You gave in to his warm embrace. War has started. But right now you just want to be held.

You would think later of how to punish those who dare harm your family.

Those who hurt your son will pay. They will pay with their life. And you will see to it that they burn in flames. You will make sure that they rot in hell even if you too would have to.

After all nothing is for free....

Everything has a Price to Pay.......

[daenerystargaryen06]

"He told me the moon was an egg, Khaleesi," the Lysene girl said. "Once there were two moons in the sky, but one wandered too close to the sun and cracked from the heat. A thousand thousand dragons poured forth, and drank the fire of the sun. That is why dragons breathe flame. One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

Here we have a passage of a story Doreah tells Daenerys, a tale of two moons in the sky. One wandered too close to the sun, and it cracked from the heat, resulting in dragons. And that one day, the second moon will 'kiss' the sun.

Notice G.R.R.M's play on words here. In this story, the first time one of the moons cracks, it "wandered" too close to the sun. And for the second, it is said that the second moon will "kiss" the sun. This is deliberate.

"You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." Jon glanced over his shoulder. The shadow was there, just as she had said, etched in moonlight against the Wall." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

Notice the same phrase of wording used here in Jon's passage. He has been "kissed" by the moon, etching his shadow along the Wall.

As I've stated in my post here, I believe that while Daenerys is the main focal point for her role as AA/TPTWP, she would be joined by others in this task. One of those people being Jon. He will be one of the three heads to join her side for the coming war against the Others. To unite the realm against the cold, and the dark.

"One day the other moon will kiss the sun too, and then it will crack and the dragons will return." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys III

"You should look behind you, Lord Snow. The moon has kissed you and etched your shadow upon the ice twenty feet tall." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon VI

As for these two passages- let's believe they are to be taken literally. It happens for Dany and Drogo the first time around: Drogo is the sun, Dany the moon. Dany "wanders" too close to the sun, Drogo, in his funeral pyre, and thus her dragons hatch.

Now how could this relate to Jon?

I believe Jon being "kissed" by the moon, is in reference to Jon and Daenerys' eventual future romance and union together. We have evidence for this, provided from me here and here. More quotes providing into Jon being Daenerys' last romantic interest and husband:

". . . three heads has the dragon . . . the ghost chorus yammered inside her skull with never a lip moving, never a breath stirring the still blue air. . . . mother of dragons . . . child of storm . . . The whispers became a swirling song. . . . three fires must you light . . . one for life and one for death and one to love. . . Her own heart was beating in unison to the one that floated before her, blue and corrupt. . . three mounts must you ride . . . one to bed and one to dread and one to love. . . The voices were growing louder, she realized, and it seemed her heart was slowing, and even her breath. . . . three treasons will you know . . . once for blood and once for gold and once for love . . ." --A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

"I don't . . ." Her voice was no more than a whisper, almost as faint as theirs. What was happening to her? "I don't understand," she said, more loudly. Why was it so hard to talk here? "Help me. Show me." . . . help her . . . the whispers mocked. . . . show her . . . Then phantoms shivered through the murk, images in indigo. Viserys screamed as the molten gold ran down his cheeks and filled his mouth. A tall lord with copper skin and silver-gold hair stood beneath the banner of a fiery stallion, a burning city behind him. Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name. . . . mother of dragons, daughter of death . . . Glowing like sunset, a red sword was raised in the hand of a blue-eyed king who cast no shadow. A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. From a smoking tower, a great stone beast took wing, breathing shadow fire. . . . mother of dragons, slayer of lies . . . Her silver was trotting through the grass, to a darkling stream beneath a sea of stars. A corpse stood at the prow of a ship, eyes bright in his dead face, grey lips smiling sadly. A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness. . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . . mother of dragons, bride of fire . . ." -A Clash of Kings - Daenerys IV

Notice that each prophecy given to Dany in the HOTU was given to her in three, each one ending in love. When asked to be shown what it meant, Dany is given visions. Two connecting her to Jon, both ending in three, as her prophecies for love:

"Rubies flew like drops of blood from the chest of a dying prince, and he sank to his knees in the water and with his last breath murmured a woman's name" - this is clearly Rhaegar, Jon's father, dying upon the Trident. It is believed he is whispering Lyanna's name, Jon's mother.

"A blue flower grew from a chink in a wall of ice, and filled the air with sweetness" - Dany is seeing Jon at the Wall, through the metaphor of a blue flower (connecting him to Lyanna- blue winter roses). The air is full with sweetness- a metaphor to love, and sweetness- something Dany likes (also maybe this hints to Dany joining Jon at the Wall, giving him the three dragons he wishes for in another passage).

Dany will be the moon, who kisses Jon, her second sun. A reference to their love and union.

Now- how does this bring dragons into play? Who knows. The wording is a bit tricky here. The passage states that when the second moon kisses the sun, dragons will return. And yet dragons have already returned- Dany hatches her children the first time she "wanders" too close to the sun. So how do dragons come into play with her and Jon's union regarding this text?

Well, perhaps it may not be so literal. Maybe the return of dragons from Dany and Jon's union is that Jon will gain a dragon. Maybe Jon will discover ice dragons. Maybe they will find more dragon eggs at Winterfell or somewhere else. Maybe Dany's own dragons will breed and begin a second hatching of eggs, thus "returning" dragons once more with Dany and Jon's union. There are different possibilities for this.

Jon's resurrection can also lean more into him being the second sun to Dany, as he would be a wight of fire.

"Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she'd appeared." -A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

"That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. Some small part of her knew that she was dreaming, but another part exulted. This is how it was meant to be. The other was a nightmare, and I have only now awakened." -A Storm of Swords - Daenerys III

"And saw her brother Rhaegar, mounted on a stallion as black as his armor. Fire glimmered red through the narrow eye slit of his helm. "The last dragon," Ser Jorah's voice whispered faintly. "The last, the last." Dany lifted his polished black visor. The face within was her own." -A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

Both Jon and Dany experience dreams of fighting the Others.

-Both are wearing black armor and both are wielding fire; Dany with her dragons, Jon with a sword.

And while their dreams share similarities, they also bear differences:

-Jon is battling the Others upon the Wall, whereas Dany is battling them within the Trident.

-Jon sees Ygritte and realizes too late he's killed her (a person he views with grief and regret), Dany however believes herself to be Rhaegar (a person she sees as a fierce warrior and protector).

Both are also viewed by other people as the chosen ones, AA/TPTWP:

"On Braavos, it had seemed possible that Aemon might recover. Xhondo's talk of dragons had almost seemed to restore the old man to himself. That night he ate every bite Sam put before him. "No one ever looked for a girl," he said. "It was a prince that was promised, not a princess. Rhaegar, I thought . . . the smoke was from the fire that devoured Summerhall on the day of his birth, the salt from the tears shed for those who died. He shared my belief when he was young, but later he became persuaded that it was his own son who fulfilled the prophecy, for a comet had been seen above King's Landing on the night Aegon was conceived, and Rhaegar was certain the bleeding star had to be a comet. What fools we were, who thought ourselves so wise! The error crept in from the translation. Dragons are neither male nor female, Barth saw the truth of that, but now one and now the other, as changeable as flame. The language misled us all for a thousand years. Daenerys is the one, born amidst salt and smoke. The dragons prove it." Just talking of her seemed to make him stronger. "I must go to her. I must. Would that I was even ten years younger." -A Feast for Crows - Samwell V

"Daenerys is the only hope," he concluded. "Aemon said the Citadel must send her a maester at once, to bring her home to Westeros before it is too late." -A Feast for Crows - Samwell V

"Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow. Whenever she was asked what she saw within her fires, Melisandre would answer, "Much and more," but seeing was never as simple as those words suggested. It was an art, and like all arts it demanded mastery, discipline, study. Pain. That too. R'hllor spoke to his chosen ones through blessed fire, in a language of ash and cinder and twisting flame that only a god could truly grasp. Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames. Yet now she could not even seem to find her king. I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow. "Devan," she called, "a drink." Her throat was raw and parched." -A Dance with Dragons - Melisandre I

Jon and Daenerys both have arcs of leadership. In which both have to make hard decisions that they believe is best. Both have the qualities of strong leaders, military strategists, and unifiers. It might turn out that Jon will wind up helping Dany in the books gather the people to face against the Others and fight against the cold and the dark. Perhaps even coming into acceptance of his true parentage and relation to Dany as well.

Both Jon and Dany are also known to have cultivated into, lived with, loved, and learned the humanity of the Freefolk and the Dothraki- two factions many view as "savage" and "barbaric", and yet I believe that the Freefolk and the Dothraki will come into a big play for both Jon and Dany against the war of the Others. The culmination of their work and efforts into unifying people to work together against one common enemy.

[eu-nicola]

vikings x fem!oc

It was going to be with reader but I needed to give it a name

my first language isn’t English and I didn't correct this

summary: vikings brothers have a sister who can control dragons and has powerful magic (anon request)

The baby Freyja had been born with an eye the same as that of a snake with a different color and pupil shape, it was thought that it was because of her ancestors and that it was a way of proving that in the future she was going to be a strong and powerful as her father was. And they weren’t wrong.

In one of Ragnar's trips he found a somewhat strange egg, larger than a normal one with scales and green in color, he took it and took it to his sweet daughter, this was going to be the compensation gift for being gone so long. The day her father returned home the little girl was playing away from everyone while they were looking for her, she didn't care and continued with her game because she thought it was funny how she could move the twigs in the air and throw them far away she even try to try with a big stone but it was too big for someone so tiny.

When they finally found her, her mother didn't realize what she was doing, she just told her it was time to stop playing and took her inside so she could see her father, he welcomed her with open arms and a kiss on the cheek. When the girl began to ask him a thousand questions about where he had been he immediately smiled and took out his gift, Freyja was surprised to see her new gift, it was beautiful for her.

Over time the girl realized that it was not a normal egg and saw a small dark green dragon come out of there, just like its shell, she loved this but she did not want to tell anyone because it was her secret, it was her dragon and if she said so maybe they would want to take it from her and she didn't want to, so she decided to hide it in a cave that she had seen once with her father and brothers not so far from the place but that no one ever went to.

Months passed and even in such a short time the dragon had grown immensely, Freyja, only 6 years old, escaped every day without anyone seeing her and brought the dragon something to eat, she always convinced a prisoner to follow her and she took them there for the dragon she had called "Arrax", certainly she was never afraid to take a prisoner because she knew that they couldn't do anything to her because she had her dragon taking care of her.

One morning Freyja was trying to get a prisoner and escape but for the first time her brothers saw her and instead of telling her something they just followed her to the cave with the prisoner being sure that the man was not going to do something before they killed but it was not necessary because they were surprised when they saw the dragon eat the man in one bite. Immediately the girl noticed the presence of her brothers and smiled at them as if what she had done was a little game. "brothers", the little girl yelled, she came to hug them and at that moment Freyja introduced Arrax to them and she tell them that he was a good pet and very pretty, when her half-brother Bjorn wanted to push her away, she immediately made him fly away the air raising it as she had once done with that twig but now she had been able to do it with it.

"Don't try to take me away from Arrax again." she told them.

At first everyone was so surprised at the beast that even they who are not afraid of anything for a moment were afraid of the dragon. For now no one was going to say anything but maybe in the future when his sister became a woman they would be able to use the dragon for their own purposes. Without speaking they all looked at each other and it seemed that they agreed even Freyja herself that she was already eager to ride the dragon and feed it with her enemies.

[tragedy-peanut-gallery]

Hello, I know it happened a long time ago, but in one of your posts about headcanons of our beautiful tragic queen Naerys, if someone asked you about headcanons of other characters maybe you would answer them. I would like to hear your headcanons about Daenerys daughter of Naerys (Her life at court, hobbies, possible dragon, her relationship with her entire family, Daemon and the prince of Dorne, did she have the same taste as her mother in clothing and religious faith? ) and Rhaenyra, about almost the same thing.

Oh hell yah, thank you for sending an ask!!

- Daenerys I think was most likely kept away from court for most of her childhood by Naerys and eventually Daeron when she went into his custody because in all fairness I doubt Aegon’s court was really a good place to be for a princess, but she would’ve had more of a chance to build a small social circle of friends for herself when her brother became king!

- As for hobbies, I could see her as loving dancing and horseback riding. If I could give her any special interest it would absolutely be map collecting, as a kid Naerys promised her they would travel everywhere so she spent a lot of time gathering maps on where she wanted to go, and it just kinda snowballed from there lol. Her room in Dorne probably has a giant atlas of the world made of sewn together maps that she spent a good couple of years making lol

- For a possible dragon…. Honestly the most likely would’ve been Morning I think, but man if I can pick any for her it would absolutelyyyyy be Meleys. Like, not to use the show as a reference but a red dragon with bright copper horns that look like a sun??? That’s so thematically pleasing come on!!!!

- For familial relationships, she absolutely loved her mother, but was probably too young to really understand the concept of death when Naerys passed. She does love Daeron and Myriah as her secondary parents (we don’t talk about Aegon), and was likely raised to think of their sons as her brothers. Her favourite sibling though was likely Shiera, just cause she was happy to have a baby sister <3

- As for romantic relationships though….. I could see her and Daemon having a mutual childhood crush because they were raised in an environment that saw sibling relationships as normal, but both kinda grew out of it as they became more and more distant, and like- yaknow, got married and all. Until canon says otherwise I’m absolutely putting Maron’s age as just a few years older than her because idk- don’t like the idea of a sixteen year old marrying a thirty-five year old man, but in any case I think their relationship was polite but distant for the first few years of marriage. She really fell in love with him when he made the water gardens for her <3

- When it comes to faith, no doubt in her early years she was taught a lot about the seven by Naerys, but I can’t really see her being particularly religious? Especially not after her mom died. She’d still kinda respect the faith because that is what’s expected of a woman in her society, but she doesn’t go out of her way to pray every single day for sure.

I’m really sorry, I don’t really have much on Rhaenyra because she isn’t really a character that I think about that much 😭 the best I can give is one headcanon about her and her siblings:

- Which is! Idk I think she was initially really happy when Aegon and Helaena were born, because she was like- ten, didn’t initially have a bad relationship with Alicent yet and wasn’t aware of the political ramifications of Aegon’s existence. Idk!! I could see her picking out the shiny gold egg for her baby bro so they could have matching dragons and begging for her baby sister to be named Visenya and playing with them! Sue me I like a little joy before the tragedy starts!

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game - CH131

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

-----

Chapter 131: The Dream of the Holy Nun (XXI)

Save countdown: 30 seconds, 29 seconds, 28 seconds…

As time passed, Qi Leren stared at the familiar yet strange man on the throne. His mind was blank. He couldn't think, and he didn't dare to think. The unspeakable fear that had been hidden deep in his heart for a long time was confirmed at this nightmarish moment - he had opened the door of the defenseless shelter and invited the polite devil standing outside to come in.

If everything from when they had first met wasn’t a coincidence, how many secrets had he inadvertently revealed?

Qi Leren was so desperate that he couldn't even think about it.

Twenty seconds, nineteen seconds, eighteen seconds…

"Good evening, Leren, why don't ask my name?" Su He asked softly from the throne.

Qi Leren closed his eyes painfully. If Su He was a demon, he was definitely not an ordinary one. He had deliberately used him to come to this where the Holy Dun killed the old Devil more than 20 years ago, and what he sought was by no means an ordinary thing.

Qi Leren asked hoarsely: "Power or Slaughter?"

Su He smiled lightly and said meaningfully: "I’m the one you missed."

"Impossible, the Lord of Fraud is a woman..." Qi Leren retorted with shock only to realize instantly.

In the Witchcraft Sacrifice task, both he and Ning Zhou had been forced to appear as another gender. If the Devil of Fraud had also appeared in the task he would probably have been like them, as it would be fun for the Devil of Fraud to hide his gender... Qi Leren suddenly remembered the voice he’d heard vaguely in the underground palace: "Because it’s very interesting. It's so interesting to watch you cheat and kill each other because of despair, fear, and jealousy."

That gentle and beautiful voice made him feel cold all over. He had never heard this voice, but the tone had felt familiar. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t recognized the source of this female voice, but the tone and the habit of speaking were clearly….

"Now, do you understand?" Su He asked with a smile.

He understood. Everything was clear. Ever since Su He had first appeared in the Novice Village, he had noticed his abnormality. The so-called Novice Village bug was not only the killer, but also a laptop loaded with the Nightmare Game. But at that time, Su He had no evidence. He’d just watched him and waited patiently for him to reveal his flaws.

The Witchcraft Sacrifice was a temptation which had made him carry out a task under the Lord of Fraud’s nose, but still he’d found nothing. No, maybe he’d left some marks on him. And then he was parasitized by the seed of slaughter with an abnormal growth rate, which may have been coincidence or may have been inevitable.

Castle Cry was a trap that had been set in advance. Isabel interfered with the copy’s history according to his command, and the ignorant Qi Leren had showed his biggest flaw - the laptop had appeared, then Su He followed, and then the computer disappeared mysteriously, perhaps in the hands of Su He, perhaps by a certain force intending to hide the secret of the computer from Su He. However, in the Castle Cry, Su He had become 100% sure that it was Qi Leren.

He had been gentle and considerate, patiently dormant, and had presented himself properly. Finally, he’d received the invitation as he wished and entered the Holy City, which had always been sealed to him. Maybe at first he was just a little suspicious and curious, but in the end he got a surprise.

Really, it was a perfect scam.

"It's so funny, the incredible expression worn by a blind, ignorant human at the moment when they discover the truth..." the voice belonging to Su He echoed in the hall. Under his gentle eyes, everything was just his playthings. Qi Leren shuddered.

Qi Leren suddenly didn't want to ask any more questions. He didn't want to know his calculations, his purposes, and what kind of person the real Su He was.

His time was running out.

Three seconds, two seconds, one second... The countdown for the skill’s cooling was 0:59:59.

"Time is up." The corners of Su He’s mouth hooked upwards as he looked at him happily. "From what I know about you, you’ll save before pushing open this suspicious door. You didn't even think about resisting it. It's not like you."

Qi Leren’s breath hitched. He knew that his strength was very different from Su He’s. As long as Su He used his field, he would be crushed to death in front of him like a worm, but what if... What if Su He was careless?

It was a gamble, but what other choice did he have than to accept his fate?

Most importantly... If he died…

"Where is Ning Zhou?" Qi Leren asked.

"Isabel’s with him. Although she’s only been the Witch of Jealousy for a short time, I gave her some extra preferential treatment. A small cup of Devil's blood makes such a powerful witch that surely even her friends would look at her with new eyes," Su He said.

Isabel? She was here too? How did she get in? It must be that Su He had hidden demons in his field and brought them into the Holy City.

Qi Leren's heart was getting heavier. What should he do? Exactly what was there to do? Keep stalling? However, even if he prolonged it, the situation wouldn’t get better. Even if Ning Zhou defeated Isabel, he couldn't be an even opponent for the Devil of Fraud.

No matter how he thought, there was a dead end ahead.

No, think again, calm down... He had to at least figure out the purpose of Su He’s chess game so that he could leave some glimmer of chance for Ning Zhou.

Qi Leren tried to stay calm, looking at the huge statue of Maria holding the sword she had stabbed into the black dragon. The sword on the statue of Maria was not made of stone, but instead was a huge metal sword reflecting a sharp arc of light.

This should be the real sword Maria had used to kill the Devil, that was, it was this field’s memento of destruction.

Just pull it out and cut open the field, and the task could be completed.

"That's Ms. Maria's sword. It has a holy and dazzling power. Unfortunately, Devils can't touch it... I should thank her for her dedication and sacrifice in changing the rule over the demon world." Su He stood up and held out his hand toward the black dragon.

The space before his hand twisted and the black dragon's chest suddenly lit with a deep red light, and a burning flame burst out of its chest and flowed back into Su He’s hand.

The flame went out, leaving a palm-sized ruby with bright red flowing inside it, as if it were blood.

Apart from the seed of slaughter, Qi Leren had never been able to feel demon energy, but he couldn't help shivering when he saw that ruby.

That was a kind of evil and overbearing power, which is disturbing and fearful.

"What is that?" Qi Leren whispered.

Su He held the ruby in his hand and looked at it with great interest: "It has many names. You can call it a higher form of devil crystallization or a collection of the evil in this world, but I prefer a name that’s easier to understand. In hell, it represents one third of the kingship."

Qi Leren swallowed his saliva. One third? Where were the two remaining thirds?

"There are a lot of things I know very well, so it doesn’t matter that there’s a lot I don’t know. I never ask questions, I simply enjoy the fun of solving puzzles. However, I originally thought you knew a lot. Although I don't know where you got the clue to enter the Holy City, it turns out that you only know a little about it after repeated trials. You’re really very careful," Su He said lightly.

The unsettling feeling struck again. Although he already knew what dangerous struggle he might be involved in, the feeling of being a pawn became more and more vivid at this moment.

He can't wait for his death any longer, but he would die either way. He still had the Easter Egg. As long as his body stayed intact, it could be resurrected in seven days, but... What could he do about Ning Zhou? Even if he could defeat Isabel, then take down Maria's sword, cut her field, and finish the task, so long as Su He has the heart to kill him, he couldn't survive.

Unless he could really kill Su He while he was being careless, but was this possible?

The gap in the strength of the field made Qi Leren so desperate that he even lost his desperate courage.

"Qi Leren," Su He called his name.

Qi Leren raised his head and looked at Su He stepping down the throne’s steps. He looked at him commandingly, and his scarlet eyes seemed to be filled with thoughtful interest.

"I’m curious, will a person who has experienced countless deaths still be afraid of death?" Su He asked.

"...They will be. No matter how many times, people are extremely afraid when they go to their death. This is engraved in their genes, so as long as there’s a choice, people always want to live," Qi Leren tried to answer calmly.

"Human beings’ desire to survive is really interesting, but it’s this kind of power that will give birth to incredible miracles." The Devil King standing on the high platform smiled at him, cut his wrist, and the bright red blood flowed into a goblet - the same goblet he had used when they had a picnic in the Garden of the Holy Tomb.

It’s just that what was in the cup now was no longer sweet wine, but sinful temptation from hell.

"For demons, 'to do aught good never will be our task, but ever to do ill our sole delight'. If someone has a firm soul, seduce him, torture him, and destroy him until his pure white soul is so dirty it falls into hell... But if you can’t, then fear it and destroy it." The Devil who enjoyed toying with people raised the goblet toward him and gently asked, "Now you have a choice: Would you like to be born of betrayal or die of martyrdom?"

-----

The author has something to say:

PS: “To do aught good never will be our task, But ever to do ill our sole delight.” -Paradise Lost.

-----

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

[butterflies-dragons]

DUNK SNOW

Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow are more similar than we thought... 

A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms is a book full of Dunk and Jon parallels and hints of Jon Snow’s true parentage. Here is what I found in my last re-reading.  

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is a collection containing the first three Dunk and Egg novellas by George R. R. Martin:

The Hedge Knight

The Sworn Sword

The Mystery Knight

It was indirectly confirmed that Brienne of Tarth is a descendant of Ser Duncan The Tall, and they share a lot of parallels. Some readers have also speculated that Ser Duncan The Tall is an ancestor of certain pair of tall brothers, and have also drawn parallels between those characters.    

But while I was writing another meta, I was amazed by all the similarities between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow, and I wondered, why there was not metas about it?   

Also, while reading the tales, you can find that Dunk and Egg, at some point, sound very much like all the Stark kids, even Rickon. Dunk and Egg can be romantics like Sansa, but they would also call “stupid” certain “feminine” or “romantic” things like Arya does, but at the same time they both dream of being knights of the Kingsguard like Bran, and always try to be fair and honorable like Jon Snow.    

But, in this post I’m going to explore the parallels between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow.  

DUNK AND JON

Thinking fast, we can say that,  

Dunk and Jon are both orphans and presumed bastards.  

Dunk defending Tanselle resemblances Jon defending Samwell.

Despite not being “proper knights” both are knights that remember their vows.

Their sexual awakening was with a red haired woman. 

Both met Maester Aemon.

Despite the prejudice against their low status, both became Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard and Night’s Watch, respectively.  

Both have connections with the North, Dunk visited Winterfell and scorted Maester Aemon to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, etc.

But there is much more.

THE  HEDGE KNIGHT

This tale is full of  Dragonflies and Dragons imagery. GRRM is telling us about dragons that don’t look like dragons, about Targaryens that don’t look like Targaryens, about princes in disguise and secret identities.

Dunk and Jon share the wish to prove the world they are worthy

Yet however fine their pavilions were to look upon, he knew there was no place there for him. A threadbare wool cloak would be all the shelter he had tonight. While the lords and great knights dined on capons and suckling pigs, Dunk's supper would be a hard, stringy piece of salt beef. He knew full well that if he made his camp upon that gaudy field, he would need to suffer both silent scorn and open mockery. A few perhaps would treat him kindly, yet in a way that was almost worse.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword. I must earn my place in that company. If I fight well, some lord may take me into his household. I will ride in noble company then, and eat fresh meat every night in a castle hail, and raise my own pavilion at tourneys. But first I must do well. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the tourney grounds and led his horses into the trees.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

There are a lot of hints of Jon’s true parentage in this tale, not only Egg being a Targaryen prince in disguise, but also a dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

He sat naked under the elm while he dried, enjoying the warmth of the spring air on his skin as he watched a dragonfly move lazily among the reeds. Why would they name it a dragonfly? he wondered. It looks nothing like a dragon. Not that Dunk had ever seen a dragon. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. 

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. 

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Don’t call me “My Lord”

Egg smiled. 

"Yes, my lord."

"Ser," Dunk corrected. "I am only a hedge knight." 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?

"Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice. The boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the longsword back into its scabbard. "No,” he replied.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“So how do you like the taste of your victories now, Lord Snow?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. “I never … I didn’t think …”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what’s that big thing for?”

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

She wiped her hands on her skirt. “M'lord—”

“I’m no lord.”

But others had come crowding round, drawn by the woman’s scream and the crash of the rabbit hutch. “Don’t you believe him, girl,” called out Lark the Sisterman, a ranger mean as a cur. “That’s Lord Snow himself.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

“Rise. I have heard much and more of you, Lord Snow.”

“I am no lord, sire.” Jon rose. “I know what you have heard. That I am a turncloak, and craven. That I slew my brother Qhorin Halfhand so the wildlings would spare my life. That I rode with Mance Rayder, and took a wildling wife.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

“Words. Words are wind. Why do you think I abandoned Dragonstone and sailed to the Wall, Lord Snow?”

“I am no lord, sire. You came because we sent for you, I hope. Though I could not say why you took so long about it.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk thinks that Tanselle is prettier than the blonde Lady Ashford. Jon doesn’t compared the blonde Princess Myrcella with anyone, but there is an interesting contrast between calling Princess Myrcella “stupid” & “insipid” and then calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”

The banner-bearer was a tall knight in white scale armor chased with gold, a pure white cloak streaming from his shoulders. Two of the other riders were armored in white from head to heel as well. Kingsguard knights with the royal banner. Small wonder Lord Ashford and his sons came hurrying out the doors of the keep, and the fair maid too, a short girl with yellow hair and a round pink face. She does not seem so fair to me, Dunk thought. The puppet girl was prettier.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Talking about Tanselle and Lady Ashford, both girls share parallels with Sansa Stark:

Sansa Stark and Lady Ashford

Sansa and Lady Ashford are noble ladies.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are of the same age.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are associated with tourneys.

Lady Ashford was the reigning Queen of Love and Beauty during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, while Sansa was unofficially crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty during the Hand’s Tourney.  

Lady Ashford’s original champions were Androw Ashford, Robert Ashford, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Ser Tybolt Lannister defeated Ser Androw Ashford, Ser Lyonel Baratheon defeated Ser Robert Ashford.  A Lannister and a Baratheon defeating Lady Ashford’s older brothers remind us of Tywin Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon conspiring to kill Sansa Stark’s father (Ned) and brother (Robb).   

The last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow were Ser Tybolt Lannister, Ser Lyonel Baratheon, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Sansa’s suitors surnames match the surnames of the last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow. 

Sansa Stark and Tanselle Too-Tall

Sansa and Tanselle are tall girls.

Sansa and Tanselle are familiar with the tales of Florian and Jonquil.

Tanselle plays Jonquil in the puppets play, while a fat woman plays Florian.

Sansa saves Dontos Hollard’s life. Dontos was an old, fat, drunk knight turned fool.  

Dontos calls Sansa Jonquil and plays to be Sansa’s Florian, Sansa also called Dontos her Florian, but she would prefer him to be younger, like the real Florian.

Dunk defended Tanselle from Prince Aerion Targaryen, a character with some similarities with Joffrey Baratheon.

Dontos, as a fool, try to distract Joffrey and defend Sansa while she was being beaten and later helped her to scape King’s Landing. 

Dunk and Jon know how to treat a girl 

(This could be nothing but I know a character that is called “good girl” and “sweet lady” a lot)

Also take note that by selling Sweetfoot, Dunk got his own armor.

It was cool and dim in the stables. An unruly grey stallion snapped at him as he passed, but Sweetfoot only whickered softly and nuzzled his hand when he raised it to her nose. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" he murmured. The old man always said that a knight should never love a horse, since more than a few were like to die under him, but he never heeded his own counsel either. Dunk had often seen him spend his last copper on an apple for old Chestnut or some oats for Sweetfoot and Thunder. The palfrey had been Ser Arlan's riding horse, and she had borne him tirelessly over thousands of miles, all up and down the Seven Kingdoms. Dunk felt as though he were betraying an old friend, but what choice did he have? Chestnut was too old to be worth much of anything, and Thunder must carry him in the lists.

(...)

Dunk stroked Sweetfoot’s mane and told her to be brave. “If I win, I’ll come back and buy you again, I promise.” 

(...)

Dunk handed a few of the coppers right back, and nodded at Sweetfoot. “That’s for her,” he said. “See that she has some oats tonight. Aye, and an apple too.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy.

“Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Dreams of a highborn lady 

While Dunk wishes to have sex with a highborn lady instead of paying a whore for sex, Jon wishes his mother were a highborn lady and not a whore

Dunk stopped to watch the wooden dragon slain. When the puppet knight cut its head off and the red sawdust spilled out onto the grass, he laughed aloud and threw the girl two coppers. "One for last night," he called. She caught the coins in the air and threw him back a smile as sweet as any he had ever seen.

Is it me she smiles at, or the coins? Dunk had never been with a girl, and they made him nervous. Once, three years past, when the old man's purse was full after half a year in the service of blind Lord Florent, he'd told Dunk the time had come to take him to a brothel and make him a man. He'd been drunk, though, and when he was sober he did not remember. Dunk had been too embarrassed to remind him.

He was not certain he wanted a whore anyway. If he could not have a highborn maiden like a proper knight, he wanted one who at least liked him more than his silver.

(...)

Wet to the knee, he trudged past the empty lists. Most of the pavilions were dark, their owners long asleep, but here and there a few candles still burned. Dunk heard soft moans and cries of pleasure coming from within one tent. It made him wonder whether he would die without ever having known a maid.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Words won't make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores."

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

A red-haired whore 

The same way Dunk almost lost his virginity with a whore, the Jon Snow from the Show almost lost his virginity with a red-haired whore named Ros ¿Maybe the Show took inspiration for that scene from this passage to create Ros? 

The winesellers and sausage makers were doing a brisk trade, and whores walked brazenly among the stalls and pavilions. Some were pretty enough, one red-haired girl in particular. He could not help staring at her breasts, the way they moved under her loose shift as she sauntered past. He thought of the silver in his pouch. I could have her, if I liked. She'd like the clink of my coin well enough, I could take her back to my camp and have her, all night if I wanted. He had never lain with a woman, and for all he knew he might die in his first tilt. Tourneys could be dangerous . . . but whores could be dangerous too, the old man had warned him of that. She might rob me while I slept, and what would I do then? When the red-haired girl glanced back over her shoulder at him, Dunk shook his head and walked away.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Sam: I’ve never… been with one. You’ve probably had hundreds. Jon: No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you. Sam: Yeah. Yeah, I… I find that hard to believe. Jon: I came very close once. I was alone in a room with a naked girl, but… Sam: Didn’t know where to put it? Jon: I know where to put it. Sam: Was she… old and ugly? Jon: Young and gorgeous. A whore named Ros. Sam: What colour hair? Jon: Red. Sam: Oh, I like red hair. And her, um… Her… (boobs) Jon: You don’t want to know. Sam: What, that good? Jon: Better. Sam: Oh, no. So why exactly did you not make love to Ros with the perfect? Jon: What’s my name? Sam: Jon Snow. Jon: And why is my surname Snow? Sam: Because… you’re a bastard from the North. Jon: I never met my mother. My father wouldn’t even tell me her name. I don’t know if she’s living or dead. I don’t know if she’s a noblewoman or a fisherman’s wife… or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes. But I couldn’t do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child, another bastard named Snow? It’s not a good life for a child.

—GOT S01E04 – Cripples Bastards and Broken Things

Complaining about getting bad seats

On the eastern verge of the meadow, a quintain had been set up and a dozen knights were tilting at it, sending the pole arm spinning every time they struck the splintered shield suspended from one end. Dunk watched the Brute of Bracken take his turn, and then Lord Caron of the Marches. I do not have as good a seat as any of them, he thought uneasily.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

"Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated."

"I remember."

"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.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

Dunk and Jon admire the same heroes

Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I?

Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall?

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

“Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Yet he saw the castle clear in his mind's eye, as if he had left it only yesterday; the towering granite walls, the Great Hall with its smells of smoke and dog and roasting meat, his father's solar, the turret room where he had slept. Part of him wanted nothing so much as to hear Bran laugh again, to sup on one of Gage's beef-and-bacon pies, to listen to Old Nan tell her tales of the children of the forest and Florian the Fool.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

A dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

The meadow was a churning mass of people, all trying to elbow their way closer for a better view. Dunk was as good an elbower as any, and bigger than most. He squirmed forward to a rise six yards from the fence. When Egg complained that all he could see were arses, Dunk sat the boy on his shoulders. Across the field, the viewing stand was filling up with highborn lords and ladies, a few rich townfolk, and a score of knights who had decided not to compete today. Of Prince Maekar he saw no sign, but he recognized Prince Baelor at Lord Ashford's side. Sunlight flashed golden off the shoulder clasp that held his cloak and the slim coronet about his temples, but otherwise he dressed far more simply than most of the other lords. He does not look a Targaryen in truth, with that dark hair. Dunk said as much to Egg.

"It's said he favors his mother," the boy reminded him. "She was a Dornish princess."

(...)

A few feet away, the Young Prince [Valarr Targaryen] sat at his ease in a raised camp chair before his great black tent. His helm was off. He had dark hair like his father, but a bright streak ran through it. A servingman brought him a silver goblet and he took a sip. Water, if he is wise, Dunk thought, wine if not. He found himself wondering if Valarr had indeed inherited a measure of his father's prowess, or whether it had only been that he had drawn the weakest opponent.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. 

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Fascinated by a Knight

Dunk was fascinated by a brown haired Targaryen Prince (Like Jon Snow) while Jon was fascinated by a Kingsguard that later became Lord Commander (Like Dunk)

The three challengers took their places as the three champions mounted up. Men were making wagers all around them and calling out encouragement to their choices, but Dunk had eyes only for the prince [Valarr Targaryen]. 

(...)

Farther away, Ser Joseth Mallister was being carried off the field unconscious, while the harp lord and the rose lord were going at each other lustily with blunted longaxes, to the delight of the roaring crowd. Dunk was so intent on Valarr Targaryen that he scarcely saw them. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back.

Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Not allowed

A hedge knight cannot challenge a prince. Valarr is second in line to the Iron Throne. He is Baelor Breakspear's son, and his blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and the Young Dragon and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and I am some boy the old man found behind a pot shop in Flea Bottom.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him.

He gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

A Death with Honor

He wondered if they expected him to saddle a horse and flee. He could, if he wished. That would be the end of his knighthood, to be sure; he would be no more than an outlaw henceforth, until the day some lord took him and struck off his head. Better to die a knight than live like that, he told himself stubbornly.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

It did not bear thinking about. Pain throbbed, deep in his fingers, as he clutched the reins. Jon put his heels into his horse and broke into a gallop, racing down the kingsroad, as if to outrun his doubts. Jon was not afraid of death, but he did not want to die like that, trussed and bound and beheaded like a common brigand. If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Warg imagery

I am Thunder and Thunder is me, we are one beast, we are joined, we are one. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

When he finally put the quill down, the room was dim and chilly, and he could feel its walls closing in. Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Self doubt 

When his eyes opened he was on the ground again, sprawled on his back. The mud had all been knocked from his helm, but now one eye was closed by blood. Above was nothing but dark grey sky. 

His face throbbed, and he could feel cold wet metal pressing in against cheek and temple. He broke my head, and I'm dying. What was worse was the others who would die with him, Raymun and Prince Baelor and the rest. I've failed them. I am no champion. I'm not even a hedge knight. I am nothing. He remembered Prince Daeron boasting that no one could lie insensible in the mud as well as he did. He never saw Dunk the lunk, though, did he? The shame was worse than the pain.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

A grim day. Jon Snow wrapped gloved hands around the bars and held tight as the wind hammered at the cage once more. When he looked straight down past his feet, the ground was lost in shadow, as if he were being lowered into some bottomless pit. Well, death is a bottomless pit of sorts, he reflected, and when this day's work is done my name will be shadowed forever.

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. I made a botch of that. Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

It should have been you

Valarr, the Young Prince, stood vigil at the foot of the bier while his father lay in state. He was a shorter, slimmer, handsomer version of his sire, without the twice-broken nose that had made Baelor seem more human than royal. Valarr's hair was brown, but a bright streak of silver-gold ran through it. The sight of it reminded Dunk of Aerion, but he knew that was not fair. Egg's hair was growing back as bright as his brother's, and Egg was a decent enough lad, for a prince.

When he stopped to offer awkward sympathies, well larded with thanks, Prince Valarr blinked cool blue eyes at him and said, "My father was only nine-and-thirty. He had it in him to be a great king, the greatest since Aegon the Dragon. Why would the gods take him, and leave you?" He shook his head. "Begone with you, Ser Duncan. Begone."

* * *

"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly.

Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.

"I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence.

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."

Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. "Good-bye," he said.

He was at the door when she called out to him. "Jon," she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"Yes?" he said.

"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Old Gods

Sometimes I sit under that tree there and look at my feet and ask if I couldn’t have spared one. How could my foot be worth a prince’s life? And the other two as well, the Humfreys, they were good men too.” Ser Humfrey Hardyng had succumbed to his wounds only last night.

“And what answer does your tree give you?”

“None that I can hear.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Even now, he did not know if he was doing the honorable thing. The southron had it easier. They had their septons to talk to, someone to tell them the gods' will and help sort out right from wrong. But the Starks worshiped the old gods, the nameless gods, and if the heart trees heard, they did not speak.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

A Tree on a Shield

Dunk’s sigil was an elm tree with a shooting star above, while the Mystery Knight called The Knight of the Laughing Tree [Jon’s mother Lyanna Stark] was a weirwood tree with a laughing red face

“What color paint do you have?” he asked, hoping that might give him an idea.

“I can mix paints to make any color you want.”

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”

“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”

“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”

The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists.

Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.”

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.”

[...]

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

Dragonflies or Dragons

“That can be changed,” said Maekar. “Aegon is to return to my castle at Summerhall. There is a place there for you, if you wish. A knight of my household. You’ll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training.” The prince gave him a shrewd look. “Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt, but you still have much to learn.”

“I know, m'lord.” Dunk looked about him. At the green grass and the reeds, the tall elm, the ripples dancing across the surface of the sunlit pool. Another dragonfly was moving across the water, or perhaps it was the same one. What shall it be, Dunk? he asked himself. Dragonflies or dragons? A few days ago he would have answered at once. It was all he had ever dreamed, but now that the prospect was at hand it frightened him. “ Just before Prince Baelor died, I swore to be his man.”

"Presumptuous of you," said Maekar. "What did he say?"

"That the realm needed good men."

"That's true enough. What of it?"

"I will take your son as squire, Your Grace, but not at Summerhall. Not for a year or two. He's seen sufficient of castles, I would judge. I'll have him only if I can take him on the road with me." He pointed to old Chestnut. "He'll ride my steed, wear my old cloak, and he'll keep my sword sharp and my mail scoured. We'll sleep in inns and stables, and now and again in the halls of some landed knight or lesser lordling, and maybe under trees when we must."

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." The king set the cup aside. "You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? "My sword is sworn to the Night's Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

The Prince of Dragonflies

As you can see, The Hedge Knight is a tale full of Dragonflies and Dragons imagery around Ser Duncan the Tall. And this dichotomy repeated with Prince Duncan the Small.      

Years later of his adventures as the Squire of Ser Duncan the Tall, Egg became Aegon V Targaryen, and named his first born Duncan Targaryen, probably in honor of Ser Duncan the Tall.   

Prince Duncan Targaryen was the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, also known as Prince Duncan the Small. But since he gave up the throne for love in order to marry Jenny of Oldstones, he began to be known as the Prince of Dragonflies.

Prince Duncan Targaryen favored her mother’s Betha Blackwood features and had dark hair, like Jon Snow.

The Black Prince and the White Guardian

In my unfinished meta about the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, I argue that the two facets of Jon Snow: bastard and hidden prince, are represented in this tale by Dunk and Valarr. 

This is one of my favorite findings since I started writing ASOIAF metas.  I shared this one with some of you, the seven gods know this unfinished work has more than 3 years in the making... So here you go.    

Valarr is called The Black Prince and the White Guardian:

Ser Joseth thumped on Ser Humfrey Hardyng's diamonds. And the black-and-white knight, Lord Gawen Swann, challenged the black prince with the white guardian.

—The Hedge Knight

And this is a clear reference to Jon Snow, the black prince, and Ghost, his white guardian:

Robb looked relieved. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

Jon forced himself to smile back. "It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?"

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

He was clad in black from head to heel; high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and tunic, sleeveless leather jerkin, and heavy wool cloak. His longsword and dagger were sheathed in black moleskin, and the hauberk and coif in his saddlebag were black ringmail.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey.

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

I have more reasons to believe that GRRM wrote Valarr as a representation of Jon Snow. George purposely created Valarr with certain features to make us think about Jon Snow. These reasons find solid ground in a particular work of literature that George has declared it served him as inspiration to write ASOIAF. Maybe One day I will finish this meta and I will show you all.  

For now, lets go to the second tale...

* * *

THE SWORN SWORD

This tale is full of  love, romance and marriage imagery, doomed romances, forbidden romances, unrequited loves, lost loves, platonic loves, sexual loves, marriages alliances, loveless marriages, unfruitful marriages and lovers farewells.   

A Mysterious Red Lady

Rohanne Webber, Lady of Codlmoat, also known as the Red Widow, is a character that reminds us several women that crossed paths with Jon Snow 

Dunk wanted no trouble with the Lady of the Coldmoat. At Standfast you heard ill things of her. The Red Widow, she was called, for the husbands she had put into the ground. Old Sam Stoops said she was a witch, a poisoner, and worse. 

Two years ago she had sent her knights across the stream to seize an Osgrey man for stealing sheep. “When m’lord rode to Coldmoat to demand him back, he was told to look for him at the bottom of the moat,” Sam had said. “She’d sewn poor Dake in a bag o’ rocks and sunk him. ’Twas after that Ser Eustace took Ser Bennis into service, to keep them spiders off his lands.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

(...)

“Whenever she gives birth, a demon comes by night to carry off the issue. Sam Stoops’s wife says she sold her babes unborn to the Lord of the Seven Hells, so he’d teach her his black arts.”

“Highborn ladies don’t meddle with the black arts. They dance and sing and do embroidery.”

“Maybe she dances with demons and embroiders evil spells,” Egg said with relish. “And how would you know what highborn ladies do, ser? Lady Vaith is the only one you ever knew.”

(...)

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.” 

—The Sworn Sword 

The wicked reputation of the Red Widow, makes me think about another red haired woman with a wicked reputation, Danelle Lothston, Lady of Harrenhal, also known as Mad Danelle. 

And talking about Harrenhal, Mad Danelle is probably an ancestor of Lady Minisa Whent, that later became Lady Minsa Tully, the mother of Lady Catelyn Tully, that later became Lady Catelyn Stark, the mother of Lady Sansa Stark, Jon Snow’s radiant and red haired half sister, another redhead with certain reputation:  

He smiled at her. “Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

—AGOT - Sansa I

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—ASOS - Arya XIII

“May the Father judge him justly,” murmured a septon.

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—ASOS - Jaime VII

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.

—AFFC - Cersei IV

A man’s pride

“Common boys fight with wooden swords too, only theirs are sticks and broken branches. Egg, these men may seem fools to you. They won’t know the proper names for bits of armor, or the arms of the great houses, or which king it was who abolished the lord’s right to the first night…but treat them with respect all the same. You are a squire born of noble blood, but you are still a boy. Most of them will be men grown. A man has his pride, no matter how lowborn he may be. You would seem just as lost and stupid in their villages. And if you doubt that, go hoe a row and shear a sheep, and tell me the names of all the weeds and wildflowers in Wat’s Wood.”

The boy considered for a moment. “I could teach them the arms of the great houses, and how Queen Alysanne convinced King Jaehaerys to abolish the first night. And they could teach me which weeds are best for making poisons, and whether those green berries are safe to eat.”

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

It is too cold for this mummer's show, thought Jon. “The free folk despise kneelers,” he had warned Stannis. "Let them keep their pride, and they will love you better." His Grace would not listen. He said, "It is swords I need from them, not kisses."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Dunk has dreams with dead Targaryen Princes while Jon has dreams with dead Stark Kings 

You are dead, Dunk wanted to scream, you are all three dead, why won’t you leave me be? Ser Arlan had died of a chill, Prince Baelor of the blow his brother dealt him during Dunk’s trial of seven, his son Valarr during the Great Spring Sickness. I am not to blame for that. We were in Dorne, we never even knew.

(...)

“Begone with you, Ser Duncan,” Valarr said. “Begone.”

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Egg taught Dunk how to talk to a lady the same way Sansa taught  Jon how to talk to a lady  

“I don’t know how to talk with highborn ladies,” he confessed as they were pouring. “We both might have been killed in Dorne, on account of what I said to Lady Vaith.”

“Lady Vaith was mad,” Egg reminded him, “but you could have been more gallant. Ladies like it when you’re gallant. If you were to rescue the Red Widow the way you rescued that puppet girl from Aerion…”

“Aerion’s in Lys, and the widow’s not in want of rescuing.” He did not want to talk of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall was her name, but she was not too tall for me.

“Well,” the boy said, “some knights sing gallant songs to their ladies, or play them tunes upon a lute.”

“I have no lute.” Dunk looked morose. “And that night I drank too much in the Planky Town, you told me I sang like an ox in a mud wallow.”

“I had forgotten, ser.”

“How could you forget?”

“You told me to forget, ser,” said Egg, all innocence. “You told me I’d get a clout in the ear the next time I mentioned it.”

“There will be no singing.” Even if he had the voice for it, the only song Dunk knew all the way through was “The Bear, the Bear, and the Maiden Fair.” He doubted that would do much to win over Lady Webber. 

(...)

“I thought how you should speak to Lady Webber, ser. You should win her to your side with gallant compliments.” The boy looked as cool and crisp in his chequy tunic as Ser Eustace had in his cloak.

Am I the only one who sweats? “Gallant compliments,” Dunk echoed. “What sort of gallant compliments?”

“You know, ser. Tell her how fair and beautiful she is.”

Dunk had doubts. “She’s outlived four husbands, she must be as old as Lady Vaith. If I say she’s fair and beautiful when she’s old and warty, she will take me for a liar.”

“You just need to find something true to say about her. That’s what my brother Daeron does. Even ugly old whores can have nice hair or well-shaped ears, he says.”

“Well-shaped ears?” Dunk’s doubts were growing.

“Or pretty eyes. Tell her that her gown brings out the color of her eyes.” The lad reflected for a moment. “Unless she only has the one eye, like Lord Bloodraven.”

“My lady, that gown brings out the color of your eye. Dunk had heard knights and lordlings mouth such gallantries at other ladies. They never put it quite so baldly, though. Good lady, that gown is beautiful. It brings out the color of both your lovely eyes. Some of the ladies had been old and scrawny, or fat and florid, or pox-scarred and homely, but all wore gowns and had two eyes, and as Dunk recalled, they’d been well pleased by the flowery words. What a lovely gown, my lady. It brings out the lovely beauty of your beautiful-colored eyes. “A hedge knight’s life is simpler,” Dunk said glumly. “If I say the wrong thing, she’s like to sew me in a sack of rocks and throw me in her moat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"Black brothers are sworn never to take wives, don't you know that? And we're guests in your father's hall besides."

"Not you," she said. "I watched. You never ate at his board, nor slept by his fire. He never gave you guest-right, so you're not bound to him. It's for the baby I have to go."

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?"

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Marrying a Lady

In another world, Dunk could get married with a lady, like Alysanne Osgrey or Rohanne Webber

“You are a good man, Ser Duncan. A brave knight, and true.” Ser Eustace gave Dunk’s arm a squeeze. “Would that the gods had spared my Alysanne. You are the sort of man I had always hoped that she might marry. A true knight, Ser Duncan. A true knight.”

(...)

“Ser Eustace said I was the sort of man he’d hoped to have his daughter wed. Her name was Alysanne.”

“She’s dead, ser.”

“I know she’s dead,” said Dunk, annoyed. “If she was alive, he said. If she was, he’d like her to marry me. Or someone like me. I never had a lord offer me his daughter before.”

“His dead daughter. And the Osgreys might have been lords in the old days, but Ser Eustace is only a landed knight.”

“I know what he is. Do you want a clout in the ear?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I’d sooner have a clout than a wife. Especially a dead wife, ser. The kettle’s steaming.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

"I'm not like to marry her. She's a highborn lady, and I'm Dunk of Flea Bottom, remember?" He frowned. "Just how many husbands has she had, do you know?"

“Four,” said Egg, “but no children.

(...)

“You wanted blood for blood.” He laid the dagger against his cheek. “They told you wrong. It wasn’t Bennis cut that digger, it was me.” He pressed the edge of the steel into his face, slashed downward. When he shook the blood off the blade some spattered on her face. More freckles, he thought. “There, the Red Widow has her due. A cheek for a cheek.”

“You are quite mad.” The smoke had filled her eyes with tears. “If you were better born, I’d marry you.”

“Aye, m’lady. And if pigs had wings and scales and breathed flame, they’d be as good as dragons.” 

—The Sworn Sword

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because: 

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne. 

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it. 

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister. 

Silent Sisters wear always grey. 

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger's wives. 

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister. 

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark. 

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds. 

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.     

In another world, Jon also could get married Ygritte, without the cultural and social barriers that separate them.

A Lady Mother

In another world, Rohanne could be... Dunk’s mother?

“If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

—The Sworn Sword

The parallel with Jon wishing his mother were a highborn lady is plain, but it’s funny how Dunk was resented with Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, which reminds me of Jon being resented with “his father’s redhead wife”, Catelyn Stark.     

Marrying a Sister / Bedding a Sister

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.”

Egg spoke as if such incest was the most natural thing in the world. For him it is. The Targaryens had been marrying brother to sister for hundreds of years, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. Though the last actual dragon had died before Dunk was born, the dragonkings went on. Maybe the gods don’t mind them marrying their sisters. “Did the potion work?” Dunk asked.

“It would have,” said Egg, “but I spit it out. 

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte pushed herself onto an elbow. “I am nineteen, and a spearwife, and kissed by fire. How could I be maiden?”

“Who was he?”

“A boy at a feast, five years past. He’d come trading with his brothers, and he had hair like mine, kissed by fire, so I thought he would be lucky. But he was weak. When he came back t’ try and steal me, Longspear broke his arm and ran him off, and he never tried again, not once.”

“It wasn’t Longspear, then?” Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways.

She punched him. “That’s vile. Would you bed your sister?”

“Longspear’s not your brother.”

“He’s of my village. You know nothing, Jon Snow. A true man steals a woman from afar, t’ strengthen the clan. Women who bed brothers or fathers or clan kin offend the gods, and are cursed with weak and sickly children. Even monsters.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Joining a celibate brotherhood

This conversation between Dunk and Egg resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon  

I don’t want a wife, I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard and live only to serve and defend the king. The Kingsguard are sworn not to wed.”

“That’s a noble thing, but when you’re older you may find you’d sooner have a girl than a white cloak.” Dunk was thinking of Tanselle Too-Tall, and the way she’d smiled at him at Ashford.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

You’re not going...

Another conversation between Dunk and Egg that resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon 

You will stay and help Bennis with the smallfolk, he told Egg. And don’t give me that sullen look. He kicked his breeches off and climbed into the tub of steaming water. Go on and get to sleep now, and let me have my bath. You’re not going, and that’s the end of it

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Three days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen men on a ranging into the haunted forest. That night he sought out his uncle in the great timbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. "This is not Winterfell," he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. "On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You're no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Warg imagery again...

This old master of yours, the knight of Pennytree…did he fight in the Blackfyre Rebellion? He did, m’lord. Before he took me on. Dunk had been no more than 3 or 4 at the time, running half-naked through the alleys of Flea Bottom, more animal than boy. 

—The Sworn Sword

Dunk’s age and the line “more animal than a boy” reminds me of Rickon Stark, but it’s also another warg reference. And after coming back to life, Jon Snow will probably be more animal than man.     

Usurping another’s place 

Roger of Pennytree is to Dunk, what Robb is to Jon

“Ser Arlan never liked to speak about the battle. His squire died there too. Roger of Pennytree was his name, Ser Arlan’s sister’s son.” Even saying the name made Dunk feel vaguely guilty. I stole his place. Only princes and great lords had the means to keep two squires. If Aegon the Unworthy had given his sword to his heir Daeron instead of his bastard Daemon, there might never have been a Blackfyre Rebellion, and Roger of Pennytree might be alive today. He would be a knight someplace, a truer knight than me. I would have ended on the gallows, or been sent off to the Night’s Watch to walk the Wall until I died.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them . . . I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there's only me. All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do . . .

. . . was forswear his vows again.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk met Rohanne Webber the same way Jon met Ygritte, they confused them with another person. And Lucas Inchfield is the Orell of this tale   

Nearby a squire was loosing shafts at the archery butts, while a freckled girl with a long braid matched him shot for shot. 

(...)

…and one soft, fleshy lady of high birth, garbed in a gown of dark blue damask trimmed with Myrish lace, so long its hems were trailing in the dirt. Dunk judged her to be forty. Beneath a spun-silver net her auburn hair was piled high, but the reddest thing about her was her face.

“My lady,” Ser Lucas said, when they stood before her and her septas, “this hedge knight claims to bring a message from Ser Eustace Osgrey. Will you hear it?”

“If you wish it, Ser Lucas.” She peered at Dunk so hard that he could not help but recall Egg’s talk of sorcery. I don’t think this one bathes in blood to keep her beauty. The widow was stout and square, with an oddly pointed head that her hair could not quite conceal. Her nose was too big, and her mouth too small. She did have two eyes, he was relieved to see, but all thought of gallantry had abandoned Dunk by then. “Ser Eustace bid me talk with you concerning the recent trouble at your dam.”

(...)

“M’lady, could we continue our discussion in some…more private place?”

“A silver says the great oaf means to bed her!” someone japed, and a roar of laughter went up all around him. The lady cringed away, half in terror, and raised both hands to shield her face. One of the septas moved quickly to her side and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

“And what is all this merriment?” The voice cut through the laughter, cool and firm. “Will no one share the jape? Ser knight, why are you troubling my good-sister?”

“It was the girl he had seen earlier at the archery butts. She had a quiver of arrows on one hip and held a longbow that was just as tall as she was, which wasn’t very tall. If Dunk was shy an inch of seven feet, the archer was shy an inch of five. He could have spanned her waist with his two hands. Her red hair was bound up in a braid so long it brushed past her thighs, and she had a dimpled chin, a snub nose, and a light spray of freckles across her cheeks.

“Forgive us, Lady Rohanne.” The speaker was a pretty young lord with the Caswell centaur embroidered on his doublet. “This great oaf took the Lady Helicent for you.”

Dunk looked from one lady to the other. “You are the Red Widow?” he heard himself blurt out. “But you’re too—”

“Young?” The girl tossed her longbow to the lanky lad he’d seen her shooting with. “I am five-and-twenty, as it happens. Or was it small you meant to say?”

“—pretty. It was pretty.” Dunk did not know where that came from, but he was glad it came. He liked her nose, and the strawberry-blond color of her hair, and the small but well-shaped breasts beneath her leather jerkin. “I thought that you’d be…I mean…they said you were four times a widow, so…”

(...)

“I…I am sorry for all your losses, m’lady.” A gallantry, you lunk, give her a gallantry. “I want to say…your gown…”

“Gown?” She glanced down at her boots and breeches, loose linen tunic and leather jerkin. “I wear no gown.”

“Your hair, I meant…it’s soft and…”

“And how would you know that, ser? If you had ever touched my hair, I should think that I might remember.”

“Not soft,” Dunk said miserably. “Red, I meant to say. Your hair is very red.”

“Very red, ser? Oh, not as red as your face, I hope.” She laughed, and the onlookers laughed with her.

All but Ser Lucas Longinch. “My lady,” he broke in, “this man is one of Standfast’s sellswords. He was with Bennis of the Brown Shield when he attacked your diggers at the dam and carved up Wolmer’s face. Old Osgrey sent him to treat with you.”

“He did, m’lady. I am called Ser Duncan the Tall.”

(...)

“Ser Duncan, I should not have teased you in the yard, when you were trying so hard to be gracious. It was only that you blushed so red…was there no girl to tease you, in the village where you grew so tall?” 

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see, Rohanne and Ygritte share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne was red haired, like Ygritte. Dunk and Jon liked their red hair.

Rohanne was small, like Ygritte.

Dunk confused Rohanne with her auburn haired good sister lady Helicent Uffering, like Jon confused Ygritte with a man. Point aside, Lady Helicent having auburn hair and wearing a silver hairnet makes me think of Sansa Stark. Also I have to laugh at the comment about Dunk wanting to bed Lady Helicent... This is too much George.  

It seems that Rohanne was good with bow and arrow, like Ygritte.

Rohanne wasn’t wearing a gown but breeches, like Ygritte.

Rohanne was older, bolder and teased Dunk a lot, like Ygritte was to Jon.

Rohanne openly flirted with Dunk, like Ygritte did with Jon.  

Dunk was sexually attracted to Rohanne, the same way Jon was sexually attracted to Ygritte.

Rohanne and Ygritte weren’t maids, while Dunk and Jon were virgins when they met both women.

Later Dunk will have sex dreams with Rohanne, like Jon’s dreams with Ygritte.

In his dreams, Rohanne shoots arrows at Dunk, like Ygritte did to Jon.    

Lucas Inchfield, almost as tall as Dunk, was jealous of him regarding Rohanne’s attentions. The same way, Orell, a warg like Jon, was jealous of him because he fancied Ygritte.

Later, a mentor figure will suggest Dunk to kill Rohanne, in a similar way that Qhorin Halfhand suggested Jon to kill Ygritte.  Dunk and Jon have the same doubts about killing a woman.

Rohanne share some of the violence impulses and inclinations that Ygritte had. These details also links Rohanne with another women in Jon’s arc like Val, and eventually Daenerys.  More about this later.    

Dunk killed Lucas Inchfield, the same way Jon killed Orell.

The sexual tension between Dunk and Rohanne was instantly, both find each other attractive; in contrast, Jon finds Ygritte unattractive, but only at first...    

The Red Widow looked Dunk over from his heels up to his head though her gaze lingered longest on his chest. “A tree and shooting star. I have never seen those arms before.” She touched his tunic, tracing a limb of his elm tree with two fingers. “And painted, not sewn. The Dornish paint their silks, I’ve heard, but you look too big to be a Dornishman.”

“Not all Dornishmen are small, m’lady.” Dunk could feel her fingers through the silk. Her hand was freckled too. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. His mouth was oddly dry. “I spent a year in Dorne.”

“Do all the oaks grow so tall there?” she said, as her fingers traced a tree limb round his heart.

“It’s meant to be an elm, m’lady.”

“I shall remember.” She drew her hand back, solemn. “The ward is too hot and dusty for a conversation. Septon, show Ser Duncan to my audience chamber.”

“It would be my great pleasure, good-sister.”

“Our guest will have a thirst. You may send for a flagon of wine as well.”

(...)

“M’lady,” Dunk called after her. “My squire was made to wait by the gates. Might he join us as well?”

“Your squire?” When she smiled, she looked a girl of five-and-ten, not a woman five-and-twenty. A pretty girl full of mischief and laughter. “If it please you, certainly.”

(...)

She smiled a smile that made him wish that she was plainer. 

(...)

She was distracting him, with her snub nose and her freckles.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions.  

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

A Suitor / A Husband

Despite Dunk being no Lord, there is a lot of talking about him being a suitor of Lady Rohanne.  The same way the freefolk just assumed that Jon stole [married] Ygritte   

Dunk snorted. “She has no need to poison me,” he whispered back. “She thinks I’m some great lout with pease porridge between his ears.”

“As it happens, my good-sister likes pease porridge,” said Septon Sefton, as he reappeared with a flagon of wine, a flagon of water, and three cups. “Yes, yes, I heard. I’m fat, not deaf.” 

(...)

“She does like pease porridge,” the septon said, “and you as well, ser. I know my own good-sister. When I first saw you in the yard, I half hoped you were some suitor, come from King’s Landing to seek my lady’s hand.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

And when the Thief was in the Moonmaid, that was a propitious time for a man to steal a woman, Ygritte insisted. "Like the night you stole me. The Thief was bright that night."

"I never meant to steal you," he said. "I never knew you were a girl until my knife was at your throat."

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly.

(...)

"Craster's more your kind than ours. His father was a crow who stole a woman out of Whitetree village, but after he had her he flew back t' his Wall. She went t' Castle Black once t' show the crow his son, but the brothers blew their horns and run her off. Craster's blood is black, and he bears a heavy curse." She ran her fingers lightly across his stomach. "I feared you'd do the same once. Fly back to the Wall. You never knew what t' do after you stole me."

Jon sat up. "Ygritte, I never stole you."

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. You know nothing, Jon Snow." She gave him a shy smile. "You might be learning some, though."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

A Lady’s claim

Rohanne’s claim is coveted by many suitors

“And yet she must wed again, and soon.”

“Must?” said Dunk.

“Her lord father’s will demands it. Lord Wyman wanted grandsons to carry on his line. When he sickened he tried to wed her to the Longinch, so he might die knowing that she had a strong man to protect her, but Rohanne refused to have him. His lordship took his vengeance in his will. If she remains unwed on the second anniversary of her father’s passing, Coldmoat and its lands pass to his cousin Wendell. 

(...) 

Lord Rowan has upheld the will, so her ladyship has only till the next new moon.”

“Why has she waited so long?” Dunk wondered aloud.

The septon shrugged. “If truth be told, there has been a dearth of suitors. My good-sister is not hard to look upon, you will have noticed, and a stout castle and broad lands add to her charms. You would think that younger sons and landless knights would swarm about her ladyship like flies. You would be wrong. The four dead husbands make them wary, and there are those who will say that she is barren too… though never in her hearing unless they yearn to see the inside of a crow cage. She has carried two children to term, a boy and a girl, but neither lived to see a name day. Those few who are not put off by talk of poisonings and sorcery want no part of the Longinch. Lord Wyman charged him on his deathbed to protect his daughter from unworthy suitors, which he has taken to mean all suitors. Any man who means to have her hand would need to face his sword first.” He finished his wine and set the cup aside. “That is not to say there has been no one. Cleyton Caswell and Simon Leygood have been the most persistent, though they seem more interested in her lands than in her person. Were I given to wagering, I should place my gold on Gerold Lannister. He has yet to put in an appearance, but they say he is golden-haired and quick of wit, and more than six feet tall…”

“…and Lady Webber is much taken with his letters.”

(...)

“My first husband perished on the Redgrass Field. My father found me others, but the Stranger took them too. I no longer trust in men, no matter how ample they may seem. I trust in stone and steel and water. I trust in moats, ser, and mine will not go dry.”

(...)

She gave him back the ring. “I cannot return to Coldmoat empty-handed. They will say the Red Widow has lost her bite, that she was too weak to do justice, that she could not protect her smallfolk. You do not understand, ser.”

“I might.” Better than you know. “I remember once some little lord in the stormlands took Ser Arlan into service, to help him fight some other little lord. When I asked the old man what they were fighting over, he said, ‘Nothing, lad. It’s just some pissing contest.’ ”

Lady Rohanne gave him a shocked look but could sustain it no more than half a heartbeat before it turned into a grin. “I have heard a thousand empty courtesies in my time, but you are the first knight who ever said pissing in my presence.” Her freckled face went somber. “Those pissing contests are how lords judge one another’s strength, and woe to any man who shows his weakness. A woman must needs piss twice as hard, if she hopes to rule. And if that woman should happen to be small… Lord Stackhouse covets my Horseshoe Hills, Ser Clifford Conklyn has an old claim to Leafy Lake, those dismal Durwells live by stealing cattle… and beneath mine own roof I have the Longinch. Every day I wake wondering if this might be the day he marries me by force.” Her hand curled tight around her braid, as hard as if it were a rope, and she was dangling over a precipice. “He wants to, I know. He holds back for fear of my wroth, just as Conklyn and Stackhouse and the Durwells tread carefully where the Red Widow is concerned. If any of them thought for a moment that I had turned weak and soft…”

(...)

Ser Lucas Inchfield looked at Lady Rohanne, his face dark with fury. “You will marry me when this mummer’s farce is done. As your lord father wished.”

“My lord father never knew you as I do,” she gave back.”

—The Sworn Sword

And as you can see, Rohanne Webber and Sansa Stark also share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne and Sansa are red haired.

Rohanne and Sansa have a “wicked” reputation. 

Rohanne and Sansa are ladies with a claim to their paternal lands and rights.

Rohanne’s and Sansa’s succession rights has been put in a difficult position in their father’s and older brother’s will, respectively. 

Rohanne and Sansa have a long list of suitors that covet their claims.

Rohanne and Sansa have suffered forced marriages.

Rohanne and Sansa have become disillusioned with men.

Rohanne asked Dunk to swear his sword to her, but he rejected the offer. Brienne, Dunk’s descendant, has already sworn her sword (made of Ice) to Sansa Stark. 

Jaime Lannister, Rohanne’s descendant has also sworn a vow for Sansa Stark: “Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” [A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX]

Later, Rohanne married Gerold Lannister and became Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, she was the mother of Tytos Lannister and grandmother of Tywin Lannister.  Sansa was betrothed with Tywin Lannister’s grandson Joffrey, and later married Tywin Lannister’s son, Tyrion Lannister. Point aside, Stannis Baratheon tried to convince Jon to accept his Winterfell offer, calling Sansa, Lady Lannister.     

Rohanne physically hurt Dunk / Ygritte physically hurt Jon  

Lady Rohanne’s face was stone. “Come closer.”

He did not know what else to do, but to obey. The dais added a good foot to her height, yet even so Dunk towered over her. “Kneel,” she said. He did.

The slap she gave him had all her strength behind it, and she was stronger than she looked. His cheek burned, and he could taste blood in his mouth from a broken lip, but she hadn’t truly hurt him. For a moment all Dunk could think of was grabbing her by that long red braid and pulling her across his lap to slap her arse, as you would a spoiled child. If I do, she’ll scream, though, and twenty knights will come bursting in to kill me.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

He lay on the ground afterward, clutching his prize and bleeding quietly, too weak to move. After a while, he realized that if he did not make himself move he was like to bleed to death. Jon crawled to the shallow stream where the mare was drinking, washed his thigh in the cold water, and bound it tight with a strip of cloth torn from his cloak. He washed the arrow too, turning it in his hands. Was the fletching grey, or white? Ygritte fletched her arrows with pale grey goose feathers. Did she loose a shaft at me as I fled? Jon could not blame her for that. He wondered if she'd been aiming for him or the horse. If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. "A lucky thing my leg got in the way," he muttered.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Bastards

"The old High Septon told my father that king's laws are one thing, and the laws of the gods another," the boy said stubbornly. "Trueborn children are made in a marriage bed and blessed by the Father and the Mother, but bastards are born of lust and weakness, he said. King Aegon decreed that his bastards were not bastards, but he could not change their nature. The High Septon said all bastards are born to betrayal . . . Daemon Blackfyre, Bittersteel, even Bloodraven. Lord Rivers was more cunning than the other two, he said, but in the end he would prove himself a traitor, too. The High Septon counseled my father never to put any trust in him, nor in any other bastards, great or small."

Born to betrayal, Dunk thought. Born of lust and weakness. Never to be trusted, great or small. "Egg," he said, "didn't you ever think that I might be a bastard?"

"You, ser?" That took the boy aback. "You are not."

"I might be. I never knew my mother, or what became of her. Maybe I was born too big and killed her. Most like she was some whore or tavern girl. You don't find highborn ladies down in Flea Bottom. And if she ever wed my father . . . well, what became of him, then?" Dunk did not like to be reminded of his life before Ser Arlan found him. "There was a pot shop in King's Landing where I used to sell them rats and cats and pigeons for the brown. The cook always claimed my father was some thief or cutpurse. 'Most like I saw him hanged,' he used to tell me, 'but maybe they just sent him to the Wall.' When I was squiring for Ser Arlan, I would ask him if we couldn't go up that way someday, to take service at Winterfell or some other northern castle. I had this notion that if I could only reach the Wall, might be I'd come on some old man, a real tall man who looked like me. We never went, though. Ser Arlan said there were no hedges in the north, and all the woods were full of wolves." He shook his head. "The long and short of it is, most like you're squiring for a bastard."

For once Egg had nothing to say.

—The Sworn Sword

I’ve never knew my mother?

Maybe I killed my mother at birth?

After reading this passage it’s impossible not to think about Jon Snow. The parallels here don’t need major explanation...

The Ice Dragon

There were stars in the sky as well, more stars than any man could ever hope to count, even if he lived to be as old as King Jaehaerys. Dunk need only lift his eyes to find familiar friends: the Stallion and the Sow, the King’s Crown and the Crone’s Lantern, the Galley, Ghost, and Moonmaid. But there were clouds to the north, and the blue eye of the Ice Dragon was lost to him, the blue eye that pointed north.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

So many stars, he thought as he trudged up the slope through pines and firs and ash. Maester Luwin had taught him his stars as a boy in Winterfell; he had learned the names of the twelve houses of heaven and the rulers of each; he could find the seven wanderers sacred to the Faith; he was old friends with the Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of the Morning. All those he shared with Ygritte, but not some of the others. We look up at the same stars, and see such different things. The King's Crown was the Cradle, to hear her tell it; the Stallion was the Horned Lord; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Thief. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

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.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Rohanne was called a whore / Ygritte was called a whore

Osgrey’s eyes grew narrow. “Did that woman offer to take you into service? Are you leaving me for that whore’s bed?”

“I don’t know that she is a whore,” Dunk said, “or a witch or a poisoner or none of that. But whatever she may be makes no matter. We’re leaving for the hedges, not for Coldmoat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I suppose it was also the Halfhand who commanded you to fuck this unwashed whore?" Ser Alliser asked with a smirk.

"Ser. She was no whore, ser. The Halfhand told me not to balk, whatever the wildlings asked of me, but . . . I will not deny that I went beyond what I had to do, that I . . . cared for her."

"You admit to being an oathbreaker, then," said Janos Slynt.

Half the men at Castle Black visited Mole's Town from time to time to dig for buried treasures in the brothel, Jon knew, but he would not dishonor Ygritte by equating her with the Mole's Town whores. "I broke my vows with a woman. I admit that. Yes."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon IX

Rohanne Vs Tanselle

Dunk has an internal debate between his platonic and romantic feelings for Tanselle and his sexual desires for Rohanne

And she was there as well, the Red Widow, Rohanne of the Coldmoat. He could see her freckled face, her slender arms, her long red braid. It made him feel guilty. I should be dreaming of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall, they called her, but she was not too tall for me. She had painted arms upon his shield and he had saved her from the Bright Prince, but she vanished even before the trial of seven. She could not bear to see me die, Dunk often told himself, but what did he know? He was as thick as a castle wall. Just thinking of the Red Widow was proof enough of that. Tanselle smiled at me, but we never held each other, never kissed, not even lips to cheek. Rohanne at least had touched him; he had the swollen lip to prove it. Don’t be daft. She’s not for the likes of you. She is too small, too clever, and much too dangerous.”

—The Sworn Sword

This internal debate is somehow similar to Jon Snow, due his bastard status, repressing his deep and true wishes to love and be loved by a highborn lady, and settle himself with his own notion of a warrior woman, or to be more precisely, a woman from a warrior culture, or simply, not a lady.

Sex Dreams

Drowsing at long last, Dunk dreamed. He was running through a glade in the heart of Wat’s Wood, running toward Rohanne, and she was shooting arrows at him. Each shaft she loosed flew true, and pierced him through the chest, yet the pain was strangely sweet. He should have turned and fled, but he ran toward her instead, running slowly as you always did in dreams, as if the very air had turned to honey. Another arrow came, and yet another. Her quiver seemed to have no end of shafts. Her eyes were grey and green and full of mischief. Your gown brings out the color of your eyes, he meant to say to her, but she was not wearing any gown, or any clothes at all. Across her small breasts was a faint spray of freckles, and her nipples were red and hard as little berries. The arrows made him look like some great porcupine as he went stumbling to her feet, but somehow he still found the strength to grab her braid. With one hard yank he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Killing a woman 

Dunk faced the possibility to kill Rohanne / Jon faced the possibility to kill Ygritte  

“Ser Duncan, do you remember the story that I told you?”

“I might, ser,” said Dunk. “Which one?”

“The Little Lion.

“I remember. He was the youngest of five sons.”

“Good.” He coughed again. “When he slew Lancel Lannister, the westermen turned back. Without the king there was no war. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Aye,” Dunk said reluctantly. Could I kill a woman? For once Dunk wished he were as thick as that castle wall. It must not come to that. I must not let it come to that.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon's grasp. On the ground the sleeper sat up beneath his furs. Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—

His hand froze. "A girl."

"A watcher," said Stonesnake. "A wildling. Finish her."

Jon could see fear and fire in her eyes. Blood ran down her white throat from where the point of his dirk had pricked her. One thrust and it's done, he told himself. He was so close he could smell onion on her breath. She is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't?

"I yield." Her words steamed in the cold air.

"You're our captive, then." He pulled the dirk away from the soft skin of her throat.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

Killing a Royal Child

Rohanne told Dunk about the possibility to kill Egg, despite knowing he was a Targaryen Prince / Val told Jon about the possibility of killing Princess Shireen 

“Lady Rohanne’s fingers closed around it. She glanced at Egg and old Ser Eustace. “You took a great risk in showing me this ring, ser. But how does it avail us? If I should command my men to cross…” “Well,” said Dunk, “that would mean I’d have to fight.” “And die.” “Most like,” he said, “and Egg would go back where he comes from, and tell what happened here.” “Not if he died as well.” “I don’t think you’d kill a boy of ten,” he said, hoping he was right. “Not this boy of ten, you wouldn’t.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Another similarity between Rohanne and Val is their braided hair.  Like Rohanne, Val sometimes is described to have “reddish” hair and she also wears it in a long braid.    

The Wall

“Where will you go?” The septon was panting heavily. Even with Dunk on a crutch, he was too fat to match his pace.

“Fair Isle. Harrenhal. The Trident. There are hedges everywhere.” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

(...)

“Which way is south?” he asked Egg. It was hard to know, when the world was all rain and mud and the sky was grey as a granite wall.

“That’s south, ser.” Egg pointed. “That’s north.”

“Summerhall is south. Your father.”

“The Wall is north.”

Dunk looked at him. “That’s a long way to ride.”

“I have a new horse, ser.”

“So you do.” Dunk had to smile. “And why would you want to see the Wall?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I hear it’s tall.”

—The Sworn Sword

Once again the Wall is mentioned as a place Dunk always wanted to see. Maybe in hope to find his long lost unknown very tall father there, or maybe because he wants his adventure to never ends...  

Fire and Blood

Curiously enough, we can find similarities between Rohanne and certain mother of dragons...

“Osgrey can keep his silver. Only blood can pay for blood.”

(...)

“It is Bennis I want, and Bennis I shall have.”

(...)

“...and she breeds the finest horses in the Reach. We have a dozen mares about to foal.”

(...)

Go, or I will find a sack large enough for you if I have to sew one up myself. Tell Ser Eustace to bring me Bennis of the Brown Shield by the morrow, else I will come for him myself with fire and sword. Do you understand me? Fire and sword!

(...)

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see we can find Targaryen and Dothraki references in Rohanne Webber. Who woulda thought?

Like a certain Mother of Dragons, Rohanne is determined to get what she wants, even if it has to be under threat of “Fire and Sword”.

Like a certain Khaleesi with a horse called “Silver” for the resemblance of her own hair, Rohanne had a horse called “Flame” for the resemblance of her own fiery hair.  There is also the issue with Rohanne’s long braid, like the Khal’s braids that remain untouched until they are defeated.       

Dunk cut Rohanne’s long braid with his dagger tho... 

Something To Remember Me By

Rohanne presented Dunk a fine horse as a farewell gift, but Dunk  rejected the horse and TOOK something else that wasn’t offered... 

He did not see her till the day they took their leave.

(...)

“She was waiting for him inside the stables, standing by the yellow bales of hay in a gown as green as summer. “Ser Duncan,” she said when he came pushing through the door. Her red braid hung down in front, the end of it brushing against her thighs. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

You never saw me on my back, he thought. “M’lady. What brings you to the stables? It’s a wet day for a ride.”

“I might say the same to you.”

“Egg told you?” I owe him another clout in the ear.

“Be glad he did, or I would have sent men after you to drag you back. It was cruel of you to try to steal away without so much as a farewell.”

She had never come to see him while he was in Maester Cerrick’s care, not once. “That green becomes you well, m’lady,” he said. “It brings out the color of your eyes.” He shifted his weight awkwardly on the crutch. “I’m here for my horse.”

“You do not need to go. There is a place for you here, when you’re recovered. Captain of my guards. And Egg can join “my other squires. No one need ever know who he is.”

“Thank you, m’lady, but no.” Thunder was in a stall a dozen places down. Dunk hobbled toward him.

“Please reconsider, ser. These are perilous times, even for dragons and their friends. Stay until you’ve healed.” She walked along beside him. “It would please Lord Eustace too. He is very fond of you.”

“Very fond,” Dunk agreed. “If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

For half a heartbeat Lady Rohanne looked as though she was going to slap him again. Maybe she’ll just kick my crutch away.

“You are angry with me, ser,” she said instead. “You must let me make amends.”

“Well,” he said, “you could help me saddle Thunder.”

“I had something else in mind.” She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. “How well do you know horses?”

“I ride one.”

“An old destrier bred for battle, slow-footed and ill-tempered. Not a horse to ride from place to place.”

“If I need to get from place to place, it’s him or these.” Dunk pointed at his feet.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over. Too large for most palfreys. They’d look like ponies with you perched upon their backs. Still, a swifter mount would serve you well. A big courser, with some Dornish sand steed for endurance.” She pointed to the stall across from Thunder’s. “A horse like her.”

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

He turned back to Thunder. “I cannot take her.”

“Why not?”

“She is too good a horse for me. Just look at her.”

A flush crept up Rohanne’s face. She clutched her braid, twisting it between her fingers. “I had to marry, you know that. My father’s will…oh, don’t be such a fool.”

“What else should I be? I’m thick as a castle wall and bastard-born as well.”

“Take the horse. I refuse to let you go without something to remember me by.”

“I will remember you, m’lady. Have no fear of that.”

“Take her!”

Dunk grabbed her braid and pulled her face to his. It was awkward with the crutch and the difference in their heights. He almost fell before he got his lips on hers. He kissed her hard. One of her hands went round his neck, and one around his chest. He learned more about kissing in a moment than he had ever known from watching. But when they finally broke apart, he drew his dagger. “I know what I want to remember you by, m’lady.”

Egg was waiting for him at the gatehouse, mounted on a handsome new sorrel palfrey and holding Maester’s lead. When Dunk trotted up to them on Thunder, the boy looked surprised. “She said she wanted to give you a new horse, ser.”

“Even highborn ladies don’t get all they want,” Dunk said, as they rode out across the drawbridge. “It wasn’t a horse I wanted.” The moat was so high it was threatening to overflow its banks. “I took something else to remember her by instead. A lock of that red hair.” He reached under his cloak, brought out the braid, and smiled.

—The Sworn Sword

OMG I have so many things to say about Dunk and Rohanne Farewell... I will make a summary, if not, this would be too long, and this post is already too long...

This passage is full of innuendos:

She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over.

¡¡¡SEVEN GODS!!! 

Dunk resented Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, despite knowing she did it to keep her claim. Despite knowing a marriage between them was impossible.

Dunk called himself a bastard and a fool. Florian the Fool you say?  

Rohanne offered Dunk a Dornish sand steed, telling him it would be a better mount for him. Tanselle was also Dornish. But Dunk rejected the horse anyway.

Dunk kissing Rohanne and then cutting her long braid with his dagger is giving me a lot of Jon killing his aunt vibes... 

But the fact that Dunk rejected Rohanne’s original gift and took what he wanted instead, also gives me heavy non con vibes and I hate it, I really hate it. Cutting a woman’s hair without her consent, is not romantic, less if said braid was something Rohanne was clearly proud of and was always touching it as a way of reassurance. I really don’t get George’s morbid fascination with non con undertones all over his ASOIAF works...    

* * *

THE MYSTERY KNIGHT

This tale is full of dragons, red dragons, black dragons, albino dragons, disguised dragons, hidden dragons, dragon eggs and hatching dragons.    

A New Tree on a Shield

I think this little detail foreshadows Jon’s death...

Dunk had beggar’s blood himself…or so they used to tell him back in Flea Bottom, when they weren’t telling him that he was sure to hang. 

(...)

Dunk unslung his shield and slipped it onto his arm. It was an old thing, tall and heavy, kite-shaped, made of pine and rimmed with iron.

He had bought it in Stoney Sept to replace the one the Longinch had hacked to splinters when they fought. Dunk had not had time to have it painted with his elm and shooting star, so it still bore the arms of its last owner: a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree. It was not a sigil that he would have chosen for himself, but the shield had come cheap.

(...)

“I am a hedge knight, seeking service.”

“Every robber knight I’ve ever hanged has said the same. Your device may be prophetic, ser…if ser you are. A gallows and a hanged man. These are your arms?”

“No, m’lord. I need to have the shield repainted.”

“Why? Did you rob it off a corpse?”

“I bought it, for good coin.” Three castles, black on orange…where have I seen those before? “I am no robber.”

(...)

“Enter me as the Gallows Knight.” The smallfolk loved it when a mystery knight appeared at a tourney.

Egg fingered his fat lip. “The Gallows Knight, ser?”

“For the shield.”

“Yes, but…

“Go do as I said. You have read enough for one night.” Dunk pinched the candle out between his thumb and forefinger.”

(...)

“My shield,” Dunk said to Egg. The boy handed it up. He slipped his left arm through the strap and closed his hand around the grip. The weight of the kite shield was reassuring though its length made it awkward to handle, and seeing the hanged man once again gave him an uneasy feeling. Those are ill-omened arms. He resolved to get the shield repainted as soon as he could. May the Warrior grant me a smooth course and a quick victory, he prayed, as Butterwell’s herald was clambering up the steps once more. “Ser Uthor Underleaf,” his voice rang out. “The Gallows Knight. Come forth and prove your valor.”

(...)

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dunk’s Elm and Shooting Stark Shield was destroyed so he buys a new one with a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree.

Hanging is the stablished punishment in the Night’s Watch, that’s why in the first draft of Jon’s Chapter in ADWD, GRRM wrote Jon commanding his men to hang Janos Slynt as punishment for disobedience. 

And in certain way, Dunk will be dead in this tale, but just for a little while. In fact, Dunk is about to die three times during this tale.  

Jon’s death by the hidden daggers is also foreshadowed in the books by Melisandre’s visions and one of Littlefinger’s lessons to Sansa. But there are also prophecies about him coming back to life, and in this tale a dragon’s birth is prophesied.      

Egg revealing his Targaryen identity could also foreshadows Jon knowing the truth about his origins and Targaryen lineage after coming back to life.

A Bastard Prince in Disguise 

Dunk and Egg meet Daemon II Blackfyre in disguise as Ser John the Fiddler     

...a young man lean and lithe, with a comely clean-shaven face and fine features. Black hair fell shining to his collar. His doublet was made of dark blue silk edged in gold satin. Across his chest an engrailed cross had been embroidered in gold thread, with a golden fiddle in the first and third quarters, a golden sword in the second and the fourth. His eyes caught the deep blue of his doublet and sparkled with amusement.

(...) 

“I am a vagabond hedge knight like yourself. Ser John the Fiddler, I am called.”

That was the sort of name a hedge knight might choose, but Dunk had never seen any hedge knight garbed or armed or mounted in such splendor. The knight of the golden hedge, he thought. “You know my name. My squire is called Egg.”

—The Mystery Knight

Wait!

A bastard dragon in disguise? 

With dark hair?

Called John?

Also the Fiddler?

Fiddles and Swords as his sigil? 

Like a musician and a warrior? Somet like Florian the Fool? Someone like Rhaegar?

Ser John the Fiddler could also work as foreshadowing for Young Griff, the alleged Aegon VI Targaryen, Jon’s half-brother. 

Like Young Griff dying his silver/golden hair blue, Daemon Blackfyre has silver/golden hair dyed black.

Like Young Griff having Jon Connington, a man in love with Rhaeger, by his side, Daemon Blackfyre has Alyn Cockshaw, a man in love with him, by his side.       

Gormon Pyke

Dunk meets the man that killed Roger of Pennytree 

Three castles, black on orange. “I remember now. Ser Arlan never liked to talk about the Redgrass Field, but once in his cups he told me how his sister’s son had died.” He could almost hear the old man’s voice again, smell the wine upon his breath. “Roger of Pennytree, that was his name. His head was smashed in by a mace wielded by a lord with three castles on his shield.” Lord Gormon Peake. The old man never knew his name. Or never wanted to. 

—The Mystery Knight

Roger of Pennytree was Ser Arlan’s squire, he died at the Redgrass Field, that’s why Ser Arlan needed a new squire and took Dunk under his tutelage.  

This encounter somehow reminds me of Jon meeting Donald Noye, the man that forged Robert Baratheon’s warhammer, the weapon that killed Rhaegar, Jon’s biological father. 

Dunk and Egg meet three very interesting hedge knights... in a weirwood grove 

Before long the trees opened up, and they found themselves in what must once have been a weirwood grove. Only a ring of white stumps and a tangle of bone-pale roots remained to show where the trees had stood, when the children of the forest ruled in Westeros.

(...)

“I am Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor. Under yonder chestnut sits Ser Glendon, ah, Ball. And here you have the good Ser Maynard Plumm.”

Egg’s ears pricked up at that name. “Plumm…are you kin to Lord Viserys Plumm, ser?”

“Distantly,” confessed Ser Maynard, a tall, thin, stoop-shouldered man with long, straight, flaxen hair, “though I doubt that his lordship would admit to it. One might say that he is of the sweet Plumms, whilst I am of the sour.” Plumm’s cloak was as purple as his name, though frayed about the edges and badly dyed. A moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg fastened it at the shoulder. Elsewise he wore dun-colored roughspun and stained brown leather.

—The Mystery Knight

So many things to say about these three hedge knights.

First, Egg mentioned Lord Viserys Plumm because he was a Targaryen, son of Princess Elaena Targaryen.

Second,  these three knights reminds me a lot of another trio of interesting hedge knights that we met in one of Alayne Stone’s chapters in AFFC:

Alayne laughed. "Are you louts?" she said, teasing. "Why, I took the three of you for gallant knights."

"Knights they are," said Petyr. "Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . with whom I must needs confer, if you will be so good as to excuse us."

The three knights bowed and withdrew, though the tall one with the blond hair kissed her hand before taking his leave.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

So we have these hedge knights in Dunk and Egg tales:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor, ginger whiskers.

Ser Glendon Ball (Glendon Flowers/the Knight of the Pussywillows), dark brown hair, bulbous nose.

Ser Maynard Plumm, flaxen hair.

And we have these hedge knights in ASOIAF:

Ser Byron the Beautiful, blonde hair. 

Ser Morgarth the Merry, salt-and-pepper beard, a red, bulbous nose. 

Shadrich of the Shady Glen also known as the Mad Mouse, orange hair.

Then we can associate them this way:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor / Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse of Shady Glen, both with similar names and red hair.

Ser Glendon Ball / Ser Morgarth the Merry, both with bulbous noses.

Ser Maynard Plumm / Ser Byron the Beautiful, both blondes and... under disguise?

Third, and this is a widely known theory, I’m convinced that Ser Maynard Plumm is Brynden Rivers aka Bloodraven in disguise, thanks to a glamor with the moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg. That moonstone is working like Melissadre’s ruby at the wrist of Mance Ryder disguised as Rattleshirt (*). 

(*) Here I have to mention the existence of two theories about Ser Byron the Beautiful. The first one says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory. The second theory is an addition to the first one, it says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise, using the face of Tyrek Lannister, under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory as well. 

Is Ser Byron someone else in disguise? I have no idea if the parallels will be 100% accurate and we will only know when the Winds of Winter come. 

Dragon Eggs

The protagonists of this tale are eggs, a dragon egg and a dragon called Egg

“The dragon’s egg? Is that the champion’s prize? Truly?” The last dragon had perished half a century ago. Ser Arlan had once seen a clutch of her eggs, though. They were hard as stone, but beautiful to look upon, the old man had told Dunk. “How could Lord Butterwell come by a dragon’s egg?”

“King Aegon presented the egg to his father’s father after guesting for a night at his old castle,” said Ser Maynard Plumm.

“Was it a reward for some act of valor?” asked Dunk.

Ser Kyle chuckled. “Some might call it that. Supposedly old Lord Butterwell had three young maiden daughters when His Grace came calling. By morning, all three had royal bastards in their little bellies. A hot night’s work, that was.”

(...)

“Lord Butterwell will have the egg well guarded, I’m sure.” Dunk scratched the midge bites on his neck. “Do you think he might display it at the feast? I’d like to get a look at one.”

“I’d show you mine, ser, but it’s at Summerhall.”

“Yours? Your dragon’s egg?” Dunk frowned down at the boy, wondering if this was some jape. “Where did it come from?”

“From a dragon, ser. They put it in my cradle.”

“Do you want a clout in the ear? There are no dragons.”

“No, but there are eggs. The last dragon left a clutch of five, and they have more on Dragonstone, old ones from before the Dance. My brothers all have them too. Aerion’s looks as though it’s made of gold and silver, with veins of fire running through it. Mine is white and green, all swirly.”

“Your dragon’s egg.” They put it in his cradle. Dunk was so used to Egg that sometimes he forgot Aegon was a prince. Of course they’d put a dragon egg inside his cradle. “Well, see that you don’t go mentioning this egg where anyone is like to hear.”

“I’m not stupid, ser.” Egg lowered his voice. “Someday the dragons will return. My brother Daeron’s dreamed of it, and King Aerys read it in a prophecy. Maybe it will be my egg that hatches. That would be splendid.”

“Would it?” Dunk had his doubts.”

Not Egg. “Aemon and I used to pretend that our eggs would be the ones to hatch. If they did, we could fly through the sky on dragonback, like the first Aegon and his sisters.”

“Aye, and if all the other knights in the realm should die, I’d be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. If these eggs are so bloody precious, why is Lord Butterwell giving his away?”

(...)

“Are we going to go to Whitewalls, ser?”

“Why not? I want to see this dragon’s egg.” Dunk smiled. “If I win the tourney, we’d both have dragon’s eggs.”

Egg gave him a doubtful look.

“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I could tell you, ser,” the boy said solemnly, “but I need to learn to hold my tongue.”

—The Mystery Knight

If Dunk and Valarr represented Jon in the first tale, in this one, Jon is represented by Dunk and Glendon as bastards, Daemon as bastard/prince in disguise and our little Egg as a dragon coming to life / revealing his Targaryen identity.

Indeed, Egg will be the dragon egg that hatches in this tale, and later he will be King and Dunk will be his Kingsguard’s Lord Commander one day. 

And the sad note is that both, Dunk and Egg, will died years later while trying to hatch dragon eggs. Be careful what you wish for...

Winterfell

Dunk frowned. “Egg and I have a long journey before us. We’re headed north to Winterfell. Lord Beron Stark is gathering swords to drive the krakens from his shores for good.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dun and Egg will be at Winterfell during the fourth tale, The She-Wolves of Winterfell, a tale that is supposed to explore House Stark Succession issues...

At some point, Dunk asked Ser Glendon Ball, another bastard, that joined them in their journey to Winterfell, an offer to start a new life in a land when they will be judge by their own worth and not by their social status and low origins.   

Florian the Fool imagery

“The wine had colored Ser Glendon’s cheeks and inflamed his pimples. “Who are you, to make such boasts?”

“They call me John the Fiddler.”

“Are you a musician or a warrior?”

“I can make sweet song with either lance or resined bow, as it happens. Every wedding needs a singer, and every tourney needs a mystery knight.”

—The Mystery Knight

As I mentioned before, John the Fiddler sounds like some version of Florian the Fool, a musician and a knight/warrior.  Ser Glendon Ball pointed out this detail.

Jon is surrounded by Florian the Fool imagery. From “You know nothing, Jon Snow” to all the singers linked with him like his biological father Rhaegar Targaryen, Mance Ryder and Bael the Bard.

Having a Thirst during a Feast

Both Dunk and Jon get hammered and think about girls...

Dunk remembers Tanselle and Rohanne and Jon thinks about insipid and stupid and blonde Princess Myrcella and his radiant half-sister Sansa... 

Dunk had not intended to drink so much, with the jousting on the morrow, but the cups were filled anew after every toast, and he found he had a thirst. “Never refuse a cup of wine or a horn of ale,” Ser Arlan had once told him, “it may be a year before you see another.” It would have been discourteous not to toast the bride and groom, he told himself, and dangerous not to drink to the king and his Hand, with strangers all about.

(...)

The other hedge knights, fine fellows all, had begun to talk of women they had known. Dunk found himself wondering where Tanselle was tonight. He knew where Lady Rohanne was—abed at Coldmoat Castle, with old Ser Eustace beside her, snoring through his mustache—so he tried not to think of her. Do they ever think of me? he wondered.

(...)

He had another cup of hippocras, since the first had tasted good. Then he lay his head down atop his folded arms and closed his eyes just for a moment, to rest them from the smoke.When he opened them again, half the wedding guests were on their feet and shouting, “Bed them! Bed them!” They were making such an uproar that they woke Dunk from a pleasant dream involving Tanselle Too-Tall and the Red Widow. “Bed them! Bed them!” the calls rang out. Dunk sat up and rubbed his eyes.

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring.

(...)

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I 

A Bedding

Before Dunk quite realized what was happening, John the Fiddler had dragged him to his feet. “Here!” he cried out. “Let the giant carry her!”

The next thing he knew he was climbing a tower stair with the bride squirming in his arms.

(...)

Dunk had no notion where Lord Butterwell’s bedchamber was to be found, but the other men pushed and prodded him until he got there, by which time the bride was red-faced, giggling, and nearly naked, save for the stocking on her left leg, which had somehow survived the climb. Dunk was crimson too, and not from exertion.

His arousal would have been obvious if anyone had been looking, but fortunately all eyes were on the bride. Lady Butterwell looked nothing like Tanselle, but having the one squirming half-naked in his arms had started Dunk thinking about the other. Tanselle Too-Tall, that was her name, but she was not too tall for me. He wondered if he would ever find her again. There had been some nights when he thought he must have dreamed her. No, lunk, you only dreamed she liked you.

(...)

When Dunk finally plopped the bride onto her marriage bed, a dwarf leapt in beside her and seized one of her breasts for a bit of a fondle. The girl let out a squeal, the men roared with laughter, and Dunk seized the dwarf by his collar and hauled him kicking off m’lady. He was carrying the little man across the room to chuck him out the door when he saw the dragon’s egg.

(...)

Dunk dropped the dwarf and picked up the egg, just to feel it for a moment. It was heavier than he’d expected. You could smash a man’s head with this, and never crack the shell. The scales were smooth beneath his fingers, and the deep, rich red seemed to shimmer as he turned the egg in his hands. Blood and flame, he thought, but there were gold flecks in it as well, and whorls of midnight black.

—The Mystery Knight

A dwarf fondling the breast of a lady during her wedding night reminds me of Tyrion groping his child bride Sansa during their wedding night.  So I would really like that one day someone seized Tyrion by his collar and hauled him liked Dunk did with that dwarf as punishment for his unwanted advances with Sansa.   

Another Prophetic Dream 

In Ashford, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a dead dragon. In Whitewalls, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a hatching dragon

He was feeling dizzy from the wine, so he leaned against a parapet. Am I going to be sick? Why did he go and touch the dragon’s egg? He remembered Tanselle’s puppet show, and the wooden dragon that had started all the trouble there at Ashford. The memory made Dunk feel guilty, as it always did. Three good men dead, to save a hedge knight’s foot. It made no sense, and never had. Take a lesson from that, lunk. It is not for the likes of you to mess about with dragons or their eggs.

“It almost looks as if it’s made of snow.”

Dunk turned. John the Fiddler stood behind him, smiling in his silk and cloth-of-gold. “What’s made of snow?”

“The castle. All that white stone in the moonlight. Have you ever been north of the Neck, Ser Duncan? I’m told it snows there even in the summer. Have you ever seen the Wall?”

“No, m’lord.” Why he is going on about the Wall? “That’s where we were going, Egg and me. Up north, to Winterfell.”

(...)

He gave Dunk an enigmatic smile. “I dreamed of you, Ser Duncan. Before I even met you. When I saw you on the road, I knew your face at once. It was as if we were old friends.”

Dunk had the strangest feeling then, as if he had lived this all before. I dreamed of you, he said. My dreams are not like yours, Ser Duncan. Mine are true. “You dreamed of me?” he said, in a voice made thick by wine. “What sort of dream?”

“Why,” the Fiddler said, “I dreamed that you were all in white from head to heel, with a long pale cloak flowing from those broad shoulders. You were a White Sword, ser, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you lived for no other purpose but to guard and serve and please your king”. He put a hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “You have dreamed the same dream, I know you have.”

He had, it was true. The first time the old man let me hold his sword. “Every boy dreams of serving in the Kingsguard.”

“Only seven boys grow up to wear the white cloak, though. Would it please you to be one of them?”

“Me?” Dunk shrugged away the lordling’s hand, which had begun to knead his shoulder. “It might. Or not.” The knights of the Kingsguard served for life and swore to take no wife and hold no lands. I might find Tanselle again someday. Why shouldn’t I have a wife, and sons? “It makes no matter what I dream. Only a king can make a Kingsguard knight.”

“I suppose that means I’ll have to take the throne, then. I would much rather be teaching you to fiddle.”

(...)

“I hope you will put more faith in what I tell you when you see the dragon hatch.”

“A dragon will hatch? A living dragon? What, here?”

“I dreamed it. This pale white castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams.”

“Dunk was remembering another tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with another princeling. I dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg’s brother Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large they could cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous ground on which to build. “As you say, m’lord,” he told the Fiddler. “Pray excuse me.”

“Where are you going, ser?”

“To my bed, to sleep. I’m drunk as a dog.”

“Be my dog, ser. The night’s alive with promise. We can howl together and wake the very gods.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Your sword. I would make you mine own man, and raise you high. My dreams do not lie, Ser Duncan. You shall have that white cloak, and I must have the dragon’s egg. I must, my dreams have made that plain. Perhaps the egg will hatch, or else…”

—The Mystery Knight

Daemon’s dream was proven right since Egg hatched there in Whitewalls and years later Dunk became Lord Commander of Aegon V Targaryen’s Kingsguard.

But what if the dragon hatching in a castle made of snow was a dream for the long future as well as Dunk wearing the white cloak many years later?

That part of the dream could be foreshadowing Jon’ resurrection in a castle made of snow. That castle made of snow could be Winterfell? Maybe, but it also could be the Wall, since Daemon himself mentioned the Wall in this passage, the castle there is called Castle Black but it is certainly covered by snow. 

This could also be foreshadowing of Jon’s true parentage revelation, as a Targaryen; and that could happen in Winterfell, that is a grey castle certainly, but also covered by snow.  

Also, the white cloaks of the Kingsguards are often compared with snow and called snowy white. 

I also read some theories about New Castle in White Harbor as the castle made of snow of Daemon’s dream. 

Better with a Sword

Dunk watched a server fill his wine cup. “I am better with a sword than with a lance,” he admitted, “and even better with a battle-axe. Will there be a melee here?”

(...)

“You're better with a sword than with a lance,” Egg said. “With an axe or a mace, there's few to match your strength.”

(...)

“Ser Tommard, this man is the prince’s sworn shield. He’ll kill you!”

“Only if he falls on me.” Black Tom showed his teeth in a hard grin. “I saw him try to joust.”

“I am better with a sword,” Dunk warned him.

(...)

“Black Tom reeled back a step and stared down in horror at his forearm flopping on the floor beneath the Stranger’s altar. “You,” he gasped, “you, you…”

“I told you.” Dunk stabbed him through the throat. “I’m better with a sword.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Warg imagery once again...

A trumpet sounded.

Thunder started forward at a slow trot. Dunk swung his lance to the left and brought it down, so it angled across the horse's head and the wooden barrier between him and his foe. His shield protected the left side of his body. He crouched forward, legs tightening as Thunder drove down the lists. We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very interesting passage because Dunk lost that joust and he kind of died for a while (he got unconscious for hours). Dunk fell to the ground after his opponent lance struck him on the head. Later that said opponent, that was drinking with Dunk the night before during the feast, confessed to Dunk that he was paid for killing him.

This is very similar to Jon being killed by his own brothers at the Wall, being alive for a while inside of his direwolf Ghost, and his future resurrection.    

Coming back to life

Dunk woke upon his back, staring up at the arches of a barrel-vaulted ceiling. For a moment he did not know where he was, or how he had arrived there. Voices echoed in his head, and faces drifted past him; old Ser Arlan, Tanselle Too-Tall, Bennis of the Brown Shield, the Red Widow, Baelor Breakspear, Aerion the Bright Prince, mad, sad Lady Vaith. Then all at once the joust came back to him: the heat, the snail, the iron fist coming at his face. He groaned, and rolled onto one elbow. The movement set his skull to pounding like some monstrous war drum.

(...)

“Tell me. What’s happened?”

“The same foolishness that always happens in these affrays. Men have been knocking each other off horses with sticks. Lord Smallwood’s nephew broke his wrist and Ser Eden Risley’s leg was crushed beneath his horse, but no one has been killed thus far. Though I had my fears for you, ser.”

(...)

“How long have you been tending me?” Dunk flexed the fingers of his sword hand. All of them still seemed to work. Only my head’s hurt, and Ser Arlan used to say I never used that anyway.

“Four hours, by the sundial.”

Four hours was not so bad. He had once heard tell of a knight struck so hard that he slept for forty years and woke to find himself old and withered. ”

(...)

“A passing groom told him where to find the nearest well. It was there that he discovered Kyle the Cat, talking quietly with Maynard Plumm. Ser Kyle’s shoulders were slumped in dejection, but he looked up at Dunk’s approach. “Ser Duncan? We had heard that you were dead, or dying.”

Dunk rubbed his temples. “I only wish I were.”

—The Mystery Knight

"Four hours was not so bad.” Dunk was four hours unconscious after his murder attempt. Maybe Jon will be dead for four days and it won’t be “so bad”, he won’t lost much of his memories.     

Honor

Better a beggar than a thief. He had been both in Flea Bottom, when he ran with Ferret, Rafe, and Pudding, but the old man had saved him from that life. He knew what Ser Arlan of Pennytree would have said to Plumm’s suggestions. Ser Arlan being dead, Dunk said it for him. “Even a hedge knight has his honor.”

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

I will kill him if I must. The prospect gave Jon no joy; there would be no honor in such a killing, and it would mean his own death as well. Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved. If Jon must slay a man he half admired and almost liked to save them from the mercies of Rattleshirt and Harma Dogshead and the earless Magnar of Thenn, that was what he meant to do.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Even if she was a whore... I want to know

"His Lordship said that I had no right to put a fireball upon my shield. He told me my device should be a clump of pussywillows. His Lordship can go bugger himself." Dunk could not help but smile. He had supped at that same table himself, choking down the same bitter dishes as served up by the likes of the Bright Prince and Ser Steffon Fossoway. He felt a certain kinship with the prickly young knight. For all I know, my mother was a whore as well. "How many horses have you won?"

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"One of the guards overheard Clydas reading the letter to Maester Aemon." Pyp leaned close. "Jon, I'm sorry. He was your father's friend, wasn't he?"

"They were as close as brothers, once." Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as the King's Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont's permission. It would be good to see Arya's grin again and to talk with his father. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he told me. Even if she was a whore, I don't care, I want to know.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

True Identities and Targaryen Names

Inside, the Fiddler turned back to Dunk. “I knew Ser Uthor had not killed you. My dreams are never wrong. And the Snail must face me soon enough. Once I’ve unhorsed him, I shall demand your arms and armor back. Your destrier as well, though you deserve a better mount. Will you take one as my gift?”

“I…no…I couldn’t do that.” The thought made Dunk uncomfortable. “I do not mean to be ungrateful, but…”

“If it is the debt that troubles you, put the thought from your mind. I do not need your silver, ser. Only your friendship. ”

(...)

“You are no hedge knight.”

“No.” The Fiddler’s smile was full of boyish charm. “But you knew that from the start. You have been calling me m’lord since we met upon the road, why is that?”

“The way you talk. The way you look. The way you act.” Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall. “Up on the roof last night, you said some things…”

“Wine makes me talk too much, but I meant every word. We belong together, you and I. My dreams do not lie.”

“Your dreams don’t lie,” said Dunk, “but you do. John is not your true name, is it?”

“No.” The Fiddler’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

He has Egg’s eyes.

“His true name will be revealed soon enough, to those who need to know.” Lord Gormon Peake had slipped into the pavilion, scowling. “Hedge knight, I warn you—”

“Oh, stop it, Gormy,” said the Fiddler. “Ser Duncan is with us, or will be soon. I told you, I dreamed of him.”

(...)

“I never did you any harm.”

“And never will. Daemon’s mine. I will command his Kingsguard. You are not worthy of a white cloak.”

“I never claimed I was.” Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

—The Mystery Knight

These passages give me hope about Aemon being Jon’s Targaryen name: 

Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

Aemon. The name rang in Dunk’s (?) head. Not Jon. Aemon, after his father uncle.

Who will discover Jon’s true parentage and Jon’s Targaryen name? My bet is on Sansa since she unbeknownst helped Ned to discover that “Prince” Joffrey were a bastard. So it would be a full circle if she discovers by herself that the bastard Jon Snow is a true prince.

The Redhead Lady of the Tale

Mad Danelle Lothston herself rode forth in strength from her haunted towers at Harrenhal, clad in black armor that fit her like an iron glove, her long red hair streaming.

—The Mystery Knight

There is always a redhead woman with a wicked reputation. In the first tale a red haired whore is mentioned; in the second tale Rohanne Webber is a protagonist; and in this third tale Mad Danelle Lothston makes a triumphant entrance riding all armored next to Bloodraven to put an end to the Second Blackfyre Rebellion. Such a powerful image...   

An Elm Tree again!

The Hand’s pavilion was half a mile from the castle, in the shade of a spreading elm tree. A dozen cows were cropping at the grass nearby. Kings rise and fall, Dunk thought, and cows and smallfolk go about their business. It was something the old man used to say.”

—The Mystery Knight

Bloodraven put his pavilion in the shade of a spreading elm tree. This is a reminiscence of the first tale:

On the outskirts of the great meadow, a good half mile from town and castle, he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall, leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight’s banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts.

(...)

“There’s my pavilion.” Dunk swept a hand above his head, at the branches of the tall elm that loomed above them.

“That’s a tree,” the boy said, unimpressed.

“It’s all the pavilion a true knight needs. I would sooner sleep under the stars than in some smoky tent.”

—The Hedge Knight

Dunk took that elm tree as his sigil the same way Lyanna took a weirwood as his sigil as a Mystery Knight.

Dunk also took a shooting star as part of his sigil and when Jon’s was born, there was a shooting star symbol around him, Ser Arthur Dayne’s sword, Dawn, made of a falling star, and House Dayne’s sigil is also “a white sword and falling star crossed on lilac”.

So Dunks sigil is really telling us about Jon Snow’s birth story, about the identity of his mother and the place when he was born, that was named by his biological father and was guarded by a knight with a sword made of a falling star.   

Roger of Pennytree 

Flanking the entrance, the severed heads of Gormon Peake and Black Tom Heddle had been impaled on spears, with their shields displayed beneath them. Three castles, black on orange. The man who slew Roger of Pennytree.

Even in death, Lord Gormon’s eyes were hard and flinty. Dunk closed them with his fingers. “What did you do that for?” asked one of the guardsmen. “The crows’ll have them soon enough.”

“I owed him that much.” If Roger had not died that day, the old man would never have looked twice at Dunk when he saw him chasing that pig through the alleys of King’s Landing. Some old dead king gave a sword to one son instead of another, that was the start of it. And now I’m standing here, and poor Roger’s in his grave.”

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very sad scene where we can see how Dunk still feels guilty for all the men that had to die for him to live the life he is living. Jon shares the same guilt along his arc and is heartbreaking.   

Tower of Joy imagery

Bloodraven ordered Whitewalls to be pulled down stone by stone, the same way Ned Stark pulled down the Tower of Joy

“And Whitewalls?” asked Butterwell, with quavering voice.

“Forfeit to the Iron Throne. I mean to pull it down stone by stone and sow the ground that it stands upon with salt. In twenty years, no one will remember it existed. Old fools and young malcontents still make pilgrimages to the Redgrass Field to plant flowers on the spot where Daemon Blackfyre fell. I will not suffer Whitewalls to become another monument to the Black Dragon."

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

“It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory’s father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

As you can see, Whitewalls, the castle where Egg “hatched” and revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, is ordered by Bloodraven to be pulled down stone by stone. And after reading this it’s impossible not to think about the Tower of Joy, the place where Jon was born, being pulled down by Ned Stark. 

A Dragon Rises

“We had some help, m’lord,” Dunk added.

“Hedge knights.”

“Aye, m’lord. Ser Kyle the Cat, and Maynard Plumm. And Ser Glendon Ball. It was him unhorsed the Fidd…the pretender.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that tale from half a hundred lips already. The Bastard of the Pussywillows. Born of a whore and a traitor.”

“Born of heroes,” Egg insisted. “If he’s amongst the captives, I want him found and released. And rewarded.”

“And who are you to tell the King’s Hand what to do?”

Egg did not flinch. “You know who I am, cousin.”

“Your squire is insolent, ser,” Lord Rivers said to Dunk. “You ought to beat that out of him.”

“I’ve tried, m’lord. He’s a prince, though.”

“What he is,” said Bloodraven, “is a dragon. Rise, ser.”

Dunk rose.

“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest,” Bloodraven said, “so we should not be surprised if from time to time a Blackfyre displays the gift as well. Daemon dreamed that a dragon would be born at Whitewalls, and it was. The fool just got the color wrong.”

Dunk looked at Egg. The ring, he saw. His father’s ring. It’s on his finger, not stuffed up inside his boot.

(...)

“My place is with Ser Duncan. I’m his squire.”

“Seven save you both. As you wish. You’re free to go.”

“We will,” said Egg, “but first we need some gold. Ser Duncan needs to pay the Snail his ransom.”

Bloodraven laughed. “What happened to the modest boy I once met at King’s Landing? As you say, my prince. I will instruct my paymaster to give you as much gold as you wish. Within reason.”

—The Mystery Knight

And finally, the dragon egg that actually hatched in Whitewalls was Egg, a Targaryen Prince in disguise that revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, a future king, that will also died while trying to hatch dragon eggs, next to Dunk at Summerhall, the place when another human dragon hatched, Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon’s biological father.

GRRM really likes his full circles... 

This has been a long ride. I hope you enjoy it.

THE END.

[indigobackfire]

Phoenix Lazar Nobleworth Silverwood

Below is a lengthy history of his parents, their involvement with dragons, and how he lost them.

Ps: I tried adding some Scottish dialect in the dialogue, but I'm not the best at it considering all I have as reference is my love for James McAvoy and Outlander. Forgive me in advance for any atrocities lol. Also, diverging from canon especially in relation to Veela powers and physical descriptions.

Phoenix's father, Emilian, was sorted into Gryffindor and with pride, he was a Gryffindor by the book, adventurous, brave, often reckless, fun, with a strong sense of protection over his friends, someone who valued courage and honor.

Emilian didn't know how he and Palmer Silverwood - Slytherin, pureblood, much more popular than him, and one of the best duelists in their year - became friends, he also didn't know how Palmer found an about to hatch dragon egg in the forbidden forest, or how he even got into the forbidden forest to begin with, but being who he was, Emilian wasn't much surprised.

The biggest surprise was that Palmer even knew who he was.

Emilian takes a peek into Palmer's robes where the egg is hidden. "So? You're the dragon laddie, Nobleworth."

"Yeah, it's a dragon egg. Common Welsh Green this one." He looks up. "And is that what people call me?"

"Are ye really surprised? You talk about them all the time, yer the best in Care of Magical Creatures, and ye have a dragon painted at the back of yer bloody robes."

"Only fair. McGonagall hates it."

Palmer laughs. "Will ye help me?"

"Aye. But what ye want me to do?"

"I dinna ken. I just don't want the wee dragon to die. The poor creature wasn't warm when I found it so it's probably motherless. I mean... they fire up their eggs, don't they?"

Emilian smiles. "You're not as unknowledgeable as you think, Silverwood. Let's go somewhere more private."

In the humid and dusty air of the artifact room, they hide. "Hand me the egg."

Palmer hands him the egg delicately as if the creature inside it wasn't one that could eat them both in a bite when grown. And for a moment Palmer wonders what he'll do, but Emilian just stands there holding the egg. And as he's about to question him, he sees Emilian's fingers get bright red.

"Mate? What's wrong with yer hands?"

Emilian snickers. "I have a secret, can you keep it?" Palmer nods eyes fixated on the egg whose cracks were very slowly growing. "I'm half Veela and whilst I can't throw balls of fire from my hands... I can heat it up to... oven temperature."

"Oven temperature?"

Emilian smirks. "Ah dinnae have exact numbers, but if ye want to give a touch."

Palmer looks at his hands again. "Nae. They're as bright as molten glass, lad."

Emilian raises his eyebrows. "Oh, I felt it move."

"Ooohh, it's gonna set this tiny room on fire."

"Let me hide it this time. I ken a place we can go. The person ye should've gone to in the first place."

Palmer widens his eyes. "Kettleburn, nae."

"Silverwood, ye cannae keep the dragon. It'll set you on fire before completing one year."

Palmer puffs as they walk out of the artifact room. "If the dragon enthusiast dinnae want to keep a real dragon, why would I?"

"A dragon lover is the same as a bee lover. You can appreciate the honey, the lovely stripes, but if ye hold it in yer hand, it'll sting you. Dragons were made to live outside, flying, spitting fire. A wee dragon is cute, but once is grown..."

"Yer a curious lad, Nobleworth." Emilian gives an awkward half smile. "I like you."

Their friendship was as unexpected to them as it was for the bystanders, but one that sustained for their last two years in Hogwarts - including Palmer's girlfriend, Clarin, an uptight but curious Ravenclaw, who despite her best instincts followed behind on the boys' adventures.

When Emilian announced he would be leaving England for the Dragon Sanctuary in Romania a couple of years later, as much as Palmer and Clarin expected that to happen, it still came with the bittersweetness of watching one of their best friends go.

Years go by, but still, their bond sustains time and distance. Every opportunity they had, the SIlverwoods would travel to Romania to visit their friend who in a lighting in a bottle chance found himself a wife of "his kind".

Full Veela, Antonia Lazar, practically raised herself as her father left her mother, a temperamental full Veela woman, to deal with Tonia herself, a task she delegated to her equally careless family members, closely involved with the Dragon Sanctuary in times the place was still informally managed.

When Emilian meets her, barely wearing rags over her body, barefoot on the grass, pearl blonde hair unruly, looking as if she was raised by wild house elves, he couldn't help his heart hammering in his chest. Female Veela beauty wasn't something he was unused to, considering his mother and aunts were ones as well, but when Antonia was before him he thought of himself before a goddess.

Emilian tries not to spill the water in the heavy buckets while Antonia doesn't seem to be struggling at all. He wouldn't have a need to even carry them if he hadn't forgotten his wand, but at least he got to be alone with her.

"Why is it that ye dinnae like us?"

"You English think you run the place just because you read about dragons in a book, think you know more than us who grew with hundreds of them." She shoots him firey eyes. "Know when I first rode a dragon? I was five years old!"

"I never say I doubted yer capacities. And I'm not English, I'm Scottish." She glares at him again. "I'm kidding."

"Don't get me angry, you won't like it me angry. Trust me."

"I would actually. I wonder what color yer feathers would be."

"I'm sorry?"

"I ken a Veela when I see one. Especially cause I'm half one."

Her expression soothes a little. She puts the bucket down and grips his hand. "Go, do your magic."

While his hand goes as hot as they can, his eyes slowly change hues to match her, never breaking eye contact. "It's nice touching a girl who doesn't mind a more... ardent touch."

She gives a small smile. "You're pathetic."

"I'd love to fly on a dragon's back with someone who understands about them. I promise I'm not here to mock or doubt you. I love those creatures more than anyone I know."

She lets go of his hand and with a smirk picks up the bucket. "Well, now you know me."

Their relationship quickly becomes stronger as they spend day after day together. The work at the Sanctuary is as rewarding as it is tiring, so at the end of long days, they would sit together and exchange stories, her of her buckwild childhood and him of his years in Hogwarts. In each other's company that they find an air of normality and peace.

After recognizing and accepting her strong feelings for Emilian - something hard considering how men had treated her before, seeking what she had to offer them more than considering her needs - and finding out he felt the same for the longest time, they decided to marry, her seeing in him a sense of stability for the first time in her life.

It doesn't take long until Antonia is pregnant with their first child, and in the pool of genes and possibilities, their first-born boy is a full Veela like his mother, something uncommon for boys. Not considering what would be 'formal' or well accepted, Antonia decides to name him Phoenix for encompassing what being a Veela means to her, a bird of elegance and fire and perseverance.

And as if it was pre-destined, just a couple months prior, Clarin and Palmer had given birth to a girl of name just as uncommon, little Indigo Silverwood, who is but three months old when they come to Romania to meet little Phoenix.

To this day, the Silverwoods wonder if their timing was the best or worst it could've been.

As in the same week they came to visit, an attack happens with the intent of capturing as many dragons as they could from the reserve, something that had happened times before but this time much better planned and heavily armed with the best wizards they could get.

They start picking up their wands in haste while seeking the fire protection potion they had brewed specially for this trip back at home. "What do they need dragons for? Can't they breed their own." Clarin asks.

"Is not like is legal or easy to do so." Antonia has her eyes soaked with tears. "They don't care about the creatures, they want money. Oh, they use their blood to make spot removers. Oven cleaners! How can you take a marvelous creature and turn it into such a pathetic thing? Then they use their hearts in you wizards stupid wands and their skin into gloves!"

"Somebody must have heard about the new Chinese Fireball," Emilian says, "People seek the gold in their horns and eggs, but if you pull them out, they die."

"Not to mention the baby Romanians. Put your goddamn boots on already, Emilian!"

"What 'bout the bairns?" Palmer asks anxiously.

"There's no time. They probably ain't getting all the way up here, but in all cases." Emilian grabs the potion from Clarin's hands turning over Jacob's and baby Indigo's mouth, knowing the fire wouldn't do harm to Phoenix. He places something in Jacob's little hand. "Jacob, if any mean person comes trying to hurt ye, throw this at their feet and run. Alright?" Jacob nods, eyes wide with fear and excitement of a five-year-old.

"What is it?" Palmer asks.

"A vial of Peruvian's Vipertooth venom, extremely deadly and volatile. Don't ask me why I have it."

Palmer looks at Jacob. "Stay quiet and protect the babies, right, love?"

Antonia kisses Phoenix on the forehead one last time then turns to the others. "Let's go, please!"

And if they knew, she would've held him a little longer, Emilian would've stopped time for a couple of seconds to look at their boy for a lingering moment more. But they didn't and time never reversed.

They weren't the only lives lost, but side by side they fought and won and lost and lost and lost. They managed to protect all but two of the dragons at the end, blood of dark wizards - and innocent ones - soaked the grounds. Dragons loose on the sky overhead, blood spilt from both sides, burnt buildings, scars that would never heal, the body of a friend devoided of life, a mother of dragons and children never to wake up again, children crying in a cabin kilometers away.

When Antonia's mother refused to watch over her own grandson, Clarin felt as if it was her own son the woman refused and it was that soon the decision to keep him came. She was still breastfeeding and no ordinary family would know how to raise him right, at least that's what both her and Palmer told themselves. Emilian's parents, both devastated by the news of their son's death were quick to agree with the Silverwoods' proposal.

And it's like this that Phoenix and Indigo are practically raised as twins, still young when he notices he doesn't look like the rest of them - a pale and blonde boy in a family of tanned brunettes - not only for his looks but by the fact that sinking his hand into a pot of boiling water doesn't hurt or the fact his anger makes his body react differently from the others or that people got mesmerized by his looks enough to do whatever he asked them to.

But the Silverwoods learn the painful way that raising a Veela child is not easy work. Not only easily irritable but also dangerous when transformed, not much to others while still young, but to himself due to painful and harmful transformation, taking hours until he could retain his human form. Meditating and thought exercises became pivotal from an early age. As not make their treatment towards him different from Indigo, they become tougher with both, demanding an altruistic, patient, and empathetic behavior from both.

This leads Phoenix to grown into a level-headed, sweet and compassionate boy who eventually got sorted into Hufflepuff without the sorting hat having to consider long.

As much as he wishes he had grown with his biological parents, he's grateful to have grown in the family he did and doesn't consider himself any less part of it, he loves his siblings dearly and considers and reslects his parents as if it was from their blood and cells he was made of.

---

This is my attempt at a concise history of Phoenix, mostly his parents who I dream of drawing someday. I'll make something in the future for his romantic life as it is its own ride. I ship him with Ismelda and boy oh boy I have some to say about that.

If you wanna more info on Phoenix, I made him an OC profile :)

[its-sixxers]

Tandreth and the Dragon

Idunn, Dragonborn, has Tandreth, Grandmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, as her captive. Taking him to Windhelm for judgement after he fails to steal from her, fate has different plans in store - and a lifelong thief makes a choice of selflessness that will change his life forever. A hero dies, and another lives.

--

Tandreth’s nose had begun to itch.

The bruise the great ox of a woman in front of him had given him was starting to fade, and with healing flesh came the itch. He wanted to scratch it desperately, but his hands were bound - and the woman in front of him held his leash. Idunn, her name was - not uncommon among Nords, and though she was a little smaller than her kinsmen she made up for it with her bullheadedness. All he’d done was try to snatch the silver amulet around her neck - and she’d taken it upon herself to drag him back to Windhelm to be prosecuted for it.

They were only just within the border of Eastmarch when she’d caught him, and three days on the road saw them making slow progress through the jarling’s hydrothermal plains. Three times he’d attempted to escape, and three times he’d been pinned to the ground with her fist raised and threatening to break his nose.

He liked his nose - it being intact was a point of pride for him, and so he resigned himself to managing a prison break from the Stormcloak’s cells.

Tandreth kicked a pebble down the path in front of them, knowing it would annoy his captor. It was all the rebellion he was able to have - bothering both his captor and her horse. The beast was a beautiful dapple-grey, beloved by its owner and loaded with saddlebags. He wondered if it was her only friend in the world, and was tempted to say so - but decided that such a cruel remark was best saved for when he needed to cut with words. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if he had much room to talk. He hadn’t even a horse - long lived as he was, animals died quickly. Men only died slightly less quickly. Loss was something he’d spent his life trying to avoid - he’d tasted enough of it.

His gaze followed the line of rope from his bonds to Idunn’s free hand, resentment bubbling in him. It was all a giant waste of time, yet here they were - a thief, an ox, and a horse. The start of a bad joke travelling north to Windhelm, the stench of Eastmarch’s hot springs thick and pungent as overcooked eggs.

“Could you just save me the trouble and kill me here?” he finally broke the silence, resentment boiling over. “My feet hurt, and I think the stench is going to drive me mad.”

“Then you can greet Sheogorath for me.” Idunn said dismissively, his attempts to annoy her sliding off as ever. It was like throwing snowballs at a wall. “You made your choice.”

“Do you arrest everyone who gets up to a little mischief?”

“I try to uphold justice where I can. What you did was not mischief.”

“I was only trying to see if I could. I wasn’t actually going to steal your trinket. I’ve just been sitting on my laurels, you see - taking a necklace from a sleeping woman was a challenge. I’d have placed it neatly on your nightstand and left a reassured man.”

“Is your ego that fragile?”

“Yes.”

Idunn turned her head at his answer, frowning humorlessly. He hadn’t seen her smile once since their trip began - though he knew his ribbing wasn’t helping matters there. 

“You know, I’ve been purposely tied up in more compromising situations than this.” Tandreth continued, knowing this line of conversation made her uncomfortable and relishing in it. “I admire your tenacity with how tight you’ve made these bindings -” He wiggled his hands for emphasis, his wrists itching from the rope tied around them. “- but I could teach you a more elegant -”

Idunn stopped in her tracks and raised her hand, and with a thrill he thought she was going to hit him. He quickly realized it was meant to quiet him, however, as a faint noise echoed in the distance. For once he decided to follow her instruction, curiosity keeping him silent. The noise happened again - thunder, he thought, though there were no clouds in the sky. Idunn’s already pale face went a little paler as the thunder went on longer than Tandreth had ever heard in his centuries of life - and then the thunder did something thunder never did.

It changed in pitch, as if alive. As if a roar.

His captor dropped the rope she led him by and unsheathed her hunting knife from her belt. If it were anyone else the gesture would have him running, but Idunn was a Nord, and killing a bound opponent would be a black mark against their ever important honor. Fool’s honor, in his experience.

To his surprise, her knife cut through his bonds. Tandreth smiled in relief and rubbed at his wrists, but his good humor was dampened by yet another roll of roar-thunder. Idunn took the reins of her horse in hand, and he thought they were going to ride to safety - but instead she thrust them into his hands and pointed to a rocky outcropping some distance off the road. It was ringed with great standing stones, offering more than enough cover for both him and the horse, and Tandreth connected the dots before Idunn gave her instruction.

“Hide. No matter what. If I die, wait until the beast is gone.” she spoke, just as he saw a black figure rise over the mountains in the horizon. Idunn saw it too, and sharply inhaled - a fool might think the figure a bird, but at such a distance it was far too large. 

Tandreth had heard the rumors, but never had he thought he’d see with his own eyes.

A dragon.

“No, no no.” Tandreth said quickly. “You don’t fight something like that. We need to ride, find shelter- “

“It will find me.” Idunn replied just as sharply. “Hide. Trust me.”

Hiding was what he was best at, but trust was something he never gave. Still, the shadow in the sky was growing larger and he wasn’t so willing to throw his life away as she was. Tandreth sprinted to the stones, another louder roll of thunder cracking through the sky - the sound was closer yet still a mix of the natural and organic, elements interweaved. Idunn’s horse followed him without him needing to tug on the reins, likely as terrified as he was.

He glanced back to see Idunn still standing in the path. She’d drawn her warhammer and held it in both hands, staring defiantly upward at the approaching shadow in the sky like something out of the wall carvings in so many old tombs. Tandreth turned his focus back to the path in front of him, dreading what he’d see next.

He made it to the stones just as the wingbeats of the dragon became audible. The standing stones were purposely placed, he realized, for there was a weathered and ancient shrine within their borders. On an old stone altar he recognized the small statue of Akatosh, carved from pure obsidian. For a fleeting moment he smiled at the sick humor of it before the great beating of wings filled him with fear once again. He flattened himself against the stone of an arch, Idunn’s horse sheltering under it with him, and against his better judgement he peeked around its side.

The dragon was close enough that its shadow fell across the path Idunn stood on, so large it made Tandreth’s stomach flip. Its scales glinted in the sun as it circled overhead - it must have spotted Idunn, for it roared so loudly his ears rang. To his horror, it dipped downward midflight, approaching the ground at a speed far too fast for such a large creature. 

Idunn stood fast even as the beast opened its mouth, and Tandreth bit his tongue to keep from crying out as a stream of flames shot out from the back of the dragon’s throat. Liquid fire spilled forth aimed directly at Idunn - but before they made contact she shouted in a tongue he’d never heard of or known. Her voice was like a clarion bell, powerful and clear - and to his awe the flames flowed around her as if around a shield.

It was then he realized Idunn was dragonborn, and a new kind of horror settled within him.

Tandreth had known another chosen by fate, and he knew what fate did to such a person. The familiarity made him want to jump in the saddle and run, but he knew he’d long since missed his chance.

Instead, all he could do was watch Idunn and the dragon do battle. The creature was huge - judging by the tension in Idunn’s stance, it was larger than even she had seen. It kept trying to blast her with flames, but she kept up with its attempts with startling reflexes. It was a shouting match, her clear voice answering each rasping roar. Eventually the beast seemed to tire of her antics, and settled on the ground to do battle with tooth and claw. It tried to bite at her, its great jaw snapping like cracks of nearby thunder - but it earned a warhammer to the jaw each time for its trouble. Idunn swung her weapon with precision, striking the same point on the beast’s jaw each time. Tandreth realized her focus was an attempt to crack the beast’s face plating, hard and shining like steel.

Idunn’s last hit managed to crack the faceplate open, scales and dragonflesh falling to the ground. It roared and took off before she could drive her hammer into the exposed flesh beneath, and Idunn roared back in frustration. 

The next time the dragon opens its mouth a great wind echoed out with its cry, nearly knocking Tandreth from his post. Idunn stood firm - she shouted back with a blast of wind of her own, the power of her voice causing the dragon to waver in the sky. 

Tandreth understood with terrible clarity the tales of Ulfric shouting Torygg to pieces. Such power he’d never seen in his life - not even at his sister’s hands, the knowledge of Ashlands magic at her disposal.

Idunn was tiring with each shout - he could see it in her posture, how her warhammer seemed to be growing heavy in her arms. He could hear it in her voice - it was growing hoarse and weak. For a few minutes he thought, ridiculously, that she might have a chance against such a creature. Now he realized he was likely to see her die.

He looked around desperately for escape routes, a familiar panic settling in. It wasn’t fear for his own life that had him wanting to run - he’d been fearing death the past few minutes and stayed rooted to the spot. No, there was something else that filled him with greater fear than anything else, a fear that was rooted in his bones.

He didn’t want to watch her die.

His search for escape was quickly routed, however, for the dragon landed again, clearly sensing Idunn’s flagging stamina. The next time it roared, Idunn screamed in pain with it - he watched the flames break through her shouted shield at the last instant, the heat so intense he could feel it from his hiding place and staggering Idunn. The dragon followed it with a swipe of its claws, peeling open her breastplate as if it were scrib chitin. Idunn staggered back before falling to the ground, her warhammer clanking against the worn cobblestone.

It was over. Tandreth knew that if he remained hidden he had a strong chance of survival - Idunn had told him as much, had instructed him as much. At first he’d followed her instructions gladly, thinking her a fool - but she hadn’t died instantly to the dragon. She wasn’t a fool. She was dragonborn - and perhaps if it wasn’t for him distracting her and wearing her down, she would have succeeded in her battle.

If he did as she said, he knew it would result in her death. If he didn’t, it’d result in his.

Helplessness was a feeling he’d spent over a hundred years running from, and now it had settled over him in force. Tandreth’s bow was tied to the saddle, but for all of his years of experience - for those golden days he was his tribe’s star hunter, an aspiring ashkhan - against the dragon’s steel hide even his arrows would be of little use.

There was nothing he could do, and yet he did not wish to believe it. 

Help. His heart shouted as loud as Idunn did. Daedra, ancestors, someone, please -

Tandreth’s thoughts were cut off by a sudden flash of light, blinding him. The dragon roared again, and he thought it was over well and truly. But there was no snap of bone, no heat of flame, no rending of steel. When he regained his sight there was a ghostly armored figure walking away from him toward the dragon, shining silver as the moon and holding a spear blazing bright and fierce as the stars.

A spear he knew. A lump formed in his throat. He had summoned ancestor spirits out of fear before, but never one he recognized. The ghost could be one of two of his blood - and he hoped desperately it was the elder.

The dragon stood over Idunn’s prone form, its attention diverted toward the ghostly figure - and Tandreth. Its wings raised, beating as it began to take off and sending great gusts of wind with each sweep. Before it could lift into the sky, however, the ghostly figure threw its spear. It pierced the dragon’s wing, and on making contact ignited the entire limb with flame. The dragon screamed rather than roared, and fell back to the ground.

The ghost approached the fallen dragon and pulled its spear from the wing while the dragon howled on the ground, the magical flames fading and leaving a melted mess of scales and flesh in their wake. The dragon tried to snap at its new opponent, but its teeth only moved through the ghost’s ethereal form.

In spite of himself Tandreth squinted against the ghost’s shining light, trying to make out its features. It looked like an Ordinator, those guards he’d seen only in childhood and illustrations - but the armor was too old, too well-worn. Tandreth knew who the Ordinators were meant to emulate. He knew the figure before him was too slight, too small to be the patriarch of House Indoril himself. He realized with ice in his veins who the ancestral spirit was.

The Nerevarine.

Mother.

It had been sixty years since she’d last been seen, and now her ghost stood before him with her spear in hand. The woman who had killed a god. Dead.

She watched the dragon thrash and raised her spear up once more. With careful aim, she threw it at the beast’s head. The blazing spear pierced where Idunn had broken the beast’s faceplate, moving through exposed flesh and impaling it through the skull. All at once, the dragon’s roars were silenced. It collapsed to the ground in a limp heap.

His mother’s ghost pulled her spear from the creature’s skull and turned to look at him. Tandreth could not see her face under her helmet, but he didn’t need to. She lifted her free hand and placed it over her heart, a farewell he’d seen so many times. A gesture she’d made at the docks, over and over, leaving him and his sister behind while she tried to save their people. Tandreth wanted to cry out, to scream at her for leaving again, for leaving forever - but only a moment later her ghost faded.

In the sudden silence he could hear Idunn whimpering in pain, sounding the opposite of the powerful figure he’d seen shouting down a dragon. Setting his roiling emotions aside, Tandreth scrambled over to her frantic horse, doing his best to calm it so he could grab a healing potion from the saddlebags. With the potion in hand, he turned to run over to Idunn - but the sight that greeted him was extraordinary enough to stop him in his tracks. 

The dragon’s scales and flesh were turning to glowing mist, flowing down toward Idunn. He watched transfixed as the mist wrapped itself around her like a cloak, flowing into her eyes, her nostrils, her mouth. Idunn tipped her head back, gasping and shuddering as the essence flowed into her until only bones remained of the great beast. With the mist gone, Idunn collapsed fully to the ground.

It jolted Tandreth back to action, and he raced toward her. Blood was pouring out from the tear in her breastplate, and he feared she had a punctured lung from how she was wheezing. Tears of pain were streaming down her face, but she was trying her best not to whimper.

“Here.” he said, kneeling beside her. He uncorked the potion and placed his hand on the back of her head to support it - momentarily marvelling at how such a warrior had such soft hair, the auburn strands a contrast against his dark blue skin. He tipped the potion bottle to her lips with his other hand - shaking from adrenaline. All sensation was heightened, the sight he’d just witnessed sending his mind reeling. Idunn drank the healing mixture greedily, and gained a small amount of awareness. It wasn’t enough - not nearly enough - but it’d keep her from death’s door for a little while longer.

“You should have run.” she said weakly - using what little strength she had to speak. It echoed his own thoughts only minutes ago - but she was not scolding him. There was pride in her eyes beyond the pain. He hated it.

“I’ve seen too much death.” he responded quietly, so quietly he hoped she wouldn’t hear. He raised his voice. “You need a good healer. The nearest ones I know are at the temple in Windhelm.” The temple of Talos, another hero-god, another alleged dragonborn - and Tandreth fought against what felt like fate’s hand.

Idunn was pale before the blood loss, but seemed even paler in that moment. Windhelm was still days away, and he knew she feared how long the journey would take. Yet her expression turned to that same stubborn one he’d seen when he first met her, when the innkeeper questioned why she was taking a petty thief all the way to Windhelm. She nodded. Idunn tried weakly to unfasten the bindings on her torn breastplate so she could move, but Tandreth nudged her hands away and started to do it himself.

“I’m not going to steal your armor.” he reassured her, at the sight of her wide eyes. What would Raansi do, he thought, trying to remember his sister’s methods as a healer. All he could do was offer Idunn a smile, an attempt at normalcy.

It worked, and she blinked back her tears of pain while he worked the breastplate off of her. There was a great gouge taken out of her lower chest, and it was bleeding heavily - but her armor had protected her from the worst of the dragon’s wrath. If he could get her to Windhelm before infection and fever claimed her, she’d survive. Tandreth hastily untied his silk sash from his waist, binding her ribs with the colorful patterned fabric. It cost as much as her warhammer, he was certain - and he was staining it with her blood.

“You’re… a strange thief.” Idunn murmured, face ashen as she watched him work. Her green eyes were growing unfocused. Time - Akatosh’s domain - was not on their side.

He decided he hated dragons.

Tandreth looped his arm under her shoulders and helped her to her feet, struck by the weight of her as she leaned against him. Even with her injured, her warmth and solid form against him was oddly comforting - it had been too long since he’d allowed another to touch him, since he’d touched another, and he missed the feeling of safety. He needed to make haste, or her warmth would fade. “I’m a lot of things, dragonborn.” he grinned at her, joking to take the edge off his nerves. “I’ll take strange over the other things you’ve called me.”

Idunn managed a weak laugh as he helped her to her still-nervous horse - and it’s a wonderful sound to his ears, her smile softening her hard features into something quite pleasant. It took all of her energy and a boost from him to help her into the saddle, where she wavered dangerously in place. He gathered up her dropped warhammer and breastplate and quickly affixed them to the saddlebags. By the time he did so, Idunn was slumping forward in the saddle. He hastily put his foot in the stirrup and took his place behind her, taking the reins in hand. His arms were at either side of her body, keeping her steady even as consciousness faded from her. 

“Stay with me, dragonborn.” Tandreth remembered one thing from his sister’s lessons - that as long as Idunn was conscious she had a better chance to fight the punishment her body had taken. “If you die I’m taking your things.”

There was a murmur of protest from her. He tapped his heels against the horse’s flank, and the mare quickly began to move, eager to leave the dragon behind.

Tandreth glanced back at the bones, and the cracked skull his mother’s spear had penetrated. He swallowed - he wanted to leave Idunn in Windhelm with the priests and flee back for the comfort of the Rift, but the ghost he’d seen had reignited his flagging sense of duty.

His mother was dead, and his mind was fleeing from the grief approaching him like a black fog. But he couldn’t run - not when he wasn’t the only one who suffered. Not when he wasn’t the only one who needed to know what he had seen.

Tandreth’s journey would not cease at Windhelm. He couldn’t turn back after seeking help for the dragonborn however much he wished to.

For the second time, he was to head to Winterhold with grim news.

For the second time, he’d watch his sister’s heart break.

The Nerevarine was dead, and her twin children were the only souls left alive left to grieve her.

[pumpkin-bread]

January Dragon Share: Day 28

The Saddest Backstory

As a rule, I don’t write stories just to be upsetting. There’s enough sadness in the real world and I prefer a bit of an escape. BUT. That certainly doesn’t mean I don’t have a few sad stories I’ve written. Here’s three that compete for the saddest.

Cassanda - Suchimu - Hope

Under the cut for length, but I’ll warn you that there’s a lot of death and illness in there as well.

Cassanda:

Another of Pepper's "favourites". Cassandra was taken in from the street as a young child and adopted as the fae's own. Though treated to the luxurious life of a noble, she still felt a yearning for exploration - and battle as well - and began training with the off-duty castle guards the moment she was strong enough to hold a sword. Becoming proficient with the blade, she later worked with the crystalline castle's elite warriors to learn the finer arts of combat and defense, until she was strong enough to travel safely on her own. And so, she roamed for years, visiting the farthest reaches of Sornieth and seldom coming back unless called for. One such occasion brought the news that a suitor had been chosen for her. Though initially quite wary about the entire thing, she was shocked to find she had an instant connection with the young man who had been picked. He led a starkly different life than she did, one devoted to scholarly pursuits. He could read and write multiple written languages - even those of some beastclans - and knew their histories and mythologies by heart. It was a part of the world she'd never much experienced, and it fascinated her. The two would spend long nights swapping stories - but even their silence was comfortable and warm. She found she could relax around him, and falling in love was easier than she'd ever expected. He was not a warrior, nor the most efficient traveler - and he did all the important documentation for Amberspire, to boot - so she still often went on excursions alone. He would complain whenever she was packing to leave - though it was in a lighthearted manner, somewhat of a joke between them by that time. "Do you really have to leave?" "Do you really have to stay here?" "Yes." "Yes." "I'll always come back!" "And I'll always be waiting!" Had become a routine conversation for them, simply part of their goodbyes for years to come. But one day, during one of her trips, Princess Cassandra received word of an attack on Amberspire - one which left many dead, and her husband severely wounded. Though she immediately hurried back to the crystalline castle, she had been a week's travel away. He had been dead for several days by the time she'd made it back, as were the guards who had trained her, and civilians as well. Her grief was matched only by her guilt; the knife that twisted in her chest whenever she thought of how everything could have been different had she just been there, how she might have protected him and everyone else, how she might've been able to stop the trespasser who had taken so many, how if she had just been a little closer, she might of at least been able to say goodbye. Princess Cassandra was not present for the mass funeral held, nor did she leave her room for months thereafter. If it weren't for the occasional sight of Lady Pepper and Princess Avonne occasionally going in to visit, most would have believed that she was a late victim of that night as well. Months later, she did begin to roam about the castle once more - but she was starkly different from the woman the Amberspirians had remembered. She had become gaunt, quiet, and unfriendly; ignoring those who spoke to her, and standing silently during important events and festivals royals were expected to be present for. Her traveling days seemed over for good.

***

Suchimu: It was a frigid night in the Arcane Isles. It was typical for the levels of magical irradiation to cause something akin to nuclear winter, sapping the life from all but the hardiest of flora. Each blade of grass was frozen beyond any hope of survival, and shattered at the slightest touch. To say the least, it offered no comfort to the imperial who lay in a weary heap deep within the barren, gnarled woods. Far in the distance, Castle Amberspire lit up the night with a warm but unwelcome glow. She hated the sight of it, but she couldn’t leave. Not yet. Her two remaining children lay curled peacefully around her new enchanted satchel - a gift her previous visitor had left behind - which radiated much-needed warmth. Such kindness had meant the world in the midst of such loss, but in the end did nothing to allay her grief. She stirred, carefully shifting to brush the hair from one of her hatchlings’ eyes. She smiled weakly at the sight of her son’s face so peaceful in sleep. It at once warmed and broke her heart to see so much of her mate in him. Her mate. After so many decades of traveling together as simply “friends”; companions who were always bound to meet again, despite how different their paths in life became. She’d loved him for decades. Perhaps if she’d known he’d felt the same so long ago, everything would have played out differently. Perhaps they would have been together years ago, living in a clan of their very own far from this damned forest. Perhaps they would have continued their travels, losing all other material anchors to any place or time, still laughing and sharing stories wherever the wind took them. Or, perhaps they would have lived out their love and parted ways, never to speak again. Though the thought pained her, she would have traded everything she had even for the last outcome – for her to have done just one damned thing differently – for if she had, perhaps he would still have walked this earth. His whispered plea for her to stay hidden with their eggs was to be the last words he spoke to her. He was taken, throat slit and dragged off into the night. She so desperately wanted to chase after the dragons who took him, to tear them apart and bring him home. To at least give her mate a proper burial if there was no hope of saving him. But they were gone so quickly, his weight nothing compared to their combined strength. And it was so damn cold. If she had left her eggs, they would have died within the hour. Perhaps in his last moments he’d given himself to It fully. That must have been why her visitor had held such hope - but she could not say if it would be better or not if he had. He’d never let the Shade take over; though it had warped and marred his hide, he had always remained the same inside, his soul untainted as they day they’d first crossed paths. If he still lived, it would be as nothing more than a facsimile of the male she’d loved: a hollow shell that became residence to something insidious. She couldn’t bear the thought. The tears she’d managed to hold off for so long won out; she clutched her head in her hands, digging her claws into her brows as sobs wracked her body. The movement was enough to rouse her children, who cried out in drowsy protest. She choked and forced herself to still, fighting back the shattering pain in her chest until her cries ceased. They couldn’t stay here. Everything reminded her of him in the worst way, and she couldn’t raise her children where only sorrow flourished. Whether she wished to start anew or simply give up, she couldn’t say then - but her first priority was her hatchlings. They deserved happiness, and needed safety. She could not provide them with either of those things. She raised her head, looking wearily about the forest before grimacing once more at the sight of the castle. Her answer was certainly not within godsdamned Amberspire. “Aether, Mist, you will be happy, even if we never see each other again. Mama promises,” she said in a barely audible whisper, curling around her hatchlings and letting her eyes shut. She didn’t know what to do, or where to go in the end. 'I want to go home' echoed in her mind, but she knew her birthland was not the answer. She had learned, in the worst way, that home was not a place, but a person. ****

Hope:

Stay back. *wheeze* No, I’m not afraid of you harming me. Quite the opposite, in fact. *rasp* I carry an illness, you see. One that took the lives of all I’d known. I’d hate for you to catch it. *wheeze* A healer? You cannot help me. I seek those versed in combating the Shade. *cough* A cure? No. I have little hope for that, in my case. But I must share my findings. *rasp* I have a document of everything. How it spread, who fell and when. I was their doctor - *cough* If - if I can share my notes, perhaps our kind can at least grow closer to finding one. A cure. If that is true, then perhaps this loss… perhaps it wasn’t for nothing.“

It started with a whimper. The elderly and young began to fall ill. Only the feeblest at first, but it wasn’t long before the clan was devoid of children’s laughter, and elders no longer left their homes. They began to pass. Peacefully, it seemed. Most simply falling asleep and never waking up. Fearing a plague, the bodies were all burned. Burials were hasty and done en masse in vast pits just beyond the clan proper, with no headstones nor mark of any sort to signify just who had been lost. Mourning parents and families had no time to fashion their own, for even those in the prime of their lives became gripped with the same pain and fatigue that had taken their parents and children away. But they did not fall. They struggled through their days, doing what they could to keep alive as the mysterious ailment continued to worsen and take hold of the remainder of their kin. A cough developed amongst them all that shook bodies and rattled bones. Fevers – and delusions – became rampant, and soon the sickest of the clan were wandering the streets; dazed, lost, and violent when approached. Those who still had their thoughts locked themselves away and barricaded the doors, until they too succumbed to madness, starvation, or whatever else. Screams and wails filled the days and nights, tormenting those who could still understand, Until only one remained. The clan healer, who had done everything he could to save each and every member of his community and falling short each time. He’d documented each change in health, the names of each patient, and the date they had died until it became unsafe to do so and he’d locked himself away in desperate search of a cure. When the outside world began to fall silent, he ventured out into the decrepit remains of his home. Bodies of former friends and allies littered the streets, amongst bodily filth and long since dried blood. Donning what protective gear he did have, he began to dig another pit alongside the first, for even in his own weakened state he knew they deserved a burial. But when the time came to gather the dead, he was able to fully understand the depth to this plague. Bodies lurched upward in reaction to being touched. They stood on broken legs and watched with eyes that had long since rotted out. His clanmates were dead, but what inhabited them was not. He fought as much as he could, but after weeks of starvation he had no hope of succeeding. The man fled the godforsaken place he’d called home, taking his medicine bag, the clothes on his back, and the log of all who had fallen with him. Now, he wanders, walking until he collapses and resting only then. He has hope for a cure, or at least some way to kill off what still lives in that clan. But he stays far away from anyone else, for he feels the cough that rattles his bones, and can see the tarry black that webs over his palm whenever he coughs. He, too, is infected.

[emysabath]

Had a dream last night

I was a college age guy, really into video games.  Came home on a break and found that most of my friends were so caught up in a new VR game, they weren’t going to make time to hang out.  Came home, and both of my brothers had the game too, they were just lying there, totally absorbed.  There was an extra headset, so I tried it on.

I’m instantly immersed in a near-future virtual world teeming with other players, as well as NPC’s.  There doesn’t seem to be a story, it’s more a “level up by doing whatever you want” world.  After a while of playing around, drag racing, and doing other irresponsible things I wouldn’t normally do, I found a secret.  There was a hard-to-reach spot near the game’s shopping center where you could complete one task, and immediately become level 100.  The task was pretty simple, too - just stand and stare at one spot for 40 in-game years.  I took my place, and I stared.   I didn’t move.  I could hear things occasionally - sounds like someone practicing a trumpet from very far away, or brief snatches of conversation - but I didn’t pay attention.  I was almost there, almost to level 100, when I noticed a puzzle in the corner of my eye.  I glanced over, just for a second, and was expelled from the level 100 quest.  The puzzle had got me, it was well known for breaking people out of the quest.  Suddenly, I remembered - this was just a video game, how long had I been in here?  Those sounds, my brother was practicing the trumpet, my parents were worrying about me.  

I left the game, where I had been for four months in the real world.  I started to recover, exercising my real body instead of just exercising for virtual levels, while my parents caught me up on what happened while I was out.  Everyone had been worried, my friends had visited me, trying to get me to snap out of it.  Uncomfortably, they told me there had been an... incident, when my girlfriend came to visit.  She was pregnant now.

I didn’t have a girlfriend.

There was a gorgeous, high-level woman in the game that I’d had a fling with.  From the things she said, I think she was one of the developers.  I had to find her - I didn’t have any clues in the real world, but I could track her down in the game.

I plugged back in, and went straight for the secret quest.  Nothing could distract me now, I needed to be level 100 for whatever would come next.  40 in-game years passed, and then I was ready.  I found her, and followed her to a dev-only area of the game, a place with vast, dark, empty hallways.  Every player here was level 100, and there weren’t many of them.  I tracked her down, cornered her in an empty room.  She tried to flirt with me, but I was not going to be distracted by the flirtations of my rapist.

“Where is my son?” I demanded.  Her eyes flicked to the side - a young man had slipped into the room, he looked only a couple years younger than me, but I knew, and he knew.

“Father?”

This was what the whole game was for.  They had found a way to create life - a sentient AI, matched with a fetus only a few months along.  

I pulled him in for a tight hug.  My son.

He knew all the secrets of the game world, after all he had been born inside it, and raised by the original developers.  One of the developers had been “fully incorporated,” meaning she no longer had any way to go back to her physical body, and was instead the intelligence behind the vast empty darkness.  When I first saw her, I recognized her - she was the darkness I had stared into for 40 in-game years.  It wasn’t an Easter Egg, it was the lure of an anglerfish, ascending players to level 100 so they could go to the off-limits areas, where she would draw them in and assimilate them into her vast emptiness.

Astoundingly, she was still conscious enough to speak.  While my son held me back from being lost in her darkness, I learned that the vast emptiness inside her came from a broken heart.  She had loved one of the other developers, a woman in yellow.  They were both going to be incorporated into the game, but the woman in yellow backed out, left the game entirely, and left the Darkness alone, trapped in the game.

Telling her story was like drawing out a poison.  The Darkness became smaller after that, tamer, more human.  She needed people to talk to, someone to hear her and see her, that was all.  From the outside, it was like my son and I had tamed a dragon - no other dev or player, no matter their level, dared to mess with us.  Still, my work wasn’t done.  The physical body meant for my son would be born soon.  My son had only ever lived in the virtual world, and though he had mastered it, it was clear he didn’t fully understand the concept of “reality.”

But I would be there, I would show him the way.

[overdrivels]

Imploration

This is a sort of prequel to an old fic of mine, On Guard. Mostly talks about conspiracy and the stuff that led up to the events of that fic. I wrote this long, long ago, but just never finished it. Apparently the last edit was back in 2018, so I’m actually happy I got my ass back into gear to finish it up.

It’s basically just a tangent of potential lore-weaving and what-if Sojiro Shimada wasn’t an asshole and knew Gabriel Reyes.

----

「Sapporo, please.」

“Water.”

The two men waited in silence for their respective drinks to come. They sat side by side at the counter in the furthest seats away from the door with a great view of the dinky ramen shack that could barely seat ten people. One was obviously a foreigner to this place. The other patron was obviously from the area, dressed in nothing but jinbei, and personally greeted by the shopkeeper warmly in his thick dialect (「Welc–oh! So-chan, long time! How are th'boys?」)

Their drinks were placed in front of them not too long, and they each took a pull, relishing in the relief the liquids brought them in this humid weather. The cicadas were loud, and combined their voices with the cheap electrical fan overhead, almost enough to make up for the simmering silence in the shop. Though, one of the patrons decided that cicadas make for terrible conversationalists, and that perhaps the man next to him would be better.

“Are you a perhaps a tourist?” Sojiro asked coolly in near perfect English, eyes crinkling in mirth. Gabriel’s eyes swept the shop before focusing on the man. There were very few who would know English in this part of town. Both were able to speak freely in this nearly abandoned shop. The shopkeep himself was tending to his broth unhurriedly.

Gabriel took a sip of his water, condensation already forming on the side from the hot summer air.

“Yeah, something like that. You a local?”

“Something like that,” he repeated cheekily. Gabriel snorted. His new friend had a sense of humor.

“Are you here for business, then?”

The air shifted briefly when Sojiro said that, and Gabriel had to grin. It reeked of danger and shady dealings. “I’m just here for…sight-seeing. Heard that Hanamura was quite…magical this time of year.”

Sojiro mirrored his expression, a knowing look in his eyes. “Of course. Hanamura is very beautiful. You’ve come at a good time, friend.” He jerked a chin at the shopkeeper behind the counter.

「Koma-chan!」

「Ay, So-chan? What can I do fer ya?」

「My new friend here wants your Tonkotsu special. Double eggs, extra firm noodles, make them wavy. Oh, and don’t forget the garlic. Two heads of it.」

With a knowing nod, and a curt, 「Sure thin’,」 the shopkeeper clicked off the fire to his broth, provided the two a pitcher of water to drink at their leisure, and disappeared into the back, leaving the two customers by their lonesome. The lights above their heads flicked momentarily, and a dull buzzing current that Gabriel could feel crawling up the back of his bare neck. Neither of the patrons moved until they could hear the wooden door to the shop click shut, and a body leaning heavily against it–basic assurance that no one will come in.

In the privacy of the shop guarded by a man who’s paid to keep secrets, both men were able to drop their pretenses.

“Where are my noodles, Shimada?” Gabriel gestured grandly at the kitchen just behind the bar table they sat at. “You promised me noodles when I got here.”

Sojiro laughed out loud. “You’ll get them, Reyes-san. Where is your hat?”

The Blackwatch commander ran a hand over his bare head, seeming annoyed now that he was reminded that he was bereft of his signature beanie. “At home getting tossed ‘round like a toy by some ingrate. Probably.”

The Japanese man had to raise an eyebrow at that. “Oh? A dog, is it?”

The image of Jesse McCree as a dog–the correct analog was a roadside mutt, really–wasn’t entirely wrong, but Gabriel waved it off. “Something like that. But enough of this bull.”

“Yes,” Sojiro said coolly. “Welcome to my Hanamura, I am very pleased you were able to make it.”

The possessiveness does not go unnoticed—a dual invitation and a threat.

“’was getting tired of talking to you through stupid cigarette paper.” From one of his inner pockets, Gabriel tossed out a rolled up piece of scrap onto the table, which Sojiro picked up, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, amused.

“I had assumed you liked my style. Apologies.” The paper disappeared into the inside of Sojiro’s sleeves as he crossed his arms.

Gabriel snorted in disbelief. “If you were really sorry, you’d get your ass on one of our comms already and not send one of your mechanical birds. You’re a damn hack, Shimada,” he said, pounding the table just once to get his point across.

“You flatter me.”

“That ain’t a compliment.”

“Then I’m afraid I misunderstood.” He pressed a mocking hand to his heart. “Forgive the ignorance of this old man.”

While the runaround was annoying, Gabriel could appreciate the sarcasm, it’s much better than listening to the straight-laced Jack Morrison all day. “Just get on with it. You said you had a favor to ask Blackwatch?”

“Ah, yes.”

Sojiro leaned against the bar counter with one elbow, suddenly donning the posture of one more fitting of his actual position. Comfortable, unhurried, but menacing. “But first, allow me to tell you the tale passed down from our family throughout the generations.”

The Blackwatch commander drained the last of his water, and waved the bottom of it at him, willing him to continue. He had a feeling that he’d be forced to hear it whether he wanted to or not.

“My family tells of an ancient legend about two great dragon brothers…”

By the time the story was over, Gabriel was leaned over the counter, his palm digging another crater-sized dimple into his face. "And? What does that have to do with your clan?”

“We, the Shimada clan, descended from those dragons,” he paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before he looked at Gabriel with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "or so it’s said. Though, some have interpreted the story to mean that the two dragons were once the rulers of the Shimada clan. When the Dragon of the North killed his younger brother, he did not fall to the ground. He fell on a Shimada.”

The image of a multi-ton mythical snake falling onto some poor soul made Gabriel laugh out loud, and he slapped the table, shaking the empty glasses in his mirth. Sojiro was not particularly bothered by this, and let him laugh it out–he’s dealt with worse, he has two sons that could disappear at a moment’s notice (one of which does it on a nearly bi-hourly basis).

Gabriel finally calmed down after a couple of minutes, he was clutching his stomach, tears at the corner of his eyes. By that time, Sojiro has already drained the last of his alcohol. “That’s hilarious, Shimada.”

His lips quirked upward and he shrugged far more casually than a man who just had his family legacy laughed at should. “There’s more–”

“Did he fall on more than one?”

“–to this theory. When the elder Dragon was asked to descend, he did not descend onto any land, but into a Shimada. Possessed a human body.”

“That interpretation’s a stretch, isn’t it?”

Sojiro shrugged again. “Regardless, these dragons are in our family. And the Shimadas have the ability to control them.”

“And? If you have those mythical dragons running around, why do you need our help?”

Sojiro laughed humorlessly. “Because, Reyes-san, you are a smart man. You should understand.”

“Flattery gets you nowhere, Shimada. I’m not making my people do your dirty work for you.”

“Of course not, and this request is not without adequate compensation.”

Sojiro poured water into Gabriel’s empty glass and then into his own. Gabriel watched quietly as the man turned away from him and ran a hand through his hair slowly, the streaks of grey a testament to how difficult his life must have been. The man’s chest expanded with a deep breath, unwilling to actually sigh, before he faced the Blackwatch commander again.

“They killed my wife, Reyes-san,” Sojiro said solemnly. “Now they seek to kill me to control my sons.”

His eyebrow raised. “The news said she died of heart failure.” Not that Gabriel believed everything he heard in the news, but he was admittedly not very concerned with Japanese politics at the time. The Shimadas always kept their affairs to Japanese soil, though there were always rumors of the clan being seen in various areas of South and East Asia.

The widower scoffed, downing his new glass of water as though it’ll cleanse him of this reality.

“They lie,” Sojiro huffed bitterly. “They killed her. Because she was a strong woman. She frightened the clan elders.” A flash of fondness crossed his face. “She was beautiful. Powerful. But then…”

He gnashed his teeth, and Gabriel could’ve sworn he was imagining it, but something beneath the clan leader’s clothes seemed to glow. “The filthy cowards. They thought I would not discover it.”

“Discover what?”

“They did something to her. She became different.” The older man’s hazel eyes became hard, glaring holes into the wooden counter. “It was still my wife, but she—she began to lose sight of herself. She looked the same, but she…” He shook his head roughly. “I do not know what happened, but only that the clan elders were responsible.”

“You said something about killing you to control your sons?”

“Yes, yes.” He waved a hand, nonchalant, as if his life was a trivial matter. “My sons are still young. In the case of my eldest, Hanzo, I’m afraid his burden is a much heavier destiny than he can bear.”

“How so?”

“The eldest’s role is to lead the clan.” 

“So, he’s just a you 2.0.” 

Sojiro shakes his head. “It would be my greatest joy, but my greatest sorrow if he were to become like his father.” 

“Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” 

“If only my second son fell nearer. Wild and rambunctious; capricious.”

“Why? Second son belongs to the milkman?”

Even Reyes knows when he’s crossed the line, regretting those words the instance they left his mouth. There was a threatening crackle in the air, every sense in his body running rampant and screaming danger was near. Sojiro’s face remained carefully neutral, but there’s hardness to his eyes that even Reyes, a hardened soldier and having given the look himself many times, felt compelled to retract his statement. 

“My bad.”

Sojiro nodded. “Do you know our clan’s symbol?”

He’s seen it several times before in pictures of the mobster in the reports he’s given occasionally. Sojiro normally wore it proudly on his back during the day, unlike now, in an unassuming set of the equivalent of lounging clothes. The two dragons like an ouroboros–eating the other rather than itself. Normally, an ouroboros signifies the cycle of creation and life, all as one. Ana had taught this to him before among other things during their times of idleness.

But two of them trying to eat the other? Gabriel could fathom a guess, but he’s sure it’d be a poor one. He’s not much for this sort of philosophical thinking. (It was honestly more of the space gorilla’s favorite pastime.)

“It is rare that both dragons, North and South, are born together in the same generation. Both my sons have received the blessing of dragons.” Sojiro swirled his glass, the water formed a mini-tornado within. “It was supposed to be joyous. The strongest generation, the elders claimed. Finally, the two dragon brothers have been reunited.”

“Isn’t that a good thing for you guys?”

“But there is a problem. My son, Hanzo, has two dragons.”

The meaningful look Sojiro gave him forced the truth upon him so quickly, he got figurative whiplash.

“So they only require one of the brothers, then.”

Sojiro’s eyes were downcast, the grip on his empty glass so tight, it was clattering against the table. “Once they have Hanzo, they will have no need for Genji.”

“Didn’t know the dragon legend had a third brother.”

“Not explicitly. But if one were to read between the lines of text, you could infer the existence of an East and West Wind. But that is hardly relevant. Who would believe such a thing?”  

Gabriel shrugged. It’s true. If it’s not mentioned anywhere, there’s no reason for anyone to believe such a thing. “But why kill your other son? Isn’t the more dragons the better? More auspicious, isn’t it?”

“No. It has to be two dragons, or one of the two.”

“In that case, Genji has no use. They could just oust him or something.” 

Sojiro slammed his glass against the table in anger. “It is because Genji still has a use that the clan elders want him dead. They cannot control him, so they will seek his death.”

It would be easy for another faction to challenge Hanzo’s legitimacy. Hanzo may have two dragons, but they could argue it’s the result of some defect—one dragon split into two. It’s a stretch, but a very compelling possibility. Genji, on the other hand, is whole. If a branch family were to rally behind Genji and claim him as the true heir, the clan elders would either be forced to recognize it or forced to have a civil war. Neither options were desirable.

Genji, from Sojiro’s account, is a force of nature; untameable and unflappable. A cheeky young thing with no regards toward tradition or hierarchy. A walking nightmare for a band of traditionalists stewing in their own filth they call “order”.

“Should you really be leaving your sons alone, then?”

“My eldest cousin, Asahi, is guarding my youngest, Genji. My other cousin is guarding Hanzo. I trust them both to watch over my sons properly.”

Gabriel took a contemplative sip of water, staring off into space. “Cousins, huh? So they’re branch members?”

The unspoken implication hung heavily over their heads, but Sojiro responded, “Reyes-san. I trust them.”  

“Glad someone does.”

It’s not unheard of for the branch members of a family in the middle of a power struggle to take sides or drastic measures. It’s natural, even. Some members may even want to lay claim to the Head seat themselves. But the case of the Shimadas, whose worth was determined by the family’s dragons, they could only make due with manipulating the leader. Gabriel has seen more than his fair share of skirmishes over seats of power, and the inevitable mess of an aftermath. 

Gabriel tapped the counter. “I don’t see why I’m here, though. If we’re talking allies, Talon should be higher on the list than us.”

Sojiro’s lip curled in derision. “They do not know their place.”

“Oh, and we do?” 

“You’re much more preferable to work with. And many times more trustworthy than Talon.”

“Well, I’m honored,” Gabriel answered sarcastically, putting a hand to his chest. “That you think we could do something that even you or Talon cannot do.” 

That Sojiro spoke of his sons and the sticky matter of his clan’s politics to an outsider was extremely telling. It’s a weakness that Gabriel never thought he’d ever get to see. 

“It must be funny to you that the head of the Shimada clan–ruler of all Hanamura–can’t even protect his own children,” Sojiro spat out bitterly. “It is shameful for me to ask an outsider this, but…”

Gabriel did not expect the man to suddenly get on his hands and knees, pressing his forehead to the ground. “Please, protect my sons. I beg you as the father of these two children, please.”

“Get up, Shimada.” Despite his words, the Blackwatch commander was already trying to pull him up. This look does not suit the head of the Shimada empire. Such a powerful man grovelling at his feet when he was only stomping around on things unmentionable just the week before was unsettling.

The man refused to budge, as though the weight of his request and the lives that rested on Reyes’ answer kept him glued to the floor. 

“I beg you.” 

“Don’t be an ass, Shimada.” 

“When I die, I have no power to protect them. They are too green. They lack power.”

“Isn’t that your damn job as a parent?”

“I cannot!” Sojiro shouted. “I have failed as a parent. I cannot hope to pretend to be one now. I can only entrust this to someone I trust.”

“You’d trust an enemy, Shimada?” 

“Yes.”

It was a peculiar thing that most people would never understand. Multiple encounters of their teams clashing, outsmarting each other, outmaneuvering the other forged an ironclad trust that many people would never have the privilege of experiencing. Someone who knows all your weaknesses, your strengths, morals, and respects the rules which you play by. It’s how they were both able to meet in such a place, neither with weapons or additional guards. This was a peculiar bond that perhaps only enemies would ever know. 

Gabriel sighed, dropping his ass onto the ground. “You’re a real piece of work, Shimada.” 

“So I’ve been told,” Sojiro replied, a hint of a smile in his voice. He slowly raised his head from the ground, a red mark maring his forehead. “Is that a ‘yes’, then?”

Again, Gabriel sighed. What Sojiro was asking of him was not only going to be difficult, but risky as well. It could put Overwatch (and Blackwatch) at serious political risk with the Japanese government. Even worse, it would make them the target of the Shimada clan and all of its affiliates and stakeholders. Jack would definitely be opposed to such a plan. 

Even if they managed to protect the two brothers, the only thing Blackwatch would get out of this is the lukewarm gratitude of two brats who would not know the desperate lengths to which their father went to protect their lives and future. And they would likely never understand or appreciate it. 

High risk, low reward was not how Blackwatch liked to operate.

But Gabriel Reyes was a different story. 

“We’ll need a proper plan. Can’t guarantee it’ll work out, but we need your cooperation if we’re going to maximize our chances of getting either of your sons out of this in one piece.” 

“Of course. You have my thanks, Reyes-san.” 

The deal was sealed with a handshake and the ramen that Sojiro owed Reyes. Both men made small talk for the rest of the night before leaving to don the mantle of their respective roles. 

When Gabriel returned, the details with Sojiro were confirmed. Blackwatch’s mission is to keep a watchful eye over the two brothers and ensure they stay alive. If possible, get them out by force. 

He assigned you to Hanamura under the pretense that you will be gathering information about their arms trade by becoming the bodyguard of a Shimada heir. You will get close to them, get them to divulge their secrets. While it’s true that the Shimadas were involved in the exchange of weaponry, he did not disclose to you the real reason—it’s better if you didn’t know. You will protect them anyway, keep an eye on both brothers regardless.

After all, it goes without saying that in order to fool your enemies, you must first fool your allies.

The implant goes without a hitch, at least, from his part.

Sojiro continued to communicate with him through the tiny scrolls delivered by his robotic birds—entirely indistinguishable from ordinary ones. His coded messages were short, but expressed his gratitude and trepidation.

The news of Sojiro’s death does not surprise him. 

What did surprise him was your insistence on leaving. 

“I’m with the wrong Shimada!” you hissed into your communicator, and Gabriel stopped himself from telling you just how wrong that statement was. 

Instead, he carefully considered your words. If you were to leave, there’d be no one around to report on either Shimada brother. It was hard enough for Sojiro to get you accepted in their fold, and it wouldn’t do to waste such an opportunity.

But on the other hand, the oligarchy surrounding the new Shimada head would be considerably less cautious if the outsider finally leaves their midst. Their guard might even be down for a short while as they take the chance to eliminate you which meant a short window of opportunity. 

It might be worth taking this chance. They could get you and one of the brothers out alive. From your reports, you’ve built a fair amount of trust between yourself and your charge. A few words and the promise of freedom might convince the younger Shimada to go with them. 

“Jack, we’re storming Hanamura.”

“What? Gabe! We don’t have jurisdiction over Japan! What are you thinking?”

“I have an agent who wants out. This departure is going to turn the Shimada’s inside-out, I can’t imagine the clan will let a foreigner leave so easily.” 

Moments of silence later, Jack heaved a shuddering sigh. Gabriel could just imagine the man rubbing his forehead, trying to formulate a speech for the media when this all goes to hell in a hand basket. “When?”

“A week from now. Dead of night.”

Little did he know, a week from now, they’d be storming Hanamura for very different reasons.

[ljf613]

Things I Knew About LOK (Before I Actually Watched It)

Aang & Katara had three kids. Aang was not really a great dad, which annoys the fandom but sounds reasonable to me, because, to quote Zuko “I suppose you wouldn’t know of fathers, being raised by monks.” Growing up, Aang’s only parental figures were also his teachers, so it makes sense that he wouldn’t know how to be a parent to kids who weren’t also his airbending students.

Kataang child #1 is named Bumi. He has “daddy didn’t love me” issues and so became a rebellious wild child in a desperate cry for Aang’s attention (and also because how could any child named after that crazy king not be a mad genius?). He was born a non-bender, but managed to become an airbender through sheer force of will ( à la Callum of TDP) because he’s just that awesome.

Kataang child #2 is named for Katara’s mom Kya, and she’s a waterbender. Also, I’m pretty sure she’s lesbian.

Kataang child #3 is an airbender. IDK what his name is. He used to date Toph’s daughter (more on her later) but ending up dumping her (which the fandom doesn’t like) for a woman who may or may not be Ty Lee’s daughter. He’s under a lot of pressure, because, as Aang’s only airbending child (before Bumi figured it out), he’s got to carry the weight of an entire culture on his shoulders.

Aang died when he was really young-- like, in his sixties or something. Turns out spending 100 years on ice isn’t great for your health.

Katara’s still around, though. She’s a Wise Mentor Figure to the new Avatar. (Wait, does that mean she’s going to die? I hope not.)

Toph Beifong was also not a great parent, because, again, good parental role models are important for developing parental skills. Her parents were too constricting, so she kind of just let her kids do whatever they want. She had two daughters with two different men (only one of her baby daddies gets a name).

She ended up becoming the chief of police of the Big City the show is set in (I forget its name), which the fandom thinks is weird. Eventually, she dropped off the face of the earth, and now hangs out in.... the Swamp? I think. At some point, the new Avatar shows up and forces her to mend fences with her kids. New Avatar also tries to get Old Lady Toph to tell her some cool stories about the ATLA era, but Toph is a really bad storyteller.

Toph spawn #1 is named Lin or Ling or something like that. She’s the new chief of police-- it was an attempt to make mommy proud, which didn’t work out too well. She’s also an earth/metalbender and doesn’t get along with her sister because of some old argument that was never resolved. This is dealt with in the whole “new Avatar helps Toph reconnect with her children” arc. She used to date Kataang kid #3, until he dumped her for aforementioned Ty Lee child. Toph-child is still bitter about this. She’s just bitter about life in general, I think.

Toph spawn #2 exists. She’s a woman. This is all I know about her. I have zero idea what her name is or if she’s even a bender or anything. I feel like she has a lot of kids, but I’m not sure.

Zuko, on the other hand, was a great dad. (He had a Good Parental Role Model in Uncle, and also was firmly opposed to being anything like Ozai.) At some point, he got a dragon named Druk, who may or may not have hatched from the Sun Warriors’ “sunstone” which may or may not have been a dragon egg. He’s retired now, and like to sit around drinking tea and generally acting like Uncle.

(The Zutara ship has never died, and the fandom still thinks Old!Zuko and Old!Katara are having a secret fling, despite the fact that they have literally zero scenes together in this show.)

His daughter Izumi is the new Fire Lord. Her mother may or may not be Mai-- the fandom has a lot of dispute over this. She wears glasses and looks really awesome, and doesn’t want to involve her country in anymore “nonsense wars.”

Uncle Iroh has, sadly, passed into the Spirit World. But he still becomes a sort of Mentor/Spiritual Guide to New Avatar when she’s little.

I don’t know anything about Sokka or Suki. Did they get married? Are their kids running around somewhere?

New Avatar is named Korra (hence, Legend of Korra). She’s the Water Avatar (I think she’s from the Northern Tribe?) and she pulls no punches. Think Katara on steroids.

Korra is dating this guy-- I think his name is, like, Marco or something?-- on and off. Marco is also dating this other girl, Asami (who is freaking gorgeous), on and off. He may even be dating both of them at the same time at one point, IDK. Eventually, Korra and Asami decide that they are collectively done with his bull, and just hook up with each other. (Cue Zuko: “That’s rough, buddy.”)

Even though the Air Nomads were all killed out, I think there are more airbenders in the series than just Bumi and his little brother. IDK where they came from-- maybe they’re descendants of airbenders who managed to hide from Sozin? Or something? Like I said, IDK, I hope this gets explained properly at some point.

The ATLA fandom really doesn’t like LOK. It’s not as good, apparently. I should watch it myself so I can make my own judgements.

[gear-project]

Forget 2nd question: This is mainly due to the early intro of Dizzy where she looks like a demonic being in her intro it doesnt look female. Which brings us to? What exactly is that Demonic Dizzy? Necro?

Your original question was still valid, in that you asked “If Dizzy (or other Gears) could change their Gender?”

Gears can “transform” insomuch that their bodies act as the “weapons” they are programmed to be able to utilize, this is also related to their “weapon system programming” which is buried deep in their subconsciousness.

Just like Animals have “Animal Instincts”, Gears have much the same, but is manufactured to function based on weaponry which relates (again) to their abilities to transform their limbs and other body parts in to weapons.

However, Gears are “limited” by what they were built for.

In Dizzy’s case… based on what little evidence we have, she is supposedly a “backup genetic copy” of Justice… meaning she is a carbon replica (either through gene inheritance or by manufactured means) of the woman whom Justice was based on: Aria Hale.

While Dizzy herself looks nothing like Aria, she still inherited some amount of female traits from Justice seemingly.  History suggests no one actually knew Justice’ true gender until she was actually killed, nor do we know with certainty if Justice’ true kin is Dizzy by birth (suggesting a manufactured Gear could even get Pregnant!).

At any rate, regarding Dizzy, much of her powers are defined by her subconsciousness… and her “Guardian System” (Necro and Undine) reflect this in their appearances.

Necro, to some degree represents her own anger, violent instincts, and fears.

Undine, by contrast represents her “ideal self”, sensibilities, and hopes.

There is a “third Guardian” in the form of Dizzy’s Tail… but not much is known about her Tail, as to whether or not it’s a personality or just another “mouth” for Dizzy to a limited extent.

Because the Guardians have their own personalities, Dizzy only has a limited amount of control over them as you might expect, but she can still exert her control if she focuses on her powers in earnest.

That said, let’s take a look at this “Extreme Form” that Dizzy seems to take under extreme stress and duress:

I’ve taken the liberty of enhancing the silhouette of these images, but you’ll note this form has a pair of horns, (and Dizzy’s original Gamma Ray was actually Necro transformed in to a Dragon).  This form looks very similar to Sol’s Dragon Install.

Though very slim and slender, it suggests her body has scaled armor and a face very similar to that of Justice’ slim face/jawline in shape.

You’ll also note the tail and wings were “recycled” for Order-Sol’s Dragon Install animation frames.

Given what Justice looks like without her armor in GGXrd, and compare/contrast with Sol’s Dragon Install in GG2 Overture, Dizzy’s form is very slender but probably not too different from either (because most Gears were derived from the Gear Prototype… Sol Badguy himself).

It’s also funny to note that Dizzy is still “very small” in her Gear-form, contrasted with Justice in her “massive body” in GGXrd Revelator (not to mention Justice’ Cradle form that hovered over Babylon).

Lastly, compare/contrast the above with these between frames from Necro Install (an EX mode ability Dizzy had some time ago):

Note that, in the first image (when Necro takes over Dizzy’s body), it seems to have a very large forehead with spikes in the back.  It doesn’t exactly look like the horned form from before, does it?

It might just be a discrepancy on Daisuke’s part as it’s a between animation frame, anyhow… but now take a look at the second image.

While this silhouette more resembles what we know Dizzy to look like, it’s also very slender and almost Elf-like (note the shape of Dizzy’s Ears), not to mention the clawed feet.

Ishiwatari has never actually been consistent when it comes to Gear transformations, or even Valentine forms for that matter… even Dragon Install has taken several forms throughout the series, so we don’t even know what Sol will look like in GG Strive!

Even illustrations of Justice have been different over the years too… so take these forms with a grain of salt.

Lastly, I’ll show you some animation concepts that contrast slightly with these images:

In the first concept, Dizzy’s silhouette is a lot rougher and definitely meant to have a demonic shape… but it got adjusted to the sprites we’ve seen since then.

The second image is an animation concept from Necro Install… notice the flaming hands and raised wings and slightly different poise… This is Dizzy at full power, folks!

And while much of these concepts might be considered “scraps” that didn’t make the cutting room floor… You can still see much of what wasn’t used is still utilized in other ways later on.

Like Dizzy’s Heavy Slash:

Dizzy’s Wing has gotten a lot prettier and elegant since we first saw her, so I think her forms reflect her own mental maturity and state of mind (not to mention Ishiwatari’s artistic whimsy).

Testament seemed to understand Dizzy’s transformation the most in that he said she was (at the time) very afraid of and distrustful of humans… so her transformation reflected this.

Even Sol, who frequently calls himself a “monster” seems to transform in to said “monster” based on his own fears, anxieties, and as Asuka R. Kreutz’ put it: “Frederick’s Karma”.

So really, these forms mostly reflect the mental state of humanoid Gears, though again, keep in mind not all Gears can dramatically transform like this… only some of the more powerful ones can.

Elphelt once stated she wished she could transform in to some dramatic form, but apparently it was beyond her power to do so.

And while some Valentines/Gears can turn in to massive Airship weaponry… others are just ordinary girls with extraordinary powers.

Given that Dizzy gave birth to an Egg (Sin Kiske) when she became Ky’s Wife, though… it’s more or less semi-expected that she would be a female (though in rare cases aquatic lifeforms have bent the rules a few times).  Regardless, Dizzy identified as a “she” (as in Awe of She, her original theme!)

[moeruhoshi]

Tell me what you think pleeeeeease

“Good morning,” Natsu mumbled, quickly slipping on his surgical mask as he turned over to face the creak of the door opening, an older woman with long white hair and a similar mask entering as she balanced a silver tray in her hands. “Pills before breakfast? That’s a new one, Mira.”

“Laxus is just running a bit behind with the breakfast cart, so make sure you––” The younger boy cut her off with a wave of his hand and a curt nod before finishing her sentence.

“Eat before I take my medication, I know, I know. You think I would’ve had it down by now. It’s not like I haven’t lived here for seven years,” 

“Mister know it all, telling me that isn’t going to stop me from reminding you. Let it be the one day I don’t remind you to eat first and your stomach doesn’t absorb these properly,”

“To receive a scolding from Mira this early in the morning, you must’ve forgotten to watch your mouth, Dragneel,” Laxus chuckled as he leaned his shoulder against the door, propping it open while he wheeled in the aforementioned breakfast cart.

“Sweet, waffles! My favorite! You always know to get me the good stuff, big guy. I appreciate it.”

“That’ll be the last time I make them too if you don’t learn how to treat my wife,” His eyes spoke with a joking glare, Natsu unable to see what ever twist of his lip was hidden under the white sheet. He felt a nervous shiver crawl up his spine at the sight, nodding rapidly in his submissive response. If not for the terrifying glare, he was afraid of what those overgrown muscles could do to him. Weight training was a frightening hobby.

“Ugh, I got it, I got it! Please don’t pretend to kiss like that in front of me,” Natsu refused to look as they Eskimo-kissed through the thin sheet dividing their noses, both supplying a stream of fake giggles as they dramatized their display of affection.

As they made their way out of his room, Natsu was left with the sound of his air purifying machine and fork scratching against the plate as he cut into his meal were all to keep him company, but he didn’t mind the silence much.

Seven years in this place...it’d been so long since he’d been home, but this was his home too. Magnolia Central Hospital, seventeenth floor, room 702. It reminded him of his street, 72017 Cat Tail Way, what an uncanny coincidence. But it made him feel like this was coming, it wasn’t like people went out of their way to catch tuberculosis afterall. It was a fluke, a total mistake that had to catch him in its ugly clutches. 

His family got caught up in a car accident, t-boned by another car speeding through a red light one night. His parents were fine for the most part, but since Natsu was in the back, he took on more force of the crash. He bled a lot, his parents cried a lot, all the way to the hospital as they all sat in the back of the ambulance. A blood transfusion saved his life but ended it all the same; tainted with HIV.

“Why him?! Natsu doesn’t deserve this kind of thing! He’s––he’s a good kid for heaven’s sake! If we had only––if only we’d seen that man!” His mother screamed on the opposite side of his bedroom door. Natsu clutched the red dragon he always slept with tighter in his young arms, clenching his eyes shut tightly as he tried his best to ignore what went on outside of his room. 

“This isn’t a bad person’s disease, Grandine, you know that! You need to calm down before we wake Natsu up, please...I know he didn’t deserve this, I know...but we’ll get through it, we always do, don’t we?”

He wasn’t a bad person, what seven-year-old was? But whether he or his parents wanted to keep things as normal as possible for him, schools didn’t want to put the other kids at risk. Home-schooling became normal for him, as well as staying indoors since none of the other parents wanted their kids near him. Kids were kids, germs always seemed to pass around quickly even if parents instructed proper hygiene rules, no one wanted to take that risk. Natsu understood well enough as well, he didn’t want anyone else to get sick. 

It became normal for the Dragneel family by the time a year had passed, Grandine now a stay at home mom that taught and took care of their son while Igneel worked and brought home the bacon. 

“I’m home!” Igneel called out one day as he made his way through the front door, expecting a call back from his wife and their small son to rush forward and greet him with a hug. The strange silence in response had him confused for a moment, the lights were on and he definitely smelled dinner cooking. 

“Alright...you two know I don’t like surprises, what’s going on?” He chuckled and shook his head, walking through the hall to enter the kitchen through the dining room on the left. The stove had been turned off but there was a pot of stew still simmering down from a boil. The mystery took him to the living room where he heard the T.V playing some cartoon or other; maybe they just hadn’t heard him over the show? 

“Gotcha!” The Dragneel father grinned as he shouted through the doorway, bouncing in it as he attempted to scare the members of his family surely sitting on the couch. A random kids show was on, but there was still no one to be found. “This...This isn’t funny...you guys know not to––”

As Igneel approached the back of the couch, his voice caught harshly in his throat, the rapid pumping of his heart now loud in his ears. There on the marble flooring was an unsightly puddle of throw-up and blood. It was second before he was out the door and speeding back into his car, why hadn’t he noticed his wife’s car missing before?!

They were found at the hospital, Grandine in hysterics as she finally gathered her senses in the arms of her husband listening to the doctor's words. Tuberculosis. Their son had tuberculosis. And there was no telling when he would be better.

So now he had this room, covered in posters of his favorite bands and random drawings, pictures with his best friend and some with the nurses, others with his parents. He could walk about certain floors freely but had to keep his mask on no matter what and live with that delightful humming of the air purifying machine. 

“Gray,” Natsu grinned as he called his friend through a video chat, angering the boy who had yet to wake up naturally. “You up yet?”

“Obviously, otherwise I wouldn't have answered. What did I tell you about waking me up before nine?”

“Just because the nurses are nice and enter your room without waking you up before eight doesn’t mean I have to. So, what did Laxus make for you?”

“Not telling, wouldn’t want you to be jealous of the special treatment I get from him,” The raven-haired boy said with a tired smirk as he pulled himself up from the familiar light blue sheets. 

“Shut up, I got waffles too, you’re not the only one that gets the good stuff. But I can’t for the life of me understand why you like your breakfast cold,” Natsu squirmed at the thought of such steamy food going to waste and faltering to the soggy state his best friend liked so much. 

“We’ve been over this, it’s just a personal preference. Nothing like you putting tabasco on your eggs.”

“That’s a proven, world-wide agreed, flavor. You’re the weirdo here,”

“Yeah, yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that. Anyways, what’s on our agenda today? Another game of Uno™? Although, I don’t think you can make a comeback after my last triple skip and draw four. Fucking slayed you, my guy.”

“You wanna say that to my face? I’ll take you on, day or night, it doesn’t matter. But we’ve got plans, remember? Juvia wants to play dress-up with us today, and you’ve already canceled on her four times. We’re going.” Natsu said matter of factly as he stuffed his mouth with another forkful of Belgien fluffiness. 

“Oh, come on, it wasn’t like I did it on purpose, getting a fever is a totally legit reason to cancel plans. No way Mira would let me leave my room if I told her I got sick. Juvia catches stuff pretty easy too, I don’t need that on my mind.”

“Suuuuure. Definitely has nothing to do with the fact that she wants to marry you, right?”

The call quickly went silent and Natsu cackled with his head thrown back, careful not to choke on the orange juice he’d just taken a swig of. 

“Knew it, that liar,” He rolled his eyes and finished off the rest of his meal before taking the daily medications prescribed to him. 

It wasn’t long before he was dressed and standing in front of Gray’s room with a thicker mask held on around his ears, repeating a constant knock on the door as he beckoned his friend to come out.  Dressed in the sweats he loved more than life, the two made their way to the elevator after checking in with Mira at the front desk. 

Gray needed a heart transplant, had had at least three since his parents found out he had a congenital heart condition. The ones he got never seemed to last as long as everyone hoped, but it didn’t keep him down. He was in and out of the hospital, only lasting a span of six months before his body became too weak again and he needed the constant care provided in a hospital. 

Their ride was full of silent jabbing as Natsu looked at Gray with a sly and raised brow, nudging him with his elbow as he attempted to tease him. 

“I have an eight-year-old in love with me but it’s still not as lame as the guy who dyed his hair pink for fun,” He sneered, poking at the gelled style with dark roots growing back in.

“You’re just mad that you can’t pull off such a nice color, it’s only cool if you wear it right,” Natsu smirked and swatted at him. “Bet you that Juvia’s gonna ask if you brought her ring with you yet.”

“Oh god...please, not again…”

“Gray! Natsu! You came to my tea party!” The young girl lit up as the two walked into the playroom located in the cancer ward, there sat a table in the corner with three cups, a tray of random sliced fruit, and some cubes of bread and poundcake settled on its surface.

“We got your invitations,” Natsu’s grin showed through his eyes as he waved the pink envelope he’d settled in his back pocket ahead of time. “Thank you, it’s been a while since either of us has been anywhere as fancy as this.”

“Y-Yeah, really appreciate it,” Gray let an uneasy smile through as she beamed expectedly at the older boy, her eyes entirely infatuated with his presence. He was never great when it came to talking with kids. 

“I’m wearing the scarf you gave me, Gray, isn’t it cute?” She pointed to the blue wrap with snowflakes that hid the loss of her hair, wearing a blue dress to match. Blue, his favorite color, and now hers.

“Really cute, Juvia.” He said and pat her head, Natsu nodding as he accepted the polite behavior of his stoic friend. 

“So, what kind of tea are we having today?” The pink-haired boy asked as he took a seat, moving his head for Gray to acknowledge he needed to pull Juvia’s seat out for her. 

“U-Um, I’m not sure! I’ll go look in the drees up chest for your hats, so you pour it yourself. And I won’t look if you put something––I mean, pour my tea for me!”

“What’d I tell you! She always does that, isn’t it the cutest?” Natsu laughed as they finally made their way back up to their own floor after a very intense party where the young girl truly waited for her marriage proposal. 

“Having fun over there? How would you like it if someone tried to force you into marriage at such a young age? What kind of movies has that girl been watching, I swear…” Gray grumbled with a sigh and crossed his arms.

“Just say yes, where’s the harm? It’ll make her happy.”

“You know where it is. I’m not going to promise something like that, it brings bad luck,”

Bad luck...yeah, it was smart to be careful when it came to personal feelings for them. They were told to be optimistic, but you never really knew what could happen. There was the daunting thought of the day that you finally gave in and let yourself say the thing you were holding back, only for it all to come crashing down around you. Death was always lurking, and Natsu had a personal encounter with it.

“You sure you’re allowed to be walking around like this, Lucy? Doesn’t it break some cosmic rule, letting a mortal see you and all?” Natsu asked as he laid back in his bed, the curtains drawn open and the moonlight shining down on the two as they spoke in the middle of the night. In the chair next to his bed sat a girl with soft blonde locks and solemn brown eyes, wearing her usual black clothes and a scythe resting against the wall behind her.

“I told you, it’s fine. Not much I can do after you saw me by accident.” She sighed, eyes glued to his phone screen as she played Tertris™. 

“Don’t you have some kind of mind wipe thing? I figured that was a given. And I’m pretty sure you only wanted an excuse to play that game,” He grinned as his chin rested on his knees, happy he didn’t have to wear that stuffy mask when he was around her, the Grimm Reaper’s daughter. 

They met by chance one night after Natsu went on a pudding raid on the senior floor, catching sight of her leading a soul to safety. 

It was a pretty magnificent sight, to say the least after he found out it wasn’t some wackjob trying to off the elderly. 

“That’s what everyone thinks,” She rolled her eyes, but really, the only thing I do is guide souls to their rightful place.”

“And play on my phone. I’m going to write this in a book one day, I hope you know. ‘Grimm Reaper’s daughter ~ The Saga. The subtitle, she plays Tetris™  on her breaks.” He said, spreding his hands in the air for emphasis. 

“No one would read that, I hope you know,”

“What are you talking about? That’s just gonna be the title of my diary, I don’t need the Bigfoot chasers breaking down my door and asking me to confirm their sightings of a weird murdering ax girl who likes to play video games.”

“I’m not weird,” She spat and huffed with a pout, ignoring him as he snickered. “Nice, next level!”

“Don’t you have work to do? Not that I’m rooting for it,” Natsu asked as she finally looked up from his phone, her lips falling into a slight frown. 

“I was trying to avoid this,” She sighed, and rolled her head back, tossing his phone onto his bed. “I’ve got to take Gray,”

“Wha––wait, no, you can’t. I mean it Lucy, I know it’s your job but you really can’t.” He shot up quickly, wide eyes in a panic as he tried to plead with the immortal god. “He’s my...he’s my only friend! My best friend! I just saw him, he was fine! And Juvia...Juvia need’s him more than anyone, he’s her first love!”

“I can let you say goodbye, but really, I have to take him.”

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Silent Queen (Aegon I Targaryen x Targaryen! Reader)

Anon: Could you do a Aegon I x reader, where she is the youngest Targaryen and his third and beloved wife, being also the most calm and rational of the siblings, the only one besides Aegon able to mount Balerion (but she also has her own Dragon), and she give him two children, twins?

Admin: I will try my best to get most of these things right and what you wanted! I might change that instead of her being able to ride Balerion (because only a dragon can have one dragon rider and will not let any others ride them until their rider’s death) I will say that Balerion prefers her more out of the other two sisters, and would allow her to be close or to feed. But thank you for the request!

You knew since you were young that family mattered, that they mattered more than coin or power. Family was your strength; a strength that tied you all together. 

You knew that you and your older siblings, your flesh and blood, were set for destiny since the moment you all took your first breathes into this bleak small world, but as you grew, you realised this world was much bigger.

You grew up your entire life on the small island of Dragonstone, the youngest daughter to Lord Aerion Targaryen and Valaena Velaryon; the youngest child who was born in the harshest winter, leaving you frail and smaller.

Although small and premature, you survived, with the fires within burning brighter and hotter than a thousand suns and hotter than dragon fire. You were deemed to be a survivor. Like those before you, your parents laid a dragon egg at the end of your crib: a golden flamed egg that shone like fiery coppers.

Similar to the fire within in yourself, the egg hatched, releasing the music of dragons into the air.

You had your siblings there surrounding you in your childhood. At least a year younger than your second sister Rhaenys, you had the best relationship with her and your brother Aegon. 

Rhaenys was the most beautiful and impulsive, and you were always jealous of her looks even from youth and eyes she got the lustful eyes of many lords and their songs. You always prayed every night that you would grow to become a full woman with looks as desirable as Rhaenys. To you, you just seemed so… plain.

You and your siblings were all different in many ways, especially compared against you. Unlike Visenya who enjoyed fighting beside Aegon in training and Rhaenys enjoying music and dancing (and as much as she enjoyed flying with Meraxes, she spent the most time on her dragon compared to you three), you were more book smart: relaxed to a candle and book at night, reading on your knowledge and history of the continent close to you that you eventually learnt was called Westeros. There was no doubt you were called by those the more quieter of the bunch.

Visenya, your first sister and oldest, was the most stern, and frightened you most, and you always spent going back to Aegon for help when she was being mean. Rhaenys was the one who you spent with and enjoyed playing with.

’She’s too skinny and weak. The runt of the Targaryens.’ Visenya said one day, watching with cold eyes glaring your way. ‘She won’t always have you running to help.’

‘She’s my sister.’ Aegon always stood up for you, no matter the reason. ‘And I won’t stand to watch those of my blood torment her.’

That day forward, you looked up to your brother even more, promising him and yourself that no matter what, you would make it up to him.

Rhaenys was kinder: a teaser but she was never as mean to you as Visenya was. She was the one who always dared you to dragon races all around Dragonstone with your dragon Daelyx. He was a shimmery golden-fiery orange dragon with wings an orange-red that blinded those on the ground due to them catching the sun.

No matter how many times you raced, she always won.

When you were with Aegon, you always spent time telling him of what you learnt in your books, reading to him by the fires in the evenings with him listening intently. 

You knew that when he was of age, he was to marry Visenya for duty, and deep down, there was a spark of jealously that raged in you. You loved Aegon, sadly more than a brother.

You were only one-and-ten when your father arranged a marriage proposal to your mother’s nieces’ son, a Valeryon that was a few years younger than you and with no interest to him at all. 

You protested and complained, much to your dismay, but it seemed you were to be married to one of your closest relatives. When your father had died, Aegon came to rule the island of Dragonstone, and after first being married to Visenya, he shocked those by also marrying Rhaenys.

This shocked you even more: how dare Aegon marry both your older sisters but not you? What was wrong with you to not let him marry you? You were still young, but now, thanks to your luck, you begun to mature into a much more beautiful woman like Rhaenys.

Your hair was long just like your sisters: silver-blonde which you wore down curled with two singular braids tied together in the back. Your eyes were large and lavender; lighter in colour compared to the more common darker Valyrian purple eyes. You grew to be tall, fair and slender: around the same height as Rhaenys.

You caught the eyes of many men by the time you were nine-and-ten years old, bringing many men of your banners and those of the closest Valyrian roots were wanting your hand in marriage. But sadly to them, you still had eyes for one.

When Aegon was setting his eyes beyond taking over Westeros, you were there to be by his side mainly, telling him of the history of the seven separate kingdoms and who ruled them. You became soon someone he asked for advice from, more so then his warrior sister Visenya.

When Rhaenys noticed how close you were trying to get to with Aegon, she simply joked, smiling with a knowing look, but said nothing. You knew deep down she knew your plan.

If he was to become the King to all seven kingdoms, it meant that your sister would be queens, and you, would become a simple princess to Dragonstone or the ruins of someone’s lands. You were not destined to be some lady’s lord; to raise sons wouldn’t carry the blood of the dragon.

No, you were going to be the Queen, ruling beside your sisters and your King, and you were going to be Aegon’s wife.

When things begun to dwell and your hopes of marrying Aegon begun to fall with the months passing, you were surprised with the news from your brother when he announced to those close to him of your marriage. 

To yours and everyone else’s surprise (save for Rhaenys), you were to marry Aegon after his conquest of Westeros had succeeded and he was King.

You couldn’t of been happier, and although it was not uncommon in Valyrian traditions for polygamy, you still pulled away your older brother to the side, questioning the decision.

He simply smiled. “If I am to be King, why can’t I make all my sisters my Queens?”

And so, the Conquest for Westeros went underway, and you were stationed with planning and strategizing with those like Orys and naval ships from House Valeryon. 

Your golden flame dragon Daelyx was smaller than Meraxes but was quick in flight and spat out flames as bright as his wings. Flames so hot it could set alit an entire formation, horses and men combined.

You were found in the courtyard before your brother Aegon was set on course to Harrenhal to meet the Kraken King Harren the Black. Aegon found you situated feeding all four dragons, something he found most odd was that his own Black Dread, Balerion, allowed you to feed and stroke him.

He had a peculiar closeness to you, one that he didn’t have with their other sisters. 

’He always seems to like you best.’ He startled you as you held your hand over Balerion’s  snout hot under your touch. Dragons were fire made flesh like you and your family your father told you once.

’He always growled at Vis, huffed at Rhaenys, but did none of those with you.’ He walked over to both of you, stroking his dragon’s snout in thought.

’He seems to prefer me best, it seems.’ You smiled up to him, ‘They are smarter than to those of other men believe.’

He looked to you, a generous laugh came from him. ‘That is very true.’

You faced him properly, Balerion’s wings stretching in wait of his next flight. ‘Be careful brother, we may have won some of this land, but Harrenhal is mere indestructible.’

‘Not against dragon’s flame.’ He countered. ‘Travel safely when you go to take Storm’s End. Please little sister, you know I couldn’t bare to lose one of you.’

You hugged him tightly as he hugged you back, promises made between you two in promise of both of your returns. ‘Make sure Balerion gets some time to spread his wings, before you send him into chaos.’

‘The same with Daelyx. And make sure Orys doesn’t do anything reckless. You know how fierce he can be when it comes to war.’

The nights were perilous and long, but you managed to bind the bleeding wounds of Westeros into six kingdoms instead of the seven. Dorne was stubborn and tougher than the Targaryens believed they would be, but nonetheless, Aegon became King, and in his celebration, erected a large fort named after him.

A week after, Aegon was declared as King; First of His Name. You remember how becoming and handsome he looked, wearing a crown of seven rubies in his crown. He looked more like a God than man. And following his coronation, your wedding was held.

You were in a shimmery red dress with deep dark red rubies that matched his in his crown encrusted in your bodice: your dress one of the finest with such fine details, your hair long and flowing with your own crown put on your head.

A Queen I have become. You smiled as the High Septon and hall of men lords and ladies clapped. Long may we reign. It wasn’t long before the smallfolk gathering in the city begun giving you the nickname The Quiet or The Beloved Queen.

Whilst there were many rebellions and conquests underway during the early reign of Aegon, you were sure to try and give him many heirs. Strong sons for if Rhaenys or Visenya couldn’t.

Rhaenys had given birth to his first son, Aenys in 7 AC: a small fragile thing, but an heir. You were happy for your dear sister, and held the boy like he was your own. 

You tried and tried with Aegon until finally you fell pregnant and the realm rejoiced, and you gave birth on Dragonstone in 9 AC to twins; a healthy boy and girl of silver-blond hair, lilac eyes and plumped fair skin.

You named the children accordingly to Valyrian traditions: the boy was called Daemion after your grandsire who died before you were born, but heard gallant tales of in your youth. The girl was called Daenella or as Aegon and you had come up with the creative nickname ‘Nellie’.

You thought you couldn’t be any happier, until your happiness slapped you back in the face when what happened a year later, pushed you into a state of despair.

Rhaenys was killed when Meraxes was shot out from the sky with a bolt to the eye thanks to the Dornish. That was when you believed the dragon within you had awoken, the same with your remaining siblings as you reigned fire below on their castles and lands.

Mourning took you and Aegon to the worst, you especially more, seen more in black than any other colour for the rest of your life. Your beloved sister, plucked from your eyes, leaving you with the eldest you hated even more.

As Daemion and Nellie grew, you forced them to spend as little time with their aunt, making sure they were with you or Aegon but never alone or away from guards to watch over them. They were also with Aenys a lot, playing and spending time together when you were busy to do so.

They had called you the Quiet Queen; the Beloved, but never the Queen who mourned.

------ A bit of an abrupt ending, but I’ve been trying to work on this for ages. This isn’t my best work, so I do apologise.