#Sellsword (Gregor)

[meticulous-mage]

@incendiums continued from here

To be defenestrated by their own experiments — how tedious. To be defenestrated by their own experiments, and then caught by someone who wouldn’t hold his tongue concerning his worries — how time consuming. But, Gregor did have a point, no matter how much Miriel was loath to admit it — no matter how much it discomforted them, this interruption. Sighing, the redhead pulled away from the mercenary’s touch, already overwhelmed enough without unwanted physical contact — friend or otherwise. “Loath as I am to do so, I must credit you with veracity.

“I am no use to anyone — least of all myself — if my own experiments and research injures me.” That being said, however… “But I must correct you, however, based upon an assumption you continue to make — and that I am made quite uncomfortable by.” The scientist didn’t try to force themself make eye contact, knowing that doing so would make the situation worse, but they did set their gaze just to the right of his; as they did so, they reached up to adjust their glasses. “I am not a woman, Gregor, and I would appreciate if you did not address me as such.”

Brusque, but they wouldn’t stand for it.

[spectralsleuth]

Excerpt from the WIP chapter of 'A Sonnet, a Poet, a Song', my Technoblade and Philza in ASOIAF universe crossover. (Very self indulgent.)

“Maester Luwin will probably require a guard!” Robb pointed out, quickly catching on to Jon’s ploy. “Jory and the guard are busy with harvest season, and I’m sure Ser Rodrick will inform you that Jon and myself are more than proficient at arms—“ Robb began to argue, firming his mouth to look mature, and like the heir he was growing to be. Ned would normally be amused, and consider it less seriously than he might. But… Technoblade had been large. Ned had not seen larger but for Hodor, or the Clegane brothers back during the rebellion. (The last he had seen of either, for Gregor Clegane would never set foot in Winterfell as long as Ned was alive, nor the North at all if he could help it. And he was Lord Paramount of the North. Ned Stark could help quite a bit.) If they were simple tourney knights or sellswords, Ned might consider it a worthy experience for his heir to visit with Maester Luwin, and cut his teeth on diplomacy with someone who seemed to have (for the most part) a good education and bearing— Despite appearances. But this wasn’t a simple man. He was… Ned did not want to call the man monstrous, that would imply one of the Stark’s new wolf pups were hideous, by virtue of simply being wolves, and without the features or a man. If Technoblade were a man twisted into the shape of a pig, he might think the face monstrous, but he wasn’t. He seemed to be something else entirely. Technoblade had looked like a predator, that was for certain. Ned had seen the silvery scars crossing the reddish brown fur, the heavy muscle across the thick neck and shoulders, and the way the man stood, even on the unsteady ground of the tower clearing. His tusks (of all things) had been unblunted and razor sharp, curving up over the snoutish face, towards deep red eyes the same color of a weirwood leaf. | His companion hadn’t been any less strange. Up in the tower (and out of reach of bow or blade, Ned had noted) Philza had been little more than a glint of bright gold hair, a smudge of southern pale skin, deep dark robes and… wings. They had not seemed fake from a distance, shifting behind the man on the ramparts. Maester Luwin had almost fallen backwards off of his mount for a better look, and it was only Technoblade in front of them that had prevented any embarrassment. None the less, Ned trusted Robb and Jon. They were almost men grown, for all he wanted to avoid it.

[ichooseviolence]

There's a specific type of humor that I love in ASoIaF, and it's mostly sarcasm. Even characters that I absolutely loath make me laugh because the deliverance of their quips are so on point that I have to respect it. Tom of Sevenstrings, Jaime, Tyrion, Eddison Tollett, Olenna, Genna Lannister, Oberyn, Cersei, Euron, Renly, even Petyr. Dany has a couple moments that make me chuckle as well.

But I might actually add Sansa to the list, because some of her quips are perfection.. If she was in a healthy environment she would probably let loose on the sarcasm and take no survivors.

The older man in white spoke to Sansa gently. "Ofttimes Ser Ilyn frightens me as well, sweet lady. He has a fearsome aspect." "As well he should." The queen had descended from the wheelhouse. The spectators parted to make way for her. "If the wicked do not fear the King's Justice, you have put the wrong man in office." Sansa finally found her words. "Then surely you have chosen the right one, Your Grace," she said, and a gale of laughter erupted all around her. -AGoT Sansa I

"...It's almost as good as if some wolf killed your traitor brother. Maybe I'll feed him to wolves after I've caught him. Did I tell you, I intend to challenge him to single combat?" "I should like to see that, Your Grace." More than you know. Sansa kept her tone cool and polite, yet even so Joffrey's eyes narrowed in suspicion as he tried to decide whether she was mocking him." -ACoK Sansa I

"She must learn to hide her feelings better, so as not to anger Joffrey. When she heard that the Imp had sent Lord Slynt to the Wall, she had forgotten herself and said, "I hope the Others get him." The king had not been pleased." - ACoK Sansa II (this one literally took me out)

"Dontos was prattling on. "If I were still a knight, I should have to put on armor and man the walls with the rest. I ought to kiss King Joffrey's feet and thank him sweetly." "If you thanked him for making you a fool, he'd make you a knight again," Sansa said sharply." -ACoK Sansa IV

"Ser Meryn Trant held the blood bay for Joffrey to mount. Boy and horse alike wore gilded mail and enameled crimson plate, with matching golden lions on their heads. The pale sunlight flashed off the golds and reds every time Joff moved. Bright, shining, and empty, Sansa thought." -ACoK Sansa V (this one made me smirk)

"Curses are only in songs and stories." That seemed to amuse him. "Has someone made a song about Gregor Clegane dying of a poisoned spear thrust? Or about the sellsword before him, whose limbs Ser Gregor removed a joint at a time? That one took the castle from Ser Amory Lorch, who received it from Lord Tywin. A bear killed one, your dwarf the other. Lady Whent's died as well, I hear. Lothstons, Strongs, Harroways, Strongs...Harrenhal has withered every hand to touch it." "Then give it to Lord Frey." -AFfC Alayne I

[asoiafreadthru]

TYWIN LANNISTER, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, Shield of Lannisport,

His wife, [LADY JOANNA], a cousin, died in childbed,

Their children:

SER JAIME, called the Kingslayer, a twin to Cersei,

QUEEN CERSEI, wife of King Robert I Baratheon, a twin to Jaime,

TYRION, called the Imp, a dwarf,

His siblings:

SER KEVAN, his eldest brother,

His wife, DORNA, of House Swyft,

Their eldest son, LANCEL, squire to the king,

Their twin sons, WILLEM and MARTYN,

Their infant daughter, JANEI,

GENNA, his sister, wed to Ser Emmon Frey,

Their son, SER CLEOS FREY,

Their son, TION FREY, a squire,

[SER TYGETT], his second brother, died of a pox,

His widow, DARLESSA, of House Marbrand,

Their son, TYREK, squire to the king,

[GERION], his youngest brother, lost at sea,

His bastard daughter, JOY, a girl of ten,

Their cousin, SER STAFFORD LANNISTER, brother to the late Lady Joanna,

His daughters, CERENNA and MYRIELLE,

His son, SER DAVEN LANNISTER,

His counselor, MAESTER CREYLEN,

His chief knights and lords bannermen:

LORD LEO LEFFORD,

SER ADDAM MARBRAND,

SER GREGOR CLEGANE, the Mountain That Rides,

SER HARYS SWYFT, father by marriage to Ser Kevan,

LORD ANDROS BRAX,

SER FORLEY PRESTER,

SER AMORY LORCH,

VARGO HOAT of the Free City of Qohor, a sellsword.

[vigilante24ish]

The Lannister Secret

Summary

Tywin Lannister was a man who was tough to love and even tougher to be loved. Even his deceased wife sometimes had a hard time.

And yet, there seemed to be a single, unique woman as the sole exception.

Josephine has been by Tywin's side since his younger days, before the lion's marriage, bound to him in more ways than one. After Joanna's death, she was sent away for years but vowed to return when Tywin truly needed her... and he did during the War of the Five Kings.

Pairing: Fem!OC x Tywin Lannister Chapter Warnings: Battle, Mentions of Death & Blood, Animal Death

Previous - Chapter 5: The Lannister Secret Next - Chapter 7: The Plotwist

Chapter 6: Into Battle

The horns signalled the Northerners' approaching, and the scouts on patrol spotted them. Roose Bolton led the men from the North. He commanded less than half of the men Robb had carried under his banners, and almost all were infantry.

The plan had been set the day before, and the disciplined Lannister soldiers quickly took their positions under their respective commanders.

Kevan commanded ten thousand men alone in the centre, with Lords Lefford, Lydden, and Serrett at his side, along with three hundred heavy horses. His foot archers were also arranged in three long lines east and west of the kingsroad. Between the archers were squares of pikemen, and behind them were ranks of men-at-arms wielding axes, swords, and spears.

On the right, Ser Addam Marbrand commanded four thousand knights and other heavy lancers, including Ser Flement Brax and members of Houses Crakehall, Swyft, and other families.

Ser Gregor Clegane commanded the vanguard on the right. At one thousand men, they were entirely mounted but consisted of free riders, sellswords, raw field hands and small folk from Lannisport. They also included Tyrion Lannister, Bronn, and his three hundred Vale mountain clansmen.

Tywin commanded the reserve of five thousand men from the high hilltop ground, half mounted, half afoot. Josephine stood next to his horse, watching as the battle was about to start.

One would look at Tyrion’s men and wonder why all those undisciplined men were placed there, but if one knew Tywin Lannister enough, they would already have an answer.

Suspecting that it was young Robb leading the army against them, the Old Lion offered him a tempting bait of a weakened side.

The Stark boy would get the bait and charge straight there, exposing his sides. It was then that Kevan and his men would wheel to the left for a flank, driving them towards the Green Fork, straight on the heavily armoured and experienced knights under Ser Marbrand.

A simple attack on two fronts would trap the Northern army, giving them no chance to escape or fight back.

The battle started as the Northerners marched forward, only for Kevan's archers to fire volleys of arrows from the kingsroad.

At the same time, The Mountain led his men towards the shielded wall made mostly by spearmen from House Karstark. Breaking through due to his immense size and sheer force, he left an opening for the mountain men of Tyrion to pass through, along with the rest of the vanguard.

The Northmen’s line began to crumble under the assault as Tyrion and Bronn joined the fight, with the short lion managing to defeat several enemies, including a close fight with a tall northerner whom Tyrion only overcame because his horse bit the man’s cheek, giving Tyrion the opening to kill him.

Yet his victory was short-lived when a knight with a morning star managed to wound him and throw him off his horse. Not wishing to kill the short man, the knight asked him to yield and be spared, but Tyrion was smarter than that.

Given the chance, he acted upon his first impulsive thought and used the spike on his helmet to eviscerate the horse, which fell on the knight, effectively disabling and trapping him. Then, Tyrion saw how the fight had moved past him, and he could witness the true massacre his father had planned.

The battle quickly heated up as the full force of the Lannister army met them in the little valley, with Tywin joining last but never missing the action or the chance to kill some Northerners.

Josephine watched from the top of the hill, having not moved even when Tywin and his men rushed into battle, passing right next to her on horse and foot alike.

She had to wait, like it was planned. Wait until Robb Stark and his Direwolf appear so she can make her own.

Yet as she kept watching from afar, she could not help but remember her very real taste of battle and the very first she had been part of all those years ago.

The year was 260AC, and she had barely passed her 11th nameday when the War of the Nine Penny Kings started. It took almost a year for the final battle to commence, where the notorious Blackfyre heir was to be finally met in combat.

Tywin was already a knight, and it did not matter that he had just passed his 14th name day; he had to participate along with his younger brothers.

Josephine had been told to stay out of this, for the battlefield was no place for a young girl who had yet to master her gift. Yet the stubborn girl felt that Tywin needed her, so she snuck out in secret, joining the last Royal Targaryen forces that had been sent as backup.

Then she saw a real battle—chaos and death mixed in one. The sound of men and horses falling, blades clashing, and the metallic scent of freshly spilt blood almost overwhelmed her senses with excitement and adrenaline.

Yet it was all forgotten when she caught the scent and saw her partner and friend fighting in the middle of the chaos. His blade was coated red, but despite his good swordsmanship, he was still disadvantaged due to his age.

A blocked attack managed to save his head from being cut off, but the following kick sent him to his back. His free hand went to his side, feeling the acute pain coming from his ribs, a former attack not so long ago having started it all.

Tywin's enemy lifted his blade, ready to end him, and the young knight was ready to try to defend himself... a third player joined.

The sound of a roar was the first thing they heard before a Lioness jumped out of nowhere. She was small for her size and nothing compared to what she would one day become, but she was big enough to land an attack.

Sharp jaws locked around the man's arm, thick, sharp fangs piercing through his armour and drawing fresh blood.

The man screamed, the pain and shock making him drop his sword as he tried to punch the wild animal that was trying to eat his hand off.

He never managed to land an attack, for Tywin had snapped from the initial shock and moved fast. He pushed his blade right into the exposed neck of his enemy, successfully ending him.

With the man dead, the Lioness let the arm go and turned to look at Tywin. It was a teenager at most, the face still young but currently coated with fresh blood.

"You shouldn't be here," Tywin said through his teeth, one hand holding his bruised and perhaps fractured ribs.

He knew who the animal was, and a part of him was thankful to have her by his side during this madness. However, the risk of her getting hurt remained, and he knew he would never forgive himself if something happened to her.

The Lioness looked at him, a barely audible sound coming from her, before they both had to refocus on the battle. Left with no choice, Tywin lifted his bloodied sword and moved to stand beside her, feeling a sudden surge of power keeping him up and capable of fighting more.

"Stay close," was all he warned and ordered before they met their next enemy.

By the time the battle ended, the ground and the river were filled with bodies, blood polluting the soil and the waters. The North suffered the most losses, as only a small number escaped along with Roose Bolton.

The rest had their bodies lying on dead mounts or the ground, having faced an enemy that, in the end, they could not win.

Tyrion looked around him as he leaned against a cart that was used to pile the dead bodies of Lannister men and allies. That morning star injured him, and yet he still stood, although he swore sometimes he felt like emptying the contents of his stomach.

Bronn was by his side, covered in blood, but he treated it like an everyday thing, more used to such conditions and situations.

The dwarf had no comment on the losses from the tribesmen's side as he tried to ignore the stench of dead men, animals and blood while the Lannister forces were busy rounding up important prisoners.

The sound of horses galloping made him focus forward again, and he saw his father riding their way in his mighty armour. The carved lion heads were a good indication of his superior rank, his golden cloak strapped across his chest diagonally, while two bannermen rode by his side, all on three white horses.

They came to a halt close by, and Tyrion could feel the judging look of his father. Yet, he pushed himself to stand despite his injury to show his mighty father that he was still standing and had done just fine for the first time.

“You are injured,” was the first thing he told him.

“Good of you to notice. I see we won,” he replied, deciding not to test his luck now of all places.

To his surprise, his father scoffed. “The scouts were wrong. There were not 20.000 men; they were fewer,” he informed him, something he had realised upon hearing the numbers and connecting the dots from what he saw while he was on top of that hill.

“Did we get the Stark boy, at least?”

“He wasn't here.”

“Well, where was he?”

“With the rest of his men, obviously,” Tywin replied sarcastically, finding this game of questions and answers ridiculous.

Before any more questions could be asked, someone shouted. Turning their heads towards the source of the sound, they heard men fighting before a northern rider appeared on top of his horse.

Whether he had been hidden all this time or somehow managed to escape was not known, nor did it matter, considering how close he was already to Tywin and how close he was coming with each passing second.

Before the guards by his side could act to stop the enemy, someone else did.

A huge beast seemed to emerge from thin air, its golden fur reflecting the sunlight above. Huge fangs quickly dug themselves into the neck of the horse. Huge paws with dangerous, sharp claws held on the horse's body, drawing lines of blood and ripping flesh simultaneously.

The Horse tried to fight, but the weight and momentum of the Lioness made it stumble and fall, with strong jaws quickly ending the horse's life the moment it hit the ground.

At the same time, its unfortunate rider ended up with one leg trapped beneath the horse. His eyes opened wide, and a scream left his throat before the Lioness dug her teeth into his skin and let his blood water the ground beneath.

Everyone remained frozen, Tyrion looking with wide eyes at the sight. His heart was beating faster, and his stomach threatened to turn and empty its contents from the bloody image so close to them.

Bronn, by his side, was equally surprised, and his hand had gone to his sword, ready to defend himself if that animal wanted more taste of man.

The Lioness turned slowly, paws and mouth covered by fresh blood. Golden eyes looked at the small crowd around her, but her gaze locked on Tywin as she marched towards him.

Her muscles flexed, strong and reliable; they were a formidable weapon of personal use. Her size alone was bigger than that of a common lioness, and Tyrion could tell it was even taller than he, making him an even easier prey.

Tywin and his two guards had to tighten their grip on the reins to ensure their horses remained controlled. The sight of the predatory beast easily triggered their basic instincts, which had been dormant for years of training and battle.

"Well, you wanted a challenge. Not a Direwolf, but a horse seems to do," Tywin smirked, and for a moment, his son paled.

For a moment, Tyrion really thought his father had gone mad, talking to such a dangerous creature that way, taunting it as if it were a mere pet.

The Lioness let a faint growl, clearly displeased by the bitter humour. Yet, she made no further move and seemed to have no interest in anyone else around her.

"Return to the tent, Josephine. I will meet you there," he said next, making Tyrion and Bronn stare.

Both men remembered the tale told the night prior, with Tyrion the most shocked. Mismatched eyes watched as the Lioness moved and quickly retreated, realising that the very same animal was none other than the woman he had seen by his father's side.

The story he narrated last night was clear and fresh in his mind.

At least, now, he got the answer he was looking for... the confirmation of who Josephine truly was. Of course, he still had to learn what she was, but at least a part of the mystery was solved.

[racefortheironthrone]

Why do you think Tywin restored a useless coward like Boros Blount to the Kingsguard.

Similar to how he's rather tight-fisted with money, Tywin is also very tight-fisted with flunkies and is really loath to give them up, even when political necessity dictates that throwing them under the bus is the best move. I think Tywin brought Blount back for much the same reason that he refused to give up Gregor Clegane when Oberyn Martell came looking for justice - Blount was a loyal stooge of House Lannister and Tywin doesn't waste stooges.

At the same time, Tywin is also just a conservative in general, and thinks that changing long-standing institutions or promoting people above their station is a bad look: he didn't like getting rid of Ser Barristan either, and he doesn't like the thought of replacing a bonafide nobleman like Blount with upjumped sellswords like the Kettleblacks any more than he likes the idea of Janos Slynt as Lord of Harrenhal.

[lemoncakesandwine]

Knighthood

In Westeros, a boy is educated at home until he is sent to live in the castle or keep of his liege lord or a great lord or knight living in another region after his family receives permission to do so. This usually happens when the boy is seven, though others are kept at home until they are nine or ten. While living in his lord’s castle, the boy must wait on his master at the table, bring him food and drink, and learn how to ride and handle weapons. If the lord or knight he serves is pleased with him, he can look forward to being made a squire when he turns thirteen or fourteen. Once made a squire, he will accompany his master to war, carry his shield, tend to the horses, erect a tent, cook food, and help him into his armor. He will also look after his master’s weapons and armor.

By the age of twenty-one, the squire will be anointed a knight. There have been notable exceptions, such as Ser Jaime Lannister, who was anointed a knight when he was seventeen, and Ser Gregor Clegane, who was anointed a knight when he was only fifteen. Still, once the squire is made a knight, he will be given a parcel of land as a gift if his lord is wealthy and generous enough to do so. If he is not given land to provide him with an income, he will have to find other ways to make money. Poorer knights in this position offer their services as sellswords, as horses, weapons, and armor are expensive. The fortunate ones secure their position by winning the hand of a rich woman or by receiving inheritances/financial support if they hail from a wealthy family. Knights appointed to the Kingsguard, on the other hand, have their every need seen to by the Crown and, as such, do not have to worry about coin so long as they wear the white cloak of their order.

[wpmorse]

Lord Tywin looked away, disgusted. "No longer. Ser Gregor's taken the castle. The sellswords deserted their erstwhile captain almost to a man, and some of Lady Whent's old people opened a postern gate. Clegane found Hoat sitting alone in the Hall of a Hundred Hearths, half-mad with pain and fever from a wound that festered. His ear, I'm told."

Jamie Page 853

The Mountain arrives at Harrenhal to provide payback to Vargo maiming Jamie Lannister. It turns out to be quite anticlimactic.

This is the only time you can come close to rooting for Gregor Clegane.

I first imagined having Vargo Hoat sitting on a throne but I couldn't find any evidence that there was a throne in the Hall of a Hundred Hearts. Besides, I thought Hoat would come off as more pathetic sitting alone and abandoned in the middle of the Hall.

You can see everything a week early on my Patreon Page.

[redwolf17]

What do you think of these edits? (Warning, long lol)

Catelyn Stark -  Reunites with Arya, and receives confirmation that Rickon is alive and safe, and indications that Bran is as well.  Dies laughing as she manages to help Robb escape the Red Wedding.

Elia Martell-   Not only is Elia spared assault from Gregor Clegane by Jaime Lannister,  but both her children didn’t end up being killed in the sack thanks to Elia’s cleverness and Sansa’s weirwood timeline intervention.   Not only that,  but she eventually lives to see Gregor Clegane face justice.   Subverted in that Elia is still plagued with guilt and shame over what befell her fosterlings Gawen and Jonquil, the two children who were swapped with Rhaenys and Aegon.

Arya Stark -  Word of God states that although Arya has still experienced trauma,  she has been better off.   Reunites with her mother and older brother at Riverrun,  eventually reunites with Rickon at Winterfell,  and eventually learns of Bran’s survival and as of her last POV is with Sansa again.   She is also eventually freed from an unwanted betrothal to Hoarfrost Umber.   Subverted in that Arya suffers intense guilt for both Catelyn and Jeyne Westerling being directly and indirectly killed due to the Frey’s betrayal.  She believed Sansa hated her and that explained her not returning to Winterfell.   Character development shows that while Arya matures and does sincerely try in her position as the highest-ranking female at Winterfell with Robb widowed and Sansa absent,  her discomfort in this role is evident but still written without the character not falling into not-like-other-girls nonsense.   While she does escape this unwanted betrothal,  it comes at the cost of her own fertility with Part IV having Maester Luwin diagnose her with MKRH, a condition which inflicts the sufferer with no uterus.

Jeyne Poole-  Among the supporting cast,  Jeyne Poole is perhaps one of the best examples.  According to Word of God,  they wanted Sansa’s friend to have a much gentler storyline.  In the Weirwood Queen,  Jeyne’s father is still killed in the attack on Ned’s household and afterwards she is still sent to one of Littlefinger’s brothels to be “trained” this time along with Meri, a smallfolk girl from Sherrer Sansa took into her service.  Subverted in that the brothel madam Bel stalls on training Jeyne and Meri, rightly recognizing that they are not only too young but have been forced into this work by Littlefinger’s greed and Cersei’s indifference.    Bel then helps Jeyne, Meri, Arya, and Sansa escape from the city.   As of Part V,  Jeyne has spent years in a privileged and comfortable position as a lady-in-waiting to Arya,  something that other commentors have pointed out that a steward’s daughter’s would not normally be considered for in the ordinary course of things.   Thanks to everything they have been through together,  Jeyne and Arya are also now friends,  with Jeyne being among the women to console Arya after she finds out about her diagnosis.    Simultanteously,  Jeyne and Meri have been in a discreet but long-running relationship,  something that commentors have delighted in.    As of Arya’s last POV in the Part V,  the two have returned to the Riverlands with Arya’s retinue and also will reunite with Sansa soon.

Poetic Justice/Poetic Karma - Littlefinger sells Jeyne Poole's maidenhood to a paedophile sells word. Fortunately Jeyne escapes the city with Meri and the Stark sisters before that happens. Littlefinger ends up being killed by said sellsword.

Jorah Mormont sold people into slavery and lusted after a barely teenage Daenerys. After being exiled by her, he meets his end at the hands of a teenage slave.

Office Romance - Brienne Tarth and Deziel Dalt are an example of this, with both being sworn to Olyvar and Sansa. Over time, they become close and eventually Brienne accepts Deziel's offer of marriage.

I know there are a lot more obviously, lol. I'll add them when I get the chance or if someone else wants to, feel free to take my notes and update it.

I definitely agree the quotes section needs updating! Honestly each POV should get one IMO. The problem is choosing haha

I’m a little confused, because a lot of the edits at the top don’t have a trope/context?

Also, Littlefinger was killed by Bel. She framed a pedophile sellsword to whom she’d sold Jeyne’s maidenhead (after she escaped and was already out of town)

[incendiums]

[Gregor, Sellsword]

"Aiish. You need be careful!" He had a winter's bite to him, finding it... close. Too close. She had nearly been flung out open window with her whozimwhats and whatzamacallits. Her boom things. And now he was here, eyebrows deeply seated in concern. Weird it was. To be the one doing the nagging and all. "Gregor hates to see pretty lady bleeding. Imagine my surprise, when I caught you—small like little bird. If I was not there, what then?" His teeth grit uncomfortably, tasting of ginger and ale. His tight jaw slacked a little upon her reassurance, though.

"Gregor will do with the worrying. But maybe not too much. Just enough." He took a gentle hand to dust off her shoulder. No more than that. Pinched her poofy shoulders so they stood up, too. "Ha...! There. You look like mushroom again."

Perching his chin between his thumb and index, he let out a deep, low hum. One could say it was wise. Others could say he knew very little. But even so, he was a curious, curious fellow.

"Now tell Gregor what good idea you have. You seem so cloud-minded about it-- that it is distracting. It must be very good idea."

@meticulous-mage

[dwellordream]

THE DEVIL, reversed, Robert Baratheon and Rhaegar Targearon

Rhaena might have wed Robert, or his brother, if not for her father's paranoia. A Baratheon cousin with Targaryen blood might have seemed the perfect solution.

But by the time Rhaena was six-and-ten and serious considerations for her marriage were being made, her father had grown suspicious of Steffon Baratheon and believed he might be scheming with Tywin Lannister for his throne.

Any suits from Storm's End were privately rejected, and Rhaena remained unwed for another three years, until at nine-and-ten her father finally decided she would marry Monford Velaryon.

Monford had the Valyrian look, or near enough to it; pale blonde hair and startling dark blue eyes, very similar to Rhaena's own indigo. Sun-tanned from the sea, tall and handsome, he seemed a suitable bridegroom. Besides that, the Velaryons, while still wealthy and powerful, were nowhere near the sea power they had once been.

So Rhaena wed Monford, and he gave her a daughter, Alyssa, and then he died, drowned in a storm while returning to Driftmark from a visit to Tarth. To hear her father tell it, Steffon Baratheon himself conjured up the storm to kill his daughter's husband so he might put his own son in her bed.

Lord Tywin did not exactly dissuade him of the notion, and went so far as to propose that Rhaena wed his son Jaime, who was at the time a twelve year old squire.

Her father rejected the suit with a sneer, and similarly rebuked the Princess of Dorne for proposing that Rhaena wed her second son Prince Oberyn, who at the time was carving himself a bloody reputation as a sellsword overseas.

But the lords of the realm insisted- with some trepidation- that Aerys consider another marriage for Rhaena, for beyond her there was only her brother Viserys, then a mere toddler, who might not survive childhood.

Ser Arthur Dayne had begged the King to appoint him to the Kingsguard. Instead Aerys married him to his daughter. Rhaena didn't love Monford, nor he he her.

They were civil with one another from the earliest days of their betrothal, but he called her melancholy and stiff behind her back, and she thought him arrogant and mocking. Arthur, she did come to care for, though she does not know if it was romantic love.

It was passionate in that he made her the Maiden in his mind, and so the marriage was in some ways excruciating for him, because he was certain he was committing some profane sin. Ser Ilyn Payne, before her father had his tongue out, japed that Arthur behaved so awkwardly around the Princess that it was almost as if she were his sister.

Arthur gave her another daughter, Dyanna. Then there was that nasty business at Harrenhal, and her father became convinced the lords of the realm were all conspiring against him- Stark and Tully and Baratheon- and in truth, they likely were, though not via strange mystery knights- and arrests were ordered and heads were called for and the rebellion began.

Arthur died at the Trident. Robert Baratheon came back. Men led by Gregor Clegane, who Arthur knighted with such reverence, came to kill her and her daughters, she imagines because Tywin Lannister wants his Cersei for Robert's queen, but Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent died defending her and the girls, and now those men are dead.

So now Rhaena sits with her daughters in a small tower room. Alyssa is four, towheaded like her father, with his huge dark blue eyes. Dyanna is only six moons old, swaddled in Rhaena's arms, what little hair she has jet black.

She has had strange dreams since she was young, Rhaena, which she never could make head nor tails of, but she dreamed she would light three great fires in her life.

Once for life, once for death, and once for love. She had always imagined the first fire was the one that brought her into the world, at Summerhall, and that the second was Monford's funeral pyre- or mayhaps Arthur's? The third, she does not know. She may never know.

Robert Baratheon looks at her. Rhaena looks at him. Alyssa is sniffling but Dyanna is silent, as stoic as her father.

She assumes if they are to be killed, it will be done so quietly and quickly, before it becomes common knowledge that the rebels hold the princess and her daughters prisoner. Then public outcry would be to much to explain away the slaughter of an unarmed noblewoman and two little girls.

Robert does not look murderous- but then, he does not look pleased to see her alive, either.

"Your father is dead," he says, perhaps waiting for her to crumple and scream. As if she was not aware of what Ser Jaime had gone to do. "Where are your mother and brother?"

Rhaena smiles faintly; does he have to ask?

"Dragonstone," she says.

"Why did you not join them?"

"My father feared my husband would betray him at the final hour, if my safety was assured."

Robert's expression mottles with disbelief. "Aerys threatened to kill his own daughter? His grandchildren? You are lying, woman."

"My father only threatened," she says. "Your Lord Lannister did much more. It is already seeping through the city streets."

She is playing a dangerous game there, accusing the man who helped Robert take the city of attempted murder. But it doesn't matter.

If Tywin tried once, he will try again, and Robert is not a moron. He will need to weigh carefully if his hatred for her father- who seized and executed his- can overpower his own sense of public opinion.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Arya XIII (Chapter 74)

I know this inn. There hadn't been a gibbet outside the door when she had slept here with her sister Sansa under the watchful eye of Septa Mordane, though.

[...]

They know him. The silence told her that. But that wasn't the worst thing. She knew them too. Not the skinny innkeep, nor the women, nor the fieldhands by the hearth. But the others. The soldiers. She knew the soldiers.

Keep in mind there's an innkeep, women, and fieldhands nearby.

+.+.+

There are only three, Arya thought. Polliver gave her a fleeting glance and the boy beside him never looked at her at all, but the third one gazed long and hard. He was a man of middling height and build, with a face so ordinary that it was hard to say how old he was. The Tickler. The Tickler and Polliver both. The boy was a squire, judging by his age and dress. He had a big white pimple on one side of his nose, and some red ones on his forehead. "Is this the lost puppy Ser Gregor spoke of?" he asked the Tickler. "The one who piddled in the rushes and ran off?"

The Tickler put a warning hand on the boy's arm, and gave a short sharp shake of his head. Arya read that plain enough.

The squire didn't, or else he didn't care. "Ser said his puppy brother tucked his tail between his legs when the battle got too warm at King's Landing. He said he ran off whimpering." He gave the Hound a stupid mocking grin.

Clegane studied the boy and never said a word. Polliver shoved the girl off his lap and got to his feet. "The lad's drunk," he said. 

We're going to make sure this inebriated boy is as mouthy as possible.

(A Storm of Swords, otherwise known as 80 Chapters of People Making Fun of the Hound.)

+.+.+

He wore three blades on his belt, Arya saw; a longsword on his left hip, and on his right a dagger and a slimmer blade, too long to be a dirk and too short to be a sword. 

Needle!

Arya only needs two. 💅🏻

+.+.+

"So much for my brave brothers of the Kingsguard." The Hound gave a snort of contempt. "Who killed him?"

"The Imp, it's thought. Him and his little wife."

"What wife?"

"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."

That's stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she'd never marry the Imp.

Bat!

Correct, Sansa only knows songs, not spells. It's one of her best qualities.

Arya is so desensitized, she doesn't even reflect on her sister potentially killing someone.

+.+.+

The Hound sat on the bench closest to the door. His mouth twitched, but only the burned side. "She ought to dip him in wildfire and cook him. Or tickle him till the moon turns black." He raised his wine cup and drained it straightaway.

The Hound hates Tyrion more than his master Joffrey, because Tyrion emasculated him during a battle, and in the throne room when Sansa was beaten.

That should tell you everything you need to know about the Hound.

+.+.+

"So Gregor took Harrenhal?" Sandor said.

"Didn't require much taking," said Polliver. "The sellswords fled as soon as they knew we were coming, all but a few. One of the cooks opened a postern gate for us, to get back at Hoat for cutting off his foot." 

The cooks at Harrenhal are building up quite the reputation.

+.+.+

Sandor said, "The Blackfish is still in Riverrun?"

"Not for long," said Polliver. "He's under siege. Old Frey's going to hang Edmure Tully unless he yields the castle. The only real fighting's around Raventree. Blackwoods and Brackens. The Brackens are ours now."

Boo. Hiss.

+.+.+

The Hound poured a cup of wine for Arya and another for himself, and drank it down while staring at the hearthfire. "The little bird flew away, did she? Well, bloody good for her. She shit on the Imp's head and flew off."

"They'll find her," said Polliver. "If it takes half the gold in Casterly Rock."

"A pretty girl, I hear," said the Tickler. "Honey sweet." He smacked his lips and smiled.

Ew. Hands off the maid with honey in her hair.

Half the gold in Casterly Rock, I wonder how much that is. I'm reminded of how little the bounty currently is.

+.+.+

"And courteous," the Hound agreed. "A proper little lady. Not like her bloody sister."

"They found her too," said Polliver. "The sister. She's for Bolton's bastard, I hear."

Nooo, don't spiritually die.

I always forget she was told.

+.+.+

"Saltpans? How should I know? The traders are back at Maidenpool, I heard. Randyll Tarly took the castle and locked Mooton in a tower cell. I haven't heard shit about Saltpans."

The Tickler leaned forward. "Would you put to sea without bidding farewell to your brother?" 

Arya would!

Was the intention of that to show me Randyll Tarly imprisons the enemy? Lol.

+.+.+

Arya took a step backward as the long steel song began. The Tickler came off the bench with a shortsword in one hand and a dagger in the other. 

I have to say, I'm liking this dual blade strategy.

+.+.+

Polliver was a grim, methodical fighter, and he pressed Sandor steadily backward, his heavy longsword moving with brutal precision. The Hound's own cuts were sloppier, his parries rushed, his feet slow and clumsy. He's drunk, Arya realized with dismay. He drank too much too fast, with no food in his belly. 

The Hound embarrassing himself during his final fight is beautiful.

+.+.+

They're killing him. Arya had no more cups, but there was something better to throw. She drew the dagger they'd robbed off the dying archer and tried to fling it at the Tickler the way he'd done. It wasn't the same as throwing a rock or a crabapple, though. The knife wobbled, and hit him in the arm hilt first. He never even felt it. He was too intent on Clegane.

Dagger!

+.+.+

Even the chunky brown-haired squire was up, fumbling for his swordhilt. She snatched her wine cup off the table and threw it at his face. Her aim was better than it had been at the Twins. The cup hit him right on his big white pimple and he went down hard on his tail.

[...]

Arya grabbed it with two hands, but as she lifted it someone grabbed her arm. The flagon slipped from her fingers and crashed to the floor. Wrenched around, she found herself nose to nose with the squire. You stupid, you forgot all about him. His big white pimple had burst, she saw.

"Are you the puppy's puppy?" He had his sword in his right hand and her arm in his left, but her own hands were free, so she jerked his knife from its sheath and sheathed it again in his belly, twisting. He wasn't wearing mail or even boiled leather, so it went right in, the same way Needle had when she killed the stableboy at King's Landing. The squire's eyes got big and he let go of her arm. Arya spun to the door and wrenched the Tickler's knife from the wall.

I have no problem with this.

It's unfortunate it's another kid, but he would have hurt her (or worse).

+.+.+

The Tickler backed away. Arya could smell his fear. The shortsword in his hand suddenly seemed almost a toy against the long blade the Hound was holding, and he wasn't armored either. He moved swiftly, light on his feet, never taking his eyes off Sandor Clegane. It was the easiest thing in the world for Arya to step up behind him and stab him.

I have no problem with this.

+.+.+

"Is there gold hidden in the village?" she shouted as she drove the blade up through his back. "Is there silver? Gems?" She stabbed twice more. "Is there food? Where is Lord Beric?" She was on top of him by then, still stabbing. "Where did he go? How many men were with him? How many knights? How many bowmen? How many, how many, how many, how many, how many, how many? Is there gold in the village?"

I- uh. Um.

+.+.+

Her hands were red and sticky when Sandor dragged her off him. "Enough," was all he said. He was bleeding like a butchered pig himself, and dragging one leg when he walked.

"There's one more," Arya reminded him.

Arya.

+.+.+

The squire had pulled the knife out of his belly and was trying to stop the blood with his hands. When the Hound yanked him upright, he screamed and started to blubber like a baby. "Mercy," he wept, "please. Don't kill me. Mother have mercy."

"Do I look like your bloody mother?" The Hound looked like nothing human. "You killed this one too," he told Arya. "Pricked him in his bowels, that's the end of him. He'll be a long time dying, though."

The boy didn't seemed to hear him. "I came for the girls," he whimpered. ". . . make me a man, Polly said . . . oh, gods, please, take me to a castle . . . a maester, take me to a maester, my father's got gold . . . it was only for the girls . . . mercy, ser."

The Hound gave him a crack across the face that made him scream again. "Don't call me ser." He turned back to Arya. "This one is yours, she-wolf. You do it."

She knew what he meant. Arya went to Polliver and knelt in his blood long enough to undo his swordbelt. Hanging beside his dagger was a slimmer blade, too long to be a dirk, too short to be a man's sword . . . but it felt just right in her hand.

"You remember where the heart is?" the Hound asked.

She nodded. The squire rolled his eyes. "Mercy."

Needle slipped between his ribs and gave it to him.

I have a big problem with this.

That is not the type of mercy he was asking for. There was no compassion accompanying this act. This was not about ending his suffering.

There's an innkeep, women, and fieldhands nearby. Leave him alone.

+.+.+

The innkeep came scurrying back with two stone cups and a flagon on a pewter platter. Sandor lifted the flagon to his mouth. Arya could see the muscles in his neck working as he gulped. When he slammed it back down on the table, half the wine was gone. "Now you can pour. Best pick up those coppers too, it's the only coin you're like to see today."

"We'll pay when we're done drinking," said Polliver.

See? Sandor Clegane isn't such a bad guy. He pays the innkeep, and chastises the men who won't...

"Saltpans." He put a big hand on her shoulder to keep from falling. "Get some wine, she-wolf. And take whatever coin they have as well, we'll need it. If there's ships at Saltpans, we can reach the Vale by sea."

Never mind. I guess it's not that imperative the innkeep is paid what he's owed.

+.+.+

"Maybe Lady Lysa will marry you to her little Robert. There's a match I'd like to see." He started to laugh, then groaned instead.

Guys it's funny because Sansa will marry her little Robert.

+.+.+

When the time came to leave, he needed Arya's help to get back up on Stranger. He had tied a strip of cloth about his neck and another around his thigh, and taken the squire's cloak off its peg by the door. The cloak was green, with a green arrow on a white bend, but when the Hound wadded it up and pressed it to his ear it soon turned red. 

Maybe that fandom should spend less time dissecting green cloaks, and more time recognizing comic book references.

+.+.+

When he got the fire going, Sandor propped up his helm in the flames, emptied half the wineskin into it, and collapsed back against a jut of moss-covered stone as if he never meant to rise again.

Loving every word of this.

+.+.+

If Sansa was gone too, there were no more Starks but her. Jon was on the Wall a thousand leagues away, but he was a Snow, and these different aunts and uncles the Hound wanted to sell her to, they weren't Starks either. They weren't wolves.

So Jon's not a wolf? Damn, brutal.

+.+.+

Sandor moaned, and she rolled onto her side to look at him. She had left his name out too, she realized. Why had she done that? She tried to think of Mycah, but it was hard to remember what he'd looked like. She hadn't known him long. All he ever did was play at swords with me. 

I give you permission to be reminded of Daenerys, and laugh.

(I'm not comparing them!)

+.+.+

Arya glanced over her shoulder, but there was nothing behind them but a crow flitting from tree to tree. The only sound was the river.

BRAN?!

+.+.+

When he saw Arya staring at him, he said, "I'd skin you alive for a cup of wine, girl."

She brought him water instead.

Water for the dying man. Number three!

+.+.+

His eyes opened. "You remember where the heart is?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.

As still as stone she stood. "I . . . I was only . . ."

"Don't lie," he growled. "I hate liars. I hate gutless frauds even worse. Go on, do it." When Arya did not move, he said, "I killed your butcher's boy. I cut him near in half, and laughed about it after." He made a queer sound, and it took her a moment to realize he was sobbing. "And the little bird, your pretty sister, I stood there in my white cloak and let them beat her. I took the bloody song, she never gave it. I meant to take her too. I should have. I should have fucked her bloody and ripped her heart out before leaving her for that dwarf." A spasm of pain twisted his face. "Do you mean to make me beg, bitch? Do it! The gift of mercy . . . avenge your little Michael . . ."

"Mycah." Arya stepped away from him. "You don't deserve the gift of mercy."

No, he doesn't. Get your shovel ready, dog.

Hey, remember that time the ASoIaF wiki claimed Sandor Clegane rescued Sansa during that beating?

Fucking riot. Even the Hound isn't that deluded.

+.+.+

The Hound watched her saddle Craven through eyes bright with fever. Not once did he attempt to rise and stop her. But when she mounted, he said, "A real wolf would finish a wounded animal."

Maybe some real wolves will find you, Arya thought. Maybe they'll smell you when the sun goes down. Then he would learn what wolves did to dogs.

+.+.+

She turned her horse and rode away from him, and never looked back once.

Goodbye fuckhead.

On Reddit, someone said this was the end of Sandor Clegane's story, and the gravedigger is his epilogue.

I thought that was perfect.

+.+.+

And there were ships.

Three, thought Arya, there are three. Two were only river galleys, shallow draft boats made to ply the waters of the Trident. The third was bigger, a salt sea trader with two banks of oars, a gilded prow, and three tall masts with furled purple sails. Her hull was painted purple too. Arya rode Craven down to the docks to get a better look. Strangers are not so strange in a port as they are in little villages, and no one seemed to care who she was or why she was here.

Everyone is your friend at the docks!

+.+.+

I need silver. The realization made her bite her lip.

[...]

She couldn't go back, no more than she could beg for help. Begging for help never gets you any. She would have to sell Craven, and hope she brought enough.

Is... is Arya going to trade a horse for a ship?

+.+.+

She liked Craven at first look, asked Arya how she'd come by her, and grinned at her answer. "She's a well-bred horse, that's plain enough, and I don't doubt she belonged to a knight, sweetling," she said. "But the knight wasn't no dead brother o' yours. I been dealing with the castle there many a year, so I know what gentleborn folk is like. This mare is well-bred, but you're not." She poked a finger at Arya's chest. 

Guys it's funny because Arya is highborn.

+.+.+

A half-dozen other Saltpans folks were around, going about their business, so Arya knew she couldn't kill the woman. Instead she had to bite her lip and let herself be cheated. 

Arya.

+.+.+

The captain was turning away when she said, "What ship is this, my lord?"

He paused long enough to give her a weary smile. "This is the galleas Titan's Daughter, of the Free City of Braavos."

The Titan's Daughter! Everyone gets to play.

+.+.+

"It's not silver." Her fingers closed on it. "It's iron. Here." She pressed it into his hand, the small black iron coin that Jaqen H'ghar had given her, so worn the man whose head it bore had no features. It's probably worthless, but . . .

The captain turned it over and blinked at it, then looked at her again. "This . . . how . . . ?"

Jaqen said to say the words too. Arya crossed her arms against her chest. "Valar morghulis," she said, as loud as if she'd known what it meant.

"Valar dohaeris," he replied, touching his brow with two fingers. "Of course you shall have a cabin."

Like a Faceless Man!

I just now realized George intended for Lady Stoneheart to be wreaking havoc in the riverlands for five years, waiting for Arya to return.

Crazy.

Final thoughts:

Sad to see this duo part ways.

He taught her so much, like... um... hm. Let's see. Uh. Oh, where the heart is located? Sure, we'll go with that.

-> return to menu <-

[x-amoromnibusidem]

Aegon VI Targaryen 

Prince Aegon Targaryen is the second child and only son of Crown Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Elia Nymeros Martell. Aegon was an infant during Robert’s Rebellion, having been born a few months before its onset. In preparation of the Battle of the Trident, Aegon’s grandfather, King Aerys II Targaryen used him, his mother Elia, and his older sister Rhaenys as hostages, gracelessly reminding Aegon’s great-uncle, Prince Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard, that the three were in Aerys’s hands. Lewyn took command of ten thousand Dornishmen, but died in the battle, as did Aegon’s father, Rhaegar.

During the Sack of King’s Landing a fortnight after the royal forces had left for the Trident, Ser Jaime Lannister killed Aerys in the throne room of the Red Keep. Jaime, though the only Kingsguard member left in the city, did not think his father Tywin, whose troops were attacking the city, would harm little Aegon and his young sister, Rhaenys. While Jaime was standing over Aerys’s corpse, Ser Gregor Clegane and Ser Amory Lorch scaled the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast and then killed Aegon, Rhaenys, and Elia. The deaths of the children caused a dispute between Lord Eddard Stark and the new king, Robert I Baratheon, and also began the feud between Houses Martell and Lannister.

Tyrion Lannister meets “Young Griff”, a young man who is introduced to Tyrion as the son of the sellsword “Griff”, aboard the Shy Maid. The company is headed for Volantis, to await the expected arrival of Daenerys together with the Golden Company and more ships for her cause. After some time on the Shy Maid, Tyrion concludes that “Griff” is Lord Jon Connington, and that “Young Griff” is not his son, but instead Aegon Targaryen. “Young Griff” explains his apparent survival to Tyrion while they play cyvasse. According to his account, the infant killed during the Sack of King’s Landing was a tanner’s infant son born at Pisswater Bend, a street of King’s Landing. The child’s mother had died at birth. The tanner sold his boy to Varys for a jug of wine, since he already had other sons, but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys arranged the swap between the two infants. Elia received the tanner’s son, whom Tyrion dubs the pisswater prince, while Varys took custody of the real Prince Aegon.

|| The Sun’s Dragons Mini-Event || Day 1 : Canon 

|| Children of the Sun ||

#SummerIsForDorne

#SunDragonsWeek

[agentrouka-blog]

Seeing as how Sansa's prayers often come true , it could be Harrold dies in the tourney after being kicked off his horse or maybe he dies bravely like Waymar Royce, another arrogant Vale lordling when he journeys North to battle the Others ?

I vote a later death.

Harry dying doesn't upset Littlefinger's plans all that much. He remains Lord Protector. Sweetrobin is much more important to him. Sansa stands to lose much more of her immediate gain in that case, but Littlefinger could still “reveal” her as Sweetrobin’s betrothed and do the same thing as with Harry, essentially.

So the shock isn’t Harry dying. (IF he does.) It’s the how.

Also, Sansa’s prayers do tend to come true, but with a delay and a twist.

Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.

Harry, though...

My Harry. My lord, my lover, my betrothed. (...)

She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesn't need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now. (...)

No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. "As you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefinger's bastard must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow." And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt.  (TWOW, Alayne)

We already guess what the twist on Handsome Harry’s contrast to his horsefaced cousin will be, as well as Sansa’s prayer to the Maiden to be liked, if she cannot be loved “for now”. The language is ardent. That’s promising.

Not so much the second part. I doubt Harry will suddenly break the pattern and fulfill Sansa’s prayer to the letter on the dot by actually being damaged in the tourney by accident.

We know he is no experienced warrior. His knighthood was won in a pre-arranged melee and there has been no fighting for the Vale knights. His “first tilt” is just as easily his first experience with actual battle. GRRM takes care via Brienne to show us just how excruciating it is on a mental level.

“When I was a squire young as you, I had a friend who was strong and quick and agile, a champion in the yard. We all knew that one day he would be a splendid knight. Then war came to the Stepstones. I saw my friend drive his foeman to his knees and knock the axe from his hand, but when he might have finished he held back for half a heartbeat. In battle half a heartbeat is a lifetime. The man slipped out his dirk and found a chink in my friend's armor. His strength, his speed, his valor, all his hard-won skill . . . it was worth less than a mummer's fart, because he flinched from killing. Remember that, girl." (AFFC, Brienne IV)

Considering that Littlefinger’s entire plan hinges on Harry being a willing tool to reconquer the North for her, a physically dangerous endeavor, it would actually be rather horrific for Sansa if Harry ended up dying in battle, perhaps even nobly, after she wishes him ill.

It would mirror the death of Ser Hugh in his fancy new moon-and-falcon armor in the Hand’s Tourney, only escalated to actual warfare. Arrogant, knighted too soon, little experience...

That boy today, his second joust, oh, that was a pretty bit of business. You saw that, did you? Fool boy, he had no business riding in this company. No money, no squire, no one to help him with that armor. That gorget wasn't fastened proper. You think Gregor didn't notice that? You think Ser Gregor's lance rode up by chance, do you? Pretty little talking girl, you believe that, you're empty-headed as a bird for true. Gregor's lance goes where Gregor wants it to go. (AGOT, Sansa II)

A chink in the armor is also the downfall of the similarly moon-and-falcon attired Ser Vardis Egen by the hand of dirty pragmatist Bronn.

Bronn was on him in a heartbeat, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the weak spot between arm and breastplate. Ser Vardis was lying on his side, pinned beneath the broken torso of the weeping woman. Catelyn heard the knight groan as the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down and in with all his weight behind it, under the arm and through the ribs. Ser Vardis Egen shuddered and lay still. (AGOT, Catelyn VI)

Vardis died senselessly for Lysa, and Tyrion is released to go and befriend the mountain clans.

What are Harry’s arms?

The arms of Hardyng and Waynwood were displayed in the first and third quarters, respectively, but in the second and fourth quarters he bore the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky blue and cream. (TWOW, Alayne)

Uh oh.

There is impending violence with the mountain clans, more than likely, which is one way for it to happen, or he could actually survive long enough to fight and die in the North when Sansa calls the knights for help. Either way, he will die for Sansa and it will be his blood on her hands, to a certain degree. I bet he will even die half a hero.

The man may not be a virtuous paragon of chivalry, but he is no monster and he is a father of soon enough two children and he has done nothing to Sansa to warrant a terrible punishment. She is the one who is induced to make use of him. If little Alys Stone became an orphan because Harry defended her interests, Sansa would regret her petty wish, and likely reconsider her approach to the lives of men who fight in her name.

The twist might be the bitter lesson for Sansa: tourneys are games, but there are no toy knights, only men of flesh and blood.

What was the first thing Sansa said about Harry?

She did not want to look stupid, though, so all she said was, "I pray he proves a worthy knight." (AFFC, Alayne II)

She prays. And her prayers come true.

[her-gentle-prison]

Warm like the winter sun

(some fic I had written for Aegon week and never posted, tagging @sayruq bc I promised you! I’m sorry this took so long!)

This takes place in the canon-verse. A little after Aegon takes King’s Landing. Told from Arianne’s POV.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Winter is here, Arianne thought as she laid a hand on the cool stones of the Red Keep, her fingers already nipped with cold.

She would never get used to the weather. She missed Dorne, and the sun, the fresh sea-salt breeze and the smell of lemons wafting through the air. In King's Landing the very air was foul and heavy, cold and unfamiliar.

It was her duty to stay here though, and so she would.

As she descended the stairs, her footsteps echoing like ripples of water, she thought about Quentyn. He had not come back, and if these sellswords were to be believed, he would be caught in the middle of a war. Arianne felt a shiver down her spine at the thought. She would remember to lit a candle in prayer for him.

She was looking for Prince Aegon in that labyrinth of walls and stairs. 

Siding with him had been bold, and no easy choice by any means. She had made sure Dorne’s allegiance would not be given without a price. Lord Connington had not been so happy about this. As for the prince, he had seemed neither angry nor surprised about it. Perhaps he understood better than others that they were strangers to one another, more than they were family.

She found him standing in an abandoned room, shrouded and silent, and were it not for the warm light of the torches, she would have barely seen him standing there. He looked as if he were carved out of ice. A lonely, etheral figure in the dead of the room.

Arianne stepped in, the bottom of her gown pooling across the blood-red stones. Somehow the room felt even colder. She wrapped the cloak tighter around herself.

"The people are missing you, Your Grace." she said, her breath fogging the air between them.

Dark-blue eyes settled on her, curious. "What are you doing here, Princess?"

"I wished to thank you, for justice." for vengeance

"I should be thanking you, I think," he smiled, "for your spears and for your help. For home."

She studied him carefully, wondering if she should be bold and put his words to the test. The prince had proved easy enough to parley with before. But he would be a king soon, and a prince no more.

"Words are winds, Your Grace. Dorne needs more than justice. As do I."

He took a step closer. "What is it you want?"

If he had asked her a few moons ago, she would have had a ready answer. She had wanted Dorne and her birthright, and the sad girl who had cried herself to sleep had wanted nothing more than her father's love.

She was a princess of Dorne though. It did not matter what she wanted.

"I want a place in your small council", she decided, "and for the rest of ser Gregor's body to be sent to Dorne."

"So you mean to stay here?"

For now. It would take some time before the letter reached her father. Until then she was still to be his eyes and ears.

She smiled. "Are you so eager to be rid of me?" 

Arianne stopped to give the room a closer look. She had not noticed at first glance how unkempt the place looked. Like it had not been used for a very long time. The great hearth was full of ash, and the chair seated next to it full of dust, as if frozen in time. Perhaps in the past a woman would sit there, nursing her babe by the fire. 

"What is this place, Your Grace ?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. It called out to me. I heard a voice, it sounded like a laughter, like a cry... Tell me, is that odd?", he cocked his head to one side. " I heard ghosts roam this castle. I hoped it would be true, so I could kiss the stones here and tell my mother and sister they have not been forgotten."

Arianne watched him curiously. To her, the Red Keep was a bleak and desolate place. She had never thought that to him, it might feel like home.

Arianne remembered her own mother, whom she had not seen in many, many, years. 

She remembered her mother’s small figure, the dancing laughter shining in her eyes... And Quentyn, her sweet doe-eyed brother, would follow the lady Mellario like a little shadow. Like a moth ever drawn to her flame. 

Arianne remembered watching them, envious despite herself, as if she could never truly belong with them. Too much like her father and yet too little as well.

She had not noticed her hand tightening around her gown until he placed a hand over hers.

His hand is warm, she realizes with surprise when he laces his fingers with hers, and covered in nicks and scars.

It's his thank you.

For help, for home.

[butterflies-dragons]

CASTLES BATTLEMENTS & BEDCHAMBERS

Jon: I'm having the lord's chamber prepared for you.

Sansa: Mother and Father's room? You should take it.

Jon: I'm not a Stark.

Sansa: You are to me.

Jon: You're the Lady of Winterfell. You deserve it. We're standing here because of you. The battle was lost until the Knights of the Vale rode in. They came because of you.

—Game of Thrones - Season 6 - Episode 10 "The Winds of Winter"

***

As Ghost Hill slept that night, the princess donned a hooded cloak against the chill and and walked the castle battlements to clear her thoughts. Daemon Sand found her leaning on a parapet and gazing out to sea, where the moon was dancing on the water. "Princess," he said. "You ought to be abed."

"I could say the same of you." Arianne turned to gaze upon his face. A good face, she decided. The boy I knew has become a handsome man. His eyes were as blue as a desert sky, his hair the light brown of the sands they had just crossed. A close-cropped beard followed the thin of a strong jaw, but could not quite hide the dimples when he smiled. I always loved his smile.

The Bastard of Godsgrace was one of Dorne's finest swords as well, as might be expected from one who had been Prince Oberyn's squire and had received his knighthood from the Red Viper himself. Some said that he had been her uncle's lover too, though seldom to his face. Arianne did not know the truth of that. He had been her lover, though. At fourteen she had given him her maidenhead. Daemon had not been much older, so their couplings had been as clumsy as they were ardent. Still, it had been sweet.

Arianne gave him her most seductive smile. "We might share a bed together."

Ser Daemon's face was stone. "Have you forgotten, princess? I am bastard born." He took her hand in his. "If I am unworthy of this hand, how can I be worthy of your cunt?"

She snatched her hand away. "You deserve a slap for that."

"My face is yours. Do what you will."

"What I will you will not, it seems. So be it. Talk with me instead. Could this truly be Prince Aegon?"

"Gregor Clegane ripped Aegon out of Elia's arms and smashed his head against a wall," Ser Daemon said. "If Lord Connington's prince has a crushed skull, I will believe that Aegon Targaryen has returned from the grave. Elsewise, no. This is some feigned boy, no more. A sellsword's ploy to win support."

My father fears the same. "If not, though... if this truly is Jon Connington, if the boy is Rhaegar's son... "

"Are you hoping that he is, or that he's not?"

"I... it would give great joy to my father if Elia's son were still alive. He loved his sister well."

"It was you I asked about, not your father."

So it was. "I was seven when Elia died. They say I held her daughter Rhaenys once, when I was too young to remember. Aegon will be a stranger to me, whether true or false." The princess paused. "We looked for Rhaegar's sister, not his son." Her father had confided in Ser Daemon when he chose him as his daughter's shield; with him at least she could speak freely. "I would sooner it were Quentyn who'd returned."

"Or so you say," said Daemon Sand. "Good night, princess." He bowed to her, and left her standing there.

—The Winds of Winter - Arianne I