#aeri is absolutely wonderful for putting up with her actually

[hchollym]

If Rheagar was such a bad guy then why does most of westeros still think about him positively after the Rebellion?

This ended up being a long response, so I'm going to put a lot of it under the cut for length.

First of all, even if most of Westeros thought that Rhaegar was fantastic, that still wouldn’t mean that he actually was fantastic. Perception plays a huge role in politics, which is obvious from Sansa’s observation about Margaery and the Tyrells:

The smallfolk cheered them as well.

The same smallfolk who pulled me from my horse and would have killed me, if not for the Hound. Sansa had done nothing to make the commons hate her, no more than Margaery Tyrell had done to win their love.

Reality does not always equal perception, especially where the rich and powerful are concerned.

Second, there’s absolutely no evidence that most of Westeros thinks about Rhaegar positively. In fact, quite the opposite. The story that has been told across Westeros ever since Robert’s Rebellion is that Rhaegar kidnapped and raped Lyanna; that’s the story that Robert (as the new king) spreads, and it’s what most people believe, including children like Bran:

“Robert was betrothed to marry her, but Prince Rhaegar carried her off and raped her,” Bran explained. “Robert fought a war to win her back. He killed Rhaegar on the Trident with his hammer, but Lyanna died and he never got her back at all.”

That doesn’t sound too positive to me.

Third, it may seem like Rhaegar is viewed as mostly positive because of the POV trap. We only really get a few people’s outright opinions about Rhaegar (instead of vague or implied ones): Daenerys, Jorah, Ned, Bran, Barristan, Cersei, Jaime, Robert, and Jon Connington.

Of those, 2 of them (Bran and Robert) see Rhaegar negatively, 2 of them (Ned and Jaime) see him almost indifferently (I’ll talk about that later), and 5 of them (Daenerys, Jorah, Barristan, Cersei, and Jon Connington) see him positively. That seems like there is more good than bad, but you have to look at the context.

Daenerys certainly isn’t going to view her brother (that she never met but has heard tales about from Viserys) as a villain when she’s been told a very different story, and even if Jorah and Barristan didn't like Rhaegar, they would never tell Daenerys that. It’s also worth noting that Jorah traded slaves and Barristan was part of a Kingsguard which has seriously questionable morals, so I can’t say that I hold either of their opinions in high regards.

Jon Connington thinks of Rhaegar in a positive light because he was in love with him, but ironically enough, he barely knew him. That's obvious from the fact that he was more jealous of Elia’s relationship with Rhaegar than Lyanna’s, which would make no sense if he truly knew what transpired and what Rhaegar was thinking.

Cersei thinks of Rhaegar positively because Rhaegar is to her what Lyanna is to Robert – a fantasy of what could have been that serves as an escape from the awful reality. Robert has abused Cersei countless times, and she’s understandably unhappy with him. She didn’t even know Rhaegar, but she deludes herself into thinking that her life would have been better if she had married him:

If she had only married Rhaegar as the gods intended, he would never have looked twice at the wolf girl. Rhaegar would be our king today and I would be his queen, the mother of his sons.

This is just like the way Robert deludes himself into thinking that he would be happy if he married Lyanna. Neither of these ideas are based in reality.

There’s also an unrealistic perception of royalty that comes into play. Look at what happens to Cersei:

Cersei was soiled goods now, her power at an end. Every baker's boy and beggar in the city had seen her in her shame and every tart and tanner from Flea Bottom to Pisswater Bend had gazed upon her nakedness, their eager eyes crawling over her breasts and belly and woman's parts. No queen could expect to rule again after that. In gold and silk and emeralds Cersei had been a queen, the next thing to a goddess; naked, she was only human, an aging woman with stretch marks on her belly and teats that had begun to sag … as the shrews in the crowds had been glad to point out to their husbands and lovers.

The perception (as opposed to the reality) is what really sets the royal family apart, and Rhaegar certainly had an advantage in that regard: he was a handsome and intelligent prince and a talented jouster and swordsman. On paper, that sounds great, so for people who didn’t really know him (like Cersei and Jon), what’s not to love?

Also, compare that to Aerys (who was growing increasingly paranoid and delusional and even looked like he was going mad by refusing to cut his hair or nails) & Robert (who was an abusive, angry drunk). To people like Barristan, Rhaegar seemed like the lesser of all evils (though the bar is certainly set very low).

Now think about the two people who view Rhaegar almost indifferently: Jaime and Ned. With Jaime, I say it’s indifferent because his memories and thoughts about Rhaegar aren’t really based on his opinion about him; they are more about his guilt at failing to protect Rhaegar’s children, which I think he realistically would have felt regardless of how he felt about the prince. It’s no secret that Jaime hates Robert, but he doesn’t seem to particularly love Rhaegar either. He mostly just gives facts about him that are tainted by his youth and his guilt.

Ned’s opinion is what people usually point to as an excuse for Rhaegar “not being so bad” because if Ned doesn’t hate him, then surely he must not have been so awful 🙄 The irony of that is that Ned had a much greater opinion of Robert than he deserved (at first), but that certainly doesn’t mean that Robert was a saint. And he mostly just remembers facts about Rhaegar; the only “positive” thing he thinks is this:

There was no answer Ned Stark could give to that but a frown. For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not.

If not frequenting brothels is the standard for being a great person, then his expectations are far too low.

I also think this is rooted in Ned’s misogyny. Even though Ned doesn’t think poorly of Lyanna (which he shouldn’t), he knows that she went with Rhaegar willingly, and because of that, he doesn’t seem to fault Rhaegar for the power imbalance as much as he should.

Since he doesn't think of Rhaegar as a rapist, that implies that he seems to just accept that this was a bad decision that Rhaegar and Lyanna made together that had domino effects. It's not as bad as some characters thinking that Lyanna “seduced” Rhaegar, but it still doesn't put the blame fully where it belongs (by acknowledging that Lyanna was still a child who Rhaegar took advantage of).

Ned clearly still loved Lyanna dearly, but I do think he didn’t understand her decision to run away with Rhaegar in the first place, and part of that is because his views about Robert didn't match up with hers (which was obvious when he assured her that Robert was a good man who was true and would love her with all his heart). Even though he told Robert that he didn’t see the iron underneath Lyanna’s beauty, he still somehow thinks that Robert loved her truly:

Lyanna had only been sixteen, a child-woman of surpassing loveliness. Ned had loved her with all his heart. Robert had loved her even more. She was to have been his bride.

That’s one of the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read, and yet somehow Ned believes that. By the time he starts thinking about Rhaegar again, he’s finally seeing Robert more clearly, and because of that, he’s finally beginning to think about/understand why Lyanna made the decision that she did. So I personally think that Ned's thoughts about Rhaegar (above) have more to do with Lyanna than the prince.

This became way longer than I intended, and I feel like I went off on a few tangents (sorry), but to sum it up: Not everyone views Rhaegar positively, and even if they did, it doesn’t make him a good person. He left his wife and children to kidnap a girl that was still a child, locked said girl in a tower without access to her family while she was pregnant, and set into motion a war that killed so many innocent people. I don’t care how many people “liked” him in the books; Rhaegar was still a jerk.

[alliluyevas]

long ass post about the ned + cersei garden scene 

because this is one of my favorite scenes in the series and frankly it’s actually weirdly tender and beautiful, I’ve left a lot of the quotes pretty whole and I’m going to pick out the parts I want to comment on. I’m putting this under a cut to spare my followers who aren’t following my agot deep dive :)

two sections in this passage I want to point out: the bit about Ned seeing her beauty for the first time in a long time is fascinating. I don’t think he’s actually attracted to her whatsoever, he can just see that she’s pretty and I think he’d been unable to acknowledge that because he dislikes her and her family so much, but now he’s seeing her in a more sympathetic light he can see it.

Also Cersei’s line about Jaime being worth a hundred of Robert is actually surprisingly moving to me. Like...their relationship is soooooo mutually unhealthy but they do love each other and this line is very poignant! Also I want to just acknowledge the fact that Cersei’s been hiding Robert’s abuse of her for years and then compare that to the fact that Jaime never told her the truth about Aerys and they’ve both been keeping these huge traumatic secrets from each other WHILE spouting the whole one-soul-in-two-bodies codependency that Cersei goes into in the very next line which I neglected to include in my picture.

this bit actually haunts me, it is so fascinating. I think it’s really telling of Ned’s character that he finds Cersei’s argument here compelling, like he’s obviously sad and hurt about what happened to Bran but there’s a part of him that puts himself in her/Jaime’s place and feels compassion for them. And I do think Ned perceives killing a child as literally the worst thing a person can do (more on that later), but he also does love his own children with all his heart and I think he recognizes the potential moral dilemma there.

okay I don’t mean to derail serious meta here but I just wanted to point out yet another instance of Ned talking about how sexy Robert used to be fgkjvkdsajdkfg. Also the line about not knowing which of them he pities most is really painful. I think Ned gives Robert more pity than he deserves, frankly, but I don’t necessarily think less of him for it. And again here, I think it’s interesting how little anger there is in Ned’s narration like the closest thing to anger is that flash of disgust but mostly it’s sadness and pity. This is an oddly, almost incongruously gentle scene, at least from Ned’s side. Cersei is angry, Cersei is defiant, but Ned is just like. Heartbroken by all of this.

I think it’s interesting that she throws the rape comment at him here, I don’t know if it’s just because he’s pissing her off or because she has a generally low opinion of anyone who would be close friends with Robert (probably the latter I would imagine).

And again with the killing children! I really think this is SUCH a motif/theme in Ned’s storyline, like it’s a real cornerstone and so many of the other threads in his arc all come back to this. From the way that he’s clearly still haunted by what happened to Rhaenys and Aegon fifteen years ago and he’s never been able to forgive Robert for it, to him refusing to go along with the assassination attempt on Dany which leads to another break with Robert, to our secret subtext about Jon and the promise he made to Lyanna, to this moment where he puts himself at risk and exposes himself to Cersei because he believes it will protect Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen. He failed to protect two of Rhaegar’s children from Robert, he’s spent fifteen years protecting the third one, and here we are again! The crux of it is that he loves Robert and Robert is capable of doing things that Ned feels is the height of evil and he has to come to terms with that, and by this point he has. But he still loves Robert, which I think is part of the really effective tragedy of Ned’s story.

and! what! of! my! wrath!!!!!! this is SUCH a powerful moment for Cersei! Like she’s wrong here but there’s a part of you that’s just like go girl!

Also Cersei’s reference to Ned and Jaime’s interactions on the day of the Fall of King’s Landing are fascinating because she portrays it as Ned “making” Jaime yield the throne and it’s pretty clear from Jaime’s later POV that he was not exactly clinging onto it. I wonder if that’s her projecting onto what Jaime told her or whether what Jaime told her is different from what he told himself.

Back to our POV character here, I think Ned crucially underestimates what Cersei is capable of, and part of that is because he’s a good gentle person who sometimes gives other people too much benefit of the doubt, and part of it is frankly him being sexist. Like he pities her here and he sees her as a victim, which she absolutely is, but it absolutely blinds him and he’s definitely influenced by cultural attitudes about women here. It’s also like. She says she loves her children more than anything and he takes her word for it and thinks there’s a chance she’ll give up a chance at power and let her enemies win in order to protect the people she loves. But she, of course, does not, but ultimately Ned ends up faced with a very similar version of that same choice, and he chooses the opposite, he chooses to sacrifice his honor and let his own enemies win because he believes it will protect Sansa. 

[im-auntie-social]

JB exchange recs part 3: now with themes!

(see part 1 for disclaimers/justifications and an uncategorized list of a few fics that seemed like they were written specifically for me, only one of which actually was)

(see part 2 for some angst, as well as some warm fluff)

I don’t know about you but I like grouping things and seeing patterns where there really aren’t any. And I saw a lot of probably-nonexistent patterns in the @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange fic offerings! For instance...

Vaguely WWII/postwar-flavored: however long the night, the dawn will break again (M, 3.6k) has Jaime and Brienne as ships passing in the night... ships with history. Coming Home from Lonely Places (T, 4k) declared war ON MY EMOTIONS as rival spies Jaime and Brienne come into contact at different points in the war(s).

A heaping helping of Cersei: I enjoy a good not-totally-crazy-and portrayal of Cersei, I’ll admit it. On the fun side, Cersei survives but is doomed to live as Aunt Celia (N, 2.6k) (also featuring a lot of good, practical women who don’t put up witih Jaime’s shit either). On the gothic side, I won’t give away what’s up with the Lannister siblings in the atmospheric-as-hell Half-Life (T, 19k) but it’s great. And on the deep-character-analysis side, I adore how in the dark, I thought I saw you (T, 17k) progresses in POV from Jaime, to Cersei, to Brienne.

Dream time: Technically I could list Those Who Favor Fire (T, 9k) under the space AUs, but the awesomely weird and dreamlike effects the mysterious planet has on our heroes is the best part of it. More on-the-nose for this section is To Sleep, Perchance to Dream (T, 3k) which has Jaime and Brienne sharing a strange liminal space in their dreams, even though they don’t know each other in real life. Both of these just nail the weirdness of dream logic and the outside-of-reality feel.

G-g-g-ghoooooosts: In a post-book Casterly Rock, Brienne is bothered by supernatural shenanigans In the Hall of Ghosts (N, 6k). From the post-show category, A Different Choice (T, 3.7k) has a particular spirit offering post-bricks Jaime a second chance. And in the modern AU Haunted (T, 19.k), Jaime is driven out of his apartment by what he swears is a ghost, forcing Brienne to let him sleep on her couch.

Food as a love language: Companion (T, 9k) explores Jaime and Brienne’s canon relationship through food-focused vignettes, which is a fantastic idea and extremely well-executed. The hot gold hush of noon (T, 1.5k) has Brienne taking Jaime through the Australian outback on a foraging trip, doing extraordinary character work in such a small space.

And then, two of my favorite tropes/themes/flavors:

Fun With Pantheons: I adore a good mythology. The Girl who had Two Gods (T, 4.4k, Jaime/Brienne/Arthur Dayne) is a beautiful story of Brienne being born at an inconvenient moment and getting assigned some lesser-known deities to be her patrons. The Jaime-Arthur dynamic is absolutely wonderful, and the absolute softness of Brienne being incorporated into it just made me melt. On the other hand, Brienne gets to be the deity in come in with the rain (T, 2.3k)-- in fact, as the goddess of Spring she’s the only one who responds to young Jaime’s prayers after he fails to kill Aerys’s pyromancers in time to stop King’s Landing from going up in flames. She wasn’t supposed to do that, and he’s, you know, a kingslayer, so they go on the run together. I loved minor-goddess Brienne standing up to the Seven (and the Seven themselves are really well done), and this one has I one of my favorite Happily Ever Afters.

Modern + Magic: Aw yeah, that’s the good stuff. On the shorter side, I love the deft way The Girl Who Painted Lions (T, 2.2k, and gifted to the same person as The Girl who had Two Gods, which doesn’t *for sure* mean they have the same author but it’s a fair bet) weaves the magic system into the story of Jaime and Brienne meeting, separating, and reconnecting (and something about Jaime being able to cast protection wards just makes me feel so warm inside). And I know I’m not the first to bring it up but electric boogaloo (T, 11k) is such a masterclass in worldbuilding, connecting the magic system and types to the factions and families from canon in a way that is absolutely perfect. And it takes place at a series of annual masquerade balls! And Brienne’s mask is made of lightning. Swoon.

So there you have it, an incomplete list of what I enjoyed over the last three weeks (god has it only been three? what even is time?). Hopefully more to come when I actually finish all the reading! And thanks, all possible thanks to the exchange mods-- @slipsthrufingers, @firesign23, @nire-the-mithridatist, and @samirant --who worked tirelessly and over many time zones to make all of this possible. And who also let me-- invited me to, even-- play in the sandbox of exchange data! (oh you can bet there’s some infographics incoming this weekend, just you wait....) (that’s a threat)

[jimlingss]

Sugar and Coffee [15.5]

Back to Chapter 15

Words: 641

They’re loud even when they’re miles away.

“I can’t believe you guys are sipping Piña coladas on the beach while I’m busting my ass here.”

“Literally, I was yelled at yesterday by the head chef and I almost slipped when I had to throw out the trash in the back alley. This isn’t fair!”

“Who would’ve thought their internship would end up easier.”

“Hey, hey, hey.” You lean over Jungkook’s shoulder. “We deserve this.”

Jimin, Taehyung, Yoongi, and Hoseok are on video chat with you and Jungkook — all their faces are plastered on different parts of the screen. You have to admit, you missed them a lot.

“And I deserve to be told I’m not putting enough work into my dough?” Yoongi glares, but he’s not so frightening through a monitor.

“Some say it might be karma, Yoongi,” you taunt and Jimin bursts out laughing as Hoseok eggs the situation on. “You are a little bit of a Debby-downer.”

The tender-faced boy moves closer to his camera with a disgusted expression. “You want to fight?”

You plop your hands on Jungkook’s shoulders, shamelessly declaring, “Jungkook will fight on my behalf.”

But the boy whirls around to look at you. “Who says? You’re on your own.”

You’re absolutely appalled. “You’re not going to defend my honour?”

“Not when you’ve brought this upon yourself,” Jungkook scoffs, crossing his arms.

The corner of Yoongi’s lip curls. “You better watch your back, Y/N. I’m going to start going to the gym to work on my punch.”

“Yoongi at the gym?!” Taehyung interjects with a bark of laughter. “Yeah, right!”

“Excuse me?”

“What?” Taehyung’s voice is high-pitched in self-defense. “I’m just stating facts! You’d never go to the gym even if the world was ending. You can barely whisk with those flabby arms of yours. No wonder you get complaints you can’t knead dough.”

“Yeah!” You jump into the mess. “Tell him, Tae.”

“Keep out of it,” Jungkook scolds you playfully. “You can’t even fight your own battles.”

“Do you want to fight me, Jeon?”

He arrogantly smirks at you. “You know I’d win.” 

At the same time, Jimin is laughing while Yoongi and Taehyung begin to bicker. Everyone’s voices overlap so the audio is inaudible. 

“Let’s fight Yoongi together, Taehyung,” Jimin suggests.

“What?” — “Hell yeah, dude. I knew you have my back.”

“Jimin! Jimin!” You shout at him, hopping up and down much to the dismay of the boy in front of you. “Help me fight Jungkook too!”

“Hard pass,” Jimin giggles. “I don’t think anyone here can win against him.”

“Not if we all jump him at the same time!”

“Shut up! Shut up!” Hoseok shrieks, his microphone loud and deafening. “I can’t hear! You’re all too nosy!” Ironically, he’s the loudest of all of you. “My laptop speakers are going to break!”

Aeri appears, slinking her arms around her boyfriend’s shoulders. She giggles at the whole ordeal she was passingly listening to. You greet her and she waves. 

It eventually calms down enough that you can actually hear each other.

“What’s it like there?” Jimin asks, trying to get a more serious answer.

“The weather’s pretty nice and the facilities are nice. I can’t lie, it’s pretty fun.”

Jungkook adds, “The ocean is super blue.”

“What the fuck, this is so unfair.” Taehyung throws his head back. “How do they get to travel for free and I don’t?”

“Don’t be so happy in paradise that you decide to get hitched,” Yoongi mutters half-heartedly.

Suddenly, Taehyung’s eyes light up. “Oh yeah, don’t people go to French Polynesia for their honeymoon?”

“Yeah, my aunt was considering that place when she got married.” Jimin grins, a knowing glint shining in his irises.

Hoseok laughs. “Ooh, so looks like—”

Jungkook closes his laptop lid.

“That’s enough of that.”

You scoff and he smiles cheekily.

[iheartbookbran]

1/ Okay, this is going to be a bit of a long reply, but do you honestly think Jaime is comparable to Cersei? Cersei has never done a single good thing in her life, has been murdering kids since childhood, and hardly regrets a thing. But Jaime? Like, pre-AGOT, what great crimes has Jaime committed with Cersei, besides incest? It’s pretty clear from Cersei’s POV that she’s been acting autonomously on everything besides conceiving Joffrey. Jaime hasn’t been involved.

2/ Getting into ASOIAF, Bran: yes, totally unforgivable, but a classic trolley situation in which GRRM states most people would do the same. And Jaime has said he’s ashamed in-text, more on that later I presume. Arya: his absolute lowest point, and he acknowledges it as such. It comes at a time when he’s practically out of his mind following Bran, and disturbs the hell out of him later. But hold him to account for sure, this is the closest he ever gets to being like C.

3/ Baby Tully: personally, I think it’s pretty clear in-text that Jaime isn't going to do this. If you look harder at Jaime’s whole relationship with bluffing, the way bluffing is being discussed in these chapters, and Genna, an insightful character, saying Jaime is NOT like his father, it becomes obvious that this is just an ugly attempt at imitating Tywin, complete with trebuchet. It’s dark to threaten this at all, sure, but Edmure is expecting dark so Jaime serves it.

4/ Slut-shaming Cersei - I mean, his thoughts are pretty fucking unpleasant, but… he’s human? This woman has cheated on him, multiple times (and not just as a means to an end, see Taena) whilst asking him to throw away his entire life since he was 15 to remain loyal to her. But sure, let’s just call it slut-shaming lol, Jaime should obviously be proud of Cersei and support her in fucking whoever she likes?

5/ Jaime and consent: GRRM is appalling at writing consent, I totally agree (look at Asha and Qarl)… but he has outright said that the twins’ sex is consensual, whether it looks it or not. You are going to have to use death of the author here if you want to argue that it’s anything otherwise, but by all means call GRRM out for his bad portrayal of it. Tysha: Jaime already knows he was wrong, and it’s plagued him his entire life. But let's not hold him accountable for his dad's extremes.

Oh boy, ok, let’s unpack all this, shall we? Honestly if someone had told me even yesterday that I’d be reciveing Jaime anons out of all the characters, I wouldn’t believe them. Because, again, I’m no renowned Jaime expert and my investment in him extends to... he’s interesting alright, I hope he stays alive long enough so that Bran gets to fling some shit at his face at some point or another in the next two books, but that’s really it.

1. So on the “Cersei has never done a single good thing in her life, has been murdering kids since childhood, and hardly regrets a thing. But Jaime?” part of your ask. I don’t believe there’s much difference on when someone starts committing crimes and it makes it somehow less bad of you don’t begin in your childhood, Jaime could have been attempting to kill/maim children at 13 or at 33 and guess what I would still believe he’s an asshole for it. He’s made choices that involve harming others in the name of maintaining his precious affair with his sister and upholding his family’s crimes, and it doesn’t matter to me when he started on it. This is not a fucking “evilness” point accumulation and Jaime doesn’t get a pass just because Cersei got a head start.

2. “Bran: yes, totally unforgivable, but a classic trolley situation” Sorry, nonny, but did you just compared Jaime pushing Bran from a window so he could continue with his toxic relationship... to the fucking trolley problem? WTF? Jaime, a goddamn adult with critical thinking skills, chose to continue that affair for years and years while having full knowledge of what the consequences of being discovered could be. He chose to be reckless and take his chances anyways. He was between the sharp object and the hard place because he chose to put himself there, and he doesn’t get to say “well I had no other choice” now because he fucking did, for years, he had a choice, and he went ahead with the most selfish one and when the consequences of his actions almost caught up with him, he again choose to be a selfish jerk and harm an innocent bystander, a child, that had no part in any of it. And you could argue that he did it to protect his own children but lmao, Jaime really doesn’t care that much about his children, lbr; just remember how he thinks of Joffrey. Cersei never gave him the opportunity to connect with them that’s true, and he only starts to bond a little with Tommen during aFoC, but I just think that if Jaime truly, sincerely, cared that much about his children’s well-being he could’ve oh idk stopped having sex with his sister??? Instead of being in a position in which he has to ruin a little boy’s life so that he can go on his merry way, even if he feels bad about it, that will never be good enough for me. Jaime had a choice, Bran didn’t.

3. “Baby Tully: personally, I think it’s pretty clear in-text that Jaime isn't going to do this.” I mean, given Jaime’s track record of shoving children from windows so that he can cover his and his own family’s ass, I’m not so sure about that, but fine, that still doesn’t mean that threatening someone with killing their baby so that they will submit to your will any less of a jerk move. I also think you’re kind of missing the point: Jaime here wants to have his cake an eat it too. He tells himself he’s upholding his oath to Catelyn (he really isn’t) while at the same time siding with the fucking Freys and aiding them, he’s basically giving legitimacy to the Red Wedding, the one thing most people agree was a hideous unforgivable act. I just think that if I make the active choice to defend and side with criminals, then I’m not less of a criminal myself.

4. Lol, I made that slut-shaming comment with a clear tongue-in-cheek intent, I obviously know their relationship at present is far more complicated than that, and I do think Jaime has the right to feel betrayed, I just also think that Jaime has this tendency of glorifying Cersei without actually truly seeing her for what she is. At times I almost feel like he considers her the fair innocent maiden to his noble knight, and that’s a big farce to both of them. When Cersei inevitably fails to live up to his expectations he’s shocked, as if he hasn’t known her all their lives.

5. “GRRM is appalling at writing consent, I totally agree” yes of course, he’s the same guy who considers Dany/Drogo consensual, that doesn’t mean I can’t still call it out and see it as a flaw. But even more than that, as you say next: “Tysha: Jaime already knows he was wrong, and it’s plagued him his entire life. But let's not hold him accountable for his dad's extremes.” like, again Jaime recognizing something is wrong and feeling bad about it doesn’t magically absolves him of it. Of course he’s not responsible for his dad’s fuckery but he’s guilty of withholding the truth from his little brother, whom he claims to love, with the full knowledge that it was an extremely traumatic experience for him, and that it had plagued him all his life, while patting himself on the back thinking that’s the right thing to do, and Jaime rationalizes it believing that of course Tysha couldn’t possibly care for Tyrion, so she was doing it for the money, which makes her no better than a whore (because Jaime, too, can be a misogynist UwU). You know, Tyrion has a lot of bad going on for him, but my god he’s 100% right in being furious with Jaime in this situation.

Like as you said, Cersei’s big problem is her lack of empathy, but Jaime’s is his apathy. With some big exceptions like when he killed Aerys and protected Brienne, Jaime’s apathy towards what he fully well knows is wrong and yet choses not to do anything about it is my biggest qualm with him. It’s something I believe GRRM is working with his development, but so far as the story goes, he hasn’t really made any significant turn, so I’m not giving him a gold star for participation. I mean, I realize that I’m the minority here when it comes to my opinion of Jaime, and maybe, nonny, how you and other fans interpret him is how he’s meant to be interpreted, but I don’t care lol. Writing this made me remember what GRRM said...

“Sometimes he felt like showering after writing a chapter about Cersei, though, as her world-view is quite unsympathetic.”—In this article.

I honestly wonder why he had to take a shower for Cersei torturing people (who yes, is a horrible evil person, I’m not trying to defend her), but not for Tyrion strangling a woman or Jaime crippling a child for life, but oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[gabbysdawsons]

legit my favorite of our probably many crossovers is with jaidyn being in muddy waters. she suits it so well and just the trio that is jaidyn, lucea, and serion is *chef’s kiss*

also a headcanon i thought of, i’m curious of what you think, is that after really just vibing and being kinda chaotic with serion and lucea and also dealing with the things of during the show, jaidyn joins lucea’s crew or at least has her own ship if she’s not able to join lucea or serion’s crew and spends her life as a pirate. when she’s not on a ship, she definitely vibes on driftmark because basically everywhere else just sucks

okay so first we start with the backstory because it is... i have more backstory than actual plot at the moment skskks.

just the absolute beauty of them all meeting at Cora and Loren's wedding (the Greyjoys were absolutely not invited, but Serion saw an opportunity to rob some rich people and jumped at it), but Lucea (as the bride's sister) and Jaidyn (as Loren's cousin) are very much invited.

when i say they are smol i mean like... 15ish.

anyway Lucea is a pirate first and foremost, she likes parties sure, but watching her sister be miserable over her marriage all night is just not what she wants to do.

however, the night starts to look up a little when she bumps into one of the younger Lannisters, Jaidyn, who truly looks so uncomfortable in her ballgown that even Lucea feels bad for her.

things are tense, though

and then they straight up just ditch it, Lucea suggests going to the harbour since that's where her fathers ships are and uh, she just really misses the water, Kings Landing makes her uneasy.

lo and behold, when they get there, there's this scruffy looking teenage boy who is absolutely trying to get onto the ship, and Lucea, more for the hell of it than to be useful decides to help him.

anyway this is very vague but her and Jaidyn essentially just spend the rest of the night chilling on the deck of this ship, Lucea got Jaidyn a change of clothes too.

Serion tells them his name but nothing more than that--he still might want to rob them some day, better to keep themselves on a first name basis, right? wrong.

the night ends, Lucea returns home to driftmark the following day, albeit their boat has picked up a stowaway of sorts, Jaidyn returns to Casterly Rock.

physically, I don't think Lucea sees Jaidyn much over the course of Aerys' decline into madness and the fall of the Targaryens, but she certainly sees Serion. both of them sent Jaidyn a shit ton of letters though, they loved to keep in contact.

anyway not enough Jaidyn content here, lets skip ahead to the show.

Lucea's brother Monford rules Driftmark in all the ways he thinks are important, she's running a full smuggling ring right under his nose because she refuses to see her as anything other than his little sister. Jaidyn, who at some point though neither of them could really tell you exactly when, had fallen into the role of both lover and best friend for Lucea.

and pirate Jaidyn is naturally a huge part of Lucea' lil smuggling ring. Lucea probably would have given her her own ship if it didn't come off a little suspicious, so naturally the closest thing she could do was put her on the same ship as Aurane Waters--Lucea's bastard half brother.

uh, Aurane and Jaidyn do not click, they clash a lot actually, but it doesn't matter because what can he really do to a Lannister? like, really?

why am i blanking so hard on plot points right now?? whatever it doesn't matter. Lucea and Jaidyn? just have the best vibes, even if Lucea has taken a much darker approach to life than Jaidyn has.

whatever the plot isn't important until the battle of the blackwater, at which point Jaidyn cannot legally be connected with the Velaryon's because they support Stannis. that does absolutely nothing to stop her from visiting Driftmark though. she's partially disowned at this point anyway.

uh I guess the next plot point ah look at that all the Velaryon men died during the Battle of the Blackwater so guess who's in charge of Driftmark now? that's right, lucea.

god this is actually very much terribly planned out imma just skip to the stuff i actually have planned.

point is, through all of this Lucea and Jaidyn are still as tight as ever, and honestly it probably worked out very well for both of them that they were never an official couple because Jaidyn found Pod, and Lucea is very much an embodiment of the line I can't get married for I'm married to the sea.

anyway in case you were wondering, Serion didn't die, he just uh, let's say he left. He left Westeros altogether in 289 AC for fear of taking part in Balon's Rebellion, and was for all intents and purposes disowned by his family because of this.

he's been having a good time, he got a boyfriend who is spiraling dangerously close to what some would consider a war criminal mindset, and he more or less adopted a kid. (for clarification I mean Jon Connington and Young Griff)

he does however make the return to Driftmark after so many years (even after leaving without so much as a letter to either Jaidyn or Lucea, which neither of them took well) for the sake of Young Griff and the fleet he will inevitably need.

this is around season seven, for context I guess.

also for context that I somehow missed, uh, there were some vibes between him and Jaidyn too.

anyway for the reasons of this ask Jaidyn is at Driftmark when he arrives and her and Lucea are just... absolutely floored to see him there because uh, what the fuck?

it's very much a bittersweet reunion, they've each moved on from the love they had in the past, but they still love each other. it hurts me on every level possible.

a n y w a y. at the end of the whole damn series Lucea basically turns Driftmark into what I guess most of Westeros would consider an incredibly scandalous place, think like, Lys, but really she just... does not care who people love. It has Nassau / Tortuga vibes, basically. Just follow her rules--which are few and far between--and she won't bother you.

anyway Jaidyn and Pod would thrive there, Serion would too if Jon wasn't so deadset on resuming his place as the Lord of Griffin's Roost.

this is very vague I'm realizing but uh, Getaway Car by Taylor Swift sums up the vibes of the development of this whole relationship. They personally have the exact same vibes as the Road to El Dorado trio. as demonstrated in this gif.

[brynnmck]

Chapters: 9/9 Fandom: Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth Characters: Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Rhaella Targaryen, Aerys II Targaryen Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency, Competence Kink, Battle Couple, excuses to get Brienne into men's clothes, and Jaime into Brienne's trousers, eventually, I overshot the minimum wordcount just a bit, I blame this amazing prompt, also fyi no one in this fic has sex with any of their immediate blood relations, the tags this fandom requires I swear Summary:

Faced with the untimely death of her brother and the resulting threat of losing her guardianship of her wards, Sansa and Arya Stark, Lady Brienne Tarth determines that she has no choice but to dress and act as Galladon until such time as she can see Sansa safely married. Enter infamous rake Jaime Lannister, Lord Casterly, sent to secure Sansa's hand on behalf of the marquess Aerys Targaryen. It should be a most fortunate arrangement, except that much as Brienne's present is not all it seems, neither is Jaime's past, and--quite inconveniently for both--they find themselves wondering whether they might have a future together.

Or: five times Brienne refused Jaime's proposal, and one time she proposed to him. (And also she's wearing 19th-century men's fashion because of reasons and fuck the patriarchy.)

____________________

Well so this was my @jaime-brienne-fic-exchange fic and it was a JOURNEY. I did not want to put myself in the position of having a deadline death-march to finish this and so I very faithfully kept myself to an average daily wordcount throughout July and I actually managed to stick to that and I was SO PROUD of myself and the only problem was that it ended up being almost twice as long as I had projected. Lolsob. ANYWAY. Aside from my lack of planning skills, writing this for @nire-the-mithridatist was a joy in all other ways; I absolutely adored her prompts, her feral comments once I started posting made my LIFE (seriously, if you read the fic please read nire’s comments just because they are so fucking hilarious; more than one of them made me giggle for DAYS), and getting to be friends with her and realizing we should’ve been friends all this time was an unquestionable highlight of the whole experience for me. So thank you to her for all the things, including helping make all of this happen in the first place, and thanks to the amazing @firesign23 and @slipsthrufingers as well--I know that wrangling an exchange of this size was not easy and all your hard work is so deeply appreciated!! Thanks also to @ajoblotofjunk for beta-ing and hand-holding and putting up with my whining and providing enthusiasm when I desperately needed it; she is the best and I would be lost without her. Thanks to @pretty--thief and @agirlnamedkeith for helping me brainstorm a couple of key elements and character moments (and to PT for naming the dog! ❤️). Thanks to my delightful sprinting buddies, particularly the 9 pm - 2 am Pacific time crew, including the ever-faithful Sprinto and our benevolent overlady Slipso (whom I am also so grateful to have become friends with as a result of all these shenanigans); SPRINT CHANNEL AFTER DARK brought me a lot of joy and a lot of distraction and some actual completed words and I wouldn’t have wanted to do it without y’all. And thanks to anyone who listened to me flail about this story, including @kiraziwrites and @naomignome who both found themselves on the receiving end of some not-entirely-sober DMs, as well as the thirsters who were lovely to me when I was like “listen, I don’t want you to read my draft, I just want you to tell me, sight unseen, that it doesn’t suck”. Thank you also to everyone who has already read and kudos’ed and commented and recced--I’m behind on replies, but please believe me when I say that I’m well aware of what a behemoth this is under the circumstances and so the fact that you’ve made time for it even with all the other amazing fic to read means so much to me. THANK YOU.  ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ And for those of you who read this sometime in the future, I hope you enjoy!! As challenging as this was due to the time constraints, getting to play in this style was a ton of fun, and I’m so happy to have been given a prompt that inspired me to try something new and intimidating and exciting. Thanks again to everybody!  ❤️

[justfandomwritings]

United in Fear (Part Five - Soulmate!Robb)

Pairing: Robb Stark x Reader; Soulmates AU

Word count: 18.4k ... Yes you read that right.

Warnings: Some people die cause its game of thrones, but nothing’s that graphic. Sibling bonding moments, lots of plot, but no actual warnings.

Summary: The names were the greatest mystery in Westeros. Each kingdom had their own telling of the story. None of the kingdoms could agree on where they were from or how they came to be. Each thought a different god, their own interpretation of religion, was responsible, but all seemed to agree on one thing: they were a gift.

Notes: Thank you to everyone who followed and reblogged from this story. Today marks 10k followers, and while I wasn’t waiting for that to happen, it’s great that it happened the day I finished this story.

Start From the Beginning… Part One

Previously On… Part Four

Revenge paid best when done in the service of Lannisters, and it paid even better when wrought against the King.

Tyrek, the firstborn son of Tywin’s deceased younger brother Tygett, was actually quite closely related to the central family of House Lannister, not that anyone remembered that. The Great Lion was in fact his uncle; and the Pride of the Rock, as (Y/n) had long been called, was to call Tyrek her first cousin. 

With his father a third-born son and himself proving lacking in mental abilities and physical prowess, many passed over Tyrek and regarded him as insignificant. To be sure, his family set a near impossible measure to live up to. Standing out amongst the Lannisters was only achievable for those truly great and notorious of history. 

His uncles, Tywin and Kevan, were considered masters of war and strategy and rule. His cousins were without equal: Cersei, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms; Jaime, the greatest swordsman to ever live; (Y/n), Lady of the Rock; and Lancel, squire to the King. 

There were others, to be fair, who fell short. Cleos Frey, eldest son of his aunt Gemma, was only noteworthy in how utterly unexceptional he became, and his baby brother Walder was possibly the ugliest thing to toddle the halls of Casterly Rock. Willem, Kevan’s son, may have only been a child, but he showed none of the promise and skill his twin brother. Not wanting to suffer further from association, Tyrek avoided the three at all cost. 

Even in his mediocrity, Tyrek could say he kept good, well-born company, but it wasn’t the matter that he was passed over that bothered him. It was that, as his father’s only child, he felt as though he’d failed him. 

Tywin had three perfect children and a fourth who, even as he disappointed his father, fascinated countless throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Kevan’s brood were an imperfect bunch. Lancel was strong but gullible; Willem was an unpromising one; and Janei, while kind and beautiful, was still only a babe. But where the others failed, Kevan could always look on Martyn for a dazzling performance. 

Genna similarly looked to her middle sons. Her eldest and youngest, Cleos and Walder, were Freys to their core; ugly, bruttish, and dim. They slunk around the shadows of the Rock, scared to even speak to anyone with blonde hair, including their brothers. Lyonel and Tion were Genna’s pride and joy. They looked, acted, and sounded as every Lannister should. They were by no means to par with Jaime or Cersei or (Y/n), but both showed skill and promise enough to rectify the disappoints that were their siblings.

But Tygett, dead though he may be, only had Tyrek. 

Tyrek didn’t know or remember his father, and none in the keep spoke of the man. He knew Tywin did not like him, and for that Tyrek kept his questions to a minimum. He wanted to know though; he wanted to give his long gone father a reason to praise him. And knowing that even if he earned it, he would never hear his father cheer, he sought at least Tywin and Kevan’s, for they were the closest things he had.

Tyrek felt nothing when his hand tipped and poured the contents of the small vial into the King’s wine before a hunt. He felt nothing when healers and the maester came rushing through the Red Keep demanding people make way for the King. He felt nothing when Cersei cackled at the news her husband had fallen ill. He felt nothing when the first scream of pain echoed through the walls of the tower, and he felt nothing when they finally, three days later, heard the last. He felt nothing when Jaime came to tell the Lannisters that the King was dead. 

And, waiting at the gates of King’s Landing for Robert’s funeral procession to begin, he wasn’t sure he felt anything now. 

“You did well, Tyrek,” (Y/n) whispered, resting on his shoulder what would appear to any outsider to be a comforting hand. 

Tyrek looked up at (Y/n), not physically but emotionally. His hopeful eyes screamed for guidance. “You’re pleased? Lord Tywin will be pleased?”

“Yes,” (Y/n) rubbed his shoulder before letting her hand drop to her side. “We owe you a debt, and I promise it will be paid in full.” 

Tyrek smiled as (Y/n) walked away.

Maybe he was a worthy Lannister, because the prospect of being paid by some means filled him with more happiness than the murder had guilt.

(Y/n) left her cousin alone in the streets, trekking back up to the Red Keep with her head hung in a sign of mourning. 

The funeral had brought to mind something (Y/n) had long wondered. 

Robert Baratheon was dead, and in all the crowds it seemed only Tommen shed a tear. Cersei celebrated behind closed doors; Joffrey relished his new found power; Myrcella had always been fearful of her father for the way he treated Cersei; Renly was finally out of his brother’s shadow; and Stannis hadn’t even bothered to come to King’s Landing.

(Y/n) wondered, when she was gone, who would mourn her. Would Tyrion cry for her or rejoice at finally being treated as an heir? Would Jaime even notice her absence when his vision was so clouded with his twin? Would Tywin care that his daughter passed, or would he only care that he’d lost his right hand?

She knew better than to ask after Cersei. Loyal perhaps, but the sisters had no love lost. 

Robb. 

Robb would cry for her, would notice her absence, would care that she had passed. She had that over the King; she had Robb. 

Even Ned Stark, loyal, faithful Ned Stark, Robert’s oldest and only friend, didn’t mourn the man. He stayed locked in his tower, supposedly preparing the coronation of the new King.

Of course, (Y/n) knew better than to believe that. Ned Stark was, after all, a terrible liar.

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

“Enter,” a voice called from inside the study.

(Y/n) walked past the Northern guard opening the door with a nod and a smile. 

Ned sat at a wide oak desk in the bay of an otherwise empty room. The Hand of the King had an official study for business, a grand bedecked thing nearer the quarters of the King. 

This, however, was a personal one. Two studies were not a luxury any Northman, even the Warden of the North, was used to. It seemed Ned did not know how to fill the space and had opted instead to not even try.

(Y/n) motioned for the guard to shut the door as she analyzed the contents, or lack thereof, in the room. “It is rather different than my father kept it.”

Ned leapt from his desk, hand reaching for the sword balanced against his chair back. He had been expecting his meal at this time, but the voice that spoke had caught him entirely unaware in a city where even the slightest lapse in attention meant death.

“Forgive my interruption,” (Y/n) halfheartedly placated. 

Ned took a moment, assessing there was no physical threat in the room, only a moment though as the lack of furniture made it clear (Y/n) was the only other occupant of the room. He replied slowly, cautiously removing his hand from the hilt of his blade. “I don’t believe you were born long enough ago to remember your father’s time as Hand.”

(Y/n) ambled around the perimeter of the room, trailing a hand over the walls. “I was not, but as you recall my father might as well have been king for most of Aerys’ reign. Painters loved to depict my father. There are countless portraits of him stored in the vaults of the Rock. A couple of him on the Iron Throne, a few in front of the Keep, plenty in the library or the Hand’s study, but my favorite portrait of him was in this room.”

“There were Lannister banners on the walls then.” She reached the desk and flattened a palm against the wood. “But he put his desk here as well. The light from the window, I presume.”

“It is why I chose the spot.” Ned stepped back towards the door, putting a few paces of distance between himself and (Y/n) Lannister.

Lannister. She was, despite her wedding, still a Lannister. Ned wished it weren’t so, or at least he wished to forget it were. 

Catelyn had given him his children who were his absolute joy. She stood by him and helped him with every decision he made. She cared for his people and his home. She vowed herself, gave herself, to him knowing she was not his mate. Ned loved his wife. He would not trade her for anything in the Seven Kingdoms, but Ashara was no longer in the Seven Kingdoms. 

Her daughter caused Ned great confusion and pain. A beauty that rivaled her mother, a mind which rivaled her father. He looked on her and saw his lost love; he listened to her speak and heard his mortal enemy.

She spoke from her core, and her core was Lannister. No matter the face which hid it. 

Without even a cursory glance in his direction, (Y/n) slipped into the chair Ned had vacated. The post weighed heavily on Ned’s mind at all hours of the day and night, but the seat seemed to mold around (Y/n) Lannister as if it were her own. As though the space had always been hers to occupy. As though the room was hers and he was the one merely a guest. 

“Lord Stark,” She crossed her arms over her chest with a weary smile, the sort of smile that would be comforting in any city but King’s Landing. “I’ve come to speak to you today about a whisper I heard.” 

Ned went instantly on guard. “I don’t employ spies. If you want to speak of rumors, I would be happy to escort you to Lord Varys’.” 

“I share your aversion to those who pay others to listen in on their fellow man, Lord Stark,” (Y/n) dismissed handily, “I assure you; what I’ve heard was not bought by myself or any other. It was offered and taken freely. I don’t deal in spies, nor do I deal in rumors.” (Y/n) picked at her fingernails as though the matter were as casual as her morning meal. “Rumors are usually lies, and no one is fool enough to lie to me. Whispers are another matter. Whispers are the truths no one wishes to speak.”

“And what whispers have you heard that concern me?” Ned pried warily.

“Whispers of visits to the less desirable end of King’s Landing, whispers of trips to one of Lord Baelish’s establishments, whispers of inquiries at a number of bastard’s homes in Flea Bottom.” 

Ned’s blood ran cold, and (Y/n) seemed to sense it even though his face remained as emotionless as ever. 

(Y/n) lifted her eyes to Lord Stark but did not divert any meaningful attention to him. “You see, the rumors say you’re looking for another of your bastards, or visiting Jon Snow’s mother, or looking to take a new mistress. I have no time for such slander.” 

“Then what do you have time for, Lady Lannister?” 

(Y/n) turned her head to Ned’s desk top, directing his eyes to the large book weighing down his papers: The History of House Baratheon. “I have time for a warning, Lord Stark.”

“A warning?” 

(Y/n) wasn’t a fool. She knew that by giving him a warning Ned Stark would connect her, or more likely her family, to his inquiries. That is, if he hadn’t already. Starks had a way of blaming Lannisters for every crime committed in the Seven Kingdoms and most of the crimes committed outside of them. That they were right to place the blame there was irrelevant. That they couldn’t fathom Lannister’s may have a purpose for such perceived injustices was of far greater concern to (Y/n) now.  

“Stop.”

Ned paused. “That is all?” He was rather expecting more than one word. 

“Stop this?” (Y/n) shrugged nonchalantly. “I admit. I don’t know how else to say it.” 

“You want me to stop prying into the death of my ally and mentor, Jon Arryn, and you expect me to do so without cause, simply because you asked?” 

“Ah!” (Y/n) exclaimed. “This is our misunderstanding.” (Y/n) leaned forward, elbows to her knees and looked up at Ned. Her face, for a moment, lost any and all resemblance it held with Ashara. It was as though Tywin Lannister had entered the room. His essence pooled in her eyes and and seeped through her skin as if by some magic the old man had possessed her though only for an instant. “I am not asking.”

Ned braced. His hand itched for his sword, not that he would ever dare use it on this woman of all people, for any number of reasons. He sought merely the comfort of having his weapon; he felt as though he were in a battle entirely unarmed. 

“Your sister had the Hand of the King murdered in cold blood. You don’t deny this, and you expect me to look the other way.” Ned accused.

(Y/n) leaned back in her chair exasperated. “I deny it entirely!” 

How daft was this man. To call her family out so blatantly without all the facts before him. He was no master of the game; she knew that. She hadn’t expected him to be on par with Baelish or Varys, but it seemed he wasn’t even on par with the lessers, such as her siblings or Pycelle. Even Tommen knew better than to confront anyone in King’s Landing, especially her, in such a way.

“You deny your family is capable of such treachery? I find that difficult to believe.”

“I denied no such thing. Your family and mine are different out of the necessity of our survival. Your family is capable of a great many things mine is not, as the reverse is also true.” (Y/n) bit back. “I did not deny my family was capable of such a thing. I denied, specifically, that my sister, your Queen whom you should refer to her with more respect, murdered Jon Arryn.”

Ned contemplated, for a moment, the poor woman before him. A woman who genuinely believed her words, who believed death a necessity for survival. “If not your family, then who? He was my oldest friend. I will not let this pass.”

“There was a time you would have called King Robert your oldest friend, yet you do not seek justice for him now.” (Y/n) pointed out, much to Ned’s discomfort. “You know your king to have been poisoned, and you let every suspect of the crime walk free from this city. Why?”

“Robert,” Ned hesistated. He looked out the opening above his desk, for no other reason than to avoid (Y/n)’s knowing gaze. “I know the reason for his death; we both do. I imagine I also know who did the deed and how it was done. Nothing there need be questioned, and I find the reason to be one which my heart simply cannot see fit to judge. Robert was not the man I once knew.” 

“And you know Jon Arryn to be the same man how?” (Y/n) asked. “You say he was your oldest friend, a title you remove from Robert in recent days. A title you would not have dreamed remove from Robert before you saw what he’d become. How then, having not seen Jon Arryn for just as long as the late King, can you lay the honor at his feet?” 

Ned marched forward to Jon Arryn’s defense, grabbing up the straining spine of the book and forcing its pages into (Y/n)’s face. “Because I know why he was killed, and no man deserves to die for doing his duty to his people. Your sister should not go unpunished for his death.”

“Again,” (Y/n) sighed, “my sister did not kill Jon Arryn.”

“And how do you know?” Ned turned the questioning on her.

“Because that deed I did myself.”

For that, Ned had no response. 

The tone of the conversation took a turn. Argument and resistance died in the air. Objection froze on the tongue. 

Ned Stark found he was well and truly struck dumb. 

Ned Stark had fallen at the first hurdle, a lesson (Y/n) had known even as a child: Never ask a question unless you already know its answer. 

With her revelation, it seemed as if (Y/n) did, in fact, own the room.

“I imagine you have already correctly deduced why I felt it need be done. Regardless of your actions, I won’t kill you as I did him, Lord Stark. I promise you that. Though, I cannot and will not promise your safety if you continue with this line of inquiry. You walk a dangerous path down which another has already died, and it is a path you walk very much alone. You have no allies in this city, only the liability of your daughters.”

“If you touch my children,” Ned began.

“I have no intention to draw the siblings of my mate into any frey,” (Y/n) waved off his growl. “Your daughters are no concern of mine, but I cannot say the same of my counterparts. Baelish is seen to be quite regularly in Sansa’s presence, and Varys has eyes on Arya almost constantly. I mention your daughters to remind you that they are here. Because judging by your actions, you seem to have forgotten. Whatever you do,” (Y/n) slammed her hand down on the book Ned had set aside on the table, “will affect them directly. 

“If you see through your quest for vengeance, your life and theirs will be at the mercy of my sister. If you are arrested for the treason you are plotting to commit, it will be my heartless nephew who decides their fate.” (Y/n) rose to her feet, forcing Ned back a step as they stood toe-to-toe. “Lord Stark, if you continue, the best ending that could possibly come from this would be for you to be branded a traitor and thrown in prison. The best ending for your daughters is to be given to my care at the Rock as honored guests unable to see their family ever again. And we both know what the worst outcome would entail.” 

Ned had much to think on that seemed to prevent him speaking. He did not want to reply with an ill-thought response to such a direct accusation of danger, but (Y/n) had clearly come prepared for whatever he might think to say. 

“Lord Stark,” (Y/n) sighed, resigned to maintaining the conversation alone, “I admire your sense of justice for your friends, but there comes a time to think of oneself, or at least one’s children. You will, I have no doubt, take this as intimidation, think I am attempting to block the honorable way. You believe you are doing the right thing, and I am here to tell you that you are. You’re doing the right thing for Jon Arryn and for your conscience, but make no mistake that the pair of you are the only two who will be served well by this course. It is the right thing for your guilt and for a deadman, not for the rest of Westeros.

“I mean, Stannis? As King? Make no mistake. Despite their personalities, Stannis is every bit Robert’s brother. The only thing Robert had in his favor was charm, and Stannis even lacks that.” (Y/n) scoffed at the idea of the morose, elder Baratheon sitting atop the Iron Throne. 

“So,” Ned’s voice was as low as his eyes, looking at the floor. “You admit Joffrey is not the true King.” 

(Y/n) paused, hesitating for only a moment, but it was enough for Ned to realize his words were to some degree correct. “Joffrey may not be the rightful King, but I believe he is the right one. Joffrey, as you’ve seen, would be no one’s first choice, but his undisputed reign, however brief, guarantees peace. What you propose leads to war and death and destruction from which no one benefits. Peace is what the Seven Kingdoms need.”

Ned wasn’t sure he intended to follow it, but he found he did want the young woman’s advice. “What, then, would you have me do?”

“Wait.” (Y/n) plainly stated. “A few months at the most. Joffrey will find some small slight, some matter of policy or gold which you’ve done in a way which he disapproves. He will ask you to return your pin as Hand. Do it without question. My sister will not attempt to enforce any contract for Sansa’s hand without Robert alive, and you will be free to journey with your children home. Take your daughters, and return to Winterfell where you belong.” 

“And who would take my place?” Ned already knew the answer.

“My father, of course.” 

Ned sat back on the edge of his desk with a heavy sigh, thinking that they had finally reached the true purpose of this conversation. “That is why you come to me then, to make way for your father. To ensure you do live to see him at this desk, in this room.” Ned motioned toward the window, the damned light at which their conversation had began. “It would give you control of the Rock sooner.”

(Y/n) smiled, a genuine, amused thing. “You are, I daresay, the first and only man in the Seven who has ever questioned my loyalty to my father. Knowing, as you do, what I’ve given up for him, I imagined you wiser than to do so. Even if it were as you say, and I assure you it is not, I am none so foolish as to go behind my father’s back to take control of the Westerlands.”

“Then what do you gain from this?” Ned asked, “I have been in King’s Landing long enough to know that even the most trustworthy people gain something from their loyalty.” 

(Y/n) shrugged. This was, by no means, the revelation to her that it clearly was to Ned Stark “Perhaps that is true, perhaps I am gaining something from all of this. Or perhaps, for once, it might be possible for you to believe that someone without the last name Stark is capable of doing the right thing.” 

There was a long quiet between the two in which (Y/n) leaned back and wrapped her hands over her stomach, looking thoughtfully out the window. 

When Ned spoke again, it was a whisper. “Lady (Y/n), are you with child?”

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

(Y/n) was heavy with child, too heavy for only a few months. The Maester had whispered words with her father in the hall after looking in on her. 

“More than one.”

“Worried.”

“Large.”

“Like Joanna.” 

The last should have scared her, but (Y/n) had no time for such worries. 

There were greater moves being made than those of her body.

Namely, those of Catelyn Stark.

(Y/n) stormed down the hall, as much as she could at her size. 

Her eyes were red, with tears or rage, one could not be sure, but she looked every bit a woman ready to kill. She was every bit a woman ready to kill.

The Mountain, ever stationed outside her father’s study, stepped aside as she approached. 

(Y/n) shoved open the door, not bothering to allow it to close behind.

Let the Mountain hear. Let the Rock hear. Let the whole of the Westerlands and Westeros hear what she had to say.

Her husband, Harwyn, was stationed inside the open door. 

The most useless guard in existence. The most useless man in existence. He thought himself worthy because he got her with child in their single torrid night together. He thought he had earned the Lannister’s respect. He was wrong, not that he’d realized that yet. He was nothing more than a hulking mass of flesh, and he had foolishly served his entire purpose to a family who did not consider him one of their own.

As the lesser brother of House Lannister looked up, Kevan jumped to his feet to free the chair in front of his brother’s desk for (Y/n).

“Have you seen this?” (Y/n) growled, ignoring the gesture. Her voice was dark, cold as she brandished a scroll in her left fist. 

Tywin lifted an eyebrow. His daughter was not prone to exaggerations, of any kind. Even in her pregnancy, emotions did not vex her. She was far too disciplined for such outbursts of rage. “I presume not, as I’ve had no cause for anger today.” 

(Y/n) tossed the crumbled paper onto her father’s desk, but her hand remained clenched in its fists as if it was looking for something, anything to squeeze the life out of, “Word from Jaime.”

Tywin smoothed out the paper, and Kevan forgot his attempts to get (Y/n) to sit. He circled the wood to look over the older lord’s shoulder at the message. 

It was minutes, several long agonizing minutes, before her father finally looked up from the single sentence scratched into the paper. His head rose at a pace that was agonizing in its slowness, but when his gaze finally met his daughter’s it was that of a lion rearing back its’ head to strike. 

“Can we confirm this?” His tone mirrored his daughter’s low voice.

(Y/n) gave a single nod. “It was accompanied by word from the Riverlands.”

Gracefully, like a predator stalking its prey, Tywin pushed to his feet, sending Kevan back a step in his wake. “Brother,” Tywin’s eyes didn’t leave his daughter’s. “Call the banners.”

Harwyn stepped from his shadowy corner, “For what purpose, my Lord?” 

Tywin turned his deadly gaze on his new son, and even the proud knight seemed to shrink back inside of the barrell that made up his chest. “Catelyn Stark has accused Tyrion of the murder of Bran Stark and kidnapped him on his return to us.”

(Y/n) took the chance to sum up her father’s thoughts in three words. “This is war.”

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

“Open,” The order came from somewhere near the back of the procession, and the guards at the top of the stairs each took a handle and pulled the doors wide.

The creaking brought a hush to the crowded room beyond who had not been expecting interruption. The chatter that had been present slowly died away as the newcomer joined their ranks.

“My deepest apologies for being late,” (Y/n) called out, slipping seamlessly to fill the quiet as if she did not know or care that her presence was a shockingly unwelcome surprise. With a grand flourish of her hands, (Y/n) waved to all of the room in greeting. “I do hope I am not interrupting.”

Silence. A long, empty silence.

Then, from the center a hearty chuckle. 

(Y/n) stepped under the middle archway and greeted Tyrion’s relieved smile with her usual smirk. 

“Brother,” she gave only a curt nod in acknowledgment before turning to meet the more distinguished guests on their platform.

Lady Arryn rose from her seat to stand beside her sister with a wide-eyed expression that could only be managed by someone subject to her particular kind of lunacy. “Who gave you the right to enter my home?”

“I gave myself the right,” (Y/n) meandered along, circling the edge of the room, a show of her indifference to Lysa’s power as much as it was a show of her own confidence. 

The Eyrie truly was a dreadful place. The mountains helped; they were beautiful, like a painting out of every window. But the keep was something more reminiscent of Harrenhal. Dim, cold, giving the appearance that it was haunted by its former patriarch. 

(Y/n) rather hoped the hall wasn’t haunted by Jon Arryn. She doubted he would take kindly to her presence. Not that she believed in spirits of any kind.

“You have no business here!” Lysa roared, taking a step dangerously close to the ledge over which she sat.

“On the contrary,” (Y/n) wandered over to the nearest bench and, with a glowering look, sent the lesser ladies occupying the seat scurrying away, “He,” she pointed to Tyrion as she settled in, “is my business.” 

“You cannot pay your way out of this. Your brother has already called for his trial by combat,” Lady Catelyn’s voice was steadier than her sister’s but by no means more inviting.

“Excellent,” (Y/n) clapped her hands, “Then he saves me the step of demanding one.” 

“What cause have you for wanting such a thing?” Lysa’s nose turned up at the prospect, an unpleasant look for an unpleasant woman. It made her already large nose look even more like a beak. 

“I have brought my brother’s champion.” (Y/n) snapped twice, a definitive sound that echoed off the chamber walls. “I’m sure you recall my husband, Lord Harwyn.”

The doors creaked open once more.

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

(Y/n) would be wrong if she tried to claim that she wasn’t proud of the bloody shoe prints that trailed her as Harwyn escorted her up the small flight of stairs. 

There was something terribly Lannister about leaving the blood of her enemies in her wake, feeling their life draining out under her feet. 

“I believe,” (Y/n) let go of Harwyn’s steadying grasp as she reached the top of the overlook, “that my husband has won the day, and the trial, in my brother’s name.” 

Lysa looked on the red at (Y/n)’s heels and snarled out with a venom, “Take your brother and go.” 

(Y/n) bowed her head. In her advanced state, she could bow little else without toppling over. “Thank you, Lady Arryn.” 

(Y/n) sidestepped a guard to stand at Catelyn’s side and leaned in as if she were embracing the older woman.

Catelyn stiffened as (Y/n)’s arms came up to rest upon her shoulders, and every body in the room tensed for action, listening intently for provocation by either side.

(Y/n) pressed her lips against Catelyn’s ear and spoke in a voice so low that even with no other noise and an echoey, stone chamber not a word carried to any others present. 

“You think your son’s name on my arm will protect you from my wrath, and yet my name on his arm is not good enough to protect my brother.” (Y/n)’s hands gripped tighter to Catelyn’s dress. Her nails cut through the fabric and stung Catelyn’s skin. “Make no mistake. This will be your only warning. I care for my family just as deeply as you do for yours, and I will not tolerate such insolence again. The next time you touch one of my brothers, no Stark will leave alive.” 

Catelyn’s eyes stared straight ahead when (Y/n) turned and retreated back over the deadman’s blood. The steps up and down smeared into one another and became indistinguishable trail. 

Like the train of her crimson wedding cloak, the blood red stain followed her out the door and into the snow. 

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

“Where are we going?” Tyrion occupied the seat across from her in the carriage. 

Normally, he would have ridden on horseback, but that was dominantly for the sake of expectation. 

His ‘brother’ Harwyn was outside, riding with the guard. Usually, the only recusal from joining the rest of the men would have been for all of the highborn lords and ladies to take refuge in the carriage. As it were, Tyrion was showing a great deal of disrespect to their traveling companions.

Though, he imagined Harwyn would say nothing and most of the low-born swords would not take it as the slight it was. They would assume that Tyrion’s height had made him in some way lesser to them and that this was merely him showing his weakness.

Neither, of course, was true. Tyrion could ride well enough with his saddle to keep up, and despite his imprisonment he felt more than fine to ride. 

There were, however, more important things than keeping up appearances to nameless, faceless, meaningless soldiers. 

“You won’t make it back to the Rock in this state,” Tyrion gestured to hulking mass that had become of his sister’s belly. 

“No, I won’t.” (Y/n) shifted her hands beneath the protrusion to lift some of the weight off of her aching back. “We’re heading to the Twins. Aunt Genna is waiting for us there.”

“And from there?” Tyrion asked.  

Trying desperately to find a comfortable seat, (Y/n) huffed and shifted her waist yet again. “Genna has business to attend with House Frey. She will accompany me home when I am well, and her deed is done.”

“And me?” 

“I believe Father has asked after you.”

Tyrion let his head thunk back against the wall behind him. “Joy,” he grumbled.

(Y/n) smiled, “No need to fear, brother. I believe it is a posting.” 

Tyrion let the words hang for a moment before switching the conversation. There was no elegant way to put it, but it needed to be said. “Thank you, (Y/n). I know Father sent you, no doubt. But thank you.” 

(Y/n) let her head lull to one side so as to look on her brother at eye level. 

Their family was not one for emotion. Cersei was too cruel to feel any, save those of a mother for her child. Jaime kept his locked deep inside, only sharing them on the rare occasion he was truly at someone’s mercy. Tyrion was rarely sober enough to remember what he was feeling, not that he felt safe enough to divulge them when there wasn’t a drink in his hand. (Y/n) hid her own under the cold, calculating mask of Tywin Lannister. 

It was a truly unique and rare occasion for any of the siblings, particularly (Y/n), to show what they were feeling. But on those rare occasions (Y/n) set her mask aside, it was only for her brothers. 

“Tyrion, Father did not order me after you. I was the one to tell him I was coming.”

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

“The Pride of the Rock,” Tyrion tossed the Maester’s letter on the table in front of his sister. “How much of that is embellishment to win your favor?” 

(Y/n) glanced up at her brother through her lashes. Even when it was out from under her watchful eye, her hand did not cease its elegant arcs over the paper before her, crafting what Tyrion was sure was an equally elegant response. 

Tyrion could recall (Y/n)’s birth the same way Jaime often recalled his own. 

‘You came into this world shouting, and you haven’t shut up since.’ Jaime used to say to his younger brother.

Tyrion, only a boy himself at the time, had been in the hall when his younger sister entered the world. He’d sat on the floor worrying his bottom lip as he waited for the Maester to come out with the final news. 

When Ashara’s cries had finally quieted down, Tyrion had expected a baby’s wail. All experience and knowledge he had on the subject had led him to believe his sibling would cry with their first breath of air. He fretted that something had gone horribly wrong when no sound came from the room, save the Maester’s shuffling feet. 

Maester Orland waddled out of the bedchamber with a bundle of cloth in his arms, outstretched from his body with a disagreeable face. 

‘A girl, I’m afraid,’ the Maester shoved the child at the young Tyrion. ‘Normal and healthy, at least. I must see to Ashara. Take her to your father. He will no doubt be displeased.’ 

The baby was rather large for Tyrion to hold, but he cradled her to his chest with all the care in the world. 

Tyrion had been the first person in the world to hold little (Y/n). Even before their father, even before her mother, even before Jaime, and long before Cersei. It was, therefore, with some certainty that Tyrion could say (Y/n) was not molded into Tywin’s ideal. (Y/n) was born perfect. 

For sure, Genna had to teach her to write in the beautiful script that now lettered the paper in front of her, but everything which made her (Y/n) was ingrained in her from her beginning. 

The entire walk from Ashara’s chambers to Tywin’s library she had stared up at Tyrion with the same silent, judgmental look that colored her face even to the present.

(Y/n) was thoroughly unamused, but after so many years in her company Tyrion was used to her cold mask. He knew that, while identical to his father’s, her hardened expressions were at least occasionally capable of hiding amusement or cracking into a smile. Tyrion had made an art of telling exactly when and how her lips would finally pull up at the corners. 

“Dear brother,” (Y/n)’s eyebrow rose nearly as high as her incredulous tone, “you think anyone would dare deceive me, even for the sake of flattery.”

“No,” Tyrion broke from his reminiscing. “I certainly don’t.” 

“Then let us presume it is as the maester says.” (Y/n) set aside her work and leaned back in the chair, resting her hands over her ever larger stomach. “What will this mean?”

“Why it means…” Tyrion wasn’t sure he wanted to say, but under (Y/n)’s watchful, waiting gaze he knew he had to speak. She was looking at him expectantly; she knew what was to come. “Sister, you cannot mean to do this. If we lose you…”

“If you lose me, you mean,” (Y/n) corrected with a tilt to her lip that was as close as she ever came to a smile away from the Rock. “Brother,” (Y/n) reached out a hand, and Tyrion found himself meeting her halfway. “I did not leave you with Catelyn Stark. I won’t leave you with our family either. You are one of us, and Father raised me to protect my own, even if we have different understandings of what is ours.”

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

Given (Y/n)’s condition, the Lannister trio of Tyrion, (Y/n), and Genna were held months at the Twins. As (Y/n)’s belly swelled, so did the tension of the Kingdoms. Until finally, at once, both burst. 

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

(Y/n) panted for breath, gasping in lung full after lung full. She felt like a sailor drowning in the Sunset Sea. Every gulp eased her pain, but only for the moment it came in.

“Where” Gasp. “Is” Gasp. “My” Gasp. “Brother”.

The Maester pressed a cold, wet cloth to her forehead, trying to stem the sweat that was pouring out of her as the hours drug on. “No men are allowed in the birthing chamber. Only your mother and the midwives.”

With the next roar of pain, (Y/n) grabbed the old man by the neck of his robe and wrenched his face down over hers. “Bring. Me. Tyrion.” 

Despite the maester’s feeble protests, a midwife ran from the room and came back with the shorter Lannister on her heels.

Tyrion held (Y/n)’s hand through hours of screams. His fingers went numb from her clutches while her voice went hoarse with cries. His ears stung at the volume of the noise, and his head ached from the pain of listening so closely. His mouth was dry; his stomach was empty. He smelled of sweat and blood, like the room around them. 

But not once did Tyrion move. Not once did he complain. 

This was how his mother died. This was how (Y/n)’s mother died. This was how he caused his mother’s death. This was how (Y/n) caused her mother’s death.

He hadn’t been there for his mother, nor (Y/n) for hers. 

Joanna and Ashara had died screaming and alone. They had died in the arms of a strange old man they did not know. They had died lying in the same birthing bed. They had died bringing their last children into the world. They had died… 

They had died. 

Tyrion refused to let that happen to her. 

But from her screams, from her pain, from her tears, it was plain that (Y/n) was dying now. 

The first child came easy. A bald, beautiful baby boy. He was small in size though not sharing Tyrion’s condition. The babe was placed in Genna’s arms and ushered quickly from the room. 

The second, not as much. The girl boasted a near full head of Lannister blonde hair, and her screams nearly matched her mother’s in furiocity as she entered the world. 

It was then, as a nursing maid bundled the child away to join Genna and the other outside, that the Maester looked up from under his sister’s skirts. Tyrion could see the color drain from the old man’s face as he held up three fingers. “There’s another.”

No one ever survived a third. The only time Tyrion had ever heard of such a thing happening to nobility had been the Goodbrothers in the Iron Islands, tales of three boys born the size of sailors who practically tore their mother apart to enter the world. They said the woman died bloodied. They said she would’ve died screaming if she’d had lungs left to breath. No one in House Goodbrother had ever bothered to refute the tale, the monstrous sons she’d birthed even bragged of their feat. 

Tyrion held (Y/n)’s hand, and with the next pains, he cried with her. 

Tyrion could not lose his sister this same way, could not let another child into this family without a mother’s love. He could not bare a nephew as rejected and broken as himself, could not bare a niece as masked and guarded as (Y/n). 

Tywin hated Tyrion for killing the only woman he loved, and he would hate this child for killing the daughter that finally replaced her. 

“(Y/n),” Tyrion brushed away the hair plastered to his sister’s face. It was the first time, the only time, he had seen her looking anything less than perfect, and he’d never loved her more. “Sister, mine, your children need you now. Bring their sibling into this world, so they can meet you.”

Her voice had long turned from cries to rasping groans, but with her brother’s words, (Y/n) managed one last shout, pushing the baby from her as she collapsed onto the bed. 

The Maester handed the bloody mound of crying flesh to Tyrion and shoved him from the room. 

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

The scream that ripped through the air around the Twins was a blood-curdling one. It filtered out through the windows of the upper chambers and fell down upon the ears of the men surrounding the keep.

“It sounds as if there is a woman being tortured in there.”

“It’s the Twins. I would not be surprised to hear anything of Walder Frey.” 

Just as the rest of the men were humming their agreement, their liege lord’s voice called out, “Ah, men too young to know the call. That’s no torture, boys. That’s the screams of a woman in birth.”

Robb Stark glanced over his shoulder on hearing the booming voice of his closest advisor, Lord Umber. “One of his wives or one of his daughters?” Robb joked back, wandering over to join the fray. 

Greatjon slapped a hand on the Stark’s shoulder. “Perhaps a woman who’s both.”

The group of soldiers guffawed. 

Robb’s eyes trailed over the keep. He knew there was no way to tell which window the sound came from, but when the next scream pierced the air, he felt an urge coming over him to go and find its source.

Shaking his head, Robb turned and backed away from the group of men, returning to talk with his mother over her mission with Lord Walder.

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

Later, a bard writing of the day would call it a miracle. The Triplets at the Twins. 

And later still, when the name on (Y/n)’s arm and the name on Robb’s had passed into legend, they would say it was the gods themselves who came down and touched (Y/n)’s life that day. They would say the gods could not bare the injustice of her dying so close, but so far, from her mate. 

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

On orders, an army of Northerners had been allowed to pass into the Riverlands. War had finally begun. 

The fighting was vicious and bloody. At the incredibly slow pace she would have to set given her condition, there was no sure way for (Y/n) to find passage to the Rock. (Y/n) spent a whole month alone at the Twins with only the company of ugly Frey girls and dimwitted Frey boys on hand to entertain her. They didn’t even have a library, the Freys. 

It was dull, dreadfully dull.  

Tywin had called for Tyrion the moment word had reached him that his daughter had survived her ordeal. Sympathy was in short supply in wartime, and Tywin was saving what little he had for souls weaker than his daughter. He knew (Y/n) would be fine.

Aunt Genna, her task done, was similarly ordered back to the Rock. (Y/n) had sent her children along with her. 

The Twins had never fallen, but (Y/n) was not willing to take that chance. The Rock was the only place she knew they would be safe, the only place where all eyes watching were on their side. It was only with the greatest care, and a few dead spies, that (Y/n) herself had not been found in Walder Frey’s home. She was not about to risk her family, her children, in that way for nothing more than company.

For once in her life, (Y/n) admitted that she needed time to heal, that she was in a state that was of no use to her father or her family. 

It spoke to how low she was, how near death she had been, that when she could finally walk again the first place she had asked to go was the house of a landed knight serving under Walder Frey, several leagues down the road. There, in his garden, was a small, rather puny weirwood tree, the only one for a day’s ride in any direction.

(Y/n) hobbled out alone and, away from the Frey’s prying eyes, threw herself at the base of the tree.

“I never believed in the new gods. I am not certain I believe in the old ones either. Still, a lack of faith in you is far better than a disbelief of them.” With slow, shuddering breath, (Y/n) removed herself from where she was wrapped around the tree and knelt before it. “Because right now, I desperately need someone to pray to.”

And so she sat there, for hours, talking to a tree.

And when she rose, she felt better for it. Not that it was something she would ever admit.

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

Whatever peace (Y/n) found lasted as long as it took to ride back to the Twins. 

On her return, it took only the news presented her to decide: if this was what she got for praying to the old gods, then they could go in the trash heap where she’d shoved the new.

“A message from your father, delivered by hand,” Lord Walder held out the paper, seal facing her. “If it says anything like his letter to me, I imagine you will be leaving us soon.”

“Jaime captured. Harwyn dead. Return with the Mountain.” 

As if she needed the last sentence. 

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

There were few moments in Robb Stark’s life that he could look back on with some certainty and know that his father would be ashamed of him, but that moment Lord Umber pulled him into the trees was certainly one.

“Is this the man?” Lord Umber asked, gesturing to the knight pinned to his knees by three of the Greatjon’s sons. 

Robb studied the figure carefully; though, he did not need to. He would know it anywhere. It was the man that haunted his dreams, cursed his nightmares. It was the body he imagined when he hacked training poles to bits, when he sent soldiers hurtling to the ground in sparring matches, when racked an arrow and aimed for the target. 

It was his enemy. More than Joffrey would ever be. 

“None of us have met him, but we gather you were at the wedding and would be able to pick out the man. He could prove a valuable prisoner, not so much as the Kingslayer but enough to be worth keeping.” The Greatjon explained, without realizing that Robb was not listening.

“So?” one of the sons holding him down asked Robb. “Is it Harwyn Plumm?”

Robb crouched on the balls of his feet, slowly lowering himself to the level of the man’s face. 

The Umber holding Harwyn’s left arm clutched at his hair and wrenched his head up to look Robb dead in the eye. 

“Hello Harwyn,” Robb sneered. 

Harwyn snarled between his teeth but did not dare to look away from the Northman. 

“You look different from the last time I saw you.” A cruel observation that Robb made with a slight thrill. 

A fresh, bloody gash had sliced across the man’s left eye sometime during the battle. The dirt and grime of war camps mingled with the fresh blood in a sticky sludge that covered the lower half of his face.

His brutish features looked even more severe, even more dangerous, even more menacing. Harwyn Plumm, truly a force, or at least he used to be.

Robb pushed himself to his feet and placed a hand to the hilt of his sword.

“I won’t be making it to your prison,” Harwyn croaked out a response to Lord Umber though he did not, for a moment, abandon his staring match with Robb.

“No,” Robb agreed. “You won’t.” 

Robb unsheathed his sword. “I do hope your wife will forgive me.” 

To the rest of the group, to those unaware, it sounded like a cruel joke made at the expense of an enemy during his final breaths. Robb and Harwyn were alone in their knowledge that the plea was sincere.

With a whistle as it cut the air, Robb’s blade came down on Harwyn’s neck.

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

No one shed tears for Harwyn Plumm. No one mourned his loss. No one worried over what the gods had in store for him. No one pleaded for the chance to lay his body to rest. No one demanded vengeance for his life.

Harwyn Plumm’s death was lost in the much bolder news permeating the letter. 

Every pound of her horse’s hooves felt like it was drumming out the words to a beat as (Y/n) rode.

Jaime captured. Jaime captured. Jaime captured.

Harwyn was an afterthought. 

“Perhaps I should thank him. At least Robb cleaned up one mess for us,” (Y/n) grumbled to the Mountain as he helped her mount her horse. 

And that was the only time any word of Harwyn’s death left his wife’s lips before her mind was back to the more important matter at hand.

Jaime captured. Jaime captured. Jaime captured.

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

“Your mate,” Tywin threw the letter onto the pile of papers between him and his daughter, “is demanding Northern independence.”

“My mate is a fool.” (Y/n) dismissed. “He’s a soldier, not a King.”

“They’ve named him their King,” Kevan pointed out.

“Just because he says it doesn’t make it so.” 

“He didn’t say it,” Kevan argued, leaning into the confrontation, “his men did. That is a true King.” 

Tywin gave a humm of passive agreement. For a moment (Y/n) thought she saw a hint of respect, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

(Y/n) shrugged as she slouched back in her chair. For once, she thought that her two companions were rather missing the point. “Robb’s men declared him King, but so did Robert’s men. Robert held the title, but it does not mean he did the deed. Jon Arryn ran Westeros for decades. Ran it into the ground,” she quickly stipulated, “but ran it nonetheless. Robb will be the same as his namesake, only he won’t even have the meager might of Jon Arryn to guide the way. He knows the North. He knows Winterfell, but he was raised to fight and to lead, not to rule. Put the man in front of a trade agreement, and he will be as lost as we would be north of the Wall. Give the man a crown, and he will forget where he put it down by the next moon.”

(Y/n), Uncle Kevan, and Tywin were the only three in the war tent. The Mountain and one of Harwyn’s elder brother guarded the door, but neither of them was close enough to hear the conversation inside over the bustling of preparations. 

Probably for the best. 

“His title doesn’t matter.” Tywin waved the matter away. “If he believes himself King, then we will fight him like a King.”

“And what of Jaime then?” (Y/n) uncrossed her legs and pressed forward in her chair. 

“We will find a way.” Tywin paused for a moment before carefully changing his words, “you will find a way.” 

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

Jaime Lannister lay in the mud covering the floor of his cell, trying unsuccessfully to find a quiet enough moment to get some rest. 

His body was weak, growing weaker by the day. With his arms tied to a pole behind his back, they had gone completely unused since he arrived in the Stark camp. He could feel the strength in his sword hand beginning to go, and while the skill would never leave him he knew he would need more than his memory when he managed to find his way back to the battlefield. 

Reconstructing his cell at this new encampment, Stark put Jaime near the center of tents. Every noise from the slop of meals to the passing of midnight guards went right by his enclosure, and every man made it a point to kick a toe full of dirt at him, just in case he was asleep.

Late afternoon, just after the sun had set, was the only time he could find some peace. Robb Stark’s men were all taking evening meals, and his lords and advisors were in his tent planning their next attack on Tywin Lannister.

They acted like Jaime didn’t know this. One of them, the great buffoon that was Lord Umber, even taunted Jaime with their plans, daring him to guess where they were going, teasing what he would do when they finally caught the Great Lion.

As if Jaime didn’t know where they were. He was no Tyrion, but Jaime wasn’t entirely stupid. The height of the hills had been rising by the day. The depths of the valleys in which they slept had become rockier every night. 

Jaime had spent his entire childhood running around the Rock. As he grew, he traveled with the guard putting down rebellions and imprisoning thieves. He squired for Lord Crakehall and befriended House Marbrand. Jaime was the son of Tywin Lannister. He was born to be lord of the Westerlands, and he would recognize his homelands anywhere. 

By his best estimates, they were two days north of the Golden Tooth. The rolling hills were slowly growing higher, but it would not be until the other side of Ashemark that they would become the mountains of the Rock.

The hills were certainly slowing down the party, but Jaime imagined the mountains would draw them to a standstill. The Northmen were used to flat plains of ice. They could handle cold better than anyone. The occasional snow falls left them entirely unphased, but the rise and fall of the land was causing many of them difficulties that Jaime couldn’t help but find amusing. 

The night prior, two young soldiers who’d been stationed as his guard had gotten sick from the changing heights. Jaime knew many a remedy for such illness, but he let the men be. The stench of their sickness invaded his cell, but he was happy to endure it. Given the placement of his cell and guards which Lord Stark had so kindly given him, the rest of the camp was forced to suffer with him. 

Even now, with no rain to wash away the debris, the contents of the men’s stomach were left to bake in the sun then freeze in the night. 

Jaime buried his face in his hair to hide from the stench. His hair wasn’t much better. It had been far too long since he bathed; he’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be clean.

Nothing though, not his hair, not his post, not the mud, could sufficiently hide from the noise. The squelch of boots hitting sludge and the smack as their owner pulled them from where they stuck. The swish of a cloak was muffled as it dragged along the ground, the weight of the debris it picked up burdening its movement. Then, unexpectedly, the clank of a chain being removed.

Jaime looked up to see his cell being unlocked by the dim light of a torch. 

“The King in the North!” Jaime jeered in delight as Robb Stark entered his prison. “I keep expecting you to leave me at one castle or another for safekeeping, but you drag me along from camp to camp. Have you grown fond of me Stark? Is that it? I’ve never seen you with a girl.” 

Jaime leaned in, as much as his chains could bear and spoke in a conspiratorial tone, “Or perhaps it’s not me you’re fond of; perhaps it is a girl? Can’t have the girl you want, so you keep me around as the next best thing? I must admit (Y/n) and I both have stunningly good looks.” 

Robb’s jaw visibly clenched, and Jaime couldn’t bite back his smile at getting under the little lord’s skin. His sister would, no doubt, be unappreciative of being dragged into his little spats with her mate, but Jaime doubted there was much else he could say that would rattle the young Stark. Stark was, after all, dumb enough to think he was winning.

“If I left you with one of my bannermen,” Robb spoke in as cold and emotionless a voice as he could manage to use addressing a man like the Kingslayer, “your father would know within a fortnight. My bannermen would receive a raven with a message: ‘Release my son, and you’ll be rich beyond your dreams. Refuse, and your house will be destroyed, root and stem’.” 

Even as Robb spoke, Jaime was shaking his head. “You don’t trust the loyalty of the men following you into battle.” 

In truth, Jaime never trusted his men, but Jaime was a Lannister. Lannisters never trusted anyone. The Starks, the North, claimed to be made of more honorable, more loyal stuff than him. 

“I trust my men with my life. Just not with yours.”  

If Jaime had absolutely anything to do during his capture, he wouldn’t have been quite so bored out of his mind, and if he wasn’t quite so bored out of his mind, he wouldn’t have been paying attention so acutely to Robb Stark, the only interesting thing to happen to him in days. If he hadn’t been paying such close attention, he might have missed the way the corner of Robb’s mouth lifted only slightly.

“Sounds like something my sister would say.” The way Robb’s eyebrow rose told Jaime all he needed to know on the matter. “Smart woman, my sister. You’re a smart boy to learn from her.” 

The small smile on Robb’s face slowly leaked away.

“What’s wrong?” Jaime tilted to one side, curiously. “Don’t like being called boy?” Jaimed added a mocking pout, “Insulted?”

Robb Stark’s eyes trailed to something behind Jaime, and Jaime was, for a moment, confused until he heard a rustling from the trees. There was a stamp of something that sounded like a hoof followed by a low, deep growl. Jaime tried to look over his shoulder, but his restraints kept him in place. 

“You insult yourself Kingslayer,” Robb took on a smooth affect, somewhere between Jaime’s mocking words and his sister’s unshakeable superiority. 

Jaime could pretend he was listening to Robb, but it would have been a lie beyond his capabilities as a heavy panting drew closer to his back and began to circle the cage. 

“You’ve been defeated by a boy. You’re held captive by a boy.” 

The animal responsible for the rigidity in Jaime’s back finally came into view, in the light of a distant torch: a massive, monstrous wolf.

“Perhaps, you’ll be killed by a boy.” 

The beast, because it was no simple wolf, circled his cell like it was circling its next meal. Jaime subconsciously drew his legs into him as the thing entered the door, taking every inch left in the front of his cell to stand at its master’s side. 

“Stannis Baratheon sent ravens to all the high lords of Westeros.” 

Jaime couldn’t, wouldn’t, take his eyes off the creature before him, but Robb Stark certainly had his ear now. 

“That King Joffrey Baratheon is neither a true king, nor a true Baratheon. He’s your bastard son.” 

Jaime took a chance in removing his eyes from the direwolf to glare down Robb Stark. “Well if that’s true Stannis is the rightful king, how convenient for him,” Jaime felt like he was educating a child on politics, pointing out such obvious things. 

“My father learned the truth,” Robb ignored Jaime’s words to continue his tale, “that’s why you had him executed.”

The wolf huffed, drawing Jaime back to him. “I was your prisoner when Ned Stark lost his head.” 

“Your son,” the Stark’s growl matched his wolf’s, “killed him, so the world wouldn’t learn who fathered him, and you pushed my brother from a window because he saw you with the Queen.” Robb’s chin lifted into the air. 

It was a look Jaime knew well. It was a look he saw on his sisters’ faces, on Tyrion’s face every day. The look of confidence that came only with the absolute certainty one was right. He’d thought only Lannisters’ were capable of looking so smug, but it seemed what Starks lacked in pride they made up in self-righteousness.

“You have proof? Or do you want to trade gossip like a couple of fishwives?” 

“I’m sending one of your cousins down to King’s Landing with my peace terms.” 

Last Jaime had heard Cersei and Tyrion were the only Lannisters in King’s Landing, and neither of them had the power to accept or proffer peace with the claimed King in the North. There were only two Lannisters who could offer such a thing, and he was sure of where one of them was.

“King’s Landing you say?” Jaime’s lips lifted far more slowly than they were used to, but they eventually found their usual shape. He looked up at Robb Stark with a cocky smirk, impressively maintained in face of the threat of the wolf. “You should be sending them to the Rock.”

“And why would I do anything you suggest Kingslayer?” Robb asked, tensing his hand in the fur of his wolf to hold the creature back.

“Because, Lannister I may be, but you are breathing down the Rock while Baratheons threatens the Crownlands. My father might well want me alive, but our home and the Crown are as important as my head if not more.”

Robb gave a half-hearted laugh at the thought. “I’m supposed to believe your father would leave you to die in my hands because he’s too busy to be bothered?”

“Hardly,” Jaime waved the idea away with a jerk of his head. Even the uneasiness of the wolf at Robb’s side couldn’t shake the grin from his face. “He won’t let me die, but he won’t come for me himself by any means. Sending word to him is useless.

“Surely your mother warned you.” Jaime pulled at the irons holding him back and brought himself as close to Robb as he dared with a wild wolf baring down on him. He lowered his voice to a whisper so that any passing guards wouldn’t hear what he was saying to their king, “He’ll send my sister.” 

A shiver, quite visibly, ran down Robb Stark’s spine. 

“And something tells me you have far more to fear from her than my father could ever threaten you with.”

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

Tywin sniffed the dart. He was fairly certain of the poison, but the smell was confirmation enough. “Wolfsbane, a rare substance. This is no common assassin.”

“We hanged twenty men last night.” The man by the door stated bluntly. Clegane, the Mountain, not that Tywin ever called him such. Tywin did not glorify his men, too often they took it as placement above himself.

“I don’t care if you hanged a hundred. A man tried to kill me. I want his name, and I want his head.” As if killing twenty indiscriminate prisoners would satisfy Tywin’s anger. Whoever had done this had gotten their hands on Wolfsbane, an expensive poison usually only found in the cellars of men like Tywin himself. The man was an expert, not likely to be found amongst the commonfolk, and not likely to be caught so easily.

Gregor had the nerve to speak again, “We think it was an infiltrator from the Brotherhood Without Banners.”

Tywin did not think it likely that such a mangey bunch would have the means to get their hands on Wolfsbane, but it was as likely as any other explanation. “A pretentious name for a band of outlaws. We can’t allow rebels behind our lines to harass us with impunity. We look like fools, and they look like heroes. That’s how kings fall. I want them dead.” Tywin crossed the room to confront his man as his cupbearer laid the table. “Every one,” he emphasized.

“Killing them isn’t the problem. It’s finding them.” 

“You gone soft Clegane? I always thought you had a talent for violence.” He prodded. “Burn the villages. Burn the farms. Let them know what it means to choose the wrong side.” 

Clegane took his dismissal with a rumble of agreement.

Turning back to his table, Tywin thumbed over the dart. It did not take a genius, though Tywin thought himself one, to piece together that the hit had not been meant for him. 

No one in the Seven would ever mistake Tywin Lannister for a fool like Amory Lorch. By age, by banner, by name, and by appearance, the two men differed in every way. Even the most commonplace of assassination attempts would not have actively chosen the wrong target.

It left him to conclude that either the man had missed Tywin and struck Lorch by mistake or Lorch had been the target all along. Had the assassin not used wolfsbane, Tywin would have believed the former. As it were, only someone who had been paid very well could use that particular poison, and no one would pay someone so well unless they were a master. A master who would not miss.

The far greater question, for Tywin, was why someone would kill Amory Lorch with a far greater target so close by.

“Pity I’ll have to replace him on my war council,” Tywin mused to himself, stuffing the dart away in his pockets to consider later.

“Will it be another soldier, my lord?” His cupbearer had been gaining confidence in recent days, since he allowed her to ask after his father. She asked menial questions quite regularly at meals.

“No,” Tywin paced around the edge of the table. “I don’t believe it will be. I have just the person in mind.”

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

As she rode into the yard, nearly all movement ceased. Men slowly edged their way back against the walls, and those few who were on matters to urgent to halt, immediately dropped their heads and quickened their pace.

“Take him to the stable,” (Y/n) tossed her horse’s reins to a guard who’d dared to continue his rounds in her presence.

“Yes, My Lady,” the man quickly dropped his task and ushered the stallion away.

“You,” (Y/n) grabbed the tunic of a passing smith, “Where has my father set his war room?”

The boy, because he was certainly not old enough to be a man despite his height, looked on (Y/n) apprehensively. “Up the third flight of stairs. Somewhere on the East side. I-I do not know the room exactly.”

(Y/n) dropped his clothes and let the boy scurry off, “Good enough.”

Striding away, (Y/n) found the hall in question with relative ease. It was, after all, hard to miss Gregor Clegane. “Mountain,” She called to the man standing guard, “Is my father in?”

 “Alone with the cupbearer.” 

(Y/n) waved away the Mountain’s attempts to announce her and opened the door as silently as possible. She slipped between the crack and leaned her back against the wood to ensure it didn’t make a sound.

The cupbearer was clearling plates on the side table, dumping scraps into a bucket that was no doubt to be made into slop. Consistent scratching of a knife grating food off metal surfaces was the only sound in the room.

Tywin was sat at the head of the table, papers and maps splayed out over the entire length. His hand was furiously scratching out a letter, and (Y/n) had a feeling she knew its intended recipient.

“No need to write to me so hastily,” (Y/n) called out, “I’ve already arrived.”

The cupbearer in the corner jumped at the sound but made no move to turn.

Tywin did no such thing. The elder Lannister slammed his hand down on the table with a force. “An assassin has made it into our camp.”

(Y/n) shrugged, slinking towards the chair on his right hand side. “Assassins find their way into every camp. If you didn’t mind their use, you could have the head cut off the Stag in a fortnight.” 

“The Stag is the least of my concerns,” Tywin motioned for (Y/n) to take the chair. “What with the Wolf breathing down our door.” 

(Y/n) opted not to take the seat, instead leaning against the tall back of the chair. Since the death of Amory Lorch, she had been riding day and night on the back of a horse. (Y/n) felt like she never wanted to sit again, or at least she didn’t want to sit till her body learned to stand straight once more. 

“Visenya Targaryen expressed her gratitude that Loren the Last rode out to meet the Targaryen forces on the Field of Fire.” Visenya was something of a hero of (Y/n)’s. 

Her father had never particularly cared for the stories. He studied the Targaryens for battle strategies, for a better understanding of the threat of dragons, and for an appreciation of legacy. The finer details of drama behind the scenes were of no consequence to him. (Y/n) picked them up entirely from Tyrion and his books.

“Visenya was certain that Casterly Rock was the only keep in Westeros which could withstand Targaryen forces, even dragons. So certain, in fact, that she told her brother not to unleash any flame, for fear that the fire would prove the Rock could not burn down.” (Y/n) always loved to tell a story. Stories were a far more entertaining way to earn attention than shouting, though she was certainly capable of both. “Robb Stark has proven himself a capable general, but I think even you would agree he’s not Aegon the Conqueror.”

“True enough,” Tywin waved her story off with a wayward comment, but (Y/n) could tell he’d put the tale away for safe keeping. “Still, we’ve underestimated him for too long.”

“That,” (Y/n) sighed, picking up an empty wine cup with a morose expression, “sadly, appears to be the case.”

“Girl!” Tywin absentmindedly snapped his fingers, “wine for my daughter.”

(Y/n) didn’t bother to look on the girl who was filling her cup, choosing instead to continue her address. “Then let us estimate him. Robb Stark hasn’t organized with Stannis Baratheon. The North tried to approach Renly first, and Stannis is far too narrow-minded a man to take his brother’s former allies. He’ll see them as traitors already. But, if Robb Stark is at all worth his salt, and he’s certainly proven he is, then he’ll know the best time to attack us is when Stannis makes his run on King’s Landing.”

“He needs time to organize that.” Tywin retorted. 

He didn’t disagree, not at all in fact. However, after years of trusting only his daughter and his siblings, Tywin and (Y/n) had developed a system of strategizing. Parrying thoughts back and forth, trying to find the weakness in each other’s words seemed to be their best recourse, a recourse the two could only pursue with each other. 

“Jaime thought the same about the ambush. He thought the Northman didn’t have enough time or men, and they proved him wrong on both counts.” 

“And sacrificed a swath of his army in the process.” 

“A swath of his army that won him Jaime Lannister.” (Y/n) downed her wine in one gulp. “It may have been a sizeable chunk of his forces, but it was more than worth it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would,” Tywin conceded, “Though how he has enough to attack the Rock after that would be anyone’s guess.”

(Y/n) gave a nonchalant huff, “He’s won every battle he’s ever fought, and he’s won them with fewer men every time. If I were Robb Stark, with no army between me and the greatest castle in Westeros, I would take a shot. For him, the worst case is that he’s repelled with minimal loss. The best case, he takes the seat of House Lannister.” 

Tywin paused the to-and-fro to think. “More wine,” He mumbled to the girl, leaning his elbows to the table to press the tips of his fingers to his lips. 

“The pitcher’s empty, my lord. I’ll go fetch more.”

That. Voice.

(Y/n)’s head jerked around with a fury, only catching sight of a head of short brown hair and a small, childish figure. Nothing more than a girl’s back, impossible to distinguish. And yet that voice.

“Think on what I said,” (Y/n) barely registered what she was doing as she moved, unthinkingly, towards the servants’ exit. “I’ll return.” 

She knew that voice.

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

(Y/n) scoured the halls, scoured the keep, scoured the grounds, scoured the ruins. 

It had only been a sentence, but in that moment she’d been so sure. She knew that voice. 

“I don’t care what the rules are! It has to be her!” 

There it was, around the corner.

(Y/n) had been searching for an hour, maybe more, through the sprawling wreck of Harrenhal, and finally there it was again. Behind the rubble of what was once a guest chamber at the other end of the grounds. (Y/n) bent her head around the corner to find the girl again, back to her, angrily shouting at a Lannister soldier who was lounging lackadaisically against the waist high, overturned remains of a wall.  

“A girl knows not what she asks.” 

“I know full well what I ask! I name her!” 

(Y/n) didn’t know what this was, didn’t know who this was. But she was certain whatever it was wasn’t good and couldn’t wait for help. “Judging by your tone, I’m going to assume I am the ‘her’ in question.”

The girl whipped around in shock and confirmed (Y/n)’s suspicions.

“Hello, Arya.” A cool smile tugged at her lips as she watched the young girl’s face turn to horror. “It’s been too long. I must say this is the last place I expected to run into you.”

Arya turned on the man again, “Her! (Y/n) Lannister! I name her.”

“Name me?” (Y/n) strode across what remained of the room to join the pair. 

“A girl names a woman, but that is not a woman’s only name.” 

“Plumm then,” Arya was clearly panicking now. Her fists tugged on the man’s arm desperately. “Whatever her name. Her!” She pointed at (Y/n).

“A girl gives a man a name, but a name with a pair.” The soldier returned without any sense of care in the world. 

His accent was foreign. He certainly wasn’t from the Westerlands, or Westeros for that matter; Essos no doubt. As far as she knew, and she knew a great deal, her father had no supplement sellswords in the field, not yet anyway. Tywin Lannister only used sellswords as a last resort. Which meant there were only two ways for him to come by his armor: to be such a rich tradesmen that he could afford a life in the Westerlands which seemed unlikely given she did not know him or to have stolen the uniform from a dead man. And there was only one reason any man not forced into a war would willingly join its frontlines for a lord that was not his liege.

Assassins. 

Assassins from Essos, who spoke in tongues.

Lurching forward, (Y/n) grabbed Arya by the arm and yanked the young girl behind her back. “Faceless,” she snarled the word, stepped away from the stranger. 

The red haired man gave a small grin in return to the word. “A woman protects a girl, yet a girl wants a woman dead.” He reclined back against the half-melted stones as if the conversation was nothing more than his own amusement. 

“What?” 

“A girl,” the Faceless motioned to Arya, “owes a name, and a girl names a woman.” 

(Y/n)’s blood ran cold. “A name with a pair,” She whispered. 

It wasn’t often that she found herself afraid, but then it wasn’t often that (Y/n) faced a genuine threat of death. Most people wanted her and her father dead, but (Y/n) lived her life knowing, with absolute certainty, that she was among the few people in Westeros who were simply too valuable to kill. Yet here were a man, and a girl, who didn’t care. 

It was like being back in the birthing bed all over again, facing a death that didn’t care what her name was. 

But that wasn’t what worried her. 

(Y/n) had only read of the Faceless, never met one, never met one that she knew of anyway. 

Tyrion had given her a book of stories about them once. Of course, it was only legends; no Faceless had consulted its author on their origins. But she remembered one story in particular. 

(Y/n) whirled on Arya and sunk to her knees, clutching the girl’s arm in a vice grip. “Unname me.” She demanded.

“No!” Arya tried to slip her arm from (Y/n)’s grip, but it was far too tight. “Never!” 

“To name one is to name both! Unname me!” (Y/n) shouted. 

The legend was a tearful story of a man who found his mate, already married to another man, but the lesson was straight forward. The Many Faced God of Braavos was nothing more or less than Death. Mates came into the world to live and breath together as one, and worshipping Death the Faceless saw to it that mates, those who had joined hands and felt the mark, left the world as one. 

“A woman speaks the truth.” The Faceless said behind her. 

“One is both?” Arya looked exasperated as she twisted her arm back and forth, rubbing her wrist raw against (Y/n)’s palm.

“To kill me is to kill my mate.” (Y/n) elaborated, clenching hard to drive the point home. 

“Good! Let him die! Better than living with you!” Arya flipped her hand over and dug her nails into (Y/n)’s forearm, tearing at what she could reach.

(Y/n) let her go, but not from the pain. The attack barely reached her mind as (Y/n) wrenched up the sleeve of her dress, tearing it along the seam in her haste to reveal her mark. 

“This is my mate!” (Y/n) caught Arya by the hair and forced the girl to level her eyes with the name scarred into (Y/n)’s arm. 

There, as plain as the day it had appeared, was the name Stark, scratched eternally into (Y/n)’s skin. 

“No,” Arya stared at the word in utter disbelief. 

How could she not know? How could her mother and father have let that happen? Which of her siblings was cursed with a Lannister for a mate? Why had the old gods done this to them? 

“You want to help your brother?” (Y/n) spoke the words slowly, enunciating each for Arya’s ears. “If you kill me, you’ll be killing Robb.”

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

The Faceless Man allowed (Y/n) to escort him through the halls of the keep. 

“A girl gave a man a new name,” The Faceless told her. 

It came out almost as reassurance, but (Y/n) knew the assassin wouldn’t bother with such a thing. “Am I allowed to ask?” 

“No,” The Faceless answered. “It is why a man must leave. A boy is far from here.”

Joffrey. He was the only boy Arya could want dead.

(Y/n) tried to find it in her to warn someone, anyone, but she couldn’t. Blood or not, he proved he was no worthy Lannister anyhow. Let the bastard die for all the trouble he caused.  

The pair moving through Harrenhal looked like nothing more than a soldier and his lady meandering towards the edge of the keep. With (Y/n) Lannister at his side, the Faceless was stopped by no one to perform the duties of his soldier’s armor. 

Men of all sorts gave the pair a wide berth as they made their way through the halls of the keep. No one had the bravery to question what their lady could be doing with a commonplace soldier.

“The men fear a woman,” the Faceless observed as another soldier stood attention against the wall until the pair had passed.

“They’re right to,” (Y/n) agreed with the observation. There was no amount of emotion to her voice. (Y/n) took a great deal of pride in her power, but there was very little power in striking fear in the hearts of lesser men. 

The Faceless watched her with attentive eyes. They were the eyes of a man built to kill. The eyes were the only thing the Faceless could never change. When their victims looked in them, they were looking in the eyes of a killer. “The men do not know a woman bares an enemy’s name.” He observed without question.

“No, they don’t.” 

“Why is a woman here?” The Faceless asked. “A woman usually joins a man when two share a name.” 

(Y/n) bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue. This was no man to insult. “A woman wishes she could.” 

“A woman could be with a man if she wanted.”

(Y/n) let loose a derisive snort. She and Robb had had the same conversation long ago. “We both want, but what we want and what could be are two different things.” 

“A woman could be with a man if she wanted.” The Faceless repeated.

“A man could be with a woman if he wanted,” (Y/n) countered in the Faceless’ own phrasing. 

The Faceless shook his head and looked over at her, staring until (Y/n) finally turned to meet his knowing look. “A woman is smart,” he complimented slyly. “If a woman wanted, she could find a way.”

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

The Wolf’s pack is growing smaller. He will take a bitch to make his pups for men to bare his arms. See to it that, at the wedding, he gets the new blood he deserves.

“Leave us.”

(Y/n) sat at the opposite end of the long oak table, staring down her father with empty eyes that none in the room could read, even the Lord of House Lannister. Her nails picked absently at the edges of the letter. Even as the men sitting at the sides of the table began getting up and filing past her end, she did not divert her eyes from the sharp crease forming in her father’s forehead.

Tywin, similarly, did not watch the men, even as they eyed him anxiously. They were waiting for him to make some move to stop them from complying with his daughter’s demand, but none came.

(Y/n) whispered as the door thudded shut behind her after Lord Roland Crakehall, the last man to trail out of the room. “You’re sending my mate to the slaughter.” 

“That was always where this ended, (Y/n).” Tywin spoke with a tone that bordered on an empathy (Y/n) knew her father was not capable of.

“Then let’s find a better way.” 

Tywin lifted an eyebrow, a skepticism he had never felt towards her slowly forming in the pit of his stomach. “There is no better ending.” He declared flatly, “This is how his story ends. This is how Robb Stark dies.” 

“If he dies,” She said each word carefully, emphasizing each syllable as it left her tongue, “it is because you chose it to be so.” 

Tywin snorted. “Is that concern in your voice? So what if I order the Wolf’s head at my feet?” Tywin set his palms flat on the table and pushed out of his chair. He leaned down over his daughter with an authority he usually reserved for defiant enemies. “He dies. This is no discussion.”

“Father, I understand, but…”

“Then that is enough of this,” Tywin cut her off. “You object, but you know it’s the right course.”

(Y/n) didn’t want to, but she knew it was the only way. “Father, this is my mate who’s murder we plot.” 

“What of it?” Tywin was growing suspicious now. This was not their usual discourse. This was not his daughter advising him. This was his daughter defying him. For the first time.

Through the two decades of her life, Tywin and (Y/n) had stood, not side by side but back to back. They faced threats the other could not see, protected one another from what was coming up behind, watched blind spots in each other’s vision. They were two voices with one mind, but now the cracks, or rather the one crack, began to show. They shared everything but a soul, and it was a soul which would divide them.

And so it began. The fight, their fight, the only fight neither of them wanted, yet the only fight neither of them could lose.

“He is my mate. Mine!” (Y/n) ground out between her teeth. “Whether you like his name or not.”

“His name?” Tywin spat. “This is nothing about his name. This is about our name. House Lannister, or had you forgotten what name you carved into his arm.”

“Had you forgotten what name he carved into mine!” (Y/n) wore the dress she’d chased down Arya in, and the rip along the lining of her sleeve made it easy to turn and display the mark to her father. “I am his, and he is mine. No matter who my vows were spoken to, nothing can change that.” 

“That,” Tywin pointed down at the mark, not baring to look at it, “is the name of our enemy.”

(Y/n)’s fist came down on the table as she shot to her feet with all the rage she’d ever managed to muster, “You would brand me, me, your enemy!” 

“I did not brand you!” Tywin rolled his eyes away from her outburst, “That was his doing.” 

“Neither of us chose this!” 

“Would you have?” Tywin took a step back towards her, crossing halfway to the table with his long stride. “Would you have chosen him?” 

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment. There were times she wished she could have chosen, desperately longed for someone she could love. Those times, however, were long past. “Yes,” she answered honestly.

“He’s a Stark! His mother kidnapped Tyrion!” Tywin bellowed.  “They declared war on our house. His father named your nephew a bastard. Their family defies your sister’s throne. Robb Stark took your husband’s head, and now he has Jaime!”

The words cut through (Y/n) and found her wincing and turning away.

“Tell me, daughter.” Tywin hissed, “What do you think your precious mate is doing to him right now? Do you think Jaime has the luxury of debating with Robb Stark whether his life will end?”

“Robb wouldn’t end Jaime’s life,” (Y/n) said it quietly but assuredly.

Tywin laughed, a harsh, cruel laugh that mocked her for saying such a thing. “And how would you know?”

(Y/n) glared up at her father with a burning passion he’d only seen once before. It was the face she made when she found out Catelyn had Tyrion, “Because he knows what I would do to him if he did.” 

“You don’t have the strength for that.”

“I have given my life for this family! I am willing to give everything for this family!” (Y/n) countered with a roar.

“Everything but Robb Stark.” 

The name broke her. The thought of what everything entailed broke her, but what hurt more was the knowledge that she was right, that Tywin Lannister was wrong. She was willing to give everything, everything including Robb Stark. She just didn’t want to.

(Y/n) slowly, hesitantly, sunk to her knees, hanging her head in shame as she uttered the one word she had been taught never to speak. “Please.” For the first time in her life, (Y/n) looked up to see her father glaring down on her, his face colored in a mixture of rage and shame. 

Tywin stepped back from his daughter in disgust. “How dare you.”

(Y/n) could feel the tears welling in her eyes and kept her head down to hide them from the judgment in Tywin’s face. “Father, I have never defied you. I will never defy you. If you tell me this is the only way, then I will fulfill your wish without question. I will deliver the order to the Boltons and the Freys myself. I will stand aside as every Stark dies. I will ride to the Twins and bring back his head and lay it at your feet, and I will say nothing of this outside of this room again for as long as I draw breath.” (Y/n) stopped only long enough to suck air back into her lungs, as if the mention of her last breath reminded her that it was coming. “But this is my mate, and I am begging you to find another way.”

“I did not raise you to be a beggar’s wife.”

“No, you did not raise me to be a beggar’s wife,” (Y/n) agreed. “You raised me to be you in all things, and this is my proof that you have finally succeeded.” Through a web of tears, (Y/n) spread her arms out wide, absolute deference, absolute submission. “I am you. Because I know the only thing you would ever beg for is Joanna back.”

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

(Y/n) walked into the supposedly neutral camp under a banner of peace. Though several valleys north of the Stark camp, the tent was still thoroughly inside the boundaries of the Westerlands. The spot was, no doubt, purposefully chosen by the Northmen as a show of force. Their entire army was entrenched within Lannister territory, and (Y/n) was greeting an enemy council that was claiming her land as its own. 

There was no mistake that the men were her enemies. From the moment she entered the small circle of tents, eyes were on her and swords were drawn. 

For a banner of peace, the Northern Lords had brought a vast number of soldiers. (Y/n) brought only one. It was, granted, an impressive one.

The Mountain had become (Y/n)’s shadow. As they moved into the camp, his toes were constantly under threat of catching the backs of her heels. The hilt of his massive sword reached out so far as to occasionally brush (Y/n)’s hip with a particularly long stride. No man could surprise her from behind because there was no space between herself and Ser Gregor Clegane in which to reach her, and no man could attack her headlong for fear of the behemoth reaching around her front to draw his sword around her. With one man, she was as protected as any of the northern sons she passed with their personal guards.

The soldiers around the camp, some forty in number, whispered when she walked past. They watched from open flaps or around campfires as (Y/n) made her way to the large white tent in the center of their convoy. 

A scout beside the door saw her approach and ducked inside to announce the enemy presence. 

“Lady Plumm,” A lord to the right of opening greeted her with a snarl as she ducked through, but the aggression on his face quickly vanished when the Mountain pushed through behind her, head scraping the top of the canvas. 

“Her name is Lannister,” A thick Northern accent called from the front of the tent, “and she is our guest. We will treat her with respect.” 

(Y/n) let her eyes trail up the length of the tent, prepared for exactly what she’d find. 

Robb Stark sat at the far end of a large, rather plain table. His elbows propped on the edge of the dark wood, and his stare looked out over fingers clasped in front of his mouth. 

The room, if it could be called such a thing in a tent, was bare. Men, a great number of them, lined the walls. Some (Y/n) recognized were the heads of great houses in the Riverlands she had encountered over the years. A few she could recall from her time in Winterfell, but most were entirely unknown to her. 

Despite the size of their gathering and the scale of the table Robb Stark occupied, there were only four chairs in the room. One was directly in front of her at the far end while the other two flanked Robb at his left and right hand side. 

None of the chairs were occupied. None of those present made a move to occupy any of the seats. It seemed they were all too tense. It was like they were waiting for her to attack, even though they were the ones who brought the small army outside.

“Thank you, Lord Stark. Your courtesy is appreciated.” (Y/n) gave a shallow bow of her head in his direction.

A grumble went up from a few of the men, but only one of them spoke. An older man nearer the entryway let out a loud grunt. His head shook out thinning grey hair. Even though his beard hid his mouth, the twitch of it made it obvious the man sported a sneer. 

“That’s King Robb Stark to you.” 

(Y/n) inclined her head to look sideways at the man and, as spitefully as she could manage, said, “Are we in the North? Or do I look like common folk to you? No. This is the Westerlands, and I am a Lannister. I won’t bow to any pretender.” 

The man reached a hand for the hilt of his sword, but the Mountain beat him to it. Drawing his own nearly halfway out of its sheath before a shout went out. 

“Stop!” 

Robb Stark rose to his feet with a hand outstretched towards his enraged lord. “Put your arms down, Lord Karstark. Lady Lannister meets with us under a flag of peace, and I will not have my name marred by innocent bloodshed.” 

“Innocent?” Lord Karstark forgot his plight with the newcomer almost instantly. He stared at his King with a dumbfounded expression. “No Lannister is innocent! Her brother murdered my boy! I demand recompense.” 

(Y/n) puffed out a breath of air to avoid laughing at the irate man, “I dare say if you demand apologies from me for all my siblings have wrought, it will be a long time before I’m allowed to speak any words other than sorry.” 

A hefty man over Robb’s shoulder let out a snort, and it seemed many of the others took a cue to relieve some of their tension. Though, Lord Karstark was not among them. 

He turned on (Y/n) looking thoroughly unamused. “My son is dead at the hands of your brother.” 

If it were any other man, or rather if it weren’t a Northern Lord, (Y/n) might have tried. She could have wooed and swayed his mind and asked forgiveness and promised him his dues, but Northerners were fickle things. Their reasoning was beyond her understanding, and logic was above theirs. 

“Your son died in a war.” (Y/n) rolled her eyes, “How shocking, I’ve never heard a man to die of such a cause. Was he the first?” 

“You arrogant little,” Karstark lunged, but before he could reach her, the Mountain’s hand shot out and clasped around the elderly lord’s neck. 

His feet dangled several inches off the ground. They flailed about desperately trying to find purchase on the ground, on the Mountain, on anything within reach. It was like watching the feet of a drowning man, kicking to save his life. 

His eyes showed a terror (Y/n) was so familiar with it wasn’t even worthy of note. The panic sapped him of all conscious thought, and the logical solution of going for his sword seemed to slip his mind. His hands clutched the Mountain’s wrist, only just managing to cover its width. 

In the Mountain’s grip, Lord Karstark, Robb had called him, was much taller than (Y/n), but it didn’t feel that way for either of them. Lord Karstark felt very small. (Y/n) returned the sneer that disappeared so suddenly from Lord Karstark’s lips and spat, “Ironic that you think me arrogant when it is you who believes your son’s life was more valuable than any of your soldiers. Did you demand justice for your men your King sent to slaughter? Or only your son who died from his own negligence?” 

The room was still and silent. Every man’s hand rested on his sword, save the Mountain’s, whose dominant hand was slowly pressing in on Lord Karstark’s neck. It was as though the Northmen were expecting, waiting, possibly even hoping the Mountain would kill their friend. They longed for blood. They wanted to have reason to face down the giant, to capture the Lady of House Lannister. 

“Enough,” (Y/n)’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the hungry expression on the soldier’s faces. This was no place to die. “Drop him outside, Gregor. I believe the air will do Lord Karstark good.” 

Gregor didn’t bother to walk back. With a mighty heave, he flung Lord Karstark through the tent flap and out into the night. 

Robb’s head hung low, and his fists clenched against the top of the wood. Whether holding in rage at Lord Karstark or rage at the Mountain, (Y/n) couldn’t be sure, and despite popular belief she wasn’t arrogant enough to assume everything was about her. 

“Lord Stark, do forgive us our reaction. At the Rock, men have been beheaded for saying far lesser insults to far less important Lannisters than me. It is only our way.” 

Robb’s fists slowly unclenched as his eyes returned from the grain of the wood to the tent around him. “Lord Karstark’s actions were inexcusable. Please do not judge the rest of us on his lack of respect.” 

(Y/n) picked up her skirts and curtsied to the would-be King. “All is forgotten. Perhaps, we might move on to the matters at hand. There is much to discuss, and I would hate to be delayed.” 

“Then speak,” Robb slumped back into his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s you and your father who called this meeting.” 

“Actually, I believe you’ll find it’s a great deal more than House Lannister who called this meeting.” 

(Y/n) tapped the Mountain’s arm, dropped low but still extended to cover her side. The beast drew back and finally detached himself from her heels. With two sure steps, she took the empty chair at the far end of the table from Robb. Pulling it out, (Y/n) matched the King’s posture taking the place opposite him. 

“Yes,” Robb mused, “the bastard house Baratheon created by your siblings, I presume?” A round of laughs and cheers went round the tent. If it had had walls of any kind, she imagined the sound would have echoed for years.

There laughter went on for many minutes longer than it should have, and (Y/n)’s only reaction was to stare down their King while his men cackled. Robb matched her intense gaze without a hint of humor marring his face. 

As the men slowly subdued themselves, a harsh throat clearing from the beefy one behind Robb seeming to do the trick, (Y/n) finally took it as her turn to speak.

“Robb, I’ll give you this.” (Y/n) picked at imaginary dirt under her nails. “You know how to win a war, but no Stark has ever managed to play the game,”   

A few of the men laughed again, but again Robb was not among them. This time, though, it seemed the divide was for different cause. His men seemed to thoroughly lack respect for what she was implying while Robb caught on immediately to its importance.  The King in the North shuffled up in his chair and leaned forward in his seat. “Then teach us.”

(Y/n) hummed to herself, pretending to contemplate the proposal. She already knew he would say that. She already knew how she would respond, and how they would respond in kind, and how she would respond to that. This conversation had happened a thousand different ways already in her mind, and she was prepared for all of them. Because that was how a Lannister played the game, not by throwing gold at the problem, but by knowing what the problem was before it arrived. 

“Allow me to give you a lesson in history because your maesters must have failed you all.” (Y/n) smiled. It was a courtly smile, not that any of them could recognize that. (Y/n)’s smiles were such perfectly calculated lies that she had heard even the great Littlefinger couldn’t discern their meaning. They would all assume it was cocky. They would be wrong in that assumption, but it suited (Y/n) just fine. “Who is the heir to House Frey?” 

“Stevron Frey,” The answer came from one of the lords behind her back.

(Y/n) didn’t even have to open her mouth to correct him because Robb did it for her. “Stevron died of his battle wounds last moon.” 

“As did his youngest son Walton, and Walton’s two squired sons Steffon and Bryan. May they rest in peace, truly the only Freys worth their salt.” (Y/n) clasped her hands as though to pray for their souls, but no pleas to the Stranger left her lips. “I ask again, who is the heir to House Frey?”

“Stevron had an older boy, Ryan or something,” (Y/n) recognized Lord Manderly. He was a rich man who often traded with the Lannisters, the only house in the North that worshipped the Seven.

“His name was Ryman,” (Y/n) corrected politely, “and he is long dead, just after your party crossed the Twins in fact. He was a gluttonous man, so it was expected. Still, most think it might have been poison.” 

“How convenient,” Lord Manderly mumbled under his breath.

(Y/n) chuckled, “Again, who is the heir to House Frey?” 

“Surely Ryman had sons,” (Y/n) had never met the man who spoke, but unlike many of the others he wore his banner on his chest. 

“Lord Glover, you would be correct in that assumption if it weren’t for the Brotherhood Without Banners. Horrible people, those marauders. Killed two of Ryman’s sons, Edwyn and Petyr. He only had Black Walder left, and Black Walder was dispossessed of his life on suspicion that it was he who killed his father.” 

“And none of them had children?” It was Lord Glover again.

“Only girls, and I am afraid Lord Frey doesn’t value his daughters quite so highly as my father does.”

“Emmon,” The name came quietly, under his breath, but there was no mistaking Robb’s voice or the tone of realization in it. “It falls to Emmon Frey.” 

“And who,” (Y/n) turned on him, “pray tell, is his wife?”

“Your aunt,” Robb growled, “Genna Lannister.” He was angry, angry at himself in fact; angry at himself for not realizing his mistake.

(Y/n) almost smiled, almost felt proud watching him piece it together. “The heir to House Frey is the sister of Tywin Lannister, and you plan to entreat them into helping you what? Raid Casterly Rock?” 

“You and your father orchestrated this.” Robb snarled into the air. 

“Robb, we orchestrated everything.” Robb’s eyes flashed to (Y/n) as she continued speaking. “Do you really think Walder Frey would have let you cross his bridge without me, inside, saying it was acceptable? If you had gone around the Trident, your path would’ve put you at the doorstep of the Rock, and you think we would have allowed that?”

“How much gold did you pay Walder Frey for the damage you brought to his house?” 

(Y/n) knew the voice, and she found herself only momentarily stunned that Lord Bolton would have the nerve to speak at this gathering. “Lannisters always pay their debts, but there are ways to pay debts that don’t involve gold.” 

“Like what?” Roose Bolton pressed.

Her eyes searched out Lord Bolton’s, “Every man can be bought. It’s only a matter of price. For some it’s gold, but there are other forms of payment. It might be land, titles, power, a woman.” (Y/n) drew her eyes to Robb, flitting them back and forth between him and Roose Bolton as if she were watching a joust. “Maybe for one it’s Winterfell.” 

Resting against the top of the wood, Robb’s hands slowly clenched into fists as he caught on to the rather unsubtle hints (Y/n) was giving him. 

“Leave us,” Robb ordered. “All of you.” 

“But sir, she..,”

“My King, I don’t...”

“She’s a Lannister, My King, should we...”

“Are you quite certain you want…”

“Your Grace, the Mountain…”

“Gregor,” (Y/n) barked loud enough to silence the Lords who were rapidly converging on Robb Stark to question his intent, “Leave us.”

Without hesitation, the Mountain turned and marched from the tent to take a post outside.

The Northern Lords watched the display of obedience in shock, and looking amongst themselves, slowly filed out whispering to each other as they went.

“Are you implying what I think?” Robb asked the moment the flap fluttered to a stand still over (Y/n)’s shoulder.

“I’m implying nothing,” (Y/n) got to her feet and crossed the tent, taking the seat to his immediate right, so she might speak at a more normal volume. “I am telling you.”

“The Boltons,” Robb eyed the canvas from which Roose had just made his escape.

“Have been promised Winterfell if they help the Freys slaughter you upon your arrival at the Twins, or if they switch sides in your next battle with my father and defeat your men from within.” (Y/n) explained without any hint of regret.

Robb felt almost stunned into silence.

He wouldn’t lie. He thought of (Y/n) every day and night. It was hard not to when he spent so much time plotting her beloved father’s demise, staring at her house sigil, worrying over marrying another woman, pondering his murder of her husband. 

Never though, in all his thoughts, had he considered turning on his men and joining the Lannisters for her, and he knew far better than to ask her to do anything resembling such. 

“I wish to propose a trade,” (Y/n) abruptly changed the topic, though it didn’t seem like she was avoiding it. “The Mountain leaves me here now, as we speak, he rides for a trusted keep nearby where he will retrieve your sister, Arya, in exchange for my brother, Jaime.”

Robb immediately began shaking his head. “I want my sister back as much as you want your brother, but my men will turn on me if I trade a little girl for the best sword in Westeros.” 

“There is no deal you could offer that I wouldn’t take to see Jaime safe again, Robb. If you loved your sister and wanted her back as much as I wanted him, we wouldn’t be discussing this.” 

“My men..” Robb started.

(Y/n) cut him off. “Would turn on you. So you’ve said, but as I’ve said, some of them already have.” 

“Yes,” Robb quickly jumped back on the original conversation. “Why did you tell me?”

“Because that is your future as it stands,” (Y/n) reached under the neckline of her dress and drew, from under the hem, a letter. “But it does not have to be that way.”

“What is this?” Robb took the letter from her hand and broke the Lannister seal holding it closed.

(Y/n) returned to her feet and joined Robb at his side, looking at the words over his shoulder. She’d read them before, but something about them was so unreal it needed to be seen again. “Our terms.”

The letter filled nearly four pieces of paper. It began by detailing exactly how Tywin Lannsiter intended to draw this war to a close. He detailed how alone Robb truly was: with the Eyrie neutral, House Tyrell agreeing to vows between Margery and Joffrey, Dorne’s hatred for the Lannisters and the Starks, House Frey’s loyalty to Genna, Theon Greyjoy betraying him for the Iron Islands, and Lords of his own Kingdom plotting his demise from within. 

Tywin dedicated an entire page to all of the ways Robb could lose and all of the people who would happily deliver him Robb’s head by morning, his daughter chief among them. He noted everywhere Robb had gone wrong, and exactly how he’d lost the game. 

It was page after page of ways Robb would lose, ways he would get his family killed, ways he would die. 

Then he reached the last. 

“But I owe a debt, not to you, but to my daughter; and she has named her price. After a lifetime of unwavering fealty, of unending service, of unbearable burdens, the price she named was high. It is, however, a price I feel she’s owed. There are conditions to my payment, but I believe you will find those conditions pale in comparison to the rewards that accompany them.”

“W-What does this mean?” Robb looked up, but found (Y/n) was not there standing over him. 

She was sitting in the dirt, as she had been the first day they spoke, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, and Robb felt himself slipping from his chair, without much thought, to sit beside her.

“It means that…” She hesitated for a moment before finding the words, “I don’t suppose if I turn my back on my father and my dead husband, gave up becoming the most powerful woman in Westeros, named my son heir to the Rock, left my gold and all my other lavish Southern possessions and joined you in the cold, barren North for the boring life of an incredibly traditional lady, that you would take me as your wife?”

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

Taglist:

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse /  @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers /

Game of Thrones Taglist:

@crimson-knuckles

United in Fear Taglist:

@wonderboygenius / @bluestaratsunrise / @lost-my-sanity / @megzdoodle / @redroomassassin / @trickstersteve / @loveofshows / @htariq / @savingprivatecass / @sharktooothfairy / @emotionallysalty / @hi-there-x / @iamaferitale / @stylesamour / @kaylathekittykat225 / @kai-by / @brittanymcsharry / @supernaturalonice / @balbigalum / @purrfectowl / @santa-feigh / @cassiopeia-barrow / @fallfrxmgrace / @quickies-with-quicksilver / @v0idbella / @the-soulless-spider / @batmansbanana / @frozenhuntress67 / @brynthebulldozer / @scarhades / @cluelessathena / @crysxtal / @peachyblinderss / @capsheadquaters / @crazyfreaker / @crushedcomets / @tuliptx / @thorins-queen-of-erebor / @adelaidehale3 / @hufflepuff-always-and-forever / @deathcutie20101 / @mortifiedmoon / @swiftiegabi / @aaliyahhastings / @pinkleopardss / @jessyballet / @yoheyyosup / @hvnkymadden / @aspiring-fangirls-world / @starkbelova / @fluidfandoms / @kingniazx / @mixedupsammy / @harrygotstuckinthetardisagain / @rosie-s-song-covers / @littlelunaticfringe / @staplerrrr / @mortifiedmoon​ /@vesta-ro / @thedeathstar​ / @not-really-a-cool-story​ / @mothmans-stuff​ / @justacaliforniandreamer​ / 

[janiedean]

Jaime: The Hermit, J/B: The Star

aaand here you go! 

hermit: loneliness, withdrawal, thoughtfulness, lantern

[post-jaime’s last AFFC chapter, sorry the jb sneaked in at the end xD]

It takes burning the letter to realize it fully.

The moment he says it, put it in the fire, and Peck does, he watches Cersei’s words turn to ash in between the flames and it hits him so fast and hard that for a moment he feels like flinching - he doesn’t need her anymore.

He kind of had known since he left.

But that burning need for her touch that had kept him alive in Riverrun’s dungeons and that he thought drove him to come back to King’s Landing, except it really, really didn’t, is gone. If he thinks about her, his stomach doesn’t clench, his heart doesn’t speed up, his bile doesn’t feel like coming up in his throat the way it has for the previous weeks, when he spewed it at Ser Ilyn, not that he could tell anyone. It’s as if he burned it along with that parchment, and why wouldn’t he have? 

She only sent it when she needed him to risk his life for her, and suddenly he can see the pattern, so clear - did she ever find him or want him when she didn’t need something that he could give her, and was she ever the same to him when he needed her?

The answer is no - when he needed her, the answer wasn’t automatically a yes if she thought it would be too dangerous, but if she needed him he would have just dropped everything and risk his neck because he couldn’t even think about it clearly, and now his stomach clenches. He feels half-sick, but he can’t exactly tell his damn squire, and so he goes back to the balcony, breathes in the cold winter hair as snow falls over the ground.

It’s - better. He feels like a part of him has been torn away, but it’s still better.

Except that she’s not here, Tyrion’s not here and good thing that except that he doesn’t want to know what would happen if they met again - he hopes Tyrion has it in himself to forgive him, he always was kinder than he let anyone else know, but given what it was about, he wouldn’t begrudge Tyrion if he didn’t -, and the ghost of his right hand aches, and he thinks of how his squire and Pia seem to sound happy as they share his bed night after night because he keeps on giving it to them, and for the first time in his life he also realizes how miserably lonely he feels -

But hadn’t he felt the same when it was just him guarding Aerys, or waiting for Cersei all the time, or -

Shit. Shit, he did.

Great, he thinks. Look at me, nearing five and thirty, and realizing that I’ve spent most of my life being more alone than I ever thought I was and that I threw most of it away.

And yet -

And yet he could try to do better now, couldn’t he? He’ll go back to King’s Landing, he supposes, and he’ll see to do right by his king - his son, whatever he will be to him, even if he’s not so sure he should ever know the truth, and maybe now that he knows he won’t do the same mistakes again, and if one day he hears of Sansa Stark being back in Winterfell he’ll feel like he has done something right with that sword.

For now, he just watches the snow fall. It’s a very pretty sight. And it’s better than thinking about all of that all over again.

(If a part of him wonders if he would feel less alone now had he gone with Brienne like he knows now he might have wanted to, he tries not to listen to it too much.)

star: puddle, reflection, hope, serenity, lack of faith

[post-book canon wishful fluff]

“You know,” he says, barely audible, “I used to think she was my reflection.”

Brienne, who had been on the brink of falling asleep, opens her eyes as she feels Jaime turning in her arms, his back not pressing against her chest anymore as he moves so that they’re face to face again.

Sometimes he does wake her up in the night saying things that might sound random, but - in the light of day, they’re usually not nonsensical at all. She knows it’s because he usually falls asleep after her and he thinks a lot in that span of time, but the fact that he usually dumps those feelings on her when she’s barely even awake means it takes her a while to catch up with him.

“Wait,” she says, “you mean -”

“I mean my sister,” he says, moving closer, his left hand grasping at her waist, “but I mean, it’s not - I realized she wasn’t a long time ago.”

“All right,” Brienne yawns, trying to get back to a more awake state so she can see where he’s going without Jaime worrying she’s not taking the discussion seriously, “so why did you have to wake me up if it’s nothing new?”

He half-smiles, green eyes glinting in the moonlight -

“Because I realizes that I do have one. But it never was her, it’s you.”

At that, Brienne thinks she wakes up for good. “What - Jaime, it’s the middle of the night and I think you need to sleep -”

“Oh, absolutely not. I mean, I don’t know how I didn’t get it until now, but -”

“Jaime, I hardly doubt we look alike, for -”

He grins, stopping her mid-sentence. “You’re being too superficial, wench. Too bad because you usually aren’t, but come on. First of all, you’re only slightly taller than me while I was plenty taller than her.”

“That’s not -”

“Also, she was a lot more slim than I was, while fine, your shoulders are larger, but still, way closer to mine than hers.”

“Jaime -”

“There’s also,” he says, his hand moving down and palming her stomach, where his fingers run over her muscles, “the part where we are both knights, which meant you have the exact same training as I did,” he goes on, entirely too excited for what this conversation warrants if you ask her, but then he grabs her hand so she can feel his stomach and fine, he might have a point because they both have muscles borne out swordfighting, but that doesn’t mean -

“Never mind that our hands feel exactly the same or that we have swords that once were the same one, never mind that we actually did both want to be at least decent knights, were misjudged for killing or not killing a king, had to take out a person we swore ourselves to after they went mad, and oh, wait, we could also mention that we have not so matching battle scars and my sister never had any of those, but all in all, I think that I’m not making a bad point here, do I?”

Fine. He doesn’t, and she has to admit it, and he looks very, very smug at it, but -

“It’s not that it’s untrue,” she sighs, “but you do know we still don’t look alike?”

“I don’t know,” he muses, “I’d like to remind you that people didn’t think me very beautiful outside my looks for most of my life. And never mind how you look to others, I have never known someone as beautiful as you. I should say where it matters, but I think you quite know I would look at you for the rest of my life without it being a hardship at any point?”

She has to laugh a bit at that, shaking her head and moving closer. “So what,” she says, “now my face is a reflection of your soul and yours is a reflection of mine?”

“See, you’re getting the point.”

“Hm,” she doesn’t disagree, “that sounds sensed, but -” her voice lowers, moving closer to him as she drags the covers upwards. It’s winter and it’s cold, after all. “But, if my looks aren’t so hideous to you… well. You do know that your soul wouldn’t be so hideous to me, either? And not to many others, now that you stopped pretending you don’t care.”

At that, the smirk suddenly falls from his face, and he gives her a look, the kind he gives her all the time when she tells him something he hadn’t expected which most of the time coincidentally is related to how he’s far from the worst person she knows, all the contrary, and sometimes it makes her almost look away because it’s too intense and she doesn’t know what to make of it, but this time it feels like she has to hold his stare or she won’t make her point, and she thinks she wants to. She’s thought that for years by now, and if he doesn’t still grasp it, well, she should tell him.

“Shit,” he says, “you mean that.”

“Sure I mean it. I don’t almost let myself get hanged for people who don’t deserve it,” she says, that kind of humor still not sounding quite right when it always does when coming from him, but she’s seeing the merits of trying to laugh about - about that because somehow it makes it feel less horrific than it actually was, and then he’s half-laughing and shaking his head, a few stray tears falling from his eyes, but he wipes them off before she can do it and then moves his arm around her waist again -

“One tries to tell you something nice and you have to go and steal his thunder, don’t you,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too angry about it.

“You were the one who woke me up in the middle of the night to inform me of that.” She rolls her eyes even if he can’t see her.

“Fair, wench, fair. But anyway, I still was right. You are my reflection, at the end of it.”

“I could think of worst,” she agrees, her hand going to his hair as he goes still against her, and maybe he’ll go back to sleep now -

“Wench, you do know that if we agree on what you said, you just called yourself beautiful?”

That - that is actually true, and oh, she hadn’t even thought of the implications, but she can feel him smirking against her shoulder, of course he is -

“You’re impossible,” she sighs, “go back to sleep and save your pearls of wisdom for tomorrow, won’t you?”

“But you know I’m right,” he says before closing his eyes, and -

Fine. Maybe he is.

Maybe he is.

She’s not going to give him the satisfaction of agreeing at once, though, so she says nothing and thinks of how good it feels to share a bed with him all over again, how he’s warm and soft against her, his heart beating right next to her skin, and she knows she wouldn’t trade his night time epiphanies for anything else.

[qqueenofhades]

I know you dont watch GoT anymore. And that Braime and Sansa are your favorites. But I know you've read the books and are obviously really interested in the story. And I was just wondering what your thoughts are on the whole Jon killing Dany thing? Is that something you can see happening in the books? And if it is do you think it'd be in the same context as the show did it?

Ahaha, welp. Just jumping right in there.

(Also, you never have to apologise for asking GOT/ASOIAF questions. I obviously have been a fan for 16 years and wrote fuckin’ TNR with its half-million-plus words, so I clearly do have Thoughts on the story/characters, especially with the bag of lukewarm cat vomit that was s8 of the show.)

I already answered this ask discussing how much I hated the Mad Queen Dany thing, both because a) it was horrifically badly handled and b) these mediocre misogynist douchegobblers have managed to outdo themselves in terms of the gross messages they’ve sent about women, after 8 seasons of that. (These are the same people who made Sansa say that she was grateful for her rapes and who claimed that Dany’s turn into madness was foreshadowed by her having a “chilly” reaction to the death of her abuser, Viserys, in s1, so…. make of that what you will.) I’m not saying that it was narratively impossible, especially since GRRM has been toying with the same thing in the books and has more than his own share of Male Author Syndrome. But at the start of 8x04, Dany is in Winterfell, perfectly sane, toasting Arya as hero of the battle. By the end of 8x06, she’s crazy, a war criminal, and dead, murdered by her boyfriend, because… well, something something plot reasons. Even if you didn’t like Dany or were rooting for her to go mad or whatever, that was wildly badly handled.

I personally think it would be pretty gross for GRRM to also go down the Mad Queen route, though at least if he does, we will have had Dany’s POV chapters beforehand and presumably something resembling a justification and a building narrative momentum toward it. But she also got stuck in Meereen for so long because by his own admission he didn’t know what to do with her there or how to get her out of the situation and moved onto Westeros, which remains, theoretically, her outstanding goal in the books. It would obviously not be outside the realm of possibility for this to happen, given GRRM’s focus on “grittiness” that the show took to max factor 5000. I would still find it reductive and trying to make a Clever Postmodern Point and etc if it happened in the books, because literally why invest us in a character this long, especially one who has tried so hard to overcome the circumstances of her past/to not be her father, and then just do exactly that? Obviously there would be elements of Shakespearean tragedy to it, and if done well it could be compelling, but I personally just have a different approach to fiction and what people want out of a story (especially one now as famous as GOT/ASOIAF and how universally betrayed everyone seems to feel by the ending). I’m not saying Dany’s ultimate ending needs to be sunshine and roses and getting what she wants, because often character arcs and resolutions become all the more powerful for being subverted and thwarted (think the “I said I wanted [x] but [y] was there instead” sort of endings). But whatever it is, it needs to be…. not that.

Also, Jon in both books and especially show has been the epitome of Mediocre White Man. I stopped watching in s4, but Kit Harington’s acting was so wooden and the writing for him was very much Standard Misunderstood Brooding Fantasy Hero that I could barely pay attention to his scenes. I find him somewhat more interesting in the books, though ADWD dragged for everyone and it was obvious GRRM was writing in circles. But everyone has noticed that especially in the show, Jon does absolutely bupkis. His ass is constantly saved by the women in his life, he makes an absolute hash of any power that he is given and doesn’t want it anyway, and his ultimate ending was…. going back to the Night’s Watch (as their idea of satisfying narrative storytelling is to literally put everyone back where they were in the very first episode, apparently). Never mind the fact that there’s no need for the Night’s Watch, but the point is, even the fact that Jon is Rhaegar and Lyanna’s son ended up being relevant for like half an episode. That has been one of the major plot points/secrets of the books (although not so much anymore) and it just…. fizzled out like a damp squib. Dany actually TRIED for multiple seasons to be a good ruler and to learn how to handle power and become a queen, so for her to have to be the one to die for Jon to once again do diddlysquat is… well, as I have said before, the misogyny leaps out. They ended up wasting so much potential and so many other things that were also foreshadowed (and far more convincingly than “wah wah she was gonna go evil!”). For this? So Jon can just go brood in the snow again? Cool.

Not to mention, I find it gross on principle that Dany’s boyfriend had to be the one to kill her, especially after rape/sexual violence/loss of agency was such a big part of her early-season storylines (and how horrifyingly and grossly that has been handled on the show overall). We’re obviously supposed to sympathize with Jon in this scenario and to feel that it is justified to “stop a tyrant” or whatever. Also, if the episode was going to be called “Queenslayer,” why the fuck wasn’t it Jaime fulfilling the valonqar prophecy, another thing they forgot about, and killing Cersei, at great personal grief/cost, to once more stop an insane monarch from burning down King’s Landing? But that, of course, would be actual character development/overall arc, and they preferred to also trash that by having Jaime “killed Aerys Targaryen literally to save half a million innocent people and lived with his reputation being destroyed ever after” Lannister unironically claim that he never cared about the lives of the innocent and only wanted Cersei. After she again tried to kill him and Tyrion like three days ago, not even to mention what they did to Brienne and with that whole arc, but I will have a ragestroke if I think about it too much. 

Basically, the ending wasn’t “bittersweet.” It was tragic, reductionist, ham-handed, hugely disappointing for everyone who put years of investment into these characters, and ended up in the amusing position of making Bran Stark the younger and more beautiful queen who comes to cast Cersei down. He became king because… reasons? Whatever? And he knows literally everything about everyone thanks to being the Three-Eyed Raven, so there’s no way that can go horribly wrong. He has basically done nothing except sit in a wheelchair and look creepy for several years now, his arc has never been remotely about being king, and Isaac Hempstead-Wright himself is apparently on record as saying he genuinely thought it was a joke script when he read it. This after both Emilia Clarke and Kit Harington broke down over learning what happened to their characters/Kit apparently realized it for the first time at the read-through and was horrified. Emilia already talked about wandering for five hours and having a crisis and calling her mom and asking to be talked off the ledge like….. fictional choices/characters completely aside, that’s a gross thing to do to your actors. I know they’re all proud of their work and they have apparently and understandably been defensive about the existence of the petition to rewrite s8, but they’ve all been pretty clear, while still being professional and supportive, that there is stuff that they’re just as much WTF about as we are.

Basically, as everyone keeps saying, the acting, cinematography, visual effects, music, etc was clearly up to as high a standard as ever, but was betrayed fundamentally and comprehensively by this god-awfully shit writing by a couple of hacks who clearly rushed the final season to get on to ruining working on Star Wars. They have also been on record about saying “you can’t do what the audience expects or it’ll get boring blah blah blah,” which is a profoundly flawed storytelling strategy if you’re paranoid and trying to outsmart your audience and do something that nobody has ever thought of because you’re an Intellectual Postmodern Commentator On Our Violent Society. If your audience can guess where a story is going, but are still surprised by major twists along the way that then make sense in hindsight, you’ve done your job. If you’re relying on grimdark and cramming in gimmicky plot twists and deus ex machinas and Shocking Moments rather than authentically developing your story, it’s going to bite you in the ass in a big way, as was just proven. 

Nobody expected a completely happy ending from GoT. But the fact that they went to such lengths, especially in s8, to build up characters/ships (Jonerys, Braime, Gendrya were all torched after major canon moments completely unexpected by fans, especially the latter two – why even include it unless to just be more Tragique, and Gendrya is the only one that has even a chance in the future since half of it didn’t end up idiotically dead) and then just wrecked all of it…. as I’ve said, good endings don’t need to be rainbows and unicorns and kittens. But if you’ve asked eight years of audience investment, there has to be something that makes it worth it and that doesn’t make everyone feel like they were duped and stupid to get involved in the first place. They have been beating the “it’s a hard world and bad things happen to the characters” drum for all they’re worth, but… it’s just bad. You can analyse and ask why the hell they did things and so forth, but it’s bad. At this rate, the show should have either ended after 8x03, or they should have taken the money HBO offered and done the proper 10 episodes and let Bryan Cogman write all of them. He was the only one who appeared to remotely give a shit about the characters, and since D&D wrote the last four episodes themselves, yeah, this disaster is on them.

Fortunately, I left the show years ago and have TNR and am used to ignoring their version of things. And I knew all along that they never really got the characters or the story. But I feel really bad for everyone who has had this thrown back in their face, and it seems like a communal disenchantment with this ending is going to enter the pop-culture consciousness on a possibly unprecedented level. So if GRRM does do the Mad Queen Dany killed by Jon in the books (though he has apparently called the show’s ending “traumatic”), I’ll probably still not like it. He has a chance to sell me it on/justify it to me narratively, which the show categorically failed to do. I don’t think I will, just because as I said, I don’t like anything about it, but yes.

Anyway. This is a long post already, and I probably have more to say still, but it’s pretty obvious I think it’s just really, really bad, and that’s about the essence of it.

[nautilusopus]

☠ (angry/violent headcanon): all ff7 playable party members

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Aeris heals often enough that sometimes people forget she spent most of her life in the slums defending herself with a steel pole she absolutely knows how to use. She “made” said pole herself by demolishing a YEILD sign when she was ten and just kinda kept it ever since. Meeting Avalanche resulted in a lot of “that doesn’t seem right but I don’t know enough about stick-fighting to dispute it”, followed by actual lessons from Yuffie (who has the most formal training out of everyone and complained about everyone’s form) and actual repairs on the thing now that they had the resources. Everyone winds up pitching in at least a little something to the YEILD stick and by the end it’s been rebalanced, is collapsible, and has been given a proper handle that you can even cram a couple materia into in order to channel magic directly through the metal. 

They leave it with her in the lake, because it’s the closest thing they have to burying her somewhere where she’d be nearby all of them.

Barret has the absolute best self-control out of any of them, because he has to, because he has a fucking gun grafted onto his body. He yells a lot because that is all he can risk doing. For someone as physical as he is in general, not just when he’s angry, it took a lot of getting used to. Getting an actual arm that wasn’t constantly in gun mode did a lot to ease tensions between himself and Reeve (though not completely erase them, since kidnapping and whatnot).

Cloud clams the fuck up when he’s angry because he consciously considers himself “incorrect” for finding fault with people he actually likes and unconsciously worries actually telling someone off is too close to being a giant asshole the way he was when he first joined Avalanche. Instead he just bottles it up and stays weirdly quiet for days at a time until it explodes at some random bystander. And then someone has to pay his bail and whether or not the previous incident was his fault or not, this one certainly is. 

It’s really frustrating to deal with his actual problems too because he shuts down as soon as anyone directs anything remotely like anger in his direction, and then they have to waste a bunch of time working around the PTSD and abandonment issues before they actually get to tell him he fucked up and he is responsible for what he did and it was a shitty thing to do and he needs to get his ass in gear. 

Cid goes to anger management classes when all is said and done and everyone’s pretty stringent about making sure he attends every one. HIs default is loud so people know he’s actually pissed when he lowers his voice to a reasonable volume (still swears just as much though). 

Nanaki is never taken seriously when he gets angry despite being a 500+ pound apex predator after they learn he’s like 15 basically and that just makes him madder. It’s an actual issue that they need to have a serious talk about at some point. Especially now that they’re used to seeing him showing up with dead animals in his mouth. 

Reeve started taking self-defense lessons in hand-to-hand combat from Tifa and Vincent since everyone just shares knowledge as a matter of practicality. He’s kind of old at this point but he’s got the whole discipline thing down pat, and he’s extremely dedicated to practising. It’s a better mid-life crisis activity to have than pilates, at least. 

Tifa also clams up when she’s angry but is socially aware enough to consider herself in the right at times, and will get just a teeny bit passive aggressive. Not that anyone notices, she puts a little too much emphasis on the “passive”. In that respect she’s kind of the only one that still takes Nanaki seriously. 

Vincent never seems to get angry and it’s a little weird. Like Barret, maybe it’s because he needs to keep the whole demon thing in check, or maybe it’s because he’s just lowkey annoyed so often with everyone and everything there wouldn’t be much of a point. 

Yuffie technically has the most formal combat training out of everyone, given she had access to the best tutors and martial arts experts Wutai had to offer since the age of 3 (Followed by Tifa and Vincent, tied at 9 years each). Coupled with the emphasis Wutai placed on passing strong magic through bloodlines and a required knowledge of military tactics and forgeign diplomacy drummed into her, she’d be the most hyper-competent one in the party if she weren’t 16 and also fucking stupid. It’s no wonder she gets along so well with Cloud and Nanaki.

[inyournightmares97]

My Youth (Chapter 3)

Broken and miserable, Park Jinyoung returns to his hometown to learn that no matter how hard he falls, there are still people who think he’s a hero.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide/depression, angst, slow build, maybe some language. (Please don’t ask when I’ll update. Wait until the series is finished to read if you’re impatient.)

Word Count: 5.6k+

(Can’t put links to the other parts here, please check my Masterlist/the reblog for the Prologue and Chapters 1 and 2)

“I can’t believe you would do that, Jinyoung,” you hissed.  

15-year old Jinyoung raised an eyebrow. He had figured out that you were angry the moment you both exited the classroom. Normally, you would bounce over to Jinyoung and ask him about how his exam had gone and insist on discussing the answers to all the questions. But today you had stormed straight past him and out of school.

“Me?” Jinyoung asked innocently. “What did I do?”

“You know what you did.”

“No, I clearly don’t-”

You whirled around and jabbed a finger at him accusingly, your hand trembling. “Don’t lie, Jinyoung. I saw you and Jackson Wang passing notes during the exam. You were cheating!”

Jinyoung bit his lip sheepishly. He didn’t understand why you were so upset or why your cheeks had flushed red in anger. But evidently, you had caught on to the little plan that he and Jackson had concocted the night before the exam.  

“Look, I can explain-”

“Why? You’re already the best in the class. You don’t even NEED to cheat. You’re smart and intelligent so why would you think about doing something like that?” you demanded. You were extremely upset. “I always try so hard just to match up to you and and your grades but the whole time, you were cheating?”

Jinyoung’s eyes widened. “What? No! This is the first time I’ve done something like that, I swear! It wasn’t even for myself! Jackson promised he would buy me a new model car if I slipped him some of the answers. I figured it wouldn’t do any harm.”

“I can’t believe you would get involved in a stupid scheme like that,” you hissed. “I am so disappointed in you.”

Jinyoung’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Why are you only attacking me? I told you, I wasn't stealing answers from anybody! I was helping Jackson pass his exam.  If you want to be so morally superior then you should go and yell at Jackson Wang instead of me! He’s the one who wrote down answers he didn’t solve himself! You should be mad at him!”

You folded your arms across your chest. “Why would I get mad at Jackson? He’s not my friend.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t care what Jackson Wang does. He can jump off a bridge for all I care. I’m mad at you because you’re my friend and I think you deserve to be told that what you did is wrong,” you snapped at Jinyoung. He stared at you in surprise and a small, handsome smile suddenly spread across his face. You frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you seriously proud of yourself right now?”

Jinyoung smiled widely and shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are you-”

“You yelled at me because you care about me,” he said playfully, grabbing your arm and entwining it in his. Jinyoung’s handsome face looked smug while you blushed. “I always wondered why you never care about Jackson getting up to stupid shit, but you get upset whenever I do something wrong. This is your weird way of showing affection!”

You wrenched your arm out of his grasp, annoyed. “Affection? For you? No. Go away.”

“Oh, come on. If I were anyone else, you would have raised your hand in class the moment you saw me cheating and told on me,” Jinyoung pointed out.

You sighed and glanced at your best friend. “Yeah, okay. It’s true. Good friends deserve honesty, right? You always tell your friends when they do something wrong because they deserve a chance to fix their mistakes,” you explained. Then you folded your arms across your chest and turned to Jinyoung. “Are you really going to make Jackson buy you that model car?”

Jinyoung rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Would it make you mad if I did?”

“Kind of.”

“Then I won’t,” he replied with a smile. “You can buy me an ice cream instead, to make it up to me. Come on. Let’s go.”

----------

“There are some really strange people hanging about our town lately.”

You raised an eyebrow at the newspaper lady. She was barely looking at you, too busy fumbling for change behind the counter.

“Strange people? What do you mean?” you wondered. The lady hummed lightly as she counted out a few coins in the palm of her hand.

“Well yesterday evening there was a man who came by my store on a bicycle. He was wearing a black hoodie and a mask; all very mysterious! I could barely see his face. He bought a newspaper, handed me a bill and then walked away silently without even waiting for the change! I was astonished,” she fretted. She dumped the carefully counted coins into your hand as you smiled.

Ah. So the newspaper lady had finally gotten a glimpse of her long-awaited Park Jinyoung. If only she knew exactly whom she had sold a paper to.

“Maybe it was a cyclist passing through,” you replied lightly.

“And today! There was a  handsome man who drove past in a luxury car!” she cried, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen such a car in my life! Quite the opposite of the cyclist; he kept asking the oddest questions and left without even buying a newspaper!”

This was a surprise. You blinked at her. “What sort of questions did he ask?”

“Odd, extremely odd,” the lady replied vaguely. She suddenly brightened up as she pointed at the headline on the newspaper you had picked up. “Oh! But there’s more about our dear Jinyoung’s company in the news! It seems they’re uh… re-restructuring, was it? Something called a merger? I hope they’re all good things!”

You blinked at the newspaper. GOT Tech and GOT Motors to merge with major competitors! The headline screamed. Changes in top management expected to follow the GOT Group restructuring process! You blinked at the headline in surprise. The article talked about the GOT empire merging with major competitors for the first time. These were all billion-dollar deals. This was an important, if not crucial, time for Jinyoung’s company.

Why was he taking a vacation now when the conglomerate needed people to make important decisions?

“Well, I suppose it means growth for Jinyoung’s companies,” you admitted to the newspaper lady with a smile. “GOT Group will become a multinational entity once all these acquisitions are through.”

The lady beamed. “Oh, how lovely for Jinyoung!”

Yes, how lovely indeed. So why is he sitting at home? Why is he hiding from the world? Why doesn’t he seem happy? What am I missing?

You waved goodbye to the newspaper lady and continued towards the coffee shop. You needed a cup of something strong to get you through the evening; the parent-teacher meetings would start next week and you had to prepare progress reports for each of the students in addition to helping with the PTA fundraiser.

You were going to be swamped all week.

“Aeri!” you greeted your friend who was sitting behind the counter. “I’ll have a cup of black coffee please, lots of sugar!”

Aeri smiled at you prettily. She had always been one of the most beautiful woman in town but now her pregnancy had her positively glowing. She and Jackson had been trying to have children for a long time and they were finally going to be blessed with a little baby girl in a few months.

“You look tired,” she told you bluntly as you climbed onto one of the bartools at the counter.

“And you’re glowing with happiness,” you replied.

“Try telling Jackson that. My husband just received an earful from me because he did the groceries and forgot to buy carrots.” Aeri sighed and poured you a mug of black coffee. She passed it to you and then leaned against the counter miserably. “We don’t even need carrots. I don’t know why I keep losing my temper with him.”

You smiled. Jackson adored Aeri with every fibre of his being. “I’m sure he’s forgotten about it already.”

“Do you think so?”

“The man has five to ten year olds crying and throwing unreasonable tantrums at him every day, babe. A pregnant woman can’t be that hard to handle. You’re lucky Jackson adores you.”

“I guess I am lucky,” she admitted softly.

You clutched your warm coffee mug. You hadn’t been particularly close to Jackson or Aeri during your school days but they were the only people of your own age left in this small town. Most of your high school classmates had left for Seoul in search of more luxury and success. You had no choice but to befriend Jackson and Aeri. Like you, they had chosen to stay behind and live quieter lives. The only difference was that they were married and had plans for the future. They wanted to raise children in their peaceful hometown and live happily.

You, on the other hand, were just sort of… existing.

You couldn’t help but feel jealous of them sometimes.

“Whoa. Who is that?”

You noticed Aeri’s eyes go wide and followed her gaze towards the window. A sleek, silver luxury car had pulled up outside. The man who stepped out of it looked rich. He had broad shoulders framed in an expensive suit and his jaw was clenched tightly. He walked up to the counter and gave Aeri a forced smile.

“Can I have a latte, please?” he asked her politely.

“Of course,” Aeri replied as she set about making his drink. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new in town?”

The man let out a dry, humourless chuckle as he took a seat at the stool beside yours. “No, ma’am. I’m just passing through. I’m looking for someone, actually, but I haven’t managed to find them yet.”

Aeri blinked. “Oh. A relative?”

“A friend,” the man replied. He looked exhausted and you could tell just by the tired look in his eyes that he had absolutely no expectations when he finally posed the question. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen Park Jinyoung anywhere around here, would you?”

You froze. What? Who was this strange man looking for Jinyoung? You suddenly remembered what Jinyoung had told you the previous day. If anybody weird comes around asking for me, then tell them you don’t know me. Was this man perhaps one of those journalists Jinyoung seemed to be so afraid of? You took a sip of your coffee quickly. Maybe it was best if you got out of here and went to the Parks’ home to warn Jinyoung that somebody in town was asking about him.  

“Park Jinyoung?” Aeri asked, eyes wide. She glanced at you awkwardly. “Oh, dear. He is from here but it’s been at least a decade since he’s visited this town. Shouldn’t you be looking for him in Seoul or something?”

The man looked disappointed as he rubbed his temple with his fingers. “I wouldn’t have come here if he was in Seoul; I’m from there myself. It’s all right. It seems nobody in this town has seen him in years so maybe I’m just on a wild goose chase-”

“Why are you looking for him? What is Park Jinyoung to you?” you demanded.

“I told you, he’s a friend,” the man replied as he turned to look at you. He had dark, intense eyes and they narrowed sharply on your face. You felt your stomach lurch a little at the way his expression changed suddenly. He pointed an index finger at you. “Wait a second… you look extremely familiar.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “Yes, you. Have we met before?”

What was this? Some weird way of hitting on you? You were absolutely positive that you had never seen this man in your life. You exchanged an uncomfortable glance with Aeri and then quickly reached into your pocket to pay for the coffee.

“No, I’m pretty sure we haven’t met,” you told the man shortly. You handed Aeri a bill. “I’m off, Aeri, I don’t want to miss the last bus home.”

Aeri nodded in understanding. She had noticed the way the strange man was looking at you oddly and wasn’t about to push you to stay. You gathered your things and avoided the man’s stare as you hurried out of the coffee shop. You had just made it a few yards towards the bus stop when you heard footsteps behind you; the man was following you.

“Wait!” he called out to you sharply. “Wait, I know who you are!”  

You clutched your purse tightly and kept walking. “Please leave me alone.”

The man was still following you and your heartbeat began to thud in anticipation. What did he want? You dug into your purse for the pepper spray you kept handy but his words caused you to stop in your tracks.

“I can’t remember your name, but- listen! Park Jinyoung kept a picture of you and him on his desk during college! It was a picture of you both on your high school graduation day; he said you gifted it to him when he came to Seoul!” the man cried out.

Your eyes widened in recognition. You had gifted Jinyoung a photo frame with a picture of you both on graduation day before he left. You whirled around and saw that the man was a few feet behind you, trying to catch his breath.

“Who are you?” you demanded firmly. “How the hell do you know that? Aren’t you a journalist?”

“No; I’m Park Jinyoung’s friend. He was my roommate throughout college. We went to Seoul University together,” the man insisted. He reached into his pocket and withdrew a business card that he gave you quickly. You flipped it over. It had the GOT Group logo on it. The man’s name was Im Jaebum and it said he was the Chief of the Legal Department at GOT Group. You paused. Im Jaebum. That name was familiar. Where had you heard it?

Ah, yes.  

Jinyoung had mentioned it to you himself; the first and only time he came home for Christmas after leaving for college in Seoul. That Christmas break was the last time you had seen your best friend before he cut you off for an entire decade.

“So how’s college going?” you asked him lightly. “Are you as popular in Seoul as you were here?”

Jinyoung rolled his eyes. “What use is popularity? That’s for kids. I’m looking for fame and stardom.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. But seriously, Jinyoung. I’m worried about you. Do you have any friends?”

He bumped your shoulder lightly and chuckled. “Shut up, I’m fine. I have plenty of friends, okay? In fact, my roommate is a really cool guy. His name is Im Jaebum and he’s planning to study law. We get along great. He might just become my new best friend,” he teased you.

You huffed. “Let him try. He’ll realize how unbearable you are in a matter of months.”

“Me? Excuse you, I think you’ll realize that the unbearable one in this friendship is YOU, Miss I-can’t-even-save-a-piece-of-Christmas-cake-for-my-best-friend…”

You looked down at the business card and took a deep breath. You were convinced that this man really was Jinyoung’s college roommate. The fact that he was even working at Jinyoung’s company had to mean that he was somebody Jinyoung trusted, right? You bit your lip and looked at him nervously. Jaebum seemed less dangerous than he had a few minutes ago but you still weren’t sure.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” you asked him, handing him his business card back.

“Help me find Jinyoung. I know you’ve seen him. You were his best friend-”

You raised an eyebrow. “You must be mistaken. Jinyoung and I are barely friends. In fact, I haven’t been in contact with him since-”

“He ran away.”

You blinked. “What?”

Jaebum took a step closer to you and you finally saw the pain and desperation in the man’s eyes. This was not a journalist looking to snoop around. This was a man under immense pain and pressure.

Jaebum took a deep breath. “Jinyoung went missing three days ago. I haven’t been able to get in touch with him since then. His car, most of his belongings, everything… they’re still in his apartment. He only took a few clothes and his wallet. His secretary can’t contact him either. I broke into his apartment to see if maybe he was stuck inside or injured and all I found was…”

You watched as Jaebum’s lips trembled and he struggled to choke out the next few words. He took a deep breath. “I found a half-written suicide note in his apartment. Okay? You have to help me find him.”

“A suicide note?” you repeated. Your brain suddenly felt fuzzy. “W-what…? Why would he write something like that?”

Jaebum bit his lip and sighed. “Fuck. You don’t have any clue about what’s been happening, then.”

“What’s been happening?”

“Things at the company… they’re not going well. Jinyoung is under immense pressure. The Board of Directors…” Jaebum groaned and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. His eyes were red and he was struggling to speak. “Fuck. Fuck them. What does it matter? I can’t even figure out if he’s alive or dead right now!”

You wanted to puke.

“Did he seriously write a suicide letter?” you whispered.

“Yes.”

“You’re not lying, you… you’re not just trying to get me to tell you where he is?” you demanded, heartbeat thudding.

Jaebum’s eyes widened and he lunged forward to grab your arm in desperation. “Then you do know? You’ve really seen him?”

“Yes,” you replied. You glanced at Jaebum’s silver luxury car. “I’ll take you to him. Let’s go.”

----

The drive to the Parks’ residence felt like forever even though it was only a few streets away. Your head was spinning and you felt dizzy. Jinyoung? Leaving a half-written suicide note and running away from Seoul? It didn’t sound like him. Jinyoung had always been a happy person. Jinyoung had always been a stable person. Jinyoung had always loved life.

How could somebody like that even think about killing themselves?

More importantly…

What had happened to the happy, fun-loving and hopeful Jinyoung that you always knew?

“Here? We only came to his parents’ house?” Jaebum demanded as he pulled to a stop outside the large home. He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair again. “I came here earlier, his mother opened the door and said that she hadn’t seen him.”

“I know. But he’s here,” you promised.

Jaebum frowned. “You’re sure?”

“He’s been hiding from the townspeople so he probably told his mother to send away anyone that came looking for him,” you explained nervously. You took a deep breath and looked down at your trembling hands. “Trust me, he’s just hiding upstairs.”

At least, I hope he is.

“Fuck. That bastard. I’m going in there, then,” Jaebum replied and unbuckled his seatbelt aggressively. You reached out and grabbed the man’s arm, stopping him.

“Wait. Whatever you just said to me… about finding a suicide note in his apartment…” you took a deep breath and looked up at Im Jaebum firmly. “If you even mention that in front of his mother then I will kill you, do you understand?”

Jaebum frowned. “Relax. I’m not an idiot.”

“Just making sure.”

You slowly got out of the car as Jaebum ran to the front door and banged on it loudly. You winced at his loud voice.

“Park Jinyoung! Park Jinyoung! Get your ass out here right now, I know you’re in there!” Jaebum called out. You stood nervously behind him and waited until the front door opened. Mrs. Park appeared on the front porch looking terrified.

“You! I told you to go away earlier!” she insisted, eyes widening in fear. You hurried over towards the older woman.

“Mrs. Park, it’s okay. This man is a friend of Jinyoung’s,” you tried to reassure her by putting an arm around her. “Can you just call Jinyoung downstairs? This is his friend Jaebum and he’s worried about him because it seems like Jinyoung didn’t tell a lot of people before he came down here on vacation…”

You tried to soothe the harried older woman. Before she could respond, though, you caught sight of movement inside the house. Jaebum had seen it too. He stormed past you and Mrs. Park, entering the small home.

“Jinyoung!”

Jinyoung’s faint voice carried out to the front porch. “J-Jaebum?”

“Where the hell did you go without telling me, you asshole? I’ve been trying to call you for days…” Jaebum cried, his voice breaking. You hurried inside to see both men in the living room. Jaebum had wrapped Jinyoung into a tight hug and Jinyoung was standing still. His dark eyes were distant as he slowly and reluctantly hugged his friend back.

“Why did you come all the way here?” Jinyoung asked him slowly.

Jaebum frowned. “You know why I came, how could you just…” he trailed off when he saw Mrs. Park and you. He released Jinyoung and made an awkward polite bow to Mrs. Park. “I’m so sorry for barging in like that, ma’am. I was worried Jinyoung would refuse to see me and I, um…”

Mrs. Park looked shocked. “But what is so urgent that you would come all the way down here just to find Jinyoung? Is everything all right?”

Jinyoung briefly made eye contact with you. There was a flash of intense emotion in his dark eyes. What was it? Worry? Fear? Before you could even begin to register it, Jinyoung had turned back to his mother. “It’s just business stuff, Mom. This is Im Jaebum and he works for the Legal Department at my office. We’re going upstairs to talk about some work stuff.”

Mrs. Park nodded while still looking surprised. “Oh. Should I, um, should I make some tea, then?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Jinyoung grabbed hold of Jaebum’s arm firmly and dragged him upstairs. There was a sudden, awkward silence. You turned and smiled at Mrs. Park.

“Can I maybe have some of that tea too, Mrs. Park?”

She smiled at you.

“Of course you can, dear.”

----

You were dying to know what was going on upstairs but you couldn’t simply barge in. After all, who were you to interfere in Park Jinyoung’s life? Who were you to demand answers from him? He was simply an old friend whom you hadn’t spoken to in a decade.

Instead, you stayed downstairs and had tea with Mrs. Park.

“I was worried that he was one of those journalists that Jinyoung was so afraid of,” the older woman explained to you once she had made the tea. She smiled sadly. “I never knew that it was a coworker and friend of his. Something must be terribly wrong at work for the poor boy to come running down and find Jinyoung during his vacation. Should I ask Jinyoung if everything’s all right?”

You smiled and shook your head. “I’m sure it’s fine, Mrs. Park. Jinyoung knows how to handle things.”

“Does he?” she wondered.

I don’t know. I thought he did too, but if he started writing a suicide note and then left Seoul without a word to even his best friend… maybe Park Jinyoung knows less about how to live life than I thought.

You tried to ignore the creeping thoughts that filled your mind. You had to be strong and supportive for Mrs. Park’s sake. She couldn’t find out that something was seriously wrong with Jinyoung. It would break her sweet heart.

Despite the sick feeling in your stomach and your throbbing headache, you sat with Mrs. Park and shared cheerful stories about the kids at work. You told her about how Ki-woo had built an adorable little model train for his Art assignment and how Jangmi had tried to bite Mr. Wang’s arm off during gym class. Mrs. Park laughed with you and by the time Jaebum and Jinyoung finished their conversation and came back downstairs, she had calmed down visibly.

“Mom, is it all right if Jaebum spends the night here?” Jinyoung asked. He looked tired; his eyes were as sunken as ever but his soft smile seemed a little more genuine than before. “He has a long drive back to Seoul so I told him to start in the morning.”

Mrs. Park leapt to her feet. “Of course! It’s getting so late. You must stay the night,” she told Jaebum kindly. He gave her a bow and a grateful smile. Mrs. Park gasped. “I didn’t even notice the time… I should get started on dinner quickly!”

You slowly got to your feet as well. “I’ll be leaving then, Mrs. Park. I have some work to do…”

Mrs. Park blinked at you. “Oh, dear. But it’s so late, the buses must have stopped running! How will you get home? It’s not safe for you to walk so far at this time of night. Maybe Jinyoung should-”

Jaebum smiled and stepped forward politely. “I can give you a ride in my car. This is a small town, I’m sure you don’t live too far away.”

You bit your lip. “I don’t want to be a bother…”

He chuckled. “No, it’s fine. I owe you for bringing me here and helping me find Jinyoung.”

“Okay. That would be great.”

----

You got into the silver, luxury car. Is this what rich people in Seoul drive? This was probably the most expensive car you’d ever been in in your life, but you couldn’t bring yourself to appreciate the leather seating and the priceless sound system. You glanced nervously at the man who sat beside you as he pulled out of the Parks’ driveway.

You took a deep breath and asked the question that was eating away at you.

“Jaebum-ssi.”

“Yes?”

“Is Park Jinyoung suicidal?”

Jaebum turned to you with wide eyes. He bit his lip as he expertly maneuvered the car onto the small street. “Wow, you really don’t beat around the bush, do you?” he laughed drily. Then he frowned. “I don’t really know. What does it mean to be suicidal? Did he contemplate committing suicide at some point? I’m almost positive he did. Would he do it again? I don’t know. I don’t think even Jinyoung knows if he would do it again.”

You clenched your fists. “I mean, should I be worried?”

Jaebum glanced at you. “I don’t know. Who am I to tell you whether or not to worry about something?”

“Do you ever give direct answers or are you always this fucking enigmatic?” you snapped at him. “Listen to me. Do you, or do you not think that Park Jinyoung needs professional help? Should I be telling his mother to take him to a psychologist?”

Jaebum sighed. “You’ll never convince Jinyoung to go to a doctor.”

“That’s not the point-”

“Jinyoung has been through a lot lately,” Jaebum replied. His hands were tight on the steering wheel. “He’s always been married to his work and things aren’t going well right now.”

“But GOT Group is expanding. It’s all over the papers. Growth rates are phenomenal.”

“Things are going great for the company but they’re not going well for Jinyoung,” Jaebum explained. He bit his lip. “Look. I don’t know how much he’s told you but Jinyoung is about to lose everything he worked the last ten years to build. He’s watching his hopes and dreams get flushed down the drain. He’s probably angry. He’s probably empty. He probably feels like life is cheating him.”

Your eyes widened.

“That sounds to me like he needs professional help.”

“Maybe he needs help,” Jaebum replied softly. “Or maybe what he really needs is love. I’ll be honest. For a good minute I was afraid I would find Jinyoung face-down in the Han River. The fact that he came back to his hometown instead… whether he admits it or not, it shows that he’s looking for some acceptance. He’s looking for a reason to keep living.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“Do you think he’ll find it?” you wondered.

Jaebum smiled at you lightly. “I don’t know. I hope he does. Maybe you can help him.”

You looked down at your hands in your lap, trembling. Me? How can I help him? What could you do for a man who refused to acknowledge that you had once been best friends? How could you help Jinyoung when you had no clue who he was, or what he was going through? You turned to Jaebum nervously.

“Shouldn’t you stay here a little longer? Since you’re the only one who knows what he’s going through, maybe you can convince him to go back to his life in Seoul instead of running away from it-”

Jaebum shook his head firmly. “I can’t do that. Jinyoung can’t keep clinging onto the thoughts of his old life. He needs to find something new to live for. I think he needs to find it here, among people who care about him.”

You sighed and rubbed your eyes tiredly. “I guess it’s best for him to be with his parents. I can’t think of anyone who cares about Jinyoung more than his parents.”

“And you?”

You blinked. “Me?”

“You care about him too. I saw the look in your eyes when I mentioned the suicide note. You were terrified,” Jaebum pointed out knowingly. He sighed and bit his lip. “While we were upstairs, Jinyoung kept asking me not to say anything to you. He said he didn’t want you to know about anything that’s going on with the company. What happened to you both that Christmas break?”

“Christmas break?” you asked.

Jaebum nodded. “Yeah. During our first year of college. When Jinyoung and I became roommates, he talked about you all the time. He told me so many stories about the two of you and his eyes always lit up whenever he said your name. Before he went home for Christmas break, he was so excited to see you again. Did something happen then?”

You blinked. During Christmas? What had happened then? Jinyoung had come home and there had been a neighbourhood party. You’d both spent a few days together while Jinyoung told you all sorts of stories about Seoul and then he’d gone back to university. It was immediately after that that he cut off all contact with you and the rest of the townspeople. He’d never answered your phone calls again.

“I don’t know,” you replied vaguely.

“Jinyoung never talked about you again after he came back from that Christmas break. He said he’d been an idiot to think that you both could stay the way you were forever,” Jaebum replied. His eyes were soft as he turned to look at you. “I think Jinyoung cares about you a lot.”

Your voice was cold. “Jinyoung definitely cared about me. But after these past ten years, I can’t believe that he still does.”

“You don’t just stop caring about people-”

“Yes. Yes, you do. It’s surprisingly easy,” you explained. “There’s a thin line between love and hate.”

“You think he hates you?” Jaebum demanded.

You forced a smile. “I don’t know what Park Jinyoung thinks anymore. I don’t even know who he is. Take a right and stop at this building, please.”

Jaebum frowned. “But-”

“Thank you for the ride,” you told him politely, unbuckling your seatbelt. Jaebum’s lips were pressed together tightly but he nodded and got out of the car, opening the door for you. “Have a safe drive back to Seoul tomorrow, Jaebum-ssi.”

“I will. Good night.”

“Good night.”

-------

Your head throbbed as you flopped back into bed after a warm shower. Not only had you failed to finish any of the report card work that you needed to do, but now your mind was whirling.

All you could see when you closed your eyes was Jinyoung. The childhood Jinyoung, your warm and loving friend. The adult Jinyoung, the distant and broken man. How could they be the same person? What had turned him into the person he was now? What had happened to Jinyoung that Christmas break to cause him to stop talking to you, what had happened to him in Seoul that he had considered ending his life?

You had so many questions and no answers.

Your phone rang loudly as you closed your eyes. You reached over and checked the caller ID. Mrs. Park. She was probably checking if you’d made it home safely, the darling woman.

“Hello, Mrs. Park,” you greeted.

“Uh, hi.”

You sat up straight in bed. That was not Mrs. Park’s voice. It was much deeper and quieter. Your head throbbed in confusion.

“Mrs. Park?” you demanded.

“Uh, sorry, no, this is Jinyoung,” he replied awkwardly. His soft voice was hesitant but it sent a shiver down your spine all the same. “My, uh, my phone broke, so I’m calling using my mother’s. Jaebum said that he dropped you off home safely?”

You bit your lip. “Yeah, he did.”

“Right. I was… I was wondering if we could talk,” Jinyoung admitted quietly.

“Sure. What about?”

“I’d rather talk in person. Are you free tomorrow?”

Your heart skipped a beat. Why? Why did Park Jinyoung make you so nervous? Why did hearing his voice over the phone make your heart flutter like a teenage girl? “Sure,” you replied calmly. “I’m at school until 3. You can come by then and we can talk once I get off work. At the same bench where you were waiting last time?”

Jinyoung paused for a moment. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Good night.”

“Good night, Jinyoung.”

----

 A/N: I’m trying to take this slowly to build up the relevant details, but I’m not sure if it’s getting boring with all the unanswered questions and lack of drama. Do I need to be picking up the speed with this one? 

[ghostofbambifanfiction]

Can you be more specific on why you like Arya and Sansa? So many people like Arya for being strong and fierce, but for some reasons so many hate Sansa for what she was like in the earlier seasons. Can you give specific instances why you like both of them? And why not Daenerys? Thanks! (I'm just really curious, please indulge me :) )

I’m going to talk about Dany first (and I’m sticking to the show here, though I have read the books, but they’re never getting finished, let’s be real), and then I'll put my thoughts on Sansa and Arya in another post (hey, you asked, so I’m delivering) because otherwise this will go on forever and it’s cleaner this way. Putting a ‘read more’ here because this is long (lol I’m at work I should be working)

To preface, I would not dislike Daenerys as much as I do if she didn’t want to be queen. I’ll touch on this when I talk about Arya, but I appreciate characters who have the self-awareness required to know who and what they are. Since Daenerys does want to rule Westeros, I have so many issues.

I also think the eighth season is going to see her turning on most of the people she’s currently allied with and I think the catalyst for that is the discovery that Jon is the legitimate child of Rhaegar and Lyanna, and therefore his claim to the throne supersedes hers. I’ll gladly admit that I’m wrong if I am, but right now I don’t think I am. Here’s why.

1) She is an ineffective ruler

After Dany liberated the slave cities of Astapor, Yunkai and Meereen, she stayed to rule and did a terrible job of it. Nobody in particular was better off, the majority of the slaves she freed were homeless and scraping for food in mess halls, and she killed elders who had spoken out against slavery without even listening to what any of them had to say. She has the mind for conquering, not for ruling.

(side note: why does she even want to be queen? It’s something she just seemed to jump on in season two without ever reasoning it out, and from there on in it’s like an obsession that has grown inside her. Now she says she wants to make the world a better place but she hasn’t the skills to do it. It should be enough for her to liberate oppressed societies and allow somebody qualified to fix them. But it’s not.)

The truth is, Meereen saw no real improvement until after Dany skipped town on Drogon, because Tyrion had the idea to replace the slave trade with actual trade. He made changes that impacted the city’s economy and allowed its residents to start supporting themselves, so of course, the slavers attacked just as Dany came back, at which point her bright idea was to decimate an entire armada when she needed ships. Tyrion had to talk her out of it. Which brings me to her next point.

2) She requires constant babysitting

It’s ironic to me that Tyrion told Cersei that “the difference” between Cersei and Daenerys is that Dany knows herself well enough to hire advisors who tell her not to do dumb, impulsive things, firstly because that is such a low bar, Tyrion! There are people out there (Sansa) who do not require that kind of monitoring! Secondly because Cersei is far more self-aware than Dany.

Cersei knows that the things she does are bad and does them anyway because fuck it, she knows she wants power for power’s sake. Dany has such a narrow view of justice that actually thinks she’s being righteous when she burns people to death (more on that later) and that is the most dangerous mindset a leader can have. Compare that, if you will, to Sansa, who quite sensibly told Arya that chopping off heads might feel good but that’s not the way to make people work together. Jorah, Tyrion and Jon have all had to speak out against Dany’s more violent predilections and she’s fast running out of people she wants to listen to. She and Tyrion are certainly hanging on by a thread. Which brings me to my next point.

3) She mistreats her own Hand

The relationship between Dany and Tyrion absolutely reeks of Aerys and Tywin, their respective fathers, who were the best of friends until Aerys’ jealousy and paranoia forced them to opposite sides of a bloody war. Dany is all too happy to take credit for Tyrion’s best ideas when they work (and he is happy to let her) but as soon as one of his plans go wrong she whirls on him and berates him like he’s a piece of trash. Everything’s his fault when a plan goes wrong.

When he brought up the matter of the succession she accused him of plotting her death with his brother, which not only is batshit insane but proves that Daenerys gives far less of a shit about the future of Westeros than she claims to, because if she cared that much, she’d care about planning to carry on the legacy she wants to build. She can’t seem to forgive Tyrion for the heinous crime of…loving his siblings? Trying to broker the most peaceful end to the war? Not wanting his brother to die?

Honestly, her treatment of Tyrion is one of the most telling aspects of her character and I am aghast that nobody seems to be talking about it.

4) Like all of the maddest Targaryens before her, she gets off on burning people

This one isn’t subtle at all. Sorry to drop the intellectual veneer for a moment but she fucking loves that shit. It doesn’t bother her a whit to watch people scream as they’re being burned alive. She takes pleasure in burning people, you can see the satisfaction on her face, and a good leader should never take pleasure in something like that.

(FYI people like to mention how Sansa smiled when Ramsay’s dogs ate him when I make this point and to that I blow a raspberry. That was her personal moment of justice against her rapist and abuser, not the lord of some house who wouldn’t submit to her, there is no fair comparison)

Dany was smiling like a satisfied cat when she burned down the temple of the Dosh Khaleen and killed everybody inside it, which was something she did to seize power, by the way. She didn’t do it to stick it to a bunch of misogynists, though I’m sure that was an added bonus. She did the exact same thing Cersei did to the Sept of Baelor and for the exact same reasons, yet only one of them is painted as a villain by the viewing public even though you can argue that Cersei was also sticking it to misogynists when she killed the High Sparrow. The only reason for that is that Dany was given humble origins while the narrative told us that Cersei was bad from the very beginning.

Theon is still beating himself up for killing and burning those two farm boys — as he should. Stannis burned his daughter and everyone was horrified. Jon was so repulsed to watch Mance Rayder burn that he defied Stannis and shot him in the heart. How many times is the show going to have to tell us that burning people alive is a terrible act of evil before people stop cheering Dany on for it? When Ned Stark was Lord of Winterfell, he understood and felt the weight of executing a man. Jon feels the weight of it, too, as we’ve seen on a couple of occasions. Sansa clearly thought long and hard about executing Petyr — that’s what her moment of reflection on the battlements was meant to show us. Dany just… doesn’t care. I think she cared a bit when she had Daario execute Mossador, but I can’t think of any other occasion where she has been directly responsible for a death and been remotely bothered by it.

So. yes.

I think the reason a lot of people – and in particular a lot of women – support Daenerys is because she has a girl power narrative. She does have a girl power narrative, it’s true, but that is not a good enough reason to support a character who on so many occasions has proven herself to be unqualified for the job she wants, not to mention bordering on dangerously unhinged and increasingly paranoid. In that sense I think her season 1 narrative was genius, because her origins and the way in which she started to gain power (as well as her gender) has granted her a kind of automatic forgiveness for behaviours that several male characters – and Cersei, most importantly, because she also has a girl power narrative (and she and Dany are two peas in a pod) but the show told us she was a baddie from episode one – would be dragged through the mud for. And I’m sorry, but it’s not good enough for me. I’m not going to support a powerful female character just because she’s a powerful female character who did some good things once. Powerful women can be good or bad.

Some other points re: Daenerys

The dragons are weapons of mass destruction and need to be killed. They’re nukes with wings. She’s burned her own people with those monsters because fire doesn’t fucking differentiate. Sorry not sorry.

The Targaryens are literally GRRM’s interpretation of the Aryan race. It’s practically in their name.

“I have tried to make it explicit in the novels that the dragons are destructive forces, and Dany has found that out as the tried to rule the city of Meereen and be queen there. She has the power to destroy, she can wipe out entire cities, and we certainly see that in Fire and Blood, we see the dragons wiping out entire armies, wiping out towns and cities, destroying them, but that doesn’t necessarily enable you to rule – it just enables you to destroy.” – George R R Martin, folks.

One of the show’s directors, Jack Bender, made a reference to Hitler when talking about her. He said we should be “horrified” by her. No shit, Jack. No shit.

“Do you wonder if the gods ever get lonely?” Just… this line. Get a grip, woman.

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Hate Rhaegar Targaryen? Here's why you're wrong.

Re: “Fuck Rhaegar Targaryen”: A lesson on how to read between the lines in fiction to learn the truth.

On George R. R. Martin:

“I think there are two types of writers, the architects and the gardeners. The architects plan everything ahead of time, like an architect building a house. They know how many rooms are going to be in the house, what kind of roof they're going to have, where the wires are going to run, what kind of plumbing there's going to be. They have the whole thing designed and blueprinted out before they even nail the first board up. The gardeners dig a hole, drop in a seed and water it. They kind of know what seed it is, they know if planted a fantasy seed or mystery seed or whatever. But as the plant comes up and they water it, they don't know how many branches it's going to have, they find out as it grows. And I'm much more a gardener than an architect.”

On Elia Martell: Considering GRRM's self-described gardening style, Dorne and its culture were almost certainly built around Elia Martell. Rhaegar's wife was polyamorous, and the author needed a way to tell us that, thus the culture of Dorne was given this attribute.

Further, while Rhaegar crowning Lyanna queen of love and beauty is known as the moment all the smiles died - it's emphasized that “Elia’s reaction to the event remains unknown” ...Well isn’t that convenient?

On House Martell: Do even the Martells blame the Targaryens for what happened to Elia and her children? Here’s what it says in the wiki:

“During the Sack of King's Landing, Ser Gregor Clegane raped and murdered Elia and also killed her son, Prince Aegon Targaryen. Another Lannister knight, Ser Amory Lorch killed her daughter, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. After hearing of these deaths, Oberyn attempted to raise Dorne for the exiled Prince Viserys Targaryen.

Oberyn and his brother Doran worked in secret for years planning on bringing an end to the reign of King Robert I Baratheon and destroying House Lannister. Oberyn traveled to Braavos, where Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen were living with Ser Willem Darry. Oberyn and Willem signed a secret marriage pact, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness, promising Viserys the hand of Princess Arianne Martell in marriage, in return for Dorne's help in reclaiming the Iron Throne from House Baratheon.”

If Rhaegar was solely responsible for Elia’s death, why would Oberyn work to align Dorne with the Targaryens once again, to put them back in power? Because he only wants revenge on the guilty parties: Lannister and Clegane.

On Aegon and his sister wives: Aegon had two wives. A first wife married out of duty, and a second wife married out of desire. Sound familiar? Good. It's supposed to. GRRM uses historical parallels like this as hints all the time, and Rhaegar’s obsession with the three heads of the dragon and naming his children after these historical relatives is a way to link them in our minds.

The fact that Rhaegar likely believed he needed three children to fulfill a prophecy - Aegon, Rhaenys and presumably Visenya... is also a hint that Elia, who could not bear him a third child, might've even encouraged Rhaegar to take another wife.

Sound absurd? Rhaegar tells his wife, as she holds his newborn son, that there must be one more, as is seen in Daenerys' vision in the House of the Undying:

“There must be one more. The dragon has three heads.”

                    "History is written by the victors."

On Robert Baratheon: Virtually everyone had a good opinion of Rhaegar expect for Robert Baratheon. The victor. This man harbored a negative opinion of the prince based on jealousy and a personal vendetta.

Ned says to Robert:

“You never knew Lyanna as I did, Robert. You saw her beauty, but not the iron underneath.”

Think Lyanna is just some silly trollop? Try again. The woman who would run away with an already-married man had this to say about Robert:

“Robert will never keep to one bed. I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale. Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature.”

Again, Rhaegar and Robert seem to be complete opposites in every way. So if Robert is the type to whore around on his wife, perhaps that's yet another hint that Rhaegar didn't, wouldn't, and wasn't. Rhaegar's reputation as a villain stems from this man alone, Robert Baratheon, who was not a good person.

Even on the show, Bran confirms that the Rebellion was built on a lie - so, why do so many opt to believe Robert Baratheon, a terrible king, husband, father and person - over three of the noblest men in the series - Barristan Selmy, Ned Stark, and Arthur Dayne?

On Rhaegar Targaryen: Arthur Dayne, one of the most chivalrous and noble knights, was Rhaegar's oldest friend.

Ned Stark never once has a negative thought about Rhaegar, even letting us know that he didn’t think Rhaegar the type of man to cheat on his wife:

“For the first time in years, he found himself remembering Rhaegar Targaryen. He wondered if Rhaegar had frequented brothels; somehow he thought not.”

Even Jorah understands who Rhaegar was, time and again telling Daenerys how different her brother Viserys is to Rhaegar, that Rhaegar was the last dragon and Viserys is “less than the shadow of a snake”. (...and I really should not have to recount why Viserys is a terrible person. That shit ain’t subtle at all.)

When Daenerys saves the life of a lamb girl, she says:

“I will not have her harmed. I claim her. Do as I command you, or Khal Drogo will know the reason why.”

She and Jorah then have this exchange:

“You are your brother's sister, in truth.” “Viserys?” “No. Rhaegar.”

Lastly, Barristan Selmy, who watched Rhaegar grow up, has this to say:

“Even as a child, your brother Viserys oft seemed to be his father's son, in ways that Rhaegar never did.”

So we've got two people now, telling us Rhaegar and Viserys were different. Viserys is directly compared to Aerys, whereas Daenerys is compared to Rhaegar after she saves someone's life and helps them.

When Daenerys asks Barristan whether there was any good to be said of her father, he replies:

“There is, your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother... and Rhaegar. Him most of all.”

Barristan also confirms Rhaegar’s feelings toward Elia:

“Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her.”

On the show, Barristan tells Daenerys of Rhaegar's character. Confirming that Rhaegar found joy in singing, not killing. Recounting tales about how Rhaegar would sing to the common folk, giving his money away to them, to orphanages, or taking his lifelong friend and guard out for drinks.

On who is actually to blame for Elia's death:

Aerys Targaryen, Tywin Lannister & Gregor Clegane (Duh)

It's not Rhaegar’s fault for neglecting to assume a lifelong House Targaryen ally would betray him and his family. If you think this, you are victim blaming.

(Victim blaming occurs when the victim of a crime or any wrongful act is held entirely or partially responsible for the harm that befell them.)

Tywin waited until he knew which side would win the Rebellion before picking either. Fuck, Tywin wasn't even certain he'd betray the Targaryens!

Was Rhaegar aware of all the ways his father offended Tywin Lannister? Oh, absolutely. Which is part of the reason he was almost certainly conspiring to de-throne his father, for offending the entire damned realm left and right!

“When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but... well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken.”

Jaime tells us that it was not Rhaegar who forbade Elia’s escape, but Aerys:

“Rhaegar met Robert on the Trident, and you know what happened there. When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side.”

Jaime feels immense guilt that lingers for not protecting Rhaegar's family. He blames himself, not the prince, even defending himself to the ghost of Rhaegar, who tells him:

“I left my wife and children in your hands.” “I never thought he'd hurt them. I was with the king...”

Even Jaime Lannister never thought the children would be hurt. Tywin’s fucking son. You'd have to be pretty daft, at this point, if you think Rhaegar is the one responsible for the murder of his children. Further, note that Jaime’s internal characterization of Rhaegar cares about his wife, Elia, and their children.

On Jon Snow: Love Jon Snow but hate Rhaegar Targaryen? Too bad. Boy was written to be just like his daddy, and no, I don’t mean Ned.

Like his father, he was “born in grief” and is described as sullen, and his father, melancholy. They've got similar lean builds, dark-hued eyes, both observant and good fighters, described as noble, honorable and good (and ‘comely’). Even the way Jon died echoes Rhaegar’s death:

“Jon fell to his knees. In the cold night air the wound was smoking. 'Ghost,' he whispered.”

“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...”

Lastly, in the show, when Jon meets Daenerys, she says, “We all enjoy what we’re good at” and Jon replies, “I don’t.”

Just like Rhaegar. Because, after all, Barristan told Daenerys that Rhaegar “never liked killing”. Jon Snow is his father’s son.

To any Rhaegar Targaryen haters out there who managed to pick up on literally zero of the above clues - You badly need to work on your deductive reasoning skills.

Also, please never write a book.

[cosmicmoved]

" happy birthday to the sweetest, kindest pain in my ass! "

✨✨ ANSWER from TOMO ✨✨ / ( @castholy​ )

Birthdays are, in general, a little strange for Tomo. He likes them, for the most part, because, as always, they’re an excuse to throw a party. It’s just that most of that partying takes place late at night and early the next morning so he really spends very little of the day celebrating in any meaningful way. Not a problem, he’s a grown man and he can deal with that. Just like he can deal with the fact that people don’t really bother sending him gifts or money unless they’re terribly close to him. What do buy the rich kid with no impulse control? (Not that Min had been deterred by these sorts of concerns, having managed to surprise Tomo with a few items of expensive clothing and two Tamagotchi for his collection — both Tamagotchi SOME, the very new and Korea-specific release of an existing model from last year and in all four available colours —  that he’d managed to pick up during a trip to Seoul a couple of weeks prior.)

He’d visited his mother earlier in the day, a matter of habit and tradition. If nothing else, Tomo knew he’d never heard the end of it if he didn’t show face and he didn’t want the rest of the day ruined by screaming matches over the phone. She had been about as enthusiastic as ever. The last time she’d shown any real interest in his birthday, he must have still been a child. As a matter of fact, he’s fairly certain the last birthday she’d cared all that much about was his thirteenth, wherein she’d near enough overwhelmed him in an effort to distract him from the fact it had been his birthday without his father. Although his father had been pretty distant at the best of times, he’d always put effort into birthdays, even before the divorce. Sometimes Tomo cannot help but wonder if his mother had always been like this and he’d just never really noticed but he’s quite certain she’d never been this frustrated until he’d run headfirst into adulthood, as though she was resentful of the fact he was no longer naive and malleable. This time around, she’d sat him down at the island in the kitchen taken it upon herself to complain that, at his age, she’d already married and had a child and that Tomo messes around far too much, that he’s wasting his time. The last point is a little fair, he thinks, he doesn’t know how to argue with it but it’s a tiring argument to keep having. Things had gotten particularly cold after he lost his patience and (accurately, he’ll maintain) told her that, at his age, she was less than a year into a rushed shotgun marriage to some guy who’d knocked her up on her trip abroad and all she’d actually done was give birth to a kid she barely wanted. It was around that point that the visit had found its natural end and she’d decided Tomo had overstayed his welcome. She handed him his gift and led him to the door but he’d excused himself, asking to take a quick toilet break before he left, before promptly throwing up his breakfast. When she’d discovered what was going on, she accused him of being hungover and he agreed without putting up a fight, finding it easier than explaining that the guilt of what he’d said had made him nauseous. If he’d told the truth, she’d have accused him of looking for sympathy and trying to make her feel guilty. He still hasn’t opened the gift.

Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t quite know how to handle Aeris’ simple birthday wish and can’t come up with a better response than an awkward joke. All in all, he’s used to Min being the only one who’s really sincere about the whole thing. Co-workers and staff will wish him a good day if it comes up and he happens to be working that day, and friends will save themselves for the evening. He wonders if more of them are more invested in the party than the actual date of it. One of his Japanese costars from the film he’d worked on earlier that year had sent him a small gift and he’d almost cried, just because it had taken him by surprise. Min had always put in a good effort; this year, he’d texted Tomo a string of emoji-riddled birthday wishes the minute midnight had hit. The thought of his best friend anxiously watching the time to ensure he got it at exactly midnight when Tomo himself hadn’t been paying much attention made up for everything else.

In fact, when he hears the words come out of Aeris’ mouth, he feels his head swim for a moment. For the umpteenth that day. Have you ever wanted to strangle yourself? Because that’s precisely how he’s feeling. But the words settle pretty quickly and the feeling passes with them, and he’s quickly all smiles. Just give him a moment to find his bearing and Tomo will always find a way to glitter. Until she showed up, he’d been waiting a good half an hour. It’s his own fault, he’d come to their agreed meeting place far too early, having realised he didn’t know what else to do with himself after the visit to his mother’s house and he’d been sure that finding an appropriate distraction would have resulted in him being late. Tomo hadn’t asked her to come along with any consideration for it being his own birthday, he’d just needed an excuse to get out the house and he hates navigating busy places alone. No matter how much he hides himself behind heavy sunglasses and shading hats, he can’t get the paranoia of being seen out of his head. They’re fears that seem to dissipate so long as he’s got somebody with him. And the fact that Aeris is usually quite willing to put up with his mile-a-minute bullshit is a welcome detail as well. He’d been shifting his mother’s gift, still wrapped, from hand to hand when Aeris appeared, trying to work out when and if he should bother opening it. If it’s a decent gift, he’ll feel even worse about his outburst but, if it’s terrible, he’ll feel even more like his mother doesn’t give a shit. If it’s neither of those things, that’ll probably guarantee he’ll be hit with that weird numb feeling he gets when he thinks too hard about these things. None of the solutions are favourable.

“N’awwww, you think that about me?” And he’ll absolutely take it. After all, it’s better to be lovely and annoying than plain old boring! All it means is that he has his own Tomo Flavour and he’s more than satisfied with that. As time goes on, he’s starting to realise that birthdays don’t mean as much to him as he likes to pretend. It’s fun to exaggerate and act it up because he gets to drag people to his favourite club and book out his favourite private room, while people insist on buying him drinks. He gets to be the centre attention and, as much as he’d deny it at any given opportunity, he loves that. He hates it at the same time, it’s all far too much, but there’s a kind of rush in being pushed past your limit. Or maybe he’s just weird. These are the sorts of things he’d never be able to explain to anybody, not without them thinking there’s something wrong with him. But the things that stick with him the most on days like this are simple kindnesses. Attention really only keeps him satisfied for so long, like a caffeine boost for loneliness, and before long he’s a wreck all over again but sincere affection, that’s more like a much-needed night’s sleep. He jumps up from where he was sat and, unwrapped still in hand, he pulls her into a tight hug. Tomo has been told before – by Min, unsurprisingly – that he’s a little clingy but he’d insisted that he meant it in a nice way, that it was a reassuring sort of clinginess. It’s not clear to Tomo what he’d really meant but he often remembers those words when he worries he’s being too much and finds himself feeling a little better about it.“Is it wrong that I feel like I need to buy you lunch as a thank you for remembering?” Tomo laughs, “Cause I don’t remember mentioning it. Did you check Wiki or something?” It’s probably an insensitive joke, given that she likely remembered on her own, but Tomo’s so busy trying to grin his way through the awkwardness that making sure the words that come out of his mouth aren’t stupid has kind of fallen back to second priority. He pulls out of the hug and, bouncy as always, throws an arm around her shoulder, giving her room to shove her off whenever she feels like it. Tomo’s not the sort of person to take that personally, everybody knows this much.

“I’m sorry I’m dragging you to the beach in fuckin’ November”, he adds, “I’m kind of surprised you agreed. I can think of a whole bunch of people who’d have told me to go fuck myself but you— you respect that I’m a pain in the ass!” There’s a chance, he’s aware, that he’ll regret putting this before lunch given that, technically speaking, he’s running on an empty stomach right now but that’s such a depressing topic to breach on a birthday. He doesn’t want to make her feel bad. Tomo always got the feeling Aeris was someone who had enough troubles of her own so burdening him with own bullshit, most of which makes little sense a lot of the time, seems unfair. Selfish even. “But you’re kind of outdoorsy, right? And it’s not that cold today. Maybe you’ll find some artistic inspiration or something.” Tomo beams up at her as he says this. Then, he remembers the small, wrapped box still in his hand. “And maybe I can throw this in the ocean if I hate it.”

He gasps, very suddenly. “No, wait, that’s pollution!” Hands are clasped together in apology and Tomo starts laughing. “Pretend I didn’t say that part!”

[wineinthewidow]

TYWIN LANNISTER: AND THE BIG QUESTION.

    What big question am I referring to? The one that every single soul on this planet is asking, and that is:

     Why did Tywin Lannister sleep with Shae?

     And you guys should know that the answer came to me by complete accident one day while I was musing over Cersei. I was thinking over Cersei’s projection of her losing Jaime unto Lancel Lannister. George once compared Cersei to a wife who got a telegram that her husband had been lost in the war. She had been convinced for this time that Jaime was very well gone, and beyond their reach. When people grieve the people they lose, they sometimes project their feelings when denying had become too much. And Cersei in her natural state of denying of feelings- latched onto the one piece that reminded her of Jaime. Every one remembers how Lancel had confessed to wanting to be Jaime, how he had dressed like him and tried to pick up his mannerisms when Jaime was gone. And Cersei did what any other person did in their stage of grief, she clung to this morsel of the man she loved. (And like all moments like this- there was only the bitter taste of regret that followed immediately after. there was absolutely no love there- she once referred to him as ‘humping dutifully’ - which means that Cersei- a very passionate lover when it comes to those she loves just played dead fish. no love just big time projecting..)

   A FEAST FOR CROWS - CERSEI II

   Cersei wondered how he intended to atone for her. Knighting him was a mistake, and bedding him a bigger one. Lancel was a weak reed, and she liked his newfound piety not at all; he had been much more amusing when he was trying to be Jaime. What has this mewling fool told the High Septon? And what will he tell his little Frey when they lie together in the dark? If he confessed to bedding Cersei, well, she could weather that. Men were always lying about women; she would put it down as the braggadocio of a callow boy smitten by her beauty.

    Now, as I was thinking this over. I did something completely by accident and accidentally compared Cersei and Lancel to Tywin and Shae. Now let me say this, before everyone starts shaking their heads. Tywin Lannister is Cersei’s FATHER. The very basis of his entire being is 50% of what starts Cersei’s entire existence. (And the other 50% is Joanna). I think the reason it was so hard for literally everyone (including myself) to see this (and why it took me so long) is because people are trying so HARD to completely separate her from her Tywin Lannister. When in actuality, she is- in her own way- her Father’s Daughter. 

   Just not in the way she wants. She wants to be the ruthless tactician, the embodiment of power that is their House of Lannister. But see the reason that is? Is because she has ZERO training in real politics and real battle, nor does she have any experience in real war time on a battlefield. Cersei isn’t dumb, but she isn’t trained in the matters she wants to be. (Also we have to remember that this is a misogynistic society. Every single male looking on to Cersei has some sort of AUTOMATIC downplayed opinion on anything Cersei does. None of the ladies, save for Asha Greyjoy and Catelyn Stark, have real training when it comes to these matters. -remember the mistakes that Daenerys has also made, a young woman who is learning as she goes-) BUT!!! Cersei’s mind an the way that it works, her thought process and paranoia, is all that of her father’s. Cersei’s structure of thinking, her mindset, is all just like Tywin’s.

    Remember that mention on Tywin’s grief?

A Storm of Swords - Tyrion V

A queer time to come visiting. His mother had died giving him birth, so the Martells would have found the Rock deep in mourning. His father especially. Lord Tywin seldom spoke of his wife, but Tyrion had heard his uncles talk of the love between them. In those days, his father had been Aerys’s Hand, and many people said that Lord Tywin Lannister ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but Lady Joanna ruled Lord Tywin. “He was not the same man after she died, Imp,” his Uncle Gery told him once. “The best part of him died with her.” Gerion had been the youngest of Lord Tytos Lannister’s four sons, and the uncle Tyrion liked best.

     Tywin Lannister shut down when his Lady Lannister passed away. Everyone knows this. But it’s the one thing that shows that he and Cersei have the same approach to these things. The same approach to their emotional aspects of life. (Not to mention the reason -prophecy aside- this is where Cersei learned her approach to Tyrion.) 

    Okay, now take that this is all out of the way. Remember that grief I mentioned above of Cersei’s? When she thought that Jaime was did? Okay. Good. Keep it in mind, and now blow it up to a span of THIRTY YEARS.  Take shutting down, take denying feelings, take channeling blame on one “”thing”” that killed their other half,  and stretch it out to decades. DECADES rather than months. See what I’m saying? It won’t take much after this, considering how the human mind and body works.

   Now- onward to Shae. Shae is known for having a sassy little mind to play these little word games with Tyrion. She’s witty in her own way, with a sharp tongue to match her joy or ire. (We all know of the back and forth. Take Shae, threaten her life- and put her in the room with the most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms. She’s going to be turning up her game a hundred times over.

   Okay we got all these factors in mind. Because I’m in no way comparing Joanna and Shae, only insinuating that Joanna, herself- held some favorable wit that kept Tywin on his feet.

    So Imagine. Shae turns up her game, so to speak, and speaks back to Tywin. And says something, of who knows what natures, that makes Tywin blink. And it’s not that he felt attraction to Shae- no there was never any attraction to anyone- if going by the example of Cersei. There was nothing but ‘dutiful humping’ happening. No. What I am saying, is that for a BRIEF second, no matter how short or subtle, or how Shae looked for just a second, after THIRTY YEARS OF DENIED GRIEF THAT HAS BEEN SHUT DOWN WITH A TOSS OF HIS ENTIRE SOUL INTO THE DUTY TO HIS HOUSE (maybe a promise to joanna they will flourish?) AND A HARDEN THAT TURNED A LITERAL MAN INTO STONE-

    Tywin Lannister thought of Joanna Lannister.

    And that STRAW on the back of a Lion holding up an entire house, was enough to crack open a thirty year old wound. And Tywin did to Shae, what Cersei did to Lancel.

   And that, people of all genders, is the answer to the question you’ve all been asking.