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istumpysk · 2 years ago

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

A FEAST FOR CROWS

Summary & Foreshadowing Smorgasbord (Part III)

The epic conclusion of the blockbuster trilogy.

AFFC PART III: UNDER THE CUT

Chapter Transitions

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

AFFC Part I: CLICK

Sansa Stark, Queen in the North

Jon Snow, King in the North

Jon (Aemon?) Snow

Ahoy Matey! Arya Stark Sails the Ocean Blue

Bran the Broken, King of Westeros

High Septon Rickon?

Pick Your Poison: The Twins Meet Their End in the Bowels of Casterly Rock . . . or King's Landing

Younger and More Beautiful Cersei

AFFC PART II: CLICK

Dark Daenerys Highlights & Laughs

Let's Dance: Stark vs. Targ

A Rat in a Maze 🐀🔪

The Usurper's Knife

Storm x Storm 🦑🖤🐉

Squid Game

Previous books:

AGOT Summary & Foreshadowing: CLICK

ACOK Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I / PART II

ASOS Summary & Foreshadowing: PART I / PART II / PART III / PART IV

Stumpy note:

If I didn't give you credit for discovering something or if I missed any foreshadowing, please contact me and I'll rectify that.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone who participated in the reread project. All of you have great observations and comments, I wish I could highlight them all. 🙂

CHAPTER TRANSITIONS

Damn that man for breaking up this book, and ruining the chapter transition foreshadowing.

Prologue -> <- The Prophet

The storm is coming.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

"No," said Alleras. "It was Prince Rhaegar's young son Aegon whose head was dashed against the wall by the Lion of Lannister's brave men. We speak of Rhaegar's sister, born on Dragonstone before its fall. The one they called Daenerys."

"The Stormborn. I recall her now." - Prologue, AFFC

A storm was brewing, he could hear it in the waves, and storms brought naught but evil.

[...]

He was born a lord's son and died a king, murdered by a jealous god, Aeron thought, and now the storm is coming, a storm such as these isles have never known.

[...]

Aeron tugged his beard, and thought. I have seen the storm, and its name is Euron Crow's Eye. - The Prophet, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne I -> <- Samwell I

Two protagonists want to live up to their swords.

"A sword is only as good as the man who wields it."

[...]

When she slid Oathkeeper from the ornate scabbard, Brienne's breath caught in her throat. Black and red the ripples ran, deep within the steel. Valyrian steel, spell-forged. It was a sword fit for a hero. When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. - Brienne I, AFFC

Once, when Jon came to consult with Maester Aemon, Sam had asked him why he spent so much time at swordplay. "The Old Bear never trained much when he was Lord Commander," he had pointed out. In answer, Jon had pressed Longclaw into Sam's hand. He let him feel the lightness, the balance, had him turn the blade so that ripples gleamed in the smoke-dark metal. "Valyrian steel," he said, "spell-forged and razor-sharp, nigh on indestructible. A swordsman should be as good as his sword, Sam. Longclaw is Valyrian steel, but I'm not. The Halfhand could have killed me as easy as you swat a bug." - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne I -> <- Samwell I

Encounters with mice.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

"Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen. Some call me the Mad Mouse." He turned his shield to show her his sigil, a large white mouse with fierce red eyes, on bendy brown and blue. - Brienne I, AFFC

Sam was reading about the Others when he saw the mouse. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

Samwell I -> <- Arya I

Three characters are on a collision course.

Dareon will join you at Eastwatch. My hope is that his songs will win some men for us in the south. The Blackbird will deliver you to Braavos. From there you'll arrange your own passage to Oldtown. - Samwell I, AFFC

Braavos might not be so bad. Syrio was from Braavos, and Jaqen might be there as well. - Arya I, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei II -> <- Jaime I

Play-by-play on the state of Tywin Lannister's rotting corpse.

+.+.+

Jaime I -> <- Brienne II

Royal blood in back-to-back chapters.

"I see you wonder, what sort of name is that?" the man had cackled when Jaime went to question him. "It is an old name, 'tis true. I am not one to boast, but there is royal blood in my veins. I am descended from a princess. My father told me the tale when I was a tad of a lad." Longwaters had not been a tad of a lad for many a year, to judge from his spotted head and the white hairs growing from his chin. - Jaime I, AFFC

"Well, there's Darkes, I'm one myself. My husband says I was Darke before we wed, and darker afterward." She laughed. "Can't throw a stone in Duskendale without you hit some Darke or Darkwood or Dargood, but the lordly Darklyns are all gone. Lord Denys was the last o' them, the sweet young fool. Did you know the Darklyns were kings in Duskendale before the Andals come? You'd never know t'look at me, but I got me royal blood. Can you see it? 'Your Grace, another cup of ale,' I ought to make them say. 'Your Grace, the chamber pot needs emptying, and fetch in some fresh faggots, Your Bloody Grace, the fire's going out.'" She laughed again and shook the last drops from the pail. - Brienne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Jaime I -> <- Brienne II

Crows are feasting.

On the morning after the battle, the crows had feasted on victors and vanquished alike, as once they had feasted on Rhaegar Targaryen after the Trident. How much can a crown be worth, when a crow can dine upon a king? There were crows circling the seven towers and great dome of Baelor's Sept even now, Jaime suspected, their black wings beating against the night air as they searched for a way inside. Every crow in the Seven Kingdoms should pay homage to you, Father. From Castamere to the Blackwater, you fed them well. - Jaime I, AFFC

The looters come with the carrion crows after every battle.

[...]

Lord Tarly's own striding huntsman appeared on many a badge and brooch and doublet. Friend or foe, the crows care not. - Brienne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne II -> <- Sansa I

Blood calls to blood. Somebody is noticeably missing the second time we get the rundown.

Or would she seek her own blood instead? Though all of her siblings had been slain, Brienne knew that Sansa still had an uncle and a bastard half brother on the Wall, serving in the Night's Watch. Another uncle, Edmure Tully, was a captive at the Twins, but his uncle Ser Brynden still held Riverrun. And Lady Catelyn's younger sister ruled the Vale. Blood calls to blood. Sansa might well have run to one of them. Which one, though? - Brienne II, AFFC

She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne II -> <- Sansa I

Sansa's hoarding gods.

But when Brienne asked about Sansa, she said, "I'll tell you what I told Lord Tywin. That girl was always praying. She'd go to sept and light her candles like a proper lady, but near every night she went off to the godswood. She's gone back north, she has. That's where her gods are." - Brienne II, AFFC

They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent. - Sansa I, AFFC

+.+.+

Sansa I <- The Kraken's Daughter

Asha's hilarious reunion with a fostered ghost from her past.

"Asha?" A shadow stepped out from behind the well.

Her hand went to her dirk at once . . . until the moonlight transformed the dark shape into a man in a sealskin cloak. Another ghost. "Tris. I'd thought to find you in the hall."

"I wanted to see you."

"What part of me, I wonder?" She grinned. "Well, here I stand, all grown up. Look all you like."

"A woman." He moved closer. "And beautiful."

Tristifer Botley had filled out since last she'd seen him, but he had the same unruly hair that she remembered, and eyes as large and trusting as a seal's. Sweet eyes, truly. That was the trouble with poor Tristifer; he was too sweet for the Iron Islands. His face has grown comely, she thought.

[...]

"If you like. It's nought to me. You look so lovely in the moonlight, Asha. A woman grown now, but I remember when you were a skinny girl with a face all full of pimples."

Why must they always mention the pimples? "I remember that as well." Though not as fondly as you do. Of the five boys her mother had brought to Pyke to foster after Ned Stark had taken her last living son as hostage, Tris had been closest to Asha in age. He had not been the first boy she had ever kissed, but he was the first to undo the laces of her jerkin and slip a sweaty hand beneath to feel her budding breasts.

I would have let him feel more than that if he'd been bold enough. Her first flowering had come upon her during the war and wakened her desire, but even before that Asha had been curious. He was there, he was mine own age, and he was willing, that was all it was . . . that, and the moon blood. Even so, she'd called it love, till Tris began to go on about the children she would bear him; a dozen sons at least, and oh, some daughters too. - The Kraken's Daughter, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne III <- Samwell II

Someone gets an escort to Eastwatch with one of Brienne's ancestors.

He sent me north aboard the Golden Dragon, and insisted that his friend Ser Duncan see me safe to Eastwatch. - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne III -> <- Samwell II

Where's little Dickon Tarly? Not at Horn Hill.

"Mooton's daughter, she's a maid," the man went on. "Till the bedding, anyways. These eggs, they're for her wedding. Her and Tarly's son. The cooks will need eggs for cakes."

"They will." Lord Tarly's son. Young Dickon's to be wed. She tried to recall how old he was; eight or ten, she thought. - Brienne III, AFFC

"I am a man now, Mother," I could tell her, "a steward, and a man of the Night's Watch. My brothers call me Sam the Slayer sometimes." He would see his brother Dickon too, and his sisters. "See," I could tell them, "see, I was good for something after all." - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Brienne III -> <- Samwell II

Two sides of Hyle Hunt.

They had a wager.

Three of the younger knights had started it, he told her: Ambrose, Bushy, and Hyle Hunt, of his own household. As word spread through the camp, however, others had joined the game. Each man was required to buy into the contest with a golden dragon, the whole sum to go to whoever claimed her maidenhead. - Brienne III, AFFC

Looking at the water only made him think of drowning. When he was small his lord father had tried to teach him how to swim by throwing him into the pond beneath Horn Hill. The water had gotten in his nose and in his mouth and in his lungs, and he coughed and wheezed for hours after Ser Hyle pulled him out. - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Jaime II -> Cersei IV

Kingsguard having affairs with their queen.

"Who?" Ser Loras craned his head around to see. "Ten black pellets on a scarlet field. I do not know those arms."

"They belonged to Criston Cole, who served the first Viserys and the second Aegon." Jaime closed the White Book. "They called him Kingmaker." - Jaime II, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei IV -> <- The Iron Captain -> <- The Drowned Man

Who is smart enough to give Asha some land for her help?

"Could we make use of the ironmen?" asked Orton Merryweather. "The enemy of our enemy? What would the Seastone Chair want of us as the price of an alliance?"

"They want the north," Grand Maester Pycelle said, "which our queen's noble father promised to House Bolton."

"How inconvenient," said Merryweather. "Still, the north is large. The lands could be divided. It need not be a permanent arrangement. Bolton might consent, so long as we assure him that our strength will be his once Stannis is destroyed." - Cersei IV, AFFC

"To end this war before this war ends us. We have won all that we are like to win . . . and stand to lose all just as quick, unless we make a peace. I have shown Lady Glover every courtesy, and she swears her lord will treat with me. If we hand back Deepwood Motte, Torrhen's Square, and Moat Cailin, she says, the northmen will cede us Sea Dragon Point and all the Stony Shore. Those lands are thinly peopled, yet ten times larger than all the isles put together. An exchange of hostages will seal the pact, and each side will agree to make common cause with the other should the Iron Throne—" - The Iron Captain, AFFC

"Peace," said Asha. "Land. Victory. I'll give you Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore, black earth and tall trees and stones enough for every younger son to build a hall. We'll have the northmen too . . . as friends, to stand with us against the Iron Throne. Your choice is simple. Crown me, for peace and victory. Or crown my nuncle, for more war and more defeat." She sheathed her dirk again. "What will you have, ironmen?" - The Drowned Man, AFFC

+.+.+

The Iron Captain -> <- The Drowned Man

Fun times at the kingsmoot.

+.+.+

Arya II -> <- Alayne I

Two sisters have new names.

She bit her lip. "Could I be Cat?"

"Cat." He considered. "Yes. Braavos is full of cats. One more will not be noticed. You are Cat, an orphan of . . ." - Arya II, AFFC

As the rising sun came streaming through the windows, Alayne sat up in bed and stretched. - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

Alayne I -> <- Cersei V

Time to pluck the roses.

"How old are you, child?" asked Lady Waynwood.

"Four-fourteen, my lady." For a moment she forgot how old Alayne should be. "And I am no child, but a maiden flowered."

"But not deflowered, one can hope." Young Lord Hunter's bushy mustache hid his mouth entirely.

"Yet," said Lyn Corbray, as if she were not there. "But ripe for plucking soon, I'd say." - Alayne I, AFFC

"Only?" The queen let a hint of anger edge her words. "I must confess, I am running short of patience with dear Osney. It is past time he broke in that little filly. I named him Tommen's sworn shield so he could spend part of every day in Margaery's company. He should have plucked the rose by now. Is the little queen blind to his charms?" - Cersei V, AFFC

+.+.+

Samwell IV -> <- Cersei IV

Summer Islanders and the Faith have very different views on sex.

"You do not understand. Last night we . . ."

". . . honored your dead, and the gods who made you both. Xhondo did the same. I had the child, else I would have been with him. All you Westerosi make a shame of loving. There is no shame in loving. If your septons say there is, your seven gods must be demons. In the isles we know better. Our gods gave us legs to run with, noses to smell with, hands to touch and feel. What mad cruel god would give a man eyes and tell him he must forever keep them shut, and never look at all the beauty in the world? Only a monster god, a demon of the darkness." Kojja put her hand between Sam's legs. "The gods gave you this for a reason too, for . . . what is your Westerosi word?"

"Fucking," Xhondo offered helpfully. - Samwell IV, AFFC

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

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

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

+.+.+

Brienne VII -> <- Jaime VI

Talk of diverting the Trident.

The innkeep never hung another sign, so men forgot the dragon and took to calling the place the River Inn. In those days, the Trident flowed beneath its back door, and half its rooms were built out over the water. Guests could throw a line out their window and catch trout, it's said. There was a ferry landing here as well, so travelers could cross to Lord Harroway's Town and Whitewalls."

"We left the Trident south of here, and have been riding north and west . . . not toward the river but away from it."

"Aye, my lady," the septon said. "The river moved. Seventy years ago, it was. Or was it eighty? - Brenne VII, AFFC

When the castle falls, all those inside will be put to the sword. Your herds will be butchered, your godswood will be felled, your keeps and towers will burn. I'll pull your walls down, and divert the Tumblestone over the ruins. - Jaime VI, AFFC

+.+.+

Jaime VI -> <- Cersei IX

Cersei's titles.

On her head a circlet of hammered bronze sat askew, graven with runes and ringed with small black swords. When she saw Jaime, she laughed. "Who in seven hells is this one?"

"The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard," Jaime returned with cold courtesy. "I might ask the same of you, my lady."

"Lady? I'm no lady. I'm the queen."

"My sister will be surprised to hear that."

"Lord Ryman crowned me his very self." She gave a shake of her ample hips. "I'm the queen o' whores."

No, Jaime thought, my sweet sister holds that title too. - Jaime VI, AFFC

"We waited long enough." He thrust his fingers inside the bodice of her gown and yanked, and the silk parted with a ripping sound so loud that Cersei was afraid that half of the Red Keep must have heard it. "Take off the rest before I tear that too," he said. "You can keep the crown on. I like you in the crown." - Cersei IX, AFFC

+.+.+

Alayne II -> <- Brienne VIII

Brienne won't show her fear.

And yet the thought of leaving frightened her almost as much as it frightened Robert. She only hid it better. Her father said there was no shame in being afraid, only in showing your fear. "All men live with fear," he said. Alayne was not certain she believed that. Nothing frightened Petyr Baelish. - Alayne II, AFFC

I will not be afraid, she told herself, but it was too late for that. I will not let them see my fear, she promised herself instead. - Brienne VIII, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei X -> <- Jaime VII

Cersei's ripping up her clothes.

I will teach them what it means to put a lion in a cage, Cersei thought. She tore the shift into a hundred pieces, found a ewer of water and smashed it against the wall, then did the same with the chamber pot. - Cersei X, AFFC

Jeyne never saw him at all. The widow rode with downcast eyes, huddled beneath a hooded cloak. Underneath its heavy folds, her clothes were finely made, but torn. She ripped them herself, as a mark of mourning, Jaime realized. That could not have pleased her mother. He found himself wondering if Cersei would tear her gown if she should ever hear that he was dead. - Jaime VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Cersei X -> <- Jaime VII

Right before walking into a disaster (a book delays Jaime), the twins are cold as ice.

Cersei could feel the eyes of the Seven staring at her, eyes of jade and malachite and onyx, and a sudden shiver of fear went through her, cold as ice. I am the queen, she told herself. Lord Tywin's daughter. Reluctantly, she followed. - Cersei X, AFFC

He woke in darkness, shivering. The room had grown cold as ice. Jaime flung aside the covers with the stump of his sword hand. The fire in the hearth had died, he saw, and the window had blown open. He crossed the pitch-dark chamber to fumble with the shutters, but when he reached the window his bare foot came down in something wet. Jaime recoiled, startled for a moment. His first thought was of blood, but blood would not have been so cold.

It was snow, drifting through the window. - Jaime VII, AFFC

+.+.+

Prologue -> <- Samwell V

AGOT

Prologue: ice threat introduction.

Final chapter: fire threat introduction.

ACOK

Prologue: cold-hearted King Stannis with his dying maester.

Final chapter: kindhearted King Bran with his dying maester.

ASOS

Prologue: Cursed snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

Sansa VII: Drifting snowflakes, and Jon Snow.

AFFC

Prologue: Pig boy Pate.

Samwell V: Pig boy Pate, back from the dead.

The alchemist pulled his hood down.

He was just a man, and his face was just a face. A young man's face, ordinary, with full cheeks and the shadow of a beard. A scar showed faintly on his right cheek. He had a hooked nose, and a mat of dense black hair that curled tightly around his ears. It was not a face Pate recognized. "I do not know you."

"Nor I you."

"Who are you?"

"A stranger. No one. Truly."

[...]

The cobblestones rushed up to kiss him. Pate tried to cry for help, but his voice was failing too.

His last thought was of Rosey. - Prologue, AFFC

"My thanks." There was something about the pale, soft youth that he misliked, but he did not want to seem discourteous, so he added, "My name's not Slayer, truly. I'm Sam. Samwell Tarly."

"I'm Pate," the other said, "like the pig boy." - Samwell V, AFFC

+.+.+

JONSA 🐺❤️❄️

Once again, thank you to @ladyofasoiaf for making the manual on all things jonsa. I heavily rely on it when making these posts. :)

Where would a girl in grey go?

If Dontos and this northern girl helped murder our sweet king, it seems to me that they would want to put as many leagues as they could betwixt themselves and justice. Look for them in Oldtown, if you must, or across the narrow sea. Look for them in Dorne, or on the Wall. Look elsewhere. - Brienne II, AFFC

As they were making their way to the next pier, Podrick shuffled his feet, and said, "Ser? My lady? What if my lady did go home? My other lady, I mean. Ser. Lady Sansa."

"They burned her home."

"Still. That's where her gods are. And gods can't die." - Brienne V, AFFC

+.+.+

Coming after a Brienne chapter, we learn Brienne's ancestor once escorted a royal to Eastwatch.

He sent me north aboard the Golden Dragon, and insisted that his friend Ser Duncan see me safe to Eastwatch. - Samwell II, AFFC

+.+.+

Not yet.

She's a clean ship, 'Strider, not so many rats as most, and we'll have fresh eggs and new-churned butter aboard. Is m'lady seeking passage north?"

"No." Not yet. She was tempted, but . . . - Brienne V, AFFC

+.+.+

The same breakdown appears in back-to-back chapters, only Sansa forgets someone.

+.+.+

A stag won't find Sansa, but a dragon might.

"Where?" Brienne slapped another silver stag down.

He flicked the coin back at her with his forefinger. "Someplace no stag ever found . . . though a dragon might." - Brienne III, AFFC

+.+.+

Of course it could never be.

There's a new High Septon, did you know? Oh, and the Night's Watch has a boy commander, some bastard son of Eddard Stark's."

"Jon Snow?" she blurted out, surprised.

"Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose."

She had not thought of Jon in ages. He was only her half brother, but still . . . with Robb and Bran and Rickon dead, Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. But of course that could never be. Alayne Stone had no brothers, baseborn or otherwise. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Someday a man will drown in her eyes.

Petyr studied her eyes, as if seeing them for the first time. "You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." - Sansa I, AFFC

The man kept staring at him, with eyes as big and black as wells. I will fall into those eyes and drown. - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

Coming after a Sansa chapter, Asha has an amusing reunion with an old ghost who was fostered at Pyke.

"Asha?" A shadow stepped out from behind the well.

Her hand went to her dirk at once . . . until the moonlight transformed the dark shape into a man in a sealskin cloak. Another ghost. "Tris. I'd thought to find you in the hall."

"I wanted to see you."

"What part of me, I wonder?" She grinned. "Well, here I stand, all grown up. Look all you like."

"A woman." He moved closer. "And beautiful."

[...]

"If you like. It's nought to me. You look so lovely in the moonlight, Asha. A woman grown now, but I remember when you were a skinny girl with a face all full of pimples."

+.+.+

Newly flowered Asha had an awakening during the war.

Her first flowering had come upon her during the war and wakened her desire, but even before that Asha had been curious. He was there, he was mine own age, and he was willing, that was all it was . . . that, and the moon blood. - The Kraken's Daughter's, AFFC

+.+.+

Fourteen-year-old Arianne loses her maidenhead to a bastard.

My father is many things, but no one has ever said he was a fool. The Bastard of Godsgrace had my maidenhead when we were both fourteen. - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

+.+.+

Experienced but still green after taking the black white.

It was her turn to flush. Her seduction of Ser Arys had required half a year. Though he claimed to have known other women before taking the white, she would never have known that from the way he acted. His caresses had been clumsy, his kisses nervous, and the first time they were abed together he spent his seed on her thigh as she was guiding him inside her with her hand. - The Princess in the Tower, AFFC

+.+.+

The Dornish (Aegon), the ironborn (Daenerys), and the north (Jon) are wedding dragons.

Thank you, @decadelongsummer!

Oh, but they must, or see the realm riven once more, as it was before we wed the dragons. - The Captain of the Guards, AFFC

None is fit to sit the Seastone Chair, much less the Iron Throne. No, to make an heir that's worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware. - The Reaver, AFFC

"Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead!" - Catelyn XI, AGOT

+.+.+

The blood of Winterfell.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. - Sansa I, AFFC

Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. He was the blood of Winterfell, a man of the Night's Watch. - Jon VI, ASOS

+.+.+

She likes them bold.

If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. - Sansa I, AFFC

Surprisingly, Stannis smiled at that. "You're bold enough to be a Stark. Yes, I should have come sooner. If not for my Hand, I might not have come at all. - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

Sister and brother, Maiden and Warrior (more).

"Why would Cersei need the Warrior? She has me." Jaime turned his horse about, his white cloak snapping in the wind. - Jaime II, AFFC

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. - Jaime IV, AFFC

The Maiden lay athwart the Warrior, her arms widespread as if to embrace him. - Davos I, ACOK

+.+.+

Radiant sisters.

"How is Cersei? As beautiful as ever?"

"Radiant." Fickle. - Jaime V, AFFC

He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall. - Jon I, AGOT

+.+.+

The author gives Snow & Stone some space.

She could see Sky six hundred feet below, and the stone steps carved into the mountain, the winding way that led past Snow and Stone all the way down to the valley floor. - Alayne I, AFFC

Steep stone steps crept up the mountainside past the waycastles Stone and Snow, but they came to an end at Sky. - Alayne I, AFFC

+.+.+

Jon's heart is all Stone.

Thank you, @winkydinkle!

He could not blame Gilly for her grief. Instead, he blamed Jon Snow and wondered when Jon's heart had turned to stone. - Samwell III, AFFC

+.+.+

Sansa has a crush.

"Bronze Yohn knows me," she reminded him. "He was a guest at Winterfell when his son rode north to take the black." She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. - Alayne I, AFFC

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs. He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife. - Prologue, AFFC

Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast.

[...]

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. - Bran I, AGOT

+.+.+

The princess in the tower wishes she had wings.

A falcon soared above the frozen waterfall, blue wings spread wide against the morning sky. Would that I had wings as well. - Alayne I, AFFC

"The little bird thinks she has wings, does she? Or do you mean to end up crippled like that brother of yours?" - Sansa IV, ACOK

The northern girl. Winterfell's daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. - Arya XIII, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa gets the head, but still needs flowers.

One of the Mountain's men had tried to rape the girl at Harrenhal, and had seemed honestly perplexed when Jaime commanded Ilyn Payne to take his head off. "I had her before, a hunnerd times," he kept saying as they forced him to his knees. "A hunnerd times, m'lord. We all had her." When Ser Ilyn presented Pia with his head, she had smiled through her ruined teeth. - Jaime IV, AFFC

"Ser Harwyn says those tales are lies." Lady Amerei wound a braid around her finger. "He has promised me Lord Beric's head. He's very gallant." She was blushing beneath her tears.

Jaime thought back on the head he'd given to Pia. He could almost hear his little brother chuckle. Whatever became of giving women flowers? Tyrion might have asked. - Jaime IV, AFFC

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. - Sansa VI, AGOT

The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, "Edd, fetch me a block," and unsheathed Longclaw. - Jon II, ADWD

"What's wrong with flowers?" - Jon V, ASOS

+.+.+

A ghost wolf.

There was ice underfoot, and broken stones just waiting to turn an ankle, and the wind was howling fiercely. It sounds like a wolf, thought Sansa. A ghost wolf, big as mountains. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Roses kissed by frost.

"When he is a man grown," said Cersei.

Their smiles withered like roses kissed by frost. - Cersei V, AFFC

+.+.+

Children of the mountain.

Thank you, @butterflies-dragons!

She pushed her hair back. "Then one day he wasn't. Men come and go. They lie, or die, or leave you. A mountain is not a man, though, and a stone is a mountain's daughter. I trust my father, and I trust my mules. I won't fall." - Alayne II, AFFC

"The mountain is your mother," Stonesnake had told him during an easier climb a few days past. "Cling to her, press your face up against her teats, and she won't drop you." Jon had made a joke of it, saying how he'd always wondered who his mother was, but never thought to find her in the Frostfangs. - Jon VI, ACOK

+.+.+

Ser Byron enters Sansa's story.

"Dutiful and beautiful," said an elegant young knight whose thick blond mane cascaded down well past his shoulders.

[...]

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

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

The character I'm probably most like in real life is Samwell Tarly. Good old Sam. And the character I'd want to be? Well who wouldn't want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love. - George R. R. Martin

+.+.+

A fool or a knight?

"Ser Galladon was a champion of such valor that the Maiden herself lost her heart to him. She gave him an enchanted sword as a token of her love. The Just Maid, it was called. No common sword could check her, nor any shield withstand her kiss. Ser Galladon bore the Just Maid proudly, but only thrice did he unsheathe her. He would not use the Maid against a mortal man, for she was so potent as to make any fight unfair."

Crabb thought that was hilarious. "The Perfect Knight? The Perfect Fool, he sounds like. - Brienne IV, AFFC

"A fool and a knight?" said Jonquil. "I have never heard of such a thing."

"Sweet lady," said Florian, "all men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned." - The Hedge Knight

+.+.+

Who's the pig boy?

Thank you, @fedonciadale!

Spotted Pate the pig boy was the hero of a thousand ribald stories: a good-hearted, empty-headed lout who always managed to best the fat lordlings, haughty knights, and pompous septons who beset him. Somehow his stupidity would turn out to have been a sort of uncouth cunning; the tales always ended with Spotted Pate sitting on a lord's high seat or bedding some knight's daughter. But those were stories. In the real world pig boys never fared so well. - Prologue, AFFC

His face darkened. "I am. I'm your father, and I can marry you to whoever I like. To anyone. You'll marry the pig boy if I say so, and bed down with him in the sty." His green eyes glittered with amusement. - Sansa III, ACOK

+.+.+

Jon and Sansa know the power of song.

Thank you, @agentrouka-blog!

Dareon will join you at Eastwatch. My hope is that his songs will win some men for us in the south. - Samwell I, AFFC

A harp can be as dangerous as a sword, in the right hands. - Sansa VI, ASOS

+.+.+

King Robert liked to play with his cousin.

There had been a female cousin too, a chunky little widow with breasts as big as melons whose husband and father had both died at Storm's End during the siege. "Her father was good to me," Robert told her, "and she and I would play together when the two of us were small." It did not take him long to start playing with her again. - Cersei V, AFFC

+.+.+

Sansa wants to dance.

What would she do when the music began to play? It was a vexing question, to which her heart and head gave different answers. Sansa loved to dance, but Alayne . . . - Alayne II, AFFC

When the musicians began to play, she timidly laid her hand on Tyrion's and said, "My lord, should we lead the dance?"

[...]

Perhaps she ought to have remained beside her husband, but she wanted to dance so badly . . . - Sansa III, ASOS

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon."

"Anon?" teased Jon.

"When we were children." She tore off a bit of bread and threw it at him. "As you know well."

"My lady should dance with her husband." - Jon X, ADWD

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon. - Jon XII, ADWD

+.+.+

Prince Aemon's back.

"And the Dragonknight?" She flung the bedclothes aside and swung her legs to the floor. "The noblest knight who ever lived, you said, and he took his queen to bed and got her with child." - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

+.+.+

Who could ever love a bastard?

Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket. - Alayne II, AFFC

+.+.+

Poisoned gifts.

Petyr arched an eyebrow. "When Robert dies. Our poor brave Sweetrobin is such a sickly boy, it is only a matter of time. When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss now, don't you think?" - Alayne II, AFFC

"Jon." Melisandre was so close he could feel the warmth of her breath. "R'hllor is the only true god. A vow sworn to a tree has no more power than one sworn to your shoes. Open your heart and let the light of the Lord come in. Burn these weirwoods, and accept Winterfell as a gift of the Lord of Light."

[...]

Stannis gave him a measuring look. "Does this mean you will not wed the girl? I warn you, she is part of the price you must pay, if you want your father's name and your father's castle. This match is necessary, to help assure the loyalty of our new subjects. Are you refusing me, Jon Snow?"

[...]

Stannis put a thin, fleshless hand on Jon's shoulder. "Say nothing of what we've discussed here today. To anyone. But when you return, you need only bend your knee, lay your sword at my feet, and pledge yourself to my service, and you shall rise again as Jon Stark, the Lord of Winterfell." - Jon XI, ASOS

+.+.+

Lancel Lannister's story continues to raise eyebrows.

Lancel had taken to quartering the lion of Lannister with the Darry plowman, it would seem. He saw his uncle's hand in that, as in Lancel's choice of bride. House Darry had ruled these lands since the Andals cast down the First Men. No doubt Ser Kevan realized that his son would have an easier time of it if the peasants saw him as a continuation of the old line, holding these lands by right of marriage rather than royal decree. - Jaime IV, AFFC

Maybe he is praying for his cock to harden. In King's Landing it had been rumored that Lancel's wounds had left him incapable. Still, he ought to have sense enough to try. His cousin's hold on his new lands would not be secure until he fathered a son on his half-Darry wife. - Jaime IV, AFFC

When his coz did not answer, Jaime sighed. "You should be sleeping with your wife, not with the Maid. You need a son with Darry blood if you want to keep this castle." - Jaime IV, AFFC

+.+.+

More men marrying into houses.

When he was not singing, Nimble Dick would talk, regaling them with tales of Crackclaw Point. Every gloomy valley had its lord, he said, the lot of them united only by their mistrust of outsiders. In their veins the blood of the First Men ran dark and strong. "The Andals tried t' take Crackclaw, but we bled them in the valleys and drowned them in the bogs. Only what their sons couldn't win with swords, their pretty daughters won with kisses. They married into the houses they couldn't conquer, aye." - Brienne IV, AFFC

+.+.+

Val does cosplay. Again.

King Stannis had plans for Val, he knew; she was the mortar with which he meant to seal the peace between the northmen and the free folk. - Samwell I, AFFC

"Whoever?" Stannis gave him a measuring look. "Does this mean you will not wed the girl? I warn you, she is part of the price you must pay, if you want your father's name and your father's castle. This match is necessary, to help assure the loyalty of our new subjects. Are you refusing me, Jon Snow?" - Jon XI, ASOS

"The girl's happiness is not my purpose, nor should it be yours. Our alliances in the south may be as solid as Casterly Rock, but there remains the north to win, and the key to the north is Sansa Stark." - Tyrion III, ASOS

+.+.+

Sansa -> Bolton requires a Stark daughter to claim Winterfell -> Jon.

"Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa," said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. "I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf." She refused to say the girl's name. "I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son. When we find the Imp, we will find the Lady Sansa too. She is not dead . . . but before I am done with her, I promise you, she will be singing to the Stranger, begging for his kiss."

An awkward silence followed. Have they all swallowed their tongues? Cersei thought, with irritation. It was enough to make her wonder why she bothered with a council.

"In any case," the queen went on, "Lord Eddard's younger daughter is with Lord Bolton, and will be wed to his son Ramsay as soon as Moat Cailin has fallen." So long as the girl played her role well enough to cement their claim to Winterfell, neither of the Boltons would much care that she was actually some steward's whelp tricked up by Littlefinger. "If the north must have a Stark, we'll give them one." She let Lord Merryweather fill her cup once again. "Another problem has arisen on the Wall, however. The brothers of the Night's Watch have taken leave of their wits and chosen Ned Stark's bastard son to be their Lord Commander." - Cersei IV, AFFC

+.+.+

The author's constant reminder.

Jaime sighed. "Then let them wed. It will be years before Tommen is old enough to consummate the marriage. And until he does, the union can always be set aside. Give Tyrell his wedding and send him off to play at war." - Jaime I, AFFC

"I said some words and gave her a red cloak, but only to please Father. Marriage requires consummation. King Baelor was made to wed his sister Daena, but they never lived as man and wife, and he put her aside as soon as he was crowned." - Jaime IV, AFFC

"She is old enough to be Lady of Winterfell once her brother is dead. Claim her maidenhood and you will be one step closer to claiming the north. Get her with child, and the prize is all but won. Do I need to remind you that a marriage that has not been consummated can be set aside?" - Tyrion IV, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon vs. Tyrion Pregame.

"Well," said Sam, "he will not want it said that Stannis rode to the defense of the realm whilst King Tommen was playing with his toys. That would bring scorn down upon House Lannister."

"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn." Jon lifted up the letter. - Samwell I, AFFC

+.+.+

Big brothers.

My betrothal was announced at a feast with half the west in attendance. Ellyn Tarbeck laughed and the Red Lion went angry from the hall. The rest sat on their tongues. Only Tywin dared speak against the match. A boy of ten. Father turned as white as mare's milk, and Walder Frey was quivering." She smiled. "How could I not love him, after that? That is not to say that I approved of all he did, or much enjoyed the company of the man that he became . . . but every little girl needs a big brother to protect her. Tywin was big even when he was little." - Jaime V, AFFC

+.+.+

That uncomfortable subject.

"How old are you, child?" asked Lady Waynwood.

"Four-fourteen, my lady." For a moment she forgot how old Alayne should be. "And I am no child, but a maiden flowered."

"But not deflowered, one can hope." Young Lord Hunter's bushy mustache hid his mouth entirely.

"Yet," said Lyn Corbray, as if she were not there. "But ripe for plucking soon, I'd say." - Alayne I, AFFC

___

"A child?" said Sansa, uncertainly.

Lysa waved a hand negligently. "Not for many years. You are too young to be a mother. One day you shall want children, though. Just as you will want to marry." - Sansa VI, ASOS

"I will." He cuddled close and laid his head between her breasts. "Alayne? Are you my mother now?"

"I suppose I am," she said. If a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it. - Sansa I, AFFC

___

She studied Alayne's face and chest. "You are prettier than me, but my breasts are larger. The maesters say large breasts produce no more milk than small ones, but I do not believe it. Have you ever known a wet nurse with small teats? Yours are ample for a girl your age, but as they are bastard breasts, I shan't concern myself with them." - Alayne II, AFFC

___

"The gods made men to fight, and women to bear children," said Randyll Tarly. "A woman's war is in the birthing bed." - Brienne III, AFFC

"How apt. The men will bleed out there, and you in here." The queen signaled for the first course to be served. - Sansa V, ACOK

___

Jeyne Westerling had been Robb Stark's queen, the girl who cost him everything. With a wolf in her belly, she could have proved more dangerous than the Blackfish. - Jaime VI, AFFC

"A child born of traitor's seed will find that betrayal comes naturally to her," said Grand Maester Pycelle. "She is a sweet thing now, but in ten years, who can say what treasons she may hatch?" - Sansa IV, AGOT

___

To break her fast the queen sent to the kitchens for two boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, and a pot of honey. But when she cracked the first egg and found a bloody half-formed chick inside, her stomach roiled. - Cersei III, AFFC

vs.

An immense round fat man, as big as three Moon Boys, he came cartwheeling into the hall, vaulted onto the table, and laid a gigantic egg right in front of Sansa. "Break it, my lady," he commanded. When she did, a dozen yellow chicks escaped and began running in all directions. - Sansa I, ASOS

+.+.+

A king must have an heir.

And Cersei … I have Jon Arryn to thank for her. I had no wish to marry after Lyanna was taken from me, but Jon said the realm needed an heir. - Eddard VII, AGOT

"Jeyne," she called after, "there's one more thing Robb needs from you, though he may not know it yet himself. A king must have an heir." - Catelyn III, ASOS

"Young, and a king," he said. "A king must have an heir. If I should die in my next battle, the kingdom must not die with me. - Catelyn V, ASOS

He had not touched another woman since he gave her to the crabs. I will need to take a wife when I am king. A true wife, to be my queen and bear me sons. A king must have an heir. - The Iron Captain, AFFC

Victarion was turning to go when the Crow's Eye said, "A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. - The Reaver, AFFC

Many promised him their voices: Fralegg the Strong, clever Alvyn Sharp, humpbacked Hotho Harlaw. Hotho offered him a daughter for his queen. "I have no luck with wives," Victarion told him. His first wife died in childbed, giving him a stillborn daughter. His second had been stricken by a pox. And his third . . .

"A king must have an heir," Hotho insisted. "The Crow's Eye brings three sons to show before the kingsmoot."

"Bastards and mongrels. How old is this daughter?"

"Twelve," said Hotho. "Fair and fertile, newly flowered, with hair the color of honey. Her breasts are small as yet, but she has good hips. She takes after her mother, more than me." – The Iron Captain, AFFC

+.+.+

Does the moon tea have anything to do with jonsa? I'll include it, and let you decide.

She had surrendered her virtue at six-and-ten, to a beautiful blond-haired sailor on a trading galley up from Lys. He only knew six words of the Common Tongue, but "fuck" was one of them—the very word she'd hoped to hear. Afterward, Asha had the sense to find a woods witch, who showed her how to brew moon tea to keep her belly flat. - The Kraken's Daughter, AFFC

"I swore a vow . . ."

". . . not to wed or father children. Well, I have drunk my moon tea, and you know I cannot marry you." She smiled. "Though I might be persuaded to keep you for my paramour." - The Soiled Knight, AFFC

"The little queen has appetites that Tommen is as yet too young to satisfy." That was always a danger, when a grown woman was married to a child. Even more so with a widow. She may claim that Renly never touched her, but I will not believe it. Women only drank moon tea for one reason; maidens had no need for it at all. - Cersei IX, AFFC

"As you will." Jaime turned to the daughter. "I am sorry for your loss. The boy had courage, I'll give him that. There is a question I must ask you. Are you carrying his child, my lady?"

Jeyne burst from her chair and would have fled the room if the guard at the door had not seized her by the arm. "She is not," said Lady Sybell, as her daughter struggled to escape. "I made certain of that, as your lord father bid me." - Jaime VII, AFFC

"You're bastard-born yourself. And if Ygritte does not want a child, she will go to some woods witch and drink a cup o' moon tea. You do not come into it, once the seed is planted." - Jon II, ASOS

Tears ran down her aunt's puffy red face. "I gave you my maiden's gift. I would have given you a son too, but they murdered him with moon tea, with tansy and mint and wormwood, a spoon of honey and a drop of pennyroyal. It wasn't me, I never knew, I only drank what Father gave me . . ." - Sansa VII, ASOS

+.+.+

Two prophetic conversations have Sansa and Cersei on the same path.

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

"Never. You will wed the king." - Cersei VIII, AFFC

"No," Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. "Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the king's council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the Sunset Sea, or enter your mother's Faith and become the High Septon."

[...]

Arya cocked her head to one side. "Can I be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?"

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

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

+.+.+

Ashford Tournament!

Thank you @nobodysuspectsthebutterfly for the theory! (lol)

Thank you @butterflies-dragons for the additional parallels!

"Will there be another champion in Ser Humfrey's [Hardyng] place?"

"Lord Ashford had a mind to grant the place to Lord Caron, or perhaps the other Ser Humfrey, the one who gave Hardyng such a splendid match, but Prince Baelor told him that it would not be seemly to remove Ser Humfrey's shield and pavilion under the circumstances. I believe they will continue with four champions in place of five."

Four champions, Dunk thought. Leo Tyrell, Lyonel Baratheon, Tybolt Lannister, and Prince Valarr [Targaryen]. - The Hedge Knight

___

Lyonel Baratheon

Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion. - Catelyn II, AGOT

___

Leo Tyrell

The words came tumbling out of her. "Yes. I will. I would like that more than anything. To wed Ser Loras, to love him . . ." "Loras?" Lady Olenna sounded annoyed. "Don't be foolish, child. Kingsguard never wed. Didn't they teach you anything in Winterfell? We were speaking of my grandson Willas. He is a bit old for you, to be sure, but a dear boy for all that. Not the least bit oafish, and heir to Highgarden besides." - Sansa I, ASOS

Willas Tyrell was green as his surcoat and had no business riding in such company. The Fat Flower thrust him into tourneys at too tender an age, just as he did with the other two. He wanted another Leo Longthorn, and made himself a cripple. - Tyrion V, ASOS

___

Tybolt Lannister

"Yes. You are a ward of the crown. The king stands in your father's place, since your brother is an attainted traitor. That means he has every right to dispose of your hand. You are to marry my brother Tyrion." - Sansa III, ASOS

The Baratheon and Lannister defeat the maiden's brother(s).

Tybolt Lannister and Androw Ashford rode against each other thrice more before Ser Androw finally lost shield, seat, and match all at once. The younger Ashford lasted even longer, breaking no less than nine lances against Ser Lyonel Baratheon, the Laughing Storm. Champion and challenger both lost their saddles on their tenth course, only to rise together to fight on, sword against mace. Finally a battered Ser Robert Ashford admitted defeat, but on the viewing stand his father looked anything but dejected. Both Lord Ashford's Sons had been ushered from the ranks of the champions, it was true, but they had acquitted themselves nobly against two of the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. - The Hedge Knight

___

Humfrey Hardyng

When Robert dies, Harry the Heir becomes Lord Harrold, Defender of the Vale and Lord of the Eyrie. Jon Arryn's bannermen will never love me, nor our silly, shaking Robert, but they will love their Young Falcon . . . and when they come together for his wedding, and you come out with your long auburn hair, clad in a maiden's cloak of white and grey with a direwolf emblazoned on the back . . . why, every knight in the Vale will pledge his sword to win you back your birthright. So those are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa . . . Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. - Alayne II, AFFC

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

At the last possible instant, Ser Humfrey's stallion reared away from the oncoming point, eyes rolling in terror, but too late, Aerion's lance took the animal just above the armor that protected his breastbone, and exploded out of the back of his neck in a gout of bright blood. Screaming, the horse crashed sideways, knocking the wooden barrier to pieces as he fell. Ser Humfrey tried to leap free, but a foot caught in a stirrup and they heard his shriek as his leg was crushed between the splintered fence and falling horse. - The Hedge Knight

___

Prince Valarr Targaryen

Jon Snow was the only brother that remained to her. I am a bastard too now, just like him. Oh, it would be so sweet, to see him once again. - Alayne II, AFFC

But they were all dead now, even Arya, everyone but her half-brother, Jon. Some nights she heard talk of him, in the taverns and brothels of the Ragman's Harbor. The Black Bastard of the Wall, one man had called him. - The Blind Girl, ADWD

Six pups they'd found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow. - Jon XII, ASOS

He was a shorter, slimmer, handsomer version of his sire, without the twice-broken nose that had made Baelor seem more human than royal. Valarr's hair was brown, but a bright streak of silver-gold ran through it. - The Hedge Knight

The last pavilion was Prince Valarr's. Of black silk it was, with a line of pointed scarlet pennons hanging from its roof like long red flames. The shield on its stand was glossy black, emblazoned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen. One of the Kingsguard knights stood beside it, his shining white armor stark against the black of the tentcloth.

[...]

And the black-and-white knight, Lord Gawen Swann, challenged the black prince with the white guardian. - The Hedge Knight

+.+.+

#operation stumpy re-read #foreshadowing smorgasbord #affc summary #chapter transitions #jonsa #jon x sansa #sansa stark #jon snow

91 notes · View notes

ucflibrary · 3 years ago

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Pride Month has arrived!

While every day is a time to be proud of your identity and orientation, June is that extra special time for boldly celebrating with and for the LGBTQIA+ community (yes, there are more than lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender folx in the queer community). June was chosen to honor the Stonewall Riots which happened in 1969. Like other celebratory months, LGBT Pride Month started as a weeklong series of events and expanded into a full month of festivities.

2021 is also the 5th anniversary of the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando where 49 members of our community were murdered on June 12, 2016. On the main floor of the John C. Hitt Library there will be display cases with items from the University Archives relating to Pulse memorials as well as a display wall honoring the lives lost. Both of these library memorials were created in partnership with UCF LGBTQ Services. UCF will also be hosting several events in June to help the community remember, grieve and grow stronger. Full listing of events is available on the Pulse Remembrance event calendar.

Additional Pulse memorial events will be hosted by the onePULSE Foundation. An memorial archival collection from the first anniversary of the shooting can be found as part of the Resilience: Remembering Pulse in the STARS Citizen Curator collection.

In honor of Pride Month, UCF Library faculty and staff suggested books from the UCF collection that represent a wide array of queer authors and characters. Click on the read more link below to see the full list, descriptions, and catalog links. There is also an extensive physical display on the main floor of the John C. Hitt Library near the Research & Information Desk.

All Adults Here by Emma Straub Emma Straub's unique alchemy of wisdom, humor, and insight come together in a deeply satisfying story about adult siblings, aging parents, high school boyfriends, middle school mean girls, the lifelong effects of birth order, and all the other things that follow us into adulthood, whether we like them to or not. Suggested by Rachel Mulvihill, Downtown Library

All the Young Men: a memoir of love, AIDS, and chosen family in the American South by Ruth Coker Burks & Kevin Carr O'Leary A gripping and triumphant tale of human compassion, is the true story of Ruth Coker Burks, a young single mother in Hot Springs, Arkansas, who finds herself driven to the forefront of the AIDS crisis, and becoming a pivotal activist in America’s fight against AIDS. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

And the Band Played On: politics, people and the AIDS epidemic by Randy Shilts An international bestseller, a nominee for the National Book Critics Circle Award, and made into a critically acclaimed movie, Shilts' expose revealed why AIDS was allowed to spread unchecked during the early 80's while the most trusted institutions ignored or denied the threat. One of the few true modern classics, it changed and framed how AIDS was discussed in the following years. Suggested by Becky Hammond, Special Collections & University Archives

Big Gay Adventures in Education: supporting LGBT+ visibility and inclusion in schools edited by Daniel Tomlinson-Gray A collection of true stories by 'out' teachers, and students of 'out' teachers, all about their experiences in schools. The book aims to empower LGBT+ teachers to be the role models they needed when they were in school and help all teachers and school leaders to promote LGBT+ visibility and inclusion. Each story is accompanied by an editor’s note reflecting on the contributor’s experience and the practical implications for schools and teachers in supporting LGBT+ young people and ensuring they feel safe and included in their school communities. Suggested by Terrie Sypolt, Research & Information Services

Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman The sudden and powerful attraction between a teenage boy and a summer guest at his parents' house on the Italian Riviera has a profound and lasting influence that will mark them both for a lifetime. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

Fun Home: a family tragicomic by Alison Bechdel Meet Alison's father, a historic preservation expert and obsessive restorer of the family's Victorian house, a third-generation funeral home director, a high school English teacher, an icily distant parent, and a closeted homosexual who, as it turns out, is involved with male students and a family babysitter. Through narrative that is alternately heartbreaking and fiercely funny, we are drawn into a daughter's complex yearning for her father. And yet, apart from assigned stints dusting caskets at the family-owned 'fun home, ' as Alison and her brothers call it, the relationship achieves its most intimate expression through the shared code of books. When Alison comes out as homosexual herself in late adolescence, the denouement is swift, graphic, and redemptive. Suggested by Michael Furlong, UCF Connect Libraries

Gender Queer: a memoir by Maia Kobabe; colors by Phoebe Kobabe In 2014, Maia Kobabe, who uses e/em/eir pronouns, thought that a comic of reading statistics would be the last autobiographical comic e would ever write. At the time, it was the only thing e felt comfortable with strangers knowing about em. Maia's intensely cathartic autobiography charts eir journey of self-identity, which includes the mortification and confusion of adolescent crushes, grappling with how to come out to family and society, bonding with friends over erotic gay fanfiction, and facing the trauma and fundamental violation of pap smears. Started as a way to explain to eir family what it means to be nonbinary and asexual, this is more than a personal story: it is a useful and touching guide on gender identity--what it means and how to think about it--for advocates, friends, and humans everywhere. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Heaven's Coast: a memoir by Mark Doty The harmonious partnership of two gay men is shattered when they learn that one has tested positive for the HIV virus. Suggested by Claudia Davidson, Downtown Library

Hurricane Child by Kheryn Callender Born on Water Island in the Virgin Islands during a hurricane, which is considered bad luck, twelve-year-old Caroline falls in love with another girl--and together they set out in a hurricane to find Caroline's missing mother. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo Seventeen-year-old Lily Hu can't remember exactly when the question took root, but the answer was in full bloom the moment she and Kathleen Miller walked under the flashing neon sign of a lesbian bar called the Telegraph Club. America in 1954 is not a safe place for two girls to fall in love, especially not in Chinatown. Red-Scare paranoia threatens everyone, including Chinese Americans like Lily. With deportation looming over her father--despite his hard-won citizenship--Lily and Kath risk everything to let their love see the light of day. Suggested by Claudia Davidson, Downtown Library

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up with Me by Mariko Tamaki & Rosemary Valero-O’Connell All Freddy Riley wants is for Laura Dean to stop breaking up with her. The day they got together was the best one of Freddy's life, but nothing's made sense since. Laura Dean is popular, funny, and SO CUTE ... but she can be really thoughtless, even mean. Their on-again, off-again relationship has Freddy's head spinning - and Freddy's friends can't understand why she keeps going back. When Freddy consults the services of a local mystic, the mysterious Seek-Her, she isn't thrilled with the advice she receives. But something's got to give: Freddy's heart is breaking in slow motion, and she may be about to lose her very best friend as well as her last shred of self-respect. Mariko Tamaki and Rosemary Valero-O'Connell bring to life a sweet and spirited tale of young love that asks us to consider what happens when we ditch the toxic relationships we crave to embrace the heathy ones we need. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

LGBT Health: meeting the needs of gender and sexual minorities edited by K. Bryant Smalley, Jacob C. Warren, K. Nikki Barefoot A first-of-its-kind, comprehensive view of mental, medical, and public health conditions within the LGBT community. This book examines the health outcomes and risk factors that gender and sexual minority groups face while simultaneously providing evidence-based clinical recommendations and resources for meeting their health needs. Drawing from leading scholars and practitioners of LGBT health, this holistic, centralized text synthesizes epidemiologic, medical, psychological, sociological, and public health research related to the origins of, current state of, and ways to improve LGBT health. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Lived Experience: reflections on LGBTQ life by Delphine Diallo A beautiful series of full-color portraits of LGBTQ people over the age of fifty, accompanied by interviews. Suggested by Jacqui Johnson, Cataloging

Love is for Losers by Wibke Bruggemann When Phoebe's mother ditches her to work as a doctor for an international human rights organization, she is stuck living with her mom's best friend, Kate, and helping out at Kate's thrift shop. There she meet Emma. Phoebe tries to shield her head and her heart from experiencing love-- after all, love is for losers, right? Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

Man Into Woman: an authentic record of a change of sex edited by Niels Hoyer This riveting account of the transformation of the Danish painter Einar Wegener into Lili Elbe is a remarkable journey from man to woman. Einar Wegener was a leading artist in late 1920's Paris. One day his wife Grete asked him to dress as a woman to model for a portrait. It was a shattering event which began a struggle between his public male persona and emergent female self, Lili. Einar was forced into living a double life; enjoying a secret hedonist life as Lili, with Grete and a few trusted friends, whilst suffering in public as Einar, driven to despair and almost to suicide. Doctors, unable to understand his condition, dismissed him as hysterical. Lili eventually forced Einar to face the truth of his being - he was, in fact, a woman. This bizarre situation took an extraordinary turn when it was discovered that his body contained primitive female sex organs. There followed a series of dangerous experimental operations and a confrontation with the conventions of the age until Lili was eventually liberated from Einar - a freedom that carried the ultimate price. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong This is a letter from a son to a mother who cannot read. Written when the speaker, Little Dog, is in his late twenties, the letter unearths a family's history that began before he was born -- a history whose epicenter is rooted in Vietnam -- and serves as a doorway into parts of his life his mother has never known, all of it leading to an unforgettable revelation. At once a witness to the fraught yet undeniable love between a single mother and her son, it is also a brutally honest exploration of race, class, and masculinity. Suggested by Rachel Mulvihill, Downtown Library

Queer Objects edited by Chris Brickell & Judith Collard Queer lives give rise to a vast array of objects: the things we fill our houses with, the gifts we share with our friends, the commodities we consume at work and at play, the clothes and accessories we wear, various reminders of state power, as well as the analogue and digital technologies we use to communicate with one another. But what makes an object queer? 63 chapters consider this question in relation to lesbian, gay and transgender communities across time, cultures and space. In this unique international collaboration, well-known and newer writers traverse world history to write about items ranging from ancient Egyptian tomb paintings and Roman artefacts to political placards, snapshots, sex toys and the smartphone. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Real Life by Brandon Taylor A novel of rare emotional power that excavates the social intricacies of a late-summer weekend -- and a lifetime of buried pain. Almost everything about Wallace, an introverted African-American transplant from Alabama, is at odds with the lakeside Midwestern university town where he is working toward a biochem degree. For reasons of self-preservation, Wallace has enforced a wary distance even within his own circle of friends -- some dating each other, some dating women, some feigning straightness. But a series of confrontations with colleagues, and an unexpected encounter with a young straight man, conspire to fracture his defenses, while revealing hidden currents of resentment and desire that threaten the equilibrium of their community. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Riley Can’t Stop Crying by Stephanie Boulay While his sister tries everything to help, a young boy isn't sure why he can't stop crying in this transitional picture book. Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

Supporting Success for LGBTQ+ Students: tools for inclusive campus practice by Cindy Ann Kilgo This book aims to serve as a one-stop resource for faculty and staff in higher education settings who are seeking to enhance their campus climate and systems of support for LGBTQ+ student success. Included are theoretical frameworks and conceptual models that can be used in practice. Suggested by Terrie Sypolt, Research & Information Services

The City and the Pillar: a novel by Gore Vidal Jim, a handsome, all-American athlete, has always been shy around girls. But when he and his best friend, Bob, partake in “awful kid stuff,” the experience forms Jim’s ideal of spiritual completion. Defying his parents’ expectations, Jim strikes out on his own, hoping to find Bob and rekindle their amorous friendship. Along the way he struggles with what he feels is his unique bond with Bob and with his persistent attraction to other men. Upon finally encountering Bob years later, the force of his hopes for a life together leads to a devastating climax. The first novel of its kind to appear on the American literary landscape, this remains a forthright and uncompromising portrayal of sexual relationships between men. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

The Invisible Orientation: an introduction to asexuality by Julie Sondra Decker Julie Sondra Decker outlines what asexuality is, counters misconceptions, provides resources, and puts asexual people's experiences in context as they move through a sexualized world. It includes information for asexual people to help understand their orientation and what it means for their relationships, as well as tips and facts for those who want to understand their asexual friends and loved ones. Suggested by Dawn Tripp, Research & Information Services

The New Testament by Jericho Brown The world of Jericho Brown's second book, disease runs through the body, violence runs through the neighborhood, memories run through the mind, trauma runs through generations. Almost eerily quiet in even the bluntest of poems, Brown gives us the ache of a throat that has yet to say the hardest thing-and the truth is coming on fast. Suggested by Claudia Davidson, Downtown Library

The Prophets by Robert Jones With a lyricism reminiscent of Toni Morrison, Robert Jones, Jr., fiercely summons the voices of slaver and enslaved alike, from Isaiah and Samuel to the calculating slave master to the long line of women that surround them, women who have carried the soul of the plantation on their shoulders. As tensions build and the weight of centuries—of ancestors and future generations to come—culminates in a climactic reckoning, masterfully reveals the pain and suffering of inheritance, but is also shot through with hope, beauty, and truth, portraying the enormous, heroic power of love. Suggested by Rachel Mulvihill, Downtown Library

The Ship We Built by Lexie Bean A fifth-grader whose best friends walked away, whose mother is detached, and whose father does unspeakable things, copes with the help of friend Sofie and anonymous letters tied to balloons and released. Includes a list of resources related to abuse, gender, sexuality, and more. Suggested by Pam Jaggernauth, Curriculum Materials Center

Tinderbox: the untold story of the Up Stairs Lounge fire and the rise of gay liberation by Robert W. Fieseler Buried for decades, the Up Stairs Lounge tragedy has only recently emerged as a catalyzing event of the gay liberation movement. In revelatory detail, Robert W. Fieseler chronicles the tragic event that claimed the lives of thirty-one men and one woman on June 24, 1973, at a New Orleans bar, the largest mass murder of gays until 2016. Relying on unprecedented access to survivors and archives, Fieseler creates an indelible portrait of a closeted, blue- collar gay world that flourished before an arsonist ignited an inferno that destroyed an entire community. The aftermath was no less traumatic--families ashamed to claim loved ones, the Catholic Church refusing proper burial rights, the city impervious to the survivors' needs--revealing a world of toxic prejudice that thrived well past Stonewall. Yet the impassioned activism that followed proved essential to the emergence of a fledgling gay movement. Fieseler restores honor to a forgotten generation of civil-rights martyrs. Suggested by Andy Todd, UCF Connect Libraries

Transgender: a reference handbook by Aaron Devor and Ardel Haefele-Thomas This book provides a crucial resource for readers who are investigating trans issues. It takes a diverse and historic approach, focusing on more than one idea or one experience of trans identity or trans history. The book takes contemporary as well as historic aspects into consideration. It looks at ancient indigenous cultures that honored third, fourth, and fifth gender identities as well as more contemporary ideas of what "transgender" means. Notably, it focuses not only on Western medical ideas of gender affirmation but on cultural diversity surrounding the topic. This book will primarily serve as a reference guide and jumping off point for further research for those seeking information about what it means to be transgender. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Transnational LGBT Activism: working for sexual rights worldwide by Ryan R. Thoreson Thoreson argues that the idea of LGBT human rights is not predetermined but instead is defined by international activists who establish what and who qualifies for protection. He shows how International Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission (IGLHRC) formed and evolved, who is engaged in this work, how they conceptualize LGBT human rights, and how they have institutionalized their views at the United Nations and elsewhere. After a full year of in-depth research in New York City and Cape Town, South Africa, Thoreson is able to reconstruct IGLHRC’s early campaigns and highlight decisive shifts in the organization’s work from its founding to the present day. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Upright Women Wanted by Sarah Gailey Esther is a stowaway. She's hidden herself away in the Librarian's book wagon in an attempt to escape the marriage her father has arranged for her--a marriage to the man who was previously engaged to her best friend. Her best friend who she was in love with. Her best friend who was just executed for possession of resistance propaganda. The future American Southwest is full of bandits, fascists, and queer librarian spies on horseback trying to do the right thing. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

Walt Whitman's Songs of Male Intimacy and Love: "Live oak, with moss" and "Calamus" edited by Betsy Erkkila This volume includes Whitman's handwritten manuscript version of the twelve "Live oak, with moss" poems along side with a print transcription of these poems on the opposite page, followed by a facsimile of the original version of the "Calamus" poems published in the 1860-61 edition of Leaves of grass, and a reprint of the final version of the "Calamus" poems in the 1881 edition of Leaves of grass. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

#ucf library #lgbtqia+ pride #featured bookshelf #one pulse

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lizzieraindrops · 4 years ago

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Chapters: 6/6 Fandom: Destiny (Video Games) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eris Morn/Ikora Rey Characters: Eris Morn, Ikora Rey Additional Tags: 5+1 Things, Hello destiny sapphics; allow me to introduce myself, Femslash, if nobody is going to write the content i want to see then i will create it myself, listen. it's about perceiving the weak and wounded places in someone you love, and lavishing love and care upon them even when they won't admit they need it, it's about the Mutual Support, it's about being kind to them even when you don't know how to be kind to yourself, Light Angst, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, oh and ikora has the most Distinguished Bisexual energy i've ever seen so jot that down, it doesn't come up but you needed to know, this is all just a bunch of softness and tenderness don't @ me okay

Summary:

Five storms Eris and Ikora weathered and one they didn't need to.

The Shadowkeep weblore lives in my head rent free. Set post-Taken King and mostly during Shadowkeep.

“As I told Asher, there is a storm coming...” “Oryx is dead. We’ve weathered the storm.” Ikora is upset. She has yet to understand the bigger picture. “Yet his sisters would see his will done. There will always be another storm.” “Then let’s weather it together.” -Shadowkeep Narrative Preview #1

Many thanks to @hencegoodfortune for the beta read and of course for the memes.

Chapter: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | +1 |

Set just after The Taken King.

Eris knows she is not in the Hellmouth. Although the Tower has never felt the same since her ordeal on Luna, she recognizes it easily nonetheless. At every moment, the freshness of the open air reminds her that she is here, she is on Earth. She has been for some time now.

However, she has never forgotten how to move like a ribbon through the darkness, arcing undetected round predator and prey alike. She doubts that she ever will. Sometimes the habit returns of its own accord, and she’ll find her feet and hands floating weightless as she moves. Joints and muscle and sinew flex in careful concert to absorb every sound before it is made. The lines of lightly tensed limbs spiral seamlessly into the coiled core of her, tethering her in perfect silence. At the same time, she remains ever ready to fight, ready to flee. How often has Eris’ last, Lightless life lay along the knife’s edge of a split-second choice, the divergence between action and stillness, vengeance or survival?

Somehow, the smooth stone of the Tower’s level floors is harder to walk quietly on than the rough winding warrens through Luna’s porous rock. There are no edges to test with the edge of her boot, no uneven surface to ease her soles onto by swift and silent increments. There is only the unsubtle strike of heels on a flat, unforgiving surface. She makes the most of it, as every Hunter here does. Still, it leaves her uneasy. Her feet cannot quite keep to the ground.

Consequently, she often finds herself pacing, wandering from her post in the heart of the Tower whenever she grows restless. Every step falls lighter than the last, chasing silence in a meditation on weightlessness. It does not make her feel any better.

After so long underground, she is unaccustomed to the plenitude of open space here. While she has traced much of the Tower’s perimeters, the negative spaces in the centers of broad rooms and vaulted halls she leaves less frequented. She is too exposed there.

Yet maybe she is less affected by the empty space than the sheer number of souls that so often fill it. After so long so alone, they are simply so many, pressing at her survival-sharpened awareness from every angle. Not to mention she attracts too many of their stares in the crowded plazas. Although detection here is not followed by shrieking howls or the lightning strike of boomers, distrustful eyes still make her hunger for shelter. The choice to endure or to withdraw still needs to be be made. And whether well-meaning or ill-intentioned, a close approach still makes her instinctively recoil.

Eris has scraped out a place for herself here, lingering close enough to share with those who will listen the knowledge she has gained at a terrible price. But it has been made clear enough that she does not belong here anymore, not as she once did. If the condemnation of the Speaker and the only begrudging trust of the Vanguard’s Commander were not enough to tell her that, then the wary regard of most of the Tower’s populace would. So she holds herself back, toward the edges of things. It is difficult to do so at her station so near the Hall of Guardians, the greatest locus of Guardian activity on the planet. She draws herself to her full height and stands there proud, but never takes the ground she stands on for granted. When it becomes too much, like now, she paces.

This time, her pacing has led her to the edge of the Tower where her ship was once tethered. With how wary she has grown of exposed spaces, the open sky above that lays bare every courtyard and balcony should send her seeking cover - and yet, it does not. If anything, its incomprehensibly vast expanse calls to her. Strange.

Eris has traversed the spaces between planets with her own fragile body, with only a ship’s hull to keep the cold from swallowing what remains of her. Yet from Earth’s surface, a few mere miles of atmosphere transforms that emptiness, and its beauty holds her spellbound. It scatters sun into prismatic slices of light. The stars’ unblinking gaze softens into a flutter of eyelashes. No longer can she see the narrow spectrum of colors that humans evolved to discern; it has all faded into endless shades of the same hue. But the contrast of such brightnesses against the dark have become sharper than ever. Indeed, daylight has become a blaze to truly blind her. These stolen eyes of hers were made instead for depths and shadows.

Even so, she often finds herself staring out into the searing sky until her head aches. The sensations make her remember. She is no longer buried beneath stone, lost to this cosmos. She is free now, in some ways.

Eventually, her wanderings bring her back to the shaded refuge beneath the stairs just outside the Hall of Guardians. She is glad for this, too. Her station provides some small respite for her sensitive, ever-weeping eyes. And there she stays, until exhaustion drives her to rest, or else grief or fear or restlessness or her ever-smoldering rage drive her to pacing once again.

It’s true that many other eyes pass by that shadowed alcove of hers. Guardians constantly sweep in and out on either side of her, running and jumping and gliding up and down the stairs with urgent reports and important orders and burning questions for the Vanguard. They are so bright. Few of them spare a glance for her, these days, save for startled new Lights.

There are a few, though, who look upon her not with distrust or fear or begrudging tolerance, but with recognition. Once in a great while, cousin Asher will grace her with his inimitable company. It gladdens her heart, even when he merely stops to exchange research notes or brief insults. He cleaves to his research with a passionate vengeance, as does she. Unlike most, he pays more attention to her knowledge and her current work than her past. With the way he helped care for her in the months after her escape from Luna, she has come to hold him in close confidence.

On occasion, her friend the Guardian, who avenged her fireteam upon the very souls of Crota and Oryx, stops to greet her. Sometimes they bring her news from Luna or Mars. Words are few with that one lately, though. These days, their outgoing ghost is the one who relays whatever tidings they carry. The change leaves a cold shadow over Eris’ heart. Therefore, she values their quiet presence all the more. She fears for them.

Of course, Ikora’s is the kind regard she is subject to most often. Eris has never forgotten that Ikora believed her since the beginning. Most met her genuine warnings of inbound danger from the Hive with distrust, dismissal, or fear. Ikora not only listened, but met her with endless kindness. Even now, as the Warlock Vanguard steps into nearer chamber of the Hall for a brief consultation with Lord Shaxx, she spares a moment and a smile for Eris.

Ikora’s smile has always been warm and real and reassuring, a balm on the fibers of frayed nerves. Among the very few who welcomed Eris back to Earth, that smile was a signal of genuine care and safety that she homed in on immediately. The one directed at Eris now is subtle, a mere quirk of the lips. Yet it hints at the vast depths of passion and compassion below the surface, like a ripple that disappears swiftly on the surface of a deep, deep pool.

Ikora’s outward cool composure that obscures that intensity is not a façade. It is more an ingenius piece of architecture, a mighty aqueduct capable of holding and channelling the endless font of her inner immensities. It is an elegant and functional work of art well-kept and expanded over centuries.

The warmth that must be behind such a small yet genuine smile is palpable; it falls on Eris like the creeping warmth of sunlight, sinking in deep even though it scarcely touches her skin. Even the lower half of her face, where her many layers do not shield her from long-lost Sol, is still sallow and nearly as grayed as the dust of Luna. She hadn’t known at first, with the changes to her vision, not until Asher had told her. He never does shy away from the speaking of truth. In those endless years of darkness, the lack of light and loss of Light took something from Eris, sapped something vital, and left something strange in its place.

Yet Eris can feel the sun again, now. She can walk out into the courtyard at any time of day, find a south-facing wall to lean on, and bask in the radiating warmth like an ectothermic reptile.

Even without leaving the cool shadows of her post, another warmth still reaches her. Ikora offers her one more smile as she goes to return to her own station. Eris stands a little taller under the aegis of her regard, her spine the stem of a sunflower lifting her toward its steady kindness.

Eris takes not a single one of these boons for granted. Each one is a precious gift far beyond what she ever expected to experience again, after her descent into the Hellmouth. Yet none of it can quell her restlessness, for it springs from the same source as her gratefulness. It always comes back to what happened to her on Luna.

Each time she returns to her pacing, the Tower feels a little smaller. The scope of the sky distracts her for a shorter time. Now, even after her sworn vengeance upon the Hive has been fulfilled twice over in double deicide, the path of her vow still pulls her feet forward. She does not know where its shrouded course leads, only that there is still a threat yet to be met along it. More and more, she is certain that she cannot wait here to meet it, or it will be too late.

However, she never expected to leave behind wounds when she leaves. After she departs to sight the next storm on the horizon, she is haunted as often by the surprised hurt that she left in Ikora’s eyes as by the memory of her smile.

#eris morn #ikora rey #destiny 2 #eris/ikora #erikora #ikoris #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #lizzie's adventures in writing #destinewt #long post #fic #HELLO I AM FINALLY HERE WITH THE FEMSLASH #apologies if i misled you with the o14 this is actually my usual abode #it's mostly written so look out for updates soon!#happy season drop have some sapphics #it's a beautiful day in a non-femslash-focused fandom and you are a terrible little lesbian here to cause problems on purpose #please talk to me about these ladies i love them so much #; ;

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excellentabraham · 4 years ago

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Why East Asians Were Sporting Masks Long Before COVID-19

My folks told Maine it completely and totally was to stay myself et al safe, she told Abraham. I would see others wear masks more than that, especially throughout the winter seasons.

As the coronavirus, widespread disease’s toll rises. Here’s what Americans will learn from countries like China, Japan, and South Korea about the standard mask. COVID-19 growing up in South Korea, Jamie Cho knew from childhood. What if she got sick, she had to place a mask on, although it absolutely was simply a standard cold.

The masks weren’t simply a medical accent, she said. For many, they served a business partner beauty-related purpose. One thing a lady would possibly place on to hide a makeup-less face. Whereas running errands or a K-Pop star would possibly wear to avoid being noticed by fans in connect airdrome.

Cho clearly remembers that once her family emotional to the big apple. Her mother told her that she had to prevent sporting masks publicly. As a result of people would assume she was unwell or would check up on her funny.

She was afraid of Maine’s seen more foreign. Then I already was at the time as a young traveling worker, the school student the same. Because of that, I’ve never worn a mask during a Western country before COVID-19

Hiding up is use to East Asian people like Cho. however, others haven’t taken this way simply to the U.S. Centers for sickness management and Prevention’s recommendation to wear a facial covering. The rules have incited a nationwide fight concerning public health and civil liberties.

A few Americans won’t wear covers, asserting its in opposition to their individual flexibility. The foremost strident within the anti-mask movement have known as them “unconstitutional,” autocratic” and “muzzles.”

Meanwhile, in East Asian countries. The bulk of the general public tailor quickly to mask-wearing. One thing specialists believe has contributed to lower COVID-19 death rates.

Naturally, there’s additional to the story than masks. Compared to the West, East Asian countries tend to possess a lot of lower rates of fat. A number one risk issue for serious COVID-19 cases.

Preliminary studies have additionally instructed. That East Asians might have designed up associate immunity to the virus given. The history of coronaviruses rising in East Asia.

But in light-weight of overwhelming proof supporting the efficaciousness of facial coverings. It’s most likely honest to mention the masks helped, too.

Because of the custom of sporting masks here. It wasn’t necessary for the govt to mandate mask sporting for a protracted time. As a result of the general public had already wide adopted their use, same Ria Sinha. A senior analysis fellow in the middle for the Humanities and drugs at the University of the port. (Sinha is presently leading a COVID-19 archive project.)

Just as the anti-mask movement in America goes back to the 1918-19 contagion pandemic. (yep, there have been protests over government ordinances then, too) Thus will the East Asian inclination to wear a mask.

In those pandemic years, mask-wearing was wide promote in Western nations and solely then export to Japan.

It stayed in Japan, however it disappeared within the West, same Mitsutoshi Horii. A faculty member of social science at the University of Shumei in Japan. Who’s presently performing at its overseas field at poet faculty in European nation.

In Japan, then and currently, individuals square measure usually involved. With the transmission mechanism of the virus, thus individuals wear masks within the hope of reducing the chance of infection.

Years later, once the contagion immunizing agent had been develop. The Japanese government same it absolutely was additionally vital to induce the shot than to wear a mask; nevertheless, overenthusiastic usage continued within the island country.

In China, the employment of face masks against epidemics was the practice even earlier. In 1910 and 1911, voters were inspire to wear masks to combat the plague natural event in a geographic region. By the time the plague abated, over sixty, individuals had died. In modern northeast China, creating it one of the world’s largest epidemics at the time.

Still, masks helped the country prevent additional deaths.

Even as with COVID-19, lockdowns, and travel restrictions were enforce to lower the infection rate.

Mask-wearing became obligatory, too, same Christos Lynteris, a senior lecturer. Within the department of anthropology WHO studies epidemics at the University of St. Andrews in Scotland.

It was throughout that natural event that the mask was a tailor. For epidemic management functions and employed by doctors, nurses, health workers. And also the general public for the primary time, Lynteris told Abraham.

The creation of the counter plague cover was ascribe to Dr. Wu dialect Lien-Teh, a Cambridge-educated Chinese MD WHO light-emitting diode anti-plague operations on behalf of China within the region.

According to Lynteris, Wu’s masks were well-received internationally. The general public health initiative was coated by the press across the world. With pictures of mask-wearing plague fighters making a global sensation.

After the tip of that epidemic, Wu dialect continued. As China’s most senior medical scientist below the new republic, Lynteris same. He continued to develop the mask, that became an everyday epidemic management feature within the country over consequent 3 decades.

The mask itself became an emblem of medical contemporaneousness across East Asian countries, Lynteris same. Individuals don masks within the winter to shield themselves from the contagion. They slip one on within the spring to prevent pollinosis. The masks additionally offer protection from pollution and cut back the unfold of germs on jammed and poorly aerated subways.

There’s associate moral part, too. East Asians wear masks for his or her own health however chiefly out of respect for others.

Though the history of mask-wearing goes back a minimum of a century, consultants say the mask didn’t reach peak quality. In South Asian countries till the 2002-03 extreme sudden and serious lung-related disease widespread disease.

Extreme acute metabolism syndrome, additionally a coronavirus malady, lasted concerning six months. Because it unfolds to over countries in North America, South America, Europe, and Asia. Before it had been stop in July 2003.

SARS coagulated the standard mask as AN everyday staple, Sinha said. Once COVID-19 smitten, East Asians placed on a mask at their own volition.

The legacy of extreme intense breathing and lung-related sickness in 2003 brought about plentiful speedier take-up of cover wearing for private security. Once Coronavirus showed up, she said. It’s a sort of agreement folks respond by carrying masks.

As a group terribly early within the natural event. retailers were clean out, and masks were in brief offer. Queues to shop for masks were seen across Asia in the city, Asian country, and Japan, among others.

In city, wherever COVID-19 cases have remained low, by and enormous, masks area unit worn by nearly everybody. While not abundant government urging. In step with one study of one, participants, in March, ninety-nine reportable carrying face masks. Once exploit home up from sixty one within the 1st survey in Gregorian calendar month.

Before to COVID-19, if you didn’t use a mask publically areas. Whereas sick or throughout the peak of the contagious disease season.

You’d be at the receiving finish of over some dirty appearance. In step with Judy Yuen-man Siu, AN prof of social sciences at the city engineering school University. (Siu has watched and followed the utilization of mask-wearing. In the city within bad after-effects of the severe acute respiratory syndrome natural event.)

If you behave against the social norms in the city by failing to wear mask publically areas. You’d become a ‘deviant alternative,’ and therefore you would possibly receive dirty appearance from the general public, she said.

In a virulent disease, not carrying a mask in AN East country is seen.

As anti-social, unaccountable, and dangerous to oneself and to others, Lynteris aforesaid. In Japan, even their downy anti-coronavirus being, a cat named “Koronon, dons a mask.

Cover wearing may have flawlessly blended into the way of life. In East Asia, because a large portion of the nations have a collectivist bowed, Sinha said. Folks typically grade the cluster over the self. Swing on a face-covering once you’re sick or around vulnerable folks is an element and parcel of fine citizenship.

Western societies tend to be additional individualistic, stressing. The needs of the individual over the requirements of the cluster as an entire.

A mandate encroaches on my personal freedom; it’s my individual right to not wear one, AN anti-masker may say in response to the CDC’s public health recommendation.

While there’s actually diversity across East Asia relating. To however collectivist societies really area unit. The heritage of malady outbreaks and an additional civic-minded community is powerful,” Sinha aforesaid.

East Asian countries even have a bigger proportion of extended families. Than Western countries, which suggests folks area unit additional seemingly to adopt public health measures. If they comprehend it is for his or her own sensible, she added.

See More : Teachers Are Spending Their Own Money On School Supplies Due to COVID-19

The individual rights argument against masks features a long history.

Within the U.S. within the 1918 pandemic, there have been reports. From each town of mask slackers failing to adjust to the law throughout the pandemic, resulting in their arrests. In the city, the AN Anti-Mask League of 1919” was shape.

In 2020, the anti-mask sentiment is alive and well. Not in little half owing to mixed electronic communication on masks from officers. It wasn’t simply a provisioning challenge to secure enough masks; for months, scientists and doctors waffled concerning the utility of face coverings.

Many Western leaders ab initio side-eyed the mask gave the shortage of precedent on carrying them. Adopting masks would need a “big adjustment” in our country, Austria’s Chancellor Sebastian Kurz remarked.

In a Gregorian calendar month, since “masks area unit alien to our culture. President Trump finally slipped on a mask publically in July. When four months of resisting, however, he’s continue to voice his mask skepticism since.

Protests continue, however, six months into the pandemic, face masks area. The unit has seen because of the most powerful public health tool. The state has against the coronavirus, a minimum of till an immunizing agent is develop and cosmopolitan.

Government agency Director Henry Martyn Robert Redfield stressed that message whereas addressing U.S. lawmakers earlier on.

We have clear scientific proof they work, and that the area unit our greatest defense, Redfield aforesaid. I may even go up to now on say that this mask is additionally certain to defend. American state against COVID than after I take a COVID immunizing agent.

In alternative words, Americans may still get snug in masks. Since we’ll in all probability ought to wear them publically for the predictable future.

It might pay to appear on the and aspect concerning masks and take a page from East Asians, Horii said.

These times might encourage folks within the West to replicate upon their own norms and values, he said. Rather than asking why folks in the East Asia area unit carrying masks. We should always raise the folks within the West. Why they didn’t wear them till recently and why a number of them resist it. Japanese folks are doing it for a century!

Cho, the faculty student from Asian country, had stopped carrying masks since emigrating to the U.S. She’s over happy to wear one for as long as she has to currently.

She admits that her appearance at the anti-masker movement generally. And wonders why such a big amount of area unit wasting their energy on the difficulty.

Why protest over one thing that keeps yourself et al. safe? she aforesaid. Masks don’t seem to be political, and neither area unit the health and safety of others.

#Tagscovid-19 active cases in delhi covid-19 america covid-19 antibody test covid-19 ap covid-19 cases in india covid-19 delhi covid-19 india

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ineffable-writer · 5 years ago

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It’s 2 AM and I typed up 2000 words of Crowley and Aziraphale taking a walk in which Crowley gets scared by a goat.

AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21807757/chapters/52124167#workskin

Whole thing below the break. This is what happens when I spend a weekend with no one’s company but my own. I should sleep now.

The Walk to Cawdor Castle

It was a twenty-seven-minute walk from the cottage they’d rented to Cawdor castle, but Aziraphale was convinced they could get there quicker. There was a path, you see, a clear footpath that Crowley’s device didn’t know about, but you could see it plain as day on the satellite map. It was some sort of walking path through the woods, and wouldn’t that be lovelier than dodging cars along the road?

Crowley was not invested in dodging cars along the road—although he wasn’t invested in walking to the castle in the first place—so they ignored the directions. It was a left in front of the cottage, down a few signs that read very clearly public property, then a path through the woods. The residences here were absolutely beautiful. All gardens and hedges and flowers, although the plants were dry for the winter. But clearly very well-maintained. And at least one of the properties had hedges that would have benefited from some group therapy with Crowley’s plants: they could hear an older gentleman cursing at them in a braw thunder as they passed. The demon threw the quivering foliage a glare as they walked past.

Hard to put the effort in for that, though. He was in a good mood.

“Did you ever get up here?” he asked, fending off the inevitable lecture from the angel with a question. “You know, while he was Thane? Or king?”

“Oh, no. Too busy running around in the damp with you. In that dreadful armor.” Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. Literally. Show-off. “Did you?”

“Nah.” Crowley rolled his shoulders. It was mostly quiet, save for the cursing of the man at the hedges, but they could still hear the roar of the highway from here. “Was up here during Culloden. And… after.”

“Really? I. I didn’t know.”

“On and off. Poked my head in. Appearance’s sake.”

“Explains—”

“Yeah, it gave me the idea. World felt… shaky. People getting’ thrown about with no insurance. Fire and flame. Hit close to home.”

They took a right—there was a brief and breathtaking view of the valley with the mountains beyond—and then there was a left, and there was indeed a path where Aziraphale had insisted there was one. Crowley suddenly remembered how much he loved pavement. He never appreciated a good, solid road until there weren’t any to take.

They shouldn’t have expected anything less than the muddy pit before them, of course. It hadn’t rained too recently, but there was snowmelt, and this was Scotland after all. The path was in all right shape, but it was pocketed with bog, and there wasn’t a good way to cross this muck without getting it on them. Angel and demon both hesitated.

“Miss the car yet?” Crowley asked.

“Oh, hush. Where’s your adventurous spirit?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Aziraphale tutted, shimmied himself into a pose that said yes, I am very definitely going to walk straight through this mud pit, any minute now, good sir! and promptly hesitated. “Only, well. I really would prefer not to get it all over these shoes.”

The demon sighed. He waved his hand as though letting Aziraphale ahead, a simple after you, and there was a board across the pit. The angel smiled broadly, and the shimmying of his shoulders relaxed into a pleasurable wave as he crossed from the safety of a miraculous bridge. Crowley followed. He didn’t need the dirt either, after all.

“The castle wasn’t here when he was either,” said Aziraphale. “Macbeth was actually hundreds of years before the castle.”

“Where did he stay, then?” South of them, on their left: not old forest, but wild forest, at least, an attempt to come back from the clearing of the land. Red, dry ferns in their winter state, minty-green growth sprawling on the northern faces of the trees. Foliose lichens dangled and scattered around the forest—bunching in branches and climbing the trunks—with paler, crustose lichens that sprawled in rippling circles on the rocks, the logs.

The angel frowned. “You know, I’m not sure. But I’d still like to see it. Do the tourist thing. It did look pretty in the photographs on the World Wide Web.”

“World Wide—no one calls it that anymore, angel. It’s the internet. Not a proper noun.” On their right, a stone wall had fallen into disuse, now pillowy and puffed with vibrant moss. An altogether different forest lay to the north of the path: instead of wild trees and ferns and growths, a grid of towering trees—perhaps conifers? But not evergreens—had been planted, and were now reaching for the sky.

Aziraphale stopped to examine an eggshell that had fallen from somewhere, had nestled between the fallen needles of the trees. He smiled at it. He was downright angelic at it. Crowley could feel the angel’s thoughts radiating from him: something nauseating about the circle of life and the joy of youth. It was disgustingly beautiful. Crowley managed to pull the besotted stare off his face before the angel looked up again.

The path, it was increasingly clear, had been formed by cart wheels and maintained by tires. It tapered off into a staging area for some industrial business that was closed for the week-end, and continued across the lot as a road. They passed through a small herd of unliving machinery—perhaps some sort of logging situation, Aziraphale mused, that would explain the grid of trees—and Crowley miracled up another bridge before they were once again beside the wood, occasionally stepping aside to let cars go past.

Crowley’s hand found the angel’s, again. They did that a lot these days.

Once they were on the proper road, they consulted Google Maps again and tried to figure out the best course to the castle. Crowley insisted it was just through an arch between two buildings—“We can ignore the sign, angel, there’s no one here, we just walked through private property,”—but trespassing again was, for some reason, just too much, so they went a little further down the road to circle around the offending property. They ended up walking past a field full of black goats, framed by the Highlands and the blue sky and the chill wind. The road curved south up ahead, and at the bend they should have been able to get to the castle grounds.

Crowley did not like goats.

They had eyes, was it. Reminded him too much of his boss. The horns, too. All off in weird places. Hooves. Not his thing. Not his scene, goats.

And one was out of the enclosure. A big one. Black as the night and with no discernable method of having gotten out. The fence was secure, the gate was padlocked shut, and all the other goats were inside, where they were supposed to be.

Crowley made the noise.

“Ngk—”

“What? Oh! Oh, hello, you sweet boy, what are you doing out here?” Aziraphale went right to it, of course, and looked quite put out when it darted anxiously away. “I think he’s lost!”

“No he’s not, he knows exactly where he is! The pasture’s right there.”

“How on Earth did you get out, my dear?” Aziraphale turned around, looking for a way to rescue the wayward soul, but no opportunities presented themselves. Crowley was getting increasingly suspicious of the creature, so Aziraphale stepped away. “Nothing to be done, I suppose.”

“It’s fine. They’re clever. Come on.”

“Hm.”

Aziraphale said nothing when they gave the goat a wide berth, and took his demon’s arm as they wandered up the hill toward the marked parking area. It wasn’t far—just behind some houses—but there wasn’t a car in sight. Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped.

“Oh, it’s closed!” The gate into the property was shut and locked, as was the gate to the gardens. Aziraphale sighed and peered through the latter. It was beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale. “I thought you said it was open.”

“The hours listed on the app say it’s open.” Crowley fiddled with his phone. “The website’s different. Looking at it. Says it’s shut for winter repairs.”

Aziraphale didn’t understand what an app was or why it would be different from the World Wide Web, but he assumed it made sense to Crowley. He sighed, dejected. “Well, I suppose that’s that.”

“We could still go in.” There was something indulgent in the way Crowley reacted to the angel’s disappointment, a richness in that empathy that reminded Aziraphale of devil’s food cake and well-aged wine. He wasn’t sure why he felt that so strongly, but he was sure they were both aware of it. Aziraphale didn’t need to look to see the pout.

“No, no, there’s no point if no one’s there. We are tourists, we aren’t straying off the beaten path.”

“Isn’t that literally how we—”

Ba-a-a-a-a.

Crowley jumped a foot in the air when the escaped goat bleated behind him. He bowled into Aziraphale, knocking the angel against the gate to the garden, and somehow the angel found himself in front of his friend, facing the goat like a human shield. He sighed, because if he didn’t sigh he would laugh aloud, and Crowley would sulk about that.

“Let’s at least get him back where he’s supposed to be.”

They managed it somehow. Aziraphale miracled open the padlock and Crowley herded it toward the gate. There were a number of strangled noises—Aziraphale wasn’t sure how much Crowley herded the goat versus how much the goat herded Crowley—but eventually the angel managed to lure the poor thing back into the enclosure, and he slipped out without letting any of the other animals escape. The lock clicked shut and the angel looked immensely pleased with himself.

“See? A little hard work and—”

The goat hopped over the fence.

Crowley and Aziraphale both stared at it. It bleated, turned, and nudged the fence woefully. The other goats finally seemed to realize it was on the wrong side and wandered over, curious. There was a quiet, distressed chorus of bleating.

Crowley burst out laughing. Aziraphale threw up his hands, exasperated, elbows tight at his side. He turned and walked back towards the main road, definitively giving up. There was only so much a person could do.

Crowley followed and caught his arm. “Read a book once,” he said.

“Did you? Once? I’m so proud.”

“Shut up. It was satire, doesn’t count. Great writer, though. Said Christians would have turned out a lot different if Jesus had been a goatherd instead of a shepherd.”

“He was a carpenter,” said Aziraphale.

“Nonono, it was satire. Character was a literal shepherd. Jesus was a metaphorical one.”

“Why didn’t he just make the character a goatherd?”

Crowley decided it wasn’t worth the effort. “Which way are we going back? Main road or your shortcut?”

“Hm.” Aziraphale squeezed his arm. “The path less traveled by, I think.”

“Right,” said Crowley. “Adventurous spirit.”

#Ineffable Husbands #crowley #aziraphale #gnu terry pratchett #crowley and aziraphale #Place Without Plot

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vivifaceblog · 2 years ago

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sarissophori · 5 years ago

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Hither Yonder, Chapter 5

The Wild Roads

Halli awoke soon after sunrise, roused by the warming air and ground. She stirred, still sore from the night’s run and the fall that ended it. She sat up stiffly and listened for a while. Aside the pleasant sighing of boughs in the morning wind and distant bird calls the forest was silent, serene. She no longer feared capture, overtly at least, and took time to eat some of Sador’s provisions before starting off again. Climbing out of the ditch, she consulted the map as to her course. The Irdon forest, as it was named, stretched off west and south along the slopes of the Adorn mountains, the spine of Dumbria, running with them for many miles before ending at a sundered range called the South Spur, which formed the mountain-gap watched over by the fortress of Lake Tirgon. Rather than going immediately south-west and risk becoming lost in the forest, Halli went due-west toward the mountains, where she thought to have a sure marker to follow beside. Using any roads as a runaway slave was not an option.

This was the first course of her journey. Two days she spent walking into, then through, the heart of the forest, the mountains ever before her. The land rose gradually for the most part, then more so as she neared the pine and spruce-covered foothills of the range, rising in folds of green up and up to the bare flanks of the mountains proper, cloven by dales and valleys sheltered between rocky arms. Halli now went southerly west, on ground high enough to see down the surrounding lands, but low enough to avoid steeper terrain that would only hinder her. Away back east, in the fading light, she thought she could almost see the topmost battlements of Thargorod tiny and black on the far horizon, and thought of Sador and Siri in that moment. She wondered what punishment they stood to suffer because of her escape, if it would end with them. Here on the third day, more than on the previous two, the weight of her actions pressed on her shoulders as keenly as her roll-kit, and it was brought to her, concisely, what it would mean to be alone and to carry on. The sun set, leaving her under a blanket of night and stars.

The fourth day unfolded very much like the others; calm, boring even, in the shade of tall and ancient trees high enough to shut out the world beyond the forest. The air was scented with pine sap when the wind came in from the west. Northward, it smelled crisp from the mountain airs. Her aloneness was so apparent, the fear of being found completely left her.

By late afternoon Halli came to the source-waters of the Olgon River, the largest in Dumbria; a river she crossed once before, when the wagon train carrying her and Yuta rolled past its lowland fords to Thargorod. Here she refilled her water-skin, for it was fresh from the mountain springs, and stood about to take in her surroundings. The Olgon roared and splashed down bare stony banks worn smooth by its tide, falling downhill as rapids through ravines into the deeper forest. The foam glinted in the sunlight. The mountains were to her right, marching onward out of sight, catching the sky on their peaks as if they alone suspended it, keeping the separation of heaven and earth. The trees, clustered among the rocks, swayed in the mildest breeze, and she breathed it in.

Downstream from her, near the brink of the rapids, an ibex emerged from the trees and trotted to the river, fairly large, with great curved horns. Halli crouched low and watched him drink before deciding this an opportune time to test her bow. She unfurled her roll-kit and pulled it out slowly, bending it to notch the string. She had an arrow ready when she saw, lying stealthily on a shelf overlooking the bank, a mountain lioness in wait from above, her hind legs tensed for a jump. She sprang from her rocky perch and landed squarely on the ibex, who collapsed from the attack. He kicked and bleated, but she pinned him with a bite to the windpipe as he fought, then feebly writhed, then stilled. There was rustling in the trees behind; his pack heard his calls and bolted, bounding up to the safety of the steeper slopes. The lioness looked at Halli, who stood awestruck with her arrow slacked impotently on its string, suddenly feeling like prey herself.

“The kill is yours. I offer no contest.”

The lioness hauled her meal back into the wood, toward her mountain den undoubtedly nearby. That in mind, Halli crossed the shallow arm of the river by the spring and continued on her way.

Halli walked on in caution for the remaining day and those thereafter, while the forest lasted. Her bow was out, and she made a nightly shelter to help shield her from predatory eyes. Her guard lessened, however, when the forest began to open out, the hills only partly covered. Shrubs took advantage and grew in bunches in the glades, those that flowered and those that prickled. Ivy curled through them here and there, and little rodents scurried.

Nine days after entering the Irdon, the forest’s bulk finally thinned out to a few solitary pines along tumbled lands, and Halli could see the plains below. To the immediate south ran a separate range of hills, green and roving, the peaks grayish-brown and bare; the South Spur, a bulwark of rock across the neck of Dumbria. Just before her, a league away and beside the hills, was the fortress of Tirgon, unceasing in its watch of the plains. Calvary was afield in exercises, and white smokes wafted from the chimneys of barracks. There were no trains of slaves today, but Halli knew many more had come this way since she and Yuta went through its gates that summer long ago; Hananin from the steppes and the Kundish Mounds, and others from Ipsaria, Doria and beyond from Wilderland to the north. Halli backed into the sparse protection of Irdon’s westernmost reaches and went on her way, nursing blunted fantasies of revenge against that hated fortress.

Halli followed the flanks of a great shoulder in the range that hid her from the fortress, and down she went into the lower hills. Here Lake Tirgon sat against the mountains, buffered by a narrow and rocky land populated with holly bushes, beds of dry grasses and rough thickets. Trees were sparse, and were old and stunted. Nevertheless, this was Halli’s road as she chose it. The only other way, across the plains south of the lake, would mean almost certain capture while the cavalry was out.

She scrambled down the slopes and into a defile, going along ground that alternated between sandy, gravely, rocky, and sandy again. Her bare feet were sore before much trudging, yet on she went, walking through what grass she could find, stopping only a few times to rest. The lake at least was a beautiful bluish-gray, spanning many leagues south and west, ruffled by spouts of wind, otherwise reflecting mirror-like the mountain tips under a sapphire sky. The risk of exposure in this landscape was plain to her, but she took solace in one thing: there were no trails along Tirgon’s north banks, meaning this part of the mountains were seldom visited by the Dumbrians, maybe their soldiers too, despite the presence of their fortress. Halli certainly hoped it.

For two and a half days Halli plodded through that strip of waste, her palms, knees and soles callused by the rocks, and white from a chalky powder that coated the boulders and pebbly expanses. By noon she came to the eaves of the Farrow Wood, and her spirits lightened, not only because it meant an end to this unpleasant land, but also because past the woods was the West Reach, the extent of Dumbria’s borders. The borders of her own country were near.

The difference between the Farrow Wood and the mountain waste was abrupt. Up a few shelves of layered rock hung the roots of the outermost trees, stout and gnarled, at least by the lake. Further on, Halli saw taller, leaner trees as the land became less stony further west. She delighted in feeling the softer grasses under her feet again and decided to make camp early, resting and sleeping a long while.

Halli remained in the forest’s northern marches, to keep the mountains at her side. Then, after nearly fifteen days of constant hiking within the shadow of the Ardon range, over lands easy and difficult, they began to run down into a descent, hilly with many valleys, to the adjacent lowlands of the Hananin Steppes. The forest ended, and the Ardon sank into gentle rises. Here sprawled the West Reach, the beginning of the expansive, near featureless grasslands of inner Hinterland, bare under the noontime sun. Flatness, with subtle rolls, went off as far as the eye could see, except to the north where the Morrow Wood lay, a line of green against the wheat-color of the plains, and the Kundish Mounds further on. In the north, too, were brooding cloud fronts gray with rain, as colder airs from Wilderland mingled with warmer airs from the Sea of Ahn, rising to cumulus towers black-bottomed and foreboding, as far as they were. But this was not Halli’s road. From the eaves of Farrow, she turned south in a gradual meander westward, and came after a few day’s march under the Hinterland sun to the old Imperial Road.

The Road was built ages ago by the auxiliary legions of the Tarmaril Imperium in the years of its greatest extent, to connect the conquered lands with the mother-kingdom; to speed trade, culture, and the armies not the least. In those times the Imperial Road extended unbroken from the Sheerim Mountains to the gates of Tirgon, was tended to by a dedicated legion, and was punctuated every twenty miles with manmade watering holes. Every forty miles, or every other watering hole, was a courier station with inns, stables, and a fortified garrison.

In these later times, the Road was little more than an overgrown track of stones choked by weeds and grass, covered over entirely in some sections, marked along its way by the ruins of those courier stations and reed-studded pools frequented more by wildlife than any rider, much less a cavalry of thousands. Decay and disuse aside, the Road was not completely abandoned. After Tarmaril’s fall and the decline of Dumbria, the Hananin reclaimed their country and took from the Road what purpose they could find for it: irrigation ditches were dug to drain the watering holes for farmland, then blocked up for the spring rains to fill again, then drained as before. Stones were removed from the crumbling garrisons to build bridges and homes, though not from the Road itself. The Road was never repaired to its first glory, but parts of its length between villages were tended to and cleared, especially those parts near the Hills of Hanan and Lake Onu, where Hanan’s chief villages lay.

So Halli went west, following a way as sure as the mountains, though subtler. However, she walked along beside it at a distance, staying in the long grass; the threat of Dumbrian raiders still patrolling the West Reach was too great to ignore, making it unwise for her to travel directly on the Road. She remained a furlong’s breadth away day and night, far enough to dart and hide in the grass if need be.

And on she walked, and walked. The miles were covered in good pace, but there were many of them, each identical to the last. The occasional acacia tree was approached and passed, Halli using its dry, umbrella-like canopy for the shade it offered against the relentless sun when she rested, maybe twice a day for eating, seldom at length. She also came by several watering holes, or delves in the ground where one once was. They were brackish and warm, gathered over by birds and beasts; wild oxen and kingfishers, caribou and white flamingos migrating from the wetlands of Ahn. Even if she wished to use them, she doubted room would be made for her through their herds with so many young about, and under watch. Worse, the banks would be horribly muddy and mucked with filth by their tramping, making her think better of it than wasting one of Sador’s purifying tablets. And on she walked.

There was no marker or indicator to show where the West Reach ended and Hanan proper began, besides the words on her map. Halli guessed she was close; the lands here, hardly distinguishable to a traveler, were familiar to her as a local. She knew these fields. Her village was near here. As if to remind her of her present danger, not far off the Road was the site of a small homestead of yurts and tents. Their remnants, at least. Halli dared approach for a closer look. Burnt, brittle timbers and torn cloth were strewn everywhere. The people and their flocks were gone, the ground gouged and scorched in places. A few arrows stood staggered in the grass. This was not a fresh scene of massacre, however. The pillaging of this homestead was months ago, the bones of the slain picked clean by scavengers and carrion fowl.

Halli stood silent a moment, then pressed her hands together and bowed low, speaking softly and backing away. In Hananin tradition, a place of murder not purified remained unclean, and perilous for the living to trespass. This site would remain unclean for a long time yet, and Halli, in a mix of reverence and wariness, dared not disturb the uneasy sleep of the ill-rested.

Halli moved on, with no other sign of Dumbrian menace for the day’s remainder, or much of the next. She noticed that game was starting to become scarce around the watering holes, and that her food supplies were running low. Before she lost the chance, Halli camped by one of the pools and, after a short stalk, shot a heron through the reeds. She spent precious hours plucking the carcass and preparing a modest fire, gutting the entrails (an old chore she hadn’t really missed) and holding it suspended for the blood to drain, but it would be worth it. A good catch earns a good preparation, she remembered her barn’s caretaker telling her, and a good catch it was. Aside what she would eat today, there would still be enough to last her three or so more days, if she rationed it so.

Just as the bird was ready for spitting, Halli looked behind her shoulder to see a thin black line on the Road, growing to become a rank of black forms in the twilit evening. In the stillness, she heard the beat of hooves and the snorting of horses. It was Dumbrian cavalry, and they were riding fast, in her direction. Halli quickly blotted the fire and darted into the reeds, leaving her catch in the open.

The troop of horsemen, twenty with their captain, steered their horses to where they saw the faint wisp of smoke spied from afar, and dismounted to investigate. Halli watched them while hidden away. The captain sifted through the cinders with his boot, giving the plucked bird a kick into the soot. The rest ambled about, scanning the ground for clues to this riddle. Some murmured and pointed to imprints in the grass. They were fresh, meaning the one who made them, and made the meal, was nearby –but the light was fast fading, and Halli was well hid. They paced the spot a few more times, then as the stars outshone the slender gleam of orange against the west, they remounted and continued down the Road, leaving their riddle unsolved. What was one lowly Hananin vagabond to them? Their job was to scout the outer fields and return to Tirgon, and return they would. They galloped off in speed, leaving as swiftly as they approached.

Halli waited until the thudding of hooves was gone before coming out, checking over what was to be dinner and extra rations. It was dirty but salvageable, were she bold enough to start another fire. She risked her luck terribly already with the first, and decided not to again. Instead she resumed walking, feeling more secure in the cover of dark, wanting to put as many miles as she could between herself and the reach of Dumbria before the night ended.

On the days went, drawn, hot and trudging as before, with one noticeable change: the northerly thunderheads ever present against the horizon rolled down in haste on a southern gale, darkening the afternoon. Halli was relieved at first by the sun’s veiling, despite the thunder booming overhead, and welcomed the rain. She held her water-skin open to collect some of it, and it poured, and it blew. Then, it hailed. Halli wrapped her cloak tightly about herself and hunkered down, muttering as she was pelted, watching through her hood as the plains were pelted with little stinging balls of ice, waiting for it to pass. That was how the rest of that day went, shifting between rain and hail till early evening, when Halli found a battered acacia tree to sleep under. The night proved cold in her dampened cloak, her only protection against the wind. Come morning, she would welcome the humid sun.

Then, on the fourteenth day since leaving the Adorn range, Halli saw the rising shapes of the Hills of Hanan in the distance, and her heart lifted at the sight. An afternoon’s march, and she would come to villages outside Dumbria’s reach (she hoped) who could help her, refresh and restock her, give her rest and a little friendship. She was sick of being alone. By late afternoon she was at the Hill’s eastern ends, and wandered to the southern slopes toward Lake Onu blue and placid, crowded in by pockets of forest.

Halli looked on and frowned. The villages scattered across its banks appeared empty. She investigated each in turn, walking the dirt tracks branching to and off the Road openly, if cautiously. Long lanes ran beside tilled farmlands between fingers of forest, prepared for the planting season. The fields were abandoned, as were the villages; home, hut and barn. The livestock were also gone. Halli didn’t think this the work of Dumbrian raiders coming to collect slaves for Thargorod’s markets; none of the buildings were looted or torched, none of the fields ravaged. It was as if every villager to the last child had simply vanished.

Not quite. They had fled, and taken their livestock with them. News of incursions from the West Reach would have spread far and wide soon after the initial raids that took Halli and Yuta as spoils. That was almost a year ago. So the Hananin, most being semi-nomadic, gathered their livelihoods and mobile goods, and dispersed to wherever hope or safety led them within the Hinterlands, be it north to the eaves of Wilderland, or south to Kundanar, with whom they had a common ancestry. Anything that could be resown, rebuilt, or replaced was left where it was.

Halli lingered among the ghost towns, partly wanting to scavenge what supplies she could yet find, partly because she wanted to believe that they weren’t as empty as they seemed; that she might still find someone to give her tidings, or just talk to her. She peered into the houses, even exploring inside them, but saw only field mice nibbling on crumbs, and a few broken jars. The docks on Lake Onu were bare, moored with empty fishing rafts. Finding nothing else, Halli took some water from the wells for her water-skin, and continued on.

Westward on from the Hills of Hanan, the Imperial Road slanted a little north while keeping its heading, still dotted by watering holes, still watched over by crumbling outposts. The days were consistently bright and sunny without the threat of rain, a monotonous continuum of sunrise and sunset, with all the hours blurring into a plodding haze. Halli reckoned she was getting rather good at solitary marching, and even better at food rationing.

Before the Hills fell from sight, the long grasses gave way to shorter prairie ones, then failed altogether. The lands got tougher, with pasture shrubs becoming thistle thickets and other hardy weeds, and the occasional wildflower grove. Animal herds were sparse to nonexistent –though vultures could at times be seen wheeling about hither and yon, gliding on the high winds in a perpetual search for carrion. Now and again, Halli heard their lonely cries.

So came and went another eleven days; but on the morning of the twelfth, she saw rising suddenly over the flats of Hanan, purple in the wan light of dawn, the rugged peaks of the Sheerim Mountains, the border separating the Hinterlands from the Hither. Taller and mightier than the Adorn range, The Sheerim, where Halli stood, spread out in a great arc stretching north and south, falling with the bend of the horizon to immeasurable leagues. Though it didn’t mean an end to her journey, Halli was glad to see some change, any change, to the landscape, even if it was an obstacle so great, it suffered no rival formation this side of the world. As the map showed, it spanned over five hundred miles arm to arm, nearly sundering the two halves of the western continent. This would mean two-hundred and fifty miles just to go around, no matter which way she took –more months of joyless wandering, if not for one curious feature: right through the middle of the range was an opening in the mountains, called the Mistgap, which offered itself, on paper, as a most convenient shortcut. Halli didn’t have the rations to last going around the mountains, nor the patience at this point. It was either risk an unknown way, or possible starvation. As far as she made out, there wasn’t really a choice to be discerned. Besides, the Imperial Road continued right on up to the Mistgap on the map, and so maybe went through it as well. She put her faith in that.

#story #fantasy #hither yonder #sarissophori

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