#being raised as a slave really crippled his ability to think beyond a day by day basis

[bells-of-black-sunday]

Also more rambling but-

I think why I like writing the pirate au for Tar so much is just it lets me write him in ways I don't usually get to and I've rambled to Egg plenty about it, but being able to write about his complicated relationship to touch and especially authority is interesting. There's also how he has to unlearn what's allowed him to survive for so long aka how he approaches genuine connections with people and not just being what the other person wants so he can get what he wants. It's neat, I don't know.

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2021 Day 3: Taunting, Insults

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition Characters: Dorian Pavus, The Iron Bull Tags: Assault, Mage-Templar Conflict, Self-Worth Issues, Hurt Dorian, Holy Smite, Protective Iron Bull Words: 3.484

Summary: Dorian can count on one hand the times he was hit by a Smite and it was always during training, leaving him shaky and sick the rest of the day. This feels so much worse, done out of malice, meant to cripple instead of teach.

“You were saying, mage?”

- A few Templars attack Dorian in Skyhold. Bull comes to the rescue.

---

It has gotten late. Dinner is already over and while there is faint music to be heard from the Herald’s Rest, the rest of Skyhold is eerily deserted. Dorian curses himself silently as he hurries through the dark corridors. He lost track of time in the library, which should not come as a surprise, really, but he knows better than to walk alone after dark.

He is not afraid. Dangers lurk around every corner, but he trusts in his ability to defend himself. The thing is, that he is not certain whether he should defend himself. The Tevinter Mage far from home, shrouded in mystery. People do not trust him here, but the reasons are so laughably threadbare. He is neither a blood mage nor does he want to overthrow any kingdoms.

“Mage,” a voice calls out, harsh but slightly too loud for the late hour.

Dorian hastens his step. He knows the distaste in the tone intimately, even if it is only since he left Tevinter that he learned it paired just as well with mage as it does with slave or son.

He keeps his head up, makes it look like he is not running away. Running never helps. While most of the soldiers here are cowards, some do like to hunt, and Dorian knows better than to give them a reason to.

“I’m talking to you.”

And Dorian is trying his best not to hear him. One of these days, he is going to accidentally incinerate a hapless Templar trying to waylay him. The uproar that will cause. Perhaps that will still better than this cat-and-mouse game that he always, always loses.

A hand grabs Dorian all of a sudden, appearing out of nowhere in the dark. Dorian, who was concentrating on the yelling man in his back has not been paying attention to what is ahead of him.

Another Templar. Even out of uniform they are unmistakeable. That fanatic fire in their eyes that burns brightest when Dorian is near. They like to leave their hands hovering over their hips, even when they are not wearing their swords, constantly following that urge to be ready, to cut down a mage, no questions asked.

“Is there something wrong with your ears, mage?” the Templar in front of him asks, his grip tight enough to leave bruises. Alcohol clouds his breath, almost as potent as hate.

“Nothing at all,” Dorian answers brightly, trying to tone down the sharpness of his voice. “Nobody was calling my name, though.”

He bites his tongue. So much for holding back. It is high time to get out of here before the stragglers reach them. But no matter how much he twists his arm, the Templar’s hold remains strong. He could put the man on his back, but mages are not allowed to defend themselves and he does not want all of Skyhold’s guards to be called down on him because these guys are screaming murder.

“You bloody ‘Vints, always thinking you’re better than us good folks.”

Dorian barely manages to keep his face from scrunching up, but some of his contempt must have slipped through anyway because the man’s scowl deepens. Definitely time to get out.

“Well, I better relieve you of my presence then. Wouldn’t want to ruin your night,” Dorian says and calls fire to his hands, not enough to burn but to warm his fingers in warning. To his dismay, the Templar’s grip only tightens and he pulls Dorian closer.

“The Inquisitor should have never let you in,” he snarls, his foul breath warm on Dorian’s cheek. “We’re trying to save the world, not break it.”

Unable to help himself, Dorian laughs. “Did you read that in one of Master Tethras’ novels? Mighty impressive, I didn’t think they wasted the energy on teaching war dogs to read.”

Dorian should shut up. The drunk guy behind him is coming closer, leaning on a friend’s shoulder. Three on one are not odds Dorian would think twice about in the field. Things are different here. Even drunk and clearly hoping for a fight, people will listen more closely to these three than Dorian.

He is just a mage, barely a friend of the Inquisitor, neither trusted nor even a real asset because who would want a necromancer in their back when they could have him dead and buried, safely sealed away. It grates at Dorian’s pride, but he has practice in being not wanted and sneered at. He does not think it will ever stop hurting but that does not mean he will let them see.

Dorian twists his hand, determined to scare them off even if he does not dare to actually attack them. But before he can do much of anything, the Templar takes an abrupt step forward and shoves Dorian against the wall behind him. The force rattles his ribcage, upsetting a bruise he got while training with Bull. He does not let the pain show but raises a hand and lets a flame dance on his palm, bigger now and definitely a threat. Hopefully, the reminder that he could fling a fireball at their heads will be enough to get them to back off.

What Dorian does not expect is the wave of sudden coldness slamming into him, making him double over. The energy crackling under his skin, ready to be called forth, vanishes, drained by the Smite, leaving only nausea in its wake.

It is a terrible feeling, beyond words. Wielding magic is like breathing, but the Smite is more than a chokehold. It feels as if boiling silver is poured down his throat, charring his insides and leaving nothing but a barren wasteland and the painful memory of greatness.

He can count on one hand the times he was hit by a Smite and it was always during training, leaving him shaky and sick the rest of the day. This feels so much worse, done out of malice, meant to cripple instead of teach.

“You were saying, mage?”

The drunk guy sounds much more sober now if no less disdainful.

Panic unfurls in the pit of Dorian’s stomach as he realizes he is cornered. He cannot run, he can not access his magic. He is helpless in the middle of the Inquisition’s stronghold.

Perhaps they will be happy with simply roughing him up a little, with teaching him his place. The drunk guy is leering at him, but Dorian has gone to his knees under equally terrible circumstances before. If they want to kill him, though, there is little he can do. This is not how his story will end. It cannot be. And yet, Dorian has his hands full with staying upright.

He barely feels the first punch. It rattles his body but the pain is a mere echo, lost in the void that has suddenly opened in Dorian’s very core.

The men are still talking, all three of them now towering over Dorian, but he just hears the hate in their voices, no actual words.

A punch the face snaps him out of his stupor, the acute sharpness of it enough to penetrate the fog that has settled over his senses. With consciousness, though, comes more fear.

“You mage scum are good for one thing, though,” one of the Templars says. Dorian is far beyond being able to recognize faces, but his wide grin reveals a missing tooth. “And once we’re done, we’ll bury you outside in the snow, do a favour for all of us.”

Dorian hates the cold and he really, really does not want to die in it. He does not want to die at all, but the how has suddenly become a far greater concern then the when. He opens his mouth, not sure whether to say something or to just scream, but he does not get to do either because another hit to the head makes his vision swim and his thoughts scatter.

“What is going on here?” a new voice interrupts, making the three Templars jump.

The sudden lack of contact between them has Dorian slumping against the wall, his legs shaking too badly to keep him upright. His mind, however, whirs into a panicked chorus of denial. Three men are more than enough, he cannot have even more join the apparent free-for-all he has become this night.

Then, though, he sees the men back away, and when he looks at the newcomer, he finds too broad shoulders and horns and - Dorian has never been so glad to see Bull. It does not matter that he is a mage or a ‘Vint, Bull will not leave him to his fate.

“We were just having a friendly discussion,” one of the Templars says.

Dorian’s brain is slowly sorting itself out again as no new pain comes forth, and he scoffs. It tugs at a fresh bruise on his face.

“The Inquisitor is making a mistake trusting these abominations.”

Dorian is pretty sure that is the one who used the Smite. He shivers, pushes himself further against the wall. The Templars are no match against Bull, but they are still standing like a wall in front of Dorian.

“I suggest that you run,” Bull says, his voice vibrating with something dark. “And if you’re smart, you’ll leave Skyhold tonight and never look back.”

“We don’t take orders from beasts,” the gap-toothed one spats, no ounce of self-preservation.

Dorian has seen Bull on the battlefield, bloodied and hungry for a fight, an unstoppable force. Right in front of their eyes, Bull transforms into something worse than that. His back straightens, making him grow even taller, and his eyes gleam with that same battle madness, focused unflinchingly on these three, puny men.

“Run,” he bellows and takes a swing. Even armour would not have saved Gap-Tooth for Bull does not hold back. His fist slams into the Templar’s jaw with a sickening crunch, throwing him through the air as if he weighs nothing.

That is enough of a demonstration that they do not question Bull again but run, stumbling over their own feet in their hurry to get away. Dorian would laugh at their turned backs, relishing in how the situation was flipped on them, but he is still too busy with just breathing.

He closes his eyes and catalogues the pain. The throbbing, familiar ache of bruises is easier to deal with than the terrifying void inside of him. He reaches for his magic and nothing answers. His skin is just skin and not a conduit. His body is just blood and bones and nerves, full of pain and longing now, nothing greater.

“Are you all right, big guy?” Bull asks, sounding way too close.

When Dorian opens his eyes, Bull is crouching next to him, the madness replaced by blatant concern.

He will live. Nothing feels broken and there are potions against the pain. This is not his first rodeo.

“Of course,” Dorian lies. He is not sure he can stand up, much less make the way back to his quarters. He does not particularly want to be alone either – he has never been this weak before. Or, well, he was once, when his father – better not go there. This evening is ruined enough.

“You were assaulted –” Bull says but trails off when Dorian pushes to his feet.

Shaking legs or not, he is done cowering and he does not need Bull’s pity. Bad enough he had to be saved.

“Merely a misunderstanding,” Dorian says and puts in the effort to regain control over his expression. “Although I appreciate you stepping in.”

He has some experience with putting himself back together. And being alone in his room does not sound so bad if he thinks about it. There, at least, will be nobody to act tough for.

Bull nods but Dorian knows him well enough by now that this battle is not won. Coming another step closer, he his hand on the crook of Dorian’s elbow, never bothering to ask whether Dorian even wants help.

“How often does this happen?” Bull asks, his tone just conversational enough to almost hide the simmering anger beneath.

Deep down, Dorian is flattered that Bull would be upset on his behalf, but if he lets this happen it will only lead to more complications down the road. So, while he does not push off Bull’s hand, he takes care not to lean on him and begins walking towards his room. It is slow going, at first, because his body feels wrong, missing something vital, but he is walking.

“Do you think there’s someone waiting around every corner trying to trip me up?” Dorian says, falling back on his old friend sarcasm. That at least is familiar. “They were drunk.”

Drunk and ready to kill him. That is definitely a step up from mere insults and the occasional try to trip him in the hallways.

“And yet you don’t seem surprised.” Bull looks at him from the side, with an intensity in his eyes that reminds Dorian that bull is not just a formidable fighter but also a spy. “This actually explains quite a bit. You love your wine, but you never get drunk. You always leave the tavern early and never alone. You -”

Dorian pulls his arm away from Bull, very aware that people keep touching him. The momentum of that almost throws him off balance, but apart from the sheer wrongness of being without magic and the exhaustion weighing him down, Dorian almost feels like himself again. Half of himself, covered in bruises, but not a victim anymore.

“Are you done analysing me?” he snaps, knowing that his glare falls flat. “Nothing happened.”

Bull does not visibly react to Dorian refusing his help but looks decidedly unimpressed. “You’re shaking.” He does not move further away but somehow manages not to crowd Dorian either.

“Well, let someone cut one of your limbs off and see how you like it.” It feels like that, only that the loss is not located in just one limb but all of him at once. Magic is always there, waiting just for his call. His entire skin prickles with it, his lungs draw it in alongside the air to breathe. Without it, he barely feels human.

“A limb?” Bull asks, confusion interrupting his casual interrogation. Did they – oh. They took your magic?”

Bull’s realization does not sit right with Dorian. There is no malice on his face, no relief. One of his Chargers is a mage and Bull never gave the impression he minded Dorian using magic, on or off a battlefield. But Dorian is only too aware of how Qunari view mages. It is probably unfair, but he still cannot quite think clearly. And part of him will always be wary of Bull’s loyalty to the Qun.

“One used the Smite,” he says, trying for nonchalance, although it is hard to fool Bull even when he is not exhausted and in pain. “I’ll be right as rain in a minute.” Or a few hours, if he can only lock his door and lie down.

“Dorian.” Bull pulls him to a stop, just the briefest of touches before he lets his hand fall again. “This is not okay. You need to talk to Cullen about this.” It is a miracle, how he can sound so serious while saying something this ridiculous.

Dorian is already walking such a fine line with the Inquisition. It does not matter that he very much wants to rid the world of Corypheus and that he would keep hunting Venatori on his own, that he wants to reform his homeland until it is something to be proud of again. The Inquisitor likes him and trusts him not to betray them. The rest of the Skyhold’s inhabitants? Not so much.

Cullen is always civil to Dorian, the same way he is to foreign diplomats and nobles. Their conversations have gotten a bit warmer since they started playing chess together. That does not mean that Cullen would go against his own people for the sake of a mage telling tales.

“I most definitely do not,” Dorian says with a glare. “I can handle myself.” He has done so a thousand times before and likely will a thousand more.

“That’s what it looked like.”

It is not like Bull to mock him. About his clothes or the way he drinks his wine, yes. But about losing a fight? A minute ago, he called it assault but now the blame has shifted to Dorian. It always does. Time to go so he can lick his wounds in private.

“If you’re done insulting me, then –”

Bull reaches out and Dorian flinches instinctively. It gives them both halt, so much more telling about Dorian’s state than his threadbare lies.

“What about the other mages?” Bull then asks, his tone gentle, reasonable. “What if they’re going for someone a little less noticeable next? Who doesn’t play chess with the Commander and has his ear?”

Dorian has thought about that before. The other mages usually do not go out alone, too used to be wary of Templars. And he doubts anybody would dare to touch Vivienne or Solas.

“They hate me because I’m from Tevinter.” It is certainly true. And he is never quiet about his disdain of Ferelden either. The weather, the dogs, the food. He will not be forbidden to speak the truth.

But Bull does not seem to buy it. “Is that all?

Dorian stays silent. He is loud and flashy and unrepentant, so that is what might have drawn their gaze. There is little about him that does not offend people here. But that is not what their main issue is with him, but the fact that he commands a power they do not understand and never will because they cower from it.

Being a mage is not a choice, though. In most parts of Thedas, magic is treated as something to be contained and caged. Control is important, certainly, but magic is in everything and cutting it out means going through life half-blind.

Dorian turns and starts walking again. He is done with this conversation. People will always come after him and making him a fool of himself in front of the Commander of the Inquisition forces will not change that. In fact, he might just get another enemy out of this.

“I can talk to Cullen, if you’d prefer,” Bull offers, keeping up easily with him.  

“I don’t need you to fight my battles,” Dorian bites out. He will have to talk to Fiona and perhaps Vivienne to make sure that the other mages are not harassed too. He can deal with it, has done so for as long as he remembers, even if the insults change wherever he goes. But Bull is right, he will not let other experience the same.

“Never said you weren’t capable,” Bull says, his placating tone falling on deaf ears. “Do you know who they were?”

Dorian has no ideas. If he remembered every face that looked at him with disgust, every person who spewed insults or spat at him, he would not be able to cram anything else into his brain. It was never that important.

He shakes his head. “Cullen trusts the Templars that came with him.” And, despite the progress Cullen has undoubtedly made, he does not trust mages.

Bull nods but argues anyway, “We’re getting more refugees every day. He doesn’t know all of them.”

And they will still be Templars while Dorian is just an enemy mage. But Bull is right. If they are going after a member of the Inquisition’s inner circle, the other mages are not safe.

“I’ll talk to him,” he promises grudgingly. That is not a conversation he is looking forward to. He can already imagine the questions. Are you sure you did nothing to provoke them?

“Good.” Bull smiles as if he never doubted he would win the argument. “Let me walk you back to your quarters.”

Dorian should protest. He is a grown man. But he is tired and shaken to the core, still empty inside where his magic used to reside. He still does not want to be alone, does not want to peer around every corner, waiting for the next attack. The shadows seem to retreat from Bull’s massive form and Dorian is glad for the company.

He does not say thank you, but the corner of Bull’s mouth ticks further up as if he hears it anyway.

“Next time, just find me at the tavern. If I’m not there, the boys will be just as happy to help.”

Dorian nods, even though he does not understand the offer. Bull does not owe him anything. But this is something he has been learning slowly, relying on others. Maybe he can allow himself to get used to it. He can dream, at least.

[jeanandthedreamofhorses]

You're into ASOIAF too? Oh wow. You certainly made the right call dropping this shitshow -and yeah, looking back, I didn't think it possible to have a worse season than S5 but hooo boy, was I wrong-. Knowing its abomination of an ending now, I'm trying hard not to let it ruin the books for me, too, so take this as a cautionary tale, lol. And bc some positivity would be nice and I do always enjoy reading your opinions, if it's okay, could I ask you about your fave ASOIAF characters and such? thx!

Frick yeah, the question I’ve been waiting for! I can gush about pretty much every character since they’re all so amazingly well written, but for a brief list of the top contenders… (TWOW spoilers ahead!) 

5. Asha Greyjoy

“If there are rocks to starboard and a storm to port, a wise captain steers a third course.”

Irreverent, cynical, mocking, confident and dangerous, what’s not to love about Asha? She immediately made an impact with such scenes as her “sweet suckling babe” quip and was one of my favourite side characters in ACOK.

AFFC, however, was when she really got to shine, where to my elation she got a POV chapter, and more in ADWD. Despite her seemingly Ironborn-to-the-core personality, we discover she’s actually one of the least zealous of the Ironborn, sympathetic to the New Ways and those influenced by the culture of the ‘greenlanders’ like Rodrik the Reader. As one of the few reading Ironborn, she’s clearly one of the most intelligent of the Ironborn and certainly more open-minded, which leads to her down-to-earth sales pitch for the Kingsmoot, a sensible, realistic policy which would be genuinely best for her people - while still, of course, maintaining some elements of conquest: she is the kraken’s daughter, after all.

This side to her personality that sympathises with the fringe elements of her society and is able to make realistic assessments of the possibilities of success comes largely from the difficult position of being a prominent woman in the hypermasculine, heavily patriarchal Ironborn culture. Being raised as Balon’s substitute son has landed her more freedom than most Iron women, but in a complicated position nonetheless. She manages to handle it to the best of her ability, however with Balon gone she comes to realise just how precarious her position always was.

Now, like many other characters in ADWD, she is dealing with the hardship of broken dreams. Disaster piles upon disaster for Asha, from the failed kingsmoot to the loss of Deepwood Motte to becoming captive to Stannis (a dynamic I can’t wait to see more of btw, what an interesting clash of personalities!). Like Tyrion, her bravado serves to mask her insecurity, and her sense of powerlessness from recent events - both in commanding her own destiny and the heartache from the ruinous state of her family - really comes out in her inner monologue during ADWD.

How fitting, then, that this is when she reunites with Theon, another character whose lofty ambitions were torn brutally to the ground. Asha lorded it over him in Winterfell, but perhaps now she can relate. Mock as she may, Asha genuinely loves her family, and it’s another appealing aspect of this lonely character navigating her way through her unusual existence on the tightrope of social norms.

4. Tyrion Lannister

“You poor stupid blind crippled fool. Must I spell out every little thing for you? Very well. Cersei is a lying whore, she’s been fucking Lancel and Osmund Kettleblack and probably Moon Boy for all I know. And I am the monster they all say I am. Yes, I killed your vile son.”

Everyone loves Tyrion, and how can they not? He’s one of the wittiest and most intelligent characters in the series, and the first stumbling block when it comes to which side we should root for. While he was always one of my favourite characters from the start, factoring in his complex family life and struggles on account of his dwarfism (and later the maiming of his already ugly face), my favourite part of Tyrion as a character is how all the things we love about him are flipped on their head in ADWD.

Tyrion tells us in AGOT to wear your shame like “armor and it can never be used to hurt you”. It’s an empowering statement, but throughout ASOS we see how insecure Tyrion still is inside, and his ignoble treatment at the hands of his father and the people as a whole in the kangaroo court for Joffrey’s murder, can, ultimately, be boiled down to his being a dwarf. His armour fails him, and he is still utterly unable to be loved, appreciated, or respected by anyone. Only by Tysha, as he finds out, who is now lost to him - ripped from his hands by the machinations of his father and the one family member that Tyrion still loved, his brother.

It’s at this point that Tyrion is never the same again. He murders Shae in cold blood, and he murders his father, and he regrets none of it. He is becoming the monster they said he was.

When we see him in ADWD, the dark side of Tyrion that had always been hidden behind the hope he had clung onto creeps all too shockingly for the surface. His jokes are now too cynical to laugh at, dark and disturbing and cruel. He uses his intellect for no greater good beyond his own personal amusement, deliberately influencing Young Griff to attack Westeros prematurely just in the hopes that his sister might get the axe. He is on no side but his own, acting brazenly irresponsibly as he has no interest in the grand schemes others have set out for him, or even in his own life. The chips on his shoulder are now genuine murderous intent, daydreaming about raping and killing Cersei and mounting Jaime’s head on a spike next to her. Where Tyrion’s whoring habits had seemed roguish and humorous before, in Essos he is depicted raping clearly reluctant sex slaves.

What makes this all the more disturbing, and all the more literarily brilliant, is that it casts aside the biased curtain we had seen Tyrion through before, and the result is shocking. How much more free to consent is a Westerosi prostitute than a Pentoshi sex slave? How worthwhile were the barbed comments he made so frequently when they ultimately led to a litany of testimonies against him as soon as he lost his privileged position? The worse devils of Tyrion’s nature come out in full force, and we see much more of the black of the character Martin described as “the grayest of the gray”. Perhaps the difference now is that Tyrion’s POV lacks a single element of self-love. The readers are repulsed by him in the same way he repulses himself.

Nonetheless, Tyrion seems to be rekindling something of a purpose in ADWD, as characters nurture themselves back up from the wreckage in the aftermath of the War of the Five Kings. He has lost the Lannister’s golden influence, but his silver tongue still serves him well. However, we may never see the old Tyrion again. This Tyrion has not repented for the vile things he has done, or the vile things he intends to do. He was caricatured by the citizens of King’s Landing as an evil advisor whispering into the monarch’s ear - this may become something closer to the truth when he at last meets with Daenerys.

3. Jaime Lannister

“Does my lord wish to answer?” The maester asked, after a long silence. A snowflake landed on the letter. As it melted, the ink began to blur. Jaime rolled the parchment up again, as tight as one hand would allow, and handed it to Peck. “No,” he said. “Put this in the fire.”

Who saw a Jaime POV coming? What an incredible way to open ASOS after the prologue, to see things from the eyes of one of the series’ most notorious villains. I don’t think I need to explain at length how impactful it was to gently peel off the layers of Jaime’s character, revealing the true reason he killed Aerys, his growth in his interactions with Brienne, the embodiment of the chivalric values he abandoned, and most significantly, losing the hand that was his entire identity and vanity. Anyone who has read the book or watched the show can relate.

Since then, he continues to fascinate. He is discovering talents beyond swordsmanship, entering into a negotiation even Tywin could have been proud of. He has learned how to use his bad reputation for nobler ends, scaring Edmure Tully silly enough to end the siege of Riverrun without shedding a single drop of blood. He is still fighting for a Lannister king, true, but that is only staying true to his role as Kingsguard: now that he has lost his sword hand, he is discovering what it means to be a knight again, in an unconventional and thrilling way.

I chose the above quote because it captures the beauty of AFFC Jaime, breaking away from the sister he fought so hard to return to and decisively cutting out her influence for good. In Jaime’s reverse knight’s fable, refusing the call of the damsel in distress is one of the most upright things he has ever done. How fitting that he should then meet up with the woman who influenced him to take the other path - only she seems about to betray him, too…

It will be so interesting to see Stoneheart’s perverted justice on a character whose head we once wanted on a chopping block but now want to survive at all costs. I don’t think Brienne will be able to follow through with it to the end. After all, Jaime must live on to fulfil a certain prophecy…

2. Euron Greyjoy

“The bleeding star bespoke the end,” he said to Aeron. “These are the last days, when the world shall be broken and remade. A new god shall be born from the graves and charnel pits.”

It’s common enough to hear writers and critics talk about how your villain can’t simply be evil, and that they need to have sympathetic motivations or else they’re badly written. I think that’s true sometimes, but only when your evil villains fail to capture the raw horror of what evil really is - that’s when they feel wooden or cartoonish. To successfully capture that heart of darkness, however…

That is what George R.R. Martin achieved with Euron Greyjoy, the most terrifying character I have ever read.

Everyone underestimates Euron. They know he’s mad, but they don’t know how mad he is. They think they can outmanoeuvre him, like Asha, or betray him, like Victarion. They think he’s lying when he says he’s sailed to Valyria and means to conquer Westeros with dragons. Only Aeron knew. Only Aeron knew the depths of Euron’s depravity, and how far he means to fly. Because he’s the only one who heard the scream of the rusted iron hinge.

The Forsaken showed that it was all true, that Aeron was right all along - that he, like the oracle Cassandra, warned the Ironborn but was condemned to be ignored. Euron has an ambition unparalleled by any other character in the series - he means to turn himself into a god. He’s the only one depraved enough to go to the lengths it would take to make that dream a reality.

We should fear Euron, we should fear him very much. And yet, I think his dreams of godhood can never fully come to pass. He is, after all, still a man - still fallible, as we saw him shrink away at the Reader’s reprimand in The Reaver and change his tactics accordingly. His humanity will be the death of him - not any goodness in his heart, but a weakness common to the human creature. The dragons he means to dance with, and potentially the Others too as some theories go, will move at a pace beyond those mortal legs.

His attempt to fly will inevitably end with a fall. But that headfirst plunge will take the Seven Kingdoms with him.

1. Stannis Baratheon

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning… burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?“

Here is a man so totally dedicated to his duty that he is willing to do whatever it takes to accomplish it, even if it means his own destruction.

He is a character that believes in justice and the word of law more strongly than any other, and watching his dogged persistence to put a corrupt world to rights no matter the odds has always struck a chord with me, especially in this world teeming with such selfish and barbarous characters.

He is not such a performer as other characters, not as openly humorous as Tyrion (though lowkey he has an incredible dry wit), nor as pretty as Renly, nor as lighthearted as Littlefinger. He’s a dour person, hard and unpopular. But if you listen to the conversations he has with Davos, there is an incredible heart to this man who has placed all the troubles of the world on his own shoulders, and strives through cold and stormy weather to make the best, most just decision he can for no other reason than that - because it is just. Justice is hard, sharp and unyielding, not pretty, not humorous, not lighthearted - but necessary. In a king more than anywhere else. That’s why those who do follow Stannis, like Davos, follow him with such faith and loyalty.

He often proceeds about this goal in questionable ways, compensating for the imperfections of his forces and of his own personality. This is the rickety bridge Stannis walks on, as a man who will go to any means necessary to accomplish what he feels must be done. Sometimes this might mean unleashing dark forces better left locked up, sometimes it might mean committing so terrible a sin as kinslaying, sometimes it might mean sacrificing a child to awaken stone dragons - and sometimes it will mean rescuing the realm from a wildling incursion when no other king cared.

Moments like that unforgettable “STANNIS! STANNIS! STANNIS” stick so powerfully in my memory because, much like Jaime, the real virtue of this character had yet to shine so brightly as it eventually would in ASOS. Something which had always been there takes us unawares. And he is evolving, too, ever becoming more flexible, more willing to compromise, more hesitant to burnings, more dedicated to the good of the realm over himself.

And there is a whole other layer of tragic pathos that lies behind his character. Try as hard as Stannis might, and God does he try, he is not Azor Ahai, and every reader knows he will not sit the throne at the end. Even Stannis knows where this road will leave him. But he persists anyway, in the face of death. The courage of that, the self-sacrifice - how can one not be moved by it?

One of the finer points of Stannis that often goes missed in (understandably) overzealous attempts to correct the show’s butchering of his character, is that there is a part of him that does want to be king. He’s lived in Robert’s shadow his entire life, as Asha thinks to herself in ADWD, and there is a part of him that does yearn for recognition. Quotes like “Robert could piss in a cup and men would call it wine, but I offer them cold clear water and they squint in suspicion and mutter to each other about how queer it tastes.” reveal that, I think.

So this is a whole other internal battle within Stannis - he must be careful not to allow his judgement to falter against the part of him that is jealous of Robert, of Renly, that wants to be the hero Melisandre says he is. This very human aspect complicates further the already complicated war between deontological and utilitarian ethics that wages in his head, with Davos and Melisandre as their respective spokesmen. Much as he may want to be a perfect king and avatar of justice - he is still human.

The depth and tragedy of Stannis Baratheon is Shakespearean. My heart shatters in advance for the moment Stannis has made his greatest sacrifice of all to halt the advance of the Others (not the Boltons, he’ll flatten them like pancakes), and for it to do nothing, nothing at all. For him to realise he was never the hero of this story, and that now he has gathered all this blood on his hands where there is no spring to wash them in.

A man so just as Stannis could never forgive himself. But we, the readers, shall never forget the battles he fought as an axle of this universe striving to be something greater.

Honourable Mentions to Aeron, Victarion, Barristan, Jon (Snow and Connington), Cersei and Brienne. Yes, I really like the Greyjoys 🦑.

[artdjgblog]

​Innerview: Effie Lin / ​DPI Magazine (Taiwan)  

November 2009 - January 2010

Photo: DJG (2009) by Cayla Kennedy (Age 5)​

Note: Interview for a magazine feature.

0​1) What is your philosophy in your art world? I have to be a human first and a maker of things second. Sometimes the two court together really well. Sometimes they pick fights and choose sides. I sort of have a get up and go method and plan to always be working on my life and work, and to my best ability, given the resources at hand. It’s not that I have a complete lack of care, responsibility or feel disenfranchised or on the outskirts. Though, I do have my moments. Even in bad moments, when it’s probably not a good idea for me to be around me, I try to eventually spin a positive from that experience. They can be the most crucial moments as I learn a great deal once I get beyond their borders. I think that’s part of the process. Process is a big deal and we’re all a part of it. And there is such a thing as bad process equaling a positive in life and work. All I know is that I need to be honest and pure with how I speak inside and outside of the work I am putting on and off the table. Anyway, I’m not really a grouch or a slouch in both areas of life and art, but it is a constant work in progress. I think that thinking too much about it, or the idea of it in the larger spectrum, can become damaging, unhealthy and grow bean stocks further from the truth. Though, I might add that I understand how hard it can be to keep from big ideas and big thinking, it is. I like where it is that I’m at right now and it all stacks up to here. I just need to be making things until I move on to something else. And that something else will probably involve making things too. I love what I do. There is a bigger component to the little pictures that I’m here presenting. I just need to keep up and in the know of the tip toes and perhaps leave some behind in the only way I can try, that means being something like me. ​0​2) What is your favorite medium and why? I feel that maintaining and manhandling a single medium would be quite overwhelming. I admire those that can do it, and do it skillfully. Not that I’m a special breed, but I don’t understand how some people can milk the same cow every day, for years. Every day is a little different inside and out and that fuels my mood of operation. I think that I suppose there is a definition when one looks at the work I’m doing, and the way I go about it, to easily pin me to a favorite medium. I like to use my hands and things around me to tell my stories. But, I don’t know much other than the day-to-day as my mind and energy wanders much on the map. I wake up and see what weather we’ve got. I believe much of it comes from growing up on a farm and spending a lot of time alone. A lot of people think that time is at a stand-still on the country clock. It wasn’t for me as there wasn’t really a cap on the kind of external culture and entertainment I could in-take and fuse with country living inside and out. Everything was a big pot of soup for me and it still is. I was always doing something and I still am. I also watched my Grandma make a lot of things by hand, and although not really an “artist”, she’s been a big influence on the work I’m doing. Another thing, I can’t be as involved with my work when there is a computer screen barrier involved. I can use a computer, but it is only like a nail gun to me. In my college studies while struggling with the introductory marriage of technology and design, I almost quit completely. Funny, before even getting on a computer I naively claimed to tech-savvy peers, “I am going to take the route that doesn’t employ computers.” Anyway, computers are cool and all but it is not how I like to really play. It didn’t help that around this time in my early 20s, I also had doubts about my artistic talent and identity. I also never felt comfortable visiting the design firms of my possible “future”. Some people find a home in them, but I couldn’t and wanted to be in a sense, a stay at home mother to my art. So, these factors led me to re-learn and go back to being a kid locked up inside and/or getting that kid to come back out…becoming an adult can be crippling. I started putting my identity back in the work at this time by leaving my human elements and story behind. I was also exposed to new kinds of external stimulus with art and culture and that helped me see things better too. I eventually had a calling to do my own thing completely, dropped out of school, moved to a big city and mixed it all together. Cities are big cooking pots anyway. But, on a personal level, I’m not done cooking yet. I’m kind of “mild” right now compared to most. I’m just one more guy carving a name on the cinder block and trying to pay the bills. ​0​3) Could you talk about the exhibition post of “Showing My Sheep”? Could you talk about your creating concept? I was born and raised on a farm. We raised sheep and showed sheep at county fairs. I used to have a basketball court shared with the sheep lot. As a youngster I spent some time wanting to be a farmer and in many ways now I kind of am. I’d like to live on a farm again someday, mostly for quiet space, to have more animals and to have a big barn I can work in. I did my first retrospective art exhibition called “Showing My Sheep” after five years of working on my art odyssey. Yeah, that’s not a long time for a life or career overview, but it was important for me to show my whole flock of work together like that and up to that point. And in truth, a 5 year old sheep is middle age. The image on the exhibition poster is a quick scribble of me (or something like me) in sheep’s carcass/dress. I’ve always wondered silly about sheep walking upright and maybe a bit of my love of Gary Larson “The Far Side” comics is shining through just a bit too? But, there is more to this one as it is a tribute to my upbringing as it represents my sheepish nature and approach mixed with the “wolf in dress” image that I think we all catch and can’t catch up with, at least every now and again (notice the front legs and how they are also a wolf snout?). Another idea in this sheep image is how zombie-like an artist, anyone for that matter, slaves to their nature. I rummage a lot of thrift shops for unique papers and board game “play cards” to print on. Paper can add another dimension to something like a poster, in this case adding to the idea of the game of life and art I play. The board game this paper came from is called “Facts in Five: The Game of Knowledge”, thus adding to all the pieces of art and life that added up to the making of my 5 year retrospective. There is also the handwriting element of an anonymous other’s involvement that I find fascinating. Plus, there is the “grid” pattern that reflects a panel fence to keep the sheep in and out…breaking fences, doing my own thing, so to speak. If you squint you might even see sheep pellets, or what I used to refer to as M&M’s, as they would make for an interesting game of basketball. Did you get all that? There are lots going on in this one. Almost another 5 years after that exhibition and I wonder if I’m nearing the end…hmmm. You never know. ​0​4) Which one of your work is your favorite? Or which one made you spend the most time and effort? What’s message you would like to convey through this work?? Favorite Work: My favorite piece of personal art was stolen at an exhibition in late 2004. It is the only thing of mine that wasn’t/isn’t documented (scanned, photographed) and I can’t recreate it. It is a simple little broken pen scribble drawing of a mentally handicapped water bison. His name is Mortimer. I made him in a couple minutes while on hold on the phone with the phone company. I busted a pen and let the ink spill. I’ve tried other drawings like it, but they turn out different. I have a lot of favorite works, but that one is the winner and loser. Time & Effort: I don’t think you really need “time” or “effort” to make something stick or feel, or even get something done. In fact, once I’m in the creative moment there is no such thing as “time” and “effort”. If you do something enough and love it, then it becomes another extension and you’re a paint brush for something bigger. Though, the words do become tangible when “life” stuff is thrown into the mix. This can’t be denied. Due to my so far 8 year schedule of day jobs, night jobs, marriage and the general day-to-day, I’ve always worked fairly fast and in small slots of time and many things at once, lots of things. It’s as much mental and military discipline as it is anything else and I just go for it. If it ever starts to feel like a chore, I try to take a short break or study up in other areas. If it ever becomes a chore out of my grasp, I’ll find something else to do completely. It can be struggling at times, but there is something good about the “life” stuff that I feed from. It can add fuel to the fire and makes me realize that I’m not always first in line. Sometimes it can be rough sitting on my hands while at the day job, but I’ll make up for it. In truth, there are never enough resources for the things I’d like to leave behind before I’m called quits. But, I sure try to make the best of “time” and “effort” while I’m here. I’ve made many posters and I love the fact that the poster has a shorter shelf live than something like the CD. I like experimenting with posters because if it gets swatted down, it only lived for a couple weeks and another will come along. They are kind of like flies. At three to five sessions, I try to court CD packages a lot longer. There are instances when an image instantly clicks in my mind when I’m told of an upcoming CD and that’s the final product, but most of the time I have to make them incubate and mature. I’ve always been fascinated with productivity and the human mind and mood, at least in my path. I often look at my timeline of work, wondering how different some of the things would have turned out had I did them on another day or even a minute later than I did them. The past few years, my music design output has shrunk some. I reached a certain point after 2006 to where I realized I needed to step back. I still do a few music projects here and there, but mostly just make a lot of visual art for myself. Which, I’ve always teetered on visual art. Maybe I’m trying to make up for Mortimer? I did start something different for me and in a medium that I’d love to pursue more. It wasn’t until this year (2009) that something really consumed me and that was a music video. It has been a great thing for me to be more patient with a project. Now, that’s a whole different extra innings of “time” and “effort”. ​0​5) Which one of CD cover/album artwork is your favorite or make you really proud of? What is the concept? Could you talk about your creating process? Did you listening to the music when you working? I’ve been asked this question a lot. I always answer with: “Whatever Makes You Happy” by The Elevator Division. It’s something to feel proud when you accomplish anything, but even more when it is all done and duplicated by hand in one night. 250 CD packages were made out of hand-cut cardboard, spray paint, stencils, rubber stamps and glued inserts. The concept is a hand shooting off a missile finger. The music themes revolve around relationships on and off the battlefields of life and war and the cover image relays the idea of shooting off one’s options, as in, “Whatever Makes You Happy”. Conceptually (design-wise), it might be the best thing I’ve got in me and inspiration came at the last minute before production and during a great Midwest thunderstorm. Upon the last spray of paint in my basement (yes, I was stupid enough then to spray paint in an unventilated basement), there was a crack of lightning and I flew upstairs and out the door of my home and slid down the well-watered front lawn and into the gutter of the street with red spray paint all over me. The squatters on the porch at the supposed drug house across the street got a kick out it. It was a massive affair and I swore I wouldn’t do it again and then I did a near repeat 4 years later for another band, but not all in one night. I swore I wouldn’t do that again-again and then I kind of did it again two years later. So, I must be due up for another one soon. In the case of The Elevator Division, the band lived with me and practiced nearly every day directly outside my basement studio door at our home. There were several bands that this happened with. I usually don’t listen to albums that I’m designing very much and I rarely listen to them after they are a finished product. This is especially so when it is blasted in the flesh right next to me. ​0​6) Why is sound/music important to our life? What is the most important for designing the album/CD cover? I’m not a fan of a lot of “noise”, but I like sound and I love music and I like some noise music. I love the idea and image of the album cover and making an album “feel” on the outside and giving it an identity. I find I have a detachment from the music and the memories when it is fused in our current in-between stage right now of technology and mp3 land. Even if they have a digital image shroud, they lack a hard identity to me as they float out in space and it makes me a little sad. I prefer a physical collection/body of music, with identity. I don’t want to get too far into this topic and I’ll add that both formats have their good and bad. And I love walking to and from work with a pocket overflowing with Bruce Springsteen songs (I have the records at home too). Along the same lines, I think that the idea of “cover art” or something physical isn’t going to die 100%, at least not in my lifetime. I do hope it doesn’t get even more eclectic-expensive like it kind of is looking. I love album art and I can’t really afford it. I just remember one of my earliest memories being the apple on records by The Beatles. That was/is important to me. I bit that apple and it has been good to me for 30 years now. ​0​7) What had been the most challenging thing to you in art world, and how did you overcome it? I think I have challenges and things to overcome and then I tune into the news or watch certain documentary films. I realize there is nothing for me to complain about after that. Of course there are some personal issues that challenge me and my little world. A major one of is overcoming some of my social phobia. It’s made me who I am and probably factors to why I make the way I make, but it has kept me from getting in the ball game as much as I probably should have. Though, what is “probably should have”? Technology makes great networking devices, and is “the now”, but at the same time I always feel so exhausted and behind with it. I also don’t have resources to keep up with it (money, time and mind) but I’m trying bit by bit. Another thing I’ve always carried a heavy lump with is a day job. But, it’s the only way for me to stay afloat. Every year I spend more money than I make with art (currently, I have 24 cents in my DJG Pay Pal account). One way to overcome this is to stop entering high-cost art and design competitions, which was one way of being social with a lot of people. Well, from a global publishing stand point. Competition fees are rising so much these days. Another challenge is the business end of the art. I stink at business. Though, a lot of that has to do with not having enough time and not being the best at problem solving and math, plus always being broke. And I would rather just make more art. I’m a happy camper though and constantly doing my thing. ​0​8) What are your future goals in the art world? Naturally, anyone who feels they’re sitting on something at home is going to set their sights on doing their own thing full-time and for full-time income. But, even if I never get there, I will be punching my own time card in some form or another. I’ll find peace. I’ll always be working on something and working on myself. I could easily keep my head down all day, dragging my wagon (and I kind of do), but I love the idea of sharing my work on a larger, global scale too. It is global on the internet, yet I easily butt heads with technology as it can get quite beastly. But, I appreciate it greatly as even a decade ago you probably wouldn’t have found out about me to get an interview like this. Thank you! I’ve met a lot of my initial goals and it’s easy to sit here and think about tomorrow but I need to work out today to make it there. I’d love to eventually put out an officially published book or lots of them (any bidders?). I plan to start with some handmade ones very soon. I’ll also finally be selling things on my web site soon. I’m currently working towards a 10 year retrospective show of my time in Kansas City, MO USA. I plan to show everything. Also, I will be working on more and more visual art in the coming year. I’d love to exhibit my physical work in more nooks and crannies of the world. I’ve been fortunate to do this a little bit, but nothing on a massive scale. I love the idea of ideas and imagery inspiring people. I also love the idea of relaying an interpretation of the world, while we’re all down here in this together. It’s kind of neat to think I’m leaving a little trail behind in this way and sharing that. Though, I’m not so confident art can change the world on a large platform, I do think it can help a little bit. Even if that means muscling up a smile that you can say was honestly spent. -djg