#brienne x grey wind

[uluthrek]

making up wild asoiaf ships and posting them with a tag just to see if i’m the first weirdo who thought of them

[yourlocallunatic]

My Lady.

podrick payne x Lannister f!reader

18+

summary: Bastard daughter of Jamie Lannister you’ve stayed in the Red Keep as a ladies maid without your family's knowledge, after Jeoffrey dies it’s no longer safe for you so your father sends you with his new ally.

warnings: smutttt! piv sex, oral, m & f receiving. lovey dovey shit. lannister trauma. probably some typos….sue me.

WC: 7.4k

The commotion during the week after your cousin's death was something you hadn’t seen since the former King Baratheon died and the ‘usurper’ Ned Stark was beheaded. They were questioning you, you knew they would—you had been working for Sansa Stark ever since she arrived in King’s Landing, of course, her ladies' maid would know something of her disappearance as well as her new husbands. You and Shae had been asked to testify against Tyrion in the trial, you knew you couldn't testify against your uncle without revealing your true lineage. Not many knew of it, but your uncle was one of them.

You'd been waiting in your chambers silently for days, sneaking out only to steal food from the kitchens. When your door busted open suddenly you thought the worst, Cersei had found you out, or even worse Lord Tywin, he wouldn't think for a second before killing you. A bastard in his family. How shameful.

"My daughter, come with me now," you were shocked to see your father, he didn't engage with you unless absolutely necessary. As devastating as it was that you hardly ever saw him, you knew it was for your safety. You glance down to his now golden hand, having only heard from the other maids and squires of what happened to him. "Come, quickly now, pack a sack we don't have much time." what were his plans now though? He'd only just gotten back.

"What are we doing?" you began to slowly gather a couple of dresses and slips, but Jamie was clearly in much more of a rush, tearing a long, grey cloak from your cabinet before unbuckling a golden, lion-pommeled dagger and tossing them in a bag.

"You mustn't use this unless you need to. And we aren't doing anything you are going away."

"But you told me it was safer here, where you are!" you picked up the pace, tying your bag together as your father draped your cloak and hood over you, nearly completely concealing your face, "I can't see anything! Can't you just tell me what's happening?"

"Keep your voice down please," he whispered grabbing your hand before tearing into the hallway. "I'll explain in a moment I promise." You huffed quietly—annoyed—but following him anyway. What else could you do but trust him? You had no one else to trust.

Winding through the halls you came to an abrupt stop outside the back entrance of the Keep. And there stood a woman you'd never seen before, she was beautiful in a way you'd never expect, tall, impressive, mighty, her eyes a striking blue. This had to be Brienne of Tarth, the woman you had heard brought your father back to King's Landing.

"Brienne please," you had never once heard your father plead. "This is the one favor I'll ask of you," he speaks to Brienne as you walk to the edge of the forest where there are three horses and two men waiting. "And here he is, your last gift," he says smiling as he pulls one of the men next to him. You knew his face. Podrick Payne. He was your uncle's squire. You two had often seen each other in passing once Tyrion and Sansa had gotten married, he was a quiet boy, but always spared a smile and a nod towards you. And you had noticed just how gorgeous his smile was. You pull your hood over your face a tad more, not knowing if you could really trust him yet.

"I don't need a squire. She'll slow me down enough already," Brienne scoffed and nodded her head in your direction.

"I won't slow you down ser-... my lady," Podrick quickly fixed his mistake before promising to serve Brienne well. The other man, Bronn you think his name was, a friend of Lord Tyrion's handed Podrick an axe before rushing him off to ready the horses.

"I trusted you to get me back to the Keep, and now I'm trusting you with my daughter. She's safest outside of King's Landing." your father glances at you and then back at Brienne, "she's been found out. If not yet then at tomorrow's trial. I can't have her killed." You look at him before grabbing his golden hand.

"Please don't. She said it herself, I'll slow her down! I can find a better place here, in the city so you can keep an eye on me!" You beg.

"You know I can't darling," he brings his hand to your face stroking your falling hair away from your eyes, "You know how jealous your aunt can get, and how protective your grandfather can get of our family. They'll find you here." you may not have known him well enough but he was your father, the only family you'd had for years. Tears welled in your eyes before you wrapped your arms around him. He held you tight, it was the first you'd been held in years, and you relished the moment. "I trust Brienne, and if you trust me, you'll trust her, Podrick's a good lad too! You know him, they keep you safe." you pulled away from him and sniffed, wiping your tears away.

"The horses are ready my lady," Podrick walked back towards you and Brienne.

"Very well. Get the lady on her horse and we'll be off soon."

"Yes, my lady."

"I'm not a lady, get her on the horse," she says sharply. You gave one more look to your father before walking with Podrick, leaving your father and Brienne to talk.

"Have you ever been North, my lady?" Podrick strikes up a conversation as he ties your bag to the back of the horse, securing the saddle before kneeling before you and setting his hand out to help you on the horse. You hadn't seen him his close before, freckles scattered his cheeks and his warm chocolate eyes stared into yours as he recognized who you were. His brows furrowed but he didn't ask questions. The loyalty of a squire.

"Never, I don't suppose I'll like it though. I'm not fond of the cold," you answer, smiling slightly to try and lighten the mood. Your hand rests on his broad shoulder as he lifts you to the horse. You let out a small yelp as you went, not expecting the strength he had, you quickly tried to play it off "Gods I hate horses, haven't ridden one in years, and last time I did I nearly got stepped on." He chuckles at you as he adjusts the stirrups for you.

"Well I'm sure he could teach you to ride," Bronn comes from the other side of the horse, patting Podrick on the back roughly as Podrick glared at him. Giving you the impression that he was often teased by the older man.

"Not sure I'd help, I haven't ridden in a while either," he turns back to you, giving you a shy smile as Brienne and Jamie start back towards you.

"Wasn't talking about horses," Bronn smirks and ruffles the top of Podrick's head, the younger man trying to push him away. "See, this lad's got a magic cock, all the girls in King's landing want him now, three whores turned away a load of gold 'cause he was that good."

"Shut up!" Podrick growls as he walks away to mount his horse, redness growing on his cheeks. You knew your face was growing hot too at the image. You'd heard plenty of stories from the other ladies' maids about what intimacy was like, and hardly ever did you hear of it being good, let alone good enough to turn away money. You adjust yourself on your saddle, a warmth quickly settling in your belly.

"Better make sure your daughter watches herself around that lad!" Bronn walks past your father patting him on the back. Your father's eyes now stare darkly at the squire who looked absolutely humiliated.

"I hear anything about you touching my daughter I'll have Brienne chop that 'magic cock' off in your sleep," Podrick looked utterly shocked, his daughter? But it was quickly replaced but fear. "You hear me, boy?" Your father's hand moved to hold the handle of the sword at his side.

"O-of course, Ser! I would never, I-I'm a gentleman, I've always respected your daughter." A blush begins to form at the tips of your ears, respect. You look to him to give him a reassuring smile and nod, just like the ones he'd give you every time you saw each other.

"Keep her safe, Brienne. Keep your oath." and that was the last you saw of your father for quite some time.

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

Traveling with Brienne and Podrick had actually been somewhat enjoyable. Minus sleeping outside every night and enduring Brienne's constant grumpiness you were actually getting used to it. You and Podrick just grew closer and closer, each telling one another stories of your squiring and maid days.

Once, he questioned your lineage, and you gave him the truth. "My mother died when I was young, she was a Lady of the Court, Jamie didn't know I was his child until right before she passed. And well... you know the rumors about him and the Queen...she wouldn't have taken well to knowing he had a child that wasn't hers. Foul of them both honestly..."

"What happened after that?" Podrick urged on gently, looking at you from where he rode next to you on his horse, you could tell he was trying his best not to pry but was too curious.

"Well, he had me raised in the Keep. I worked since I could walk, in kitchens, wait staff, whatever you could think of. He always made sure I knew who he was, hardly ever saw him though."

"Does anyone else know?"

"My septa, I'm sure Varys knows because Tyrion found out recently and who else would he hear it from?" you laugh at the absurdity of the thought that your uncle had a whole other niece living under his roof and he of all people didn't know. He smiles at your story, not a single bit of judgment in his eyes.

You too had learned so much more about the sweet man that squired your uncle, even hearing of the time he and Bronn had forced Podrick to tell them everything that had happened in Littlefinger's brothel the night the women turned away the gold. That story had been told after one evening you three had spent quite a while in a tavern, seeking the warmth from the rain with fire, and probably too much ale. He had been so embarrassed the next morning when Brienne told him to stop bragging about how good he was in the bedroom.

"What are you talking about? I didn't brag about anything!" He'd said defensively as he readied your horses the next day, his face already going red. That was also the first time you heard Brienne laugh.

"If I recall, you said word for word," she said before deepening her voice to imitate Pod "'Oh Y/N, they just wouldn't stop asking! How many times am I supposed to say that I'm just good, it's all about receiving and giving.'" Podrick's mouth dropped open as he shook his head looking between the two of you.

"I-I, no I didn't say that!" he looked at you for a response and all you could do was shrug and give him an awkward smile that confirmed his fears. He looked down at his feet, ashamed, "Never let me drink that much ale again." and he was silent most of the day's ride.

As embarrassed as he was you were even more aroused. The man had grown on you, he was sweet, and always looked after you and Brienne before doing anything for himself. It didn't help that one evening he was without a tunic for a while as you washed it in the creek. He sparred with Brienne, he was getting stronger from his training, you could see it as you watched the muscles in his chest and abdomen ripple as the swords clanged together, or his arms tensing as he held defense against Brienne. He had caught your eye as you were looking at him, but you swiftly turned away in embarrassment, practically drooling. Then it had been you that didn't talk for most of the next day's ride.

Some weeks after that, you sat by a fire after the longest day you'd had. Sansa rejecting Brienne's protection, and her not trusting you for one second after she found out who you were. You'd been chased by some of Littlefinger's men, losing both Brienne and Podrick for some time. It was the first time you'd been in that much danger since Brienne defeated the Hound. Brienne slept a ways away, claiming she was too irritated with Pod to stand the sight of him. Your legs were tucked underneath you and you held your hands close to the fire.

"Are you cold, my lady?" his voice held a teasing tone, you'd told him many a time you weren't a lady, but he didn't stop, and you knew he called you that just to tease you. You were in no mood for it though, the girl you'd known and cared for for years now didn't trust you. Littlefinger had gotten into her head. You were angry, at her, at Baelish, at your father for leaving you, your mother for dying, at Brienne for picking on Podrick, and even at Podrick himself for running off without you and leaving you.

"Of course I'm cold, we're in the North now Podrick," You spat out at him. You know you'd regret your harsh tone later but right now, fuck it.

"Have I upset you?" he says softly, just the sound of his voice melting your heart. You close your eyes, all the anger and heartbreak you've had today began to swim in your eyes. "Y/N..." gods his voice couldn't be more perfect, it broke you. A sob left your lips and they didn't stop. "Whoa, woah, what's going on?" you didn't hear him stand up from his side of the fire and make his way to you before he put an arm around you. You fell right into him, he was too warm to resist, too gentle. He shushed you and rocked you in his arms until the crying stopped.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Podrick," your voice nasally from crying "I shouldn't be mad but I am. I cared for Sansa, she became a sister to me and now she doesn't trust me. I cared for my father and he sent me off, I cared for my mother and she died before I could even speak, I care for you and you left me, I know it wasn't on purpose but I was so afraid without you. I'm sorry, I don't want to be mad but I can't help it!" you choked out another sob before he looked at you and wrapped his arms around you again.

"No, no, don't say sorry, it's alright, it was a hard day, you can be mad. I-I hate that I left you...I promise I d-didn't mean to but the horse..." he trailed off pulling back to look you in the eyes. Gods you loved those damned eyes, his brows were pulled together as you stared each other in the eye, not a look of pity, just sympathy. You lean forward to rest your head against his chest, so worn from the long day. He smelt of fire smoke and evergreens. It felt so right you didn't even realize this was the closest you two had been to one another. His strong arms held you close and he rested his chin atop your head. You wondered if this felt just as right to him as it did to you.

"Pod?" you break the peaceful silence and he hums an answer in response not wanting to let go of you, "Do you care for me too?" these words made him let go, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and nerves.

"W-what?"

"I-um, said before that I cared for you, do you care for me too?" his mouth closed and opened like a fish out of the water as he searched for words, always so unsure of himself.

"Of-of course I do! I'm here to protect you." those weren't the words you'd wanted him to say.

"No, Podrick, do you care for me?"

What little remaining confidence he had left his body, he closed his eyes tightly gathering whatever courage might be inside of him before opening them and looking you in the eye, moving quietly to grab the side of your face, still wet with tears. "Yes. Very much." the tension left your body and a smile grew on your face. Your hands moved to grab behind his neck and pull his forehead to yours.

"Please, kiss me Pod, I want to know how you feel."

And he didn't even hesitate to smash his lips to yours and practically swallowing you whole. This Podrick was different, he was moved by passion and love and lust. He wasn't the clumsy boy right now, this was the broad-shouldered man you saw sparring (of course they were both just as good, they were both your Podrick). He took hold of your body and didn't let go, one of his hands was entangled in your hair holding the back of your head to pull you closer, and the other gripped your hips tightly, he was feral. You held the sides of his face and gently pushed him away so you could come up for air. You made eye contact and began to giggle at him, he let out a huff of a laugh before resting his forehead on yours.

"Sorry," he mumbled becoming the shy Pod again, "I've been wanting to do that for so long now."

"Me too."

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

More weeks had passed and more things had changed. You and Podrick would sneak hidden hugs in the mornings and quiet kisses in the night when the dark had fallen. As much as you'd both like to believe you were keeping a good secret, Brienne could feel the change, she could see it in the glances and little smiles you gave each other. You'd continued to follow Sansa so Brienne could fulfill her oath. But when you came upon the aftermath of the battle between the Boltons and Stannis things went downhill. Everything was all over the place, and when you finally found Sansa she and the Greyjoy boy were being attacked by men from Ramsey's army. As Brienne and Pod went to take down the men you rushed to Sansa, you jumped off your horse and pulled her up from the ground. You watched from afar, the dagger your father gave you at your side. Your heart raced in your chest as you followed Podrick with your eyes, watching from every angle to ensure he was safe. He ended up on his back—swordless—with a man about to kill him, your body betrayed you, and standing from your safety you rushed right to him, "Podrick!" you screamed as you ran, hoping to reach him before the man struck. Your breath was stuck in your lungs but released when Theon struck the man from behind. The two men nodded at each other, Podrick's a sign of thanks.

"Oh gods," you rush to him the rest of the way and throw yourself on top of him, "I almost lost you!" you cried into his cloak.

"You won't lose me, my lady," he shoved you off of him and stood to help you up, "not now." he pressed a kiss to your forehead, not giving a flying fuck Brienne was watching. You made eye contact with her, looking away shyly and burying your face in Podrick's chest. You didn't see the small smile that graced her lips.

A few more days passed and you came to Castle Black, Sansa had apologized for not trusting you, and you gave your own apology for not telling her the whole truth. She was stubborn, it would be a slow rebuild of trust, but you could already see the young girl you first knew peeking through. Just before you reached the castle you and Sansa rode on one horse behind the two others. Podrick had looked back at you and you gave each other a shy smile. As confident as he could be sometimes, usually his nervousness won out, but so did yours.

"You love him don't you?" Sansa's voice rang behind you quietly.

"I really do," your voice sounded dreamy, something it never did. Perhaps something good might come out of this.

Jon and Sansa had reunited and things were calm for a moment. You were able to bathe, eat, and sleep in a bed covered with furs. The North was cold, you hated it just as much as you thought.

"My lady," Podrick came to sit next to you in the hall where you tried to keep warm by the fire. You immediately pull him closer trying to gather any warmth you could, "Why aren't you in bed?" he asks as he takes off his cloak to drape it around you.

"My room is freezing! I can't sleep in there! Thought in here I could at least sit by the fire."

"I don't like the thought of you here alone, the men of the Night's Watch, lots of them are dangerous...why haven't you just lit the fire in your room? That should warm you." he rubbed slow circles on your back, but your quick turn to look at him startled him back an inch.

"There is no fire in my room, don't you think I'd have lit it by now?!" the cold made you intensely irritable but you still snuggled closer to him. "Wait... Pod? You have a fire in your room?"

"Uhm...yes? You don't?"

"NO! I just said so! Ohh that is so unfair! I bet it's because I'm a woman, the fuckers."

"Hey it's alright," He says trying to calm you, "You can um, you can stay in my room if you'd like." He looks you in the eye and your gaze softens.

"Really?"

"'Course, the fire's already going, should be nice n' warm already."

"Take me there m'lord oh the chill has seeped into my bones! I need a big strong man to help me!" you faint into him dramatically. He laughs at your bad attempt at acting and helps you to your feet.

"Let's go then, my lady."

He was right the room was already warm and cozy, filled with his scent from the worn leather tunic resting over the chair. You immediately took off both of the cloaks that now rested on you and kicked off your boots, flopping into the bed and under the furs, kicking your feet as you inhaled his scent. From the door he smiled gently at you, seven hells he was head over heels.

"Goodnight then, my lady," He moved to open the door, his cheeks red as he watched you cuddling into the bed.

"Podrick? You're not staying?" the thought of him leaving had you on your feet and straight to him before he can set his hand on the knob. You pull his arm away and bring it to you.

"I don't think we should..." He looks away from you clearly very nervous about something.

"Do you not want to? I can just go back to my room, I just thought... maybe you'd want to be together, while we have the chance," you look up at him through your lashes, confused at why he'd want to leave.

"No, no, I-Just. I really don't think I could...is all," your brows pull together trying to understand, he sees the confusion and continues to explain as he moves to hold your face in his hands, "You. Lying next to me. In bed? I-I don't think I could control myself if I wanted to."

Realization flooded your expression and then you began to think. You. Him. All those stories he'd so stupidly bragged about, the thoughts of his naked chest consumed you. You'd wondered what he looked like below that too. You hadn't been with a man, not like that. A few kisses here and there but this? Something different entirely. And you wanted it. You wanted him to make you feel good, just as he'd said. So you plucked up the courage.

"Then don't," you stepped closer to him taking his hands and moving them from your face to your waist, "please Podrick? I trust you."

Every ounce of his self-control was now gone in the wind as you all but pleaded for him. "Fuck." he cursed pulling you into him and pressing his lips to yours. The Podrick you saw the night by the fire was here again, and he was hungry. You didn't hear him curse often but this, his raspy, needy voice felt like fire in your veins. You didn't think it was possible for him to hold you any closer as his face buried into your neck and his lips trailed down, nipping and licking and sucking. You'd never felt anything so heavenly.

"Pod, I... I want to see you," you pant out, beginning to pull at the strings of the thin under-tunic he was left in after he'd given you his cloak in the hall. He helped, finally pulling the top over his head and leaving his chest bare. You immediately began to trail your hands down him, feeling every single inch as you had so often dreamed of doing. "So perfect," you whisper, beginning to place feather-light kisses across the span of his chest.

"Y/N, you um, you need to tell me if you really want this, I don't want to take something from you if you value it," he spoke quietly and shyly as you continued running your hand all over him, feeling the strength of his arms, the broadness of his shoulders, the smoothness of his chest. How could you not want this?

"I want this, it is important to me, and I want you to have it," you look him in the eye, speaking your truth, "Show me, Podrick, I want it." You take your hands away from him and begin to undo the ties of your dress, wanting him to see you for all you are. He watches you intensely. Short, quick breaths leave him as he feels himself growing harder and harder within the confines of his breeches. You were magnificent, your dress slowly fell down your body and pooled on the ground by your feet. Podrick couldn't help but stare and stare and stare. The longer he did the more nervous you grew, slowly moving your hands to cover yourself.

"No," his voice was low, full of desire, "don't cover yourself, you're fucking breathtaking," he gasped out. He sounded confident, and dominant, but not in a demeaning way, in a way that made you feel loved and cared for. He reached out, grabbing your breasts in his hands and plucking softly at your hardening peaks. A soft gasp left you and he covered your mouth with his, slipping his tongue inside as he continued caressing you. His hands went lower and lower, reaching around to your backside and giving it a quick squeeze making you moan into his mouth. "You trust me, yes?" he asks, and you nod continuing to kiss him, moving to his neck like he had done to you. Shit. He tasted so good. "I want to hear you say it," he speaks, pulling your head away with the hand he now held on your cheek.

"I trust you. I love you. Do whatever you want to me," the desperation was evident in your voice and your actions as you couldn't take your hands off of him.

"Go lay down," he kissed your forehead softly before pushing you gently towards the bed. The back of your legs hit the bed and you fell back, leaving your legs hanging down. A stroke of confidence befell you and you opened your legs slightly, showing him your pussy on full display. He walked towards you excruciatingly slow and when he finally reached you he touched you so very lightly. He traced his fingers across your hip-bones, across the tops of your thighs and right down in-between, so close to where you needed him. "You've uh, have you touched yourself before?" a tremor of anxiety running through him. You meet his gaze as his hands grow closer to your center, you nod at him shyly, should you be ashamed? He quickly answers your question. "Yeah? Good." Then it happens, his rough, calloused fingers finally meet where you most need him. He's so slow it almost kills you, dragging his fingers up and down gathering your arousal on his fingertips before bringing them to your throbbing bud. He elicits the most desperate sound out of your throat. "Is that where you touch? Is that where it feels good?"

"Yes, yesyes. It feels so good," you didn't recognize your own voice so desperate and wanton. Your head falls back against the furs on the bed as he continues his work, then OH gods. You feel his soft, wet tongue touch your center. Your head whips up and you look him straight in the eye from where his mouth connects to you, as his eyes meet yours he lets out a groan, and his eye slip shut fully enamored with the taste of your pussy. You hadn't ever felt anything so perfect, but maybe he'd change your mind later. His fingers massage the insides of your thighs as he laps and sucks at you. For the sake of the Night's Watch, you try your hardest to contain your noises but when a finger slips up and starts circling around your entrance you lose it, slapping a hand to your mouth to muffle your moans. His finger slips in slowly—too slowly—and you buck your hips forward aching for more.

"Be patient, I want to make sure you're comfortable," Podrick mumbles against your pussy, you can barely hear him but listen anyway as he works you open. A second finger joins soon and he sucks and licks your clit while his fingers move in and out of you, steadily building up a pace.

"Oh Pod, please don't stop, it feels so, so, good," your hand moves down slowly working its way into his hair and holding firmly as he does as you say, not stopping for a second. You can see his torso rhythmically jutting forward, trying to grind himself against something—anything. That brings you so close to the edge thinking of him, just as desperate as you are. A couple more laps of his tongue against your clit and a single groan into your pussy and you're falling over the edge. You pant and squirm as his motions don't let up. "Podrick, Pod, I can't 's too much," He finally pulls away from you, taking his slick-covered fingers and sticking them in his mouth, sucking away your juices. A down-right sultry moan leaves your lips at the sight and you slap your hand to your mouth before falling back against the bed again.

"Was that alright?" he asks, his hair is tousled and he slowly kisses up your body stopping to lick across your nipples, tugging one with his teeth slightly.

"Alright? You're a god Podrick," you pull his face to yours kissing him deeply. "Does it feel that good for you too? Can I make you feel like that?" He chuckles at your eagerness and kisses you again.

"I imagine it would with your mouth, but I want you to feel good tonight," now laying beside you, you see the evident tent in his breeches. You reach your hand down and grip him through his pants, moving up and down against the hard length experimentally.

"Please, Pod? It's only fair," you grin at him and he nods quickly at you, the pleasure too intense for him to just ignore. You shuffle down the furs and untie his breeches, letting your fingers drag down the curls on his lower belly and groin as you do so. You remove his pants quickly, you are just as desperate to taste him as he is to feel you. You move your hand up and down his length, leaning down to suck the drops of him from his tip.

"Gods, fuck, Y/N."

"Tell me what to do," you look up at him, he was so needy and desperate to feel you around his cock, but he'd let you have your fun first.

"Spit on it," and you do just as he says, you let the spit dribble down your chin and fall right on his cock, "now keep going up and down." following his directions you stroke him at a steady pace. "You can use your mouth too," more of a suggestion than direction but you dive right in taking his length in your mouth, doing just what felt right taking him deeper and deeper, and rubbing what you couldn't fit in your mouth. Woah. Now that you had your mouth and hand around him you realized just how large he was, would he fit? Thoughts coursed through your head as you continued your ministrations. So caught up you didn't hear his voice till he pulled your head off of him with the hand that was weaved through your hair. "Stop, stop," you heard the gasps and immediately grew worried.

"Was it not good?"

"It was too good," he huffed, out of breath, "I want to fuck you before I finish." his words brought you to reality a small fear settling deep in your gut. Your expression must've betrayed you because his hand moved to cradle your face. "We-we don't have to, whatever you want to do, I won't make you, my lady," he pecks your cheek and looks you in the eye waiting for a response.

"I-just...do you think you're going to fit?" genuine worry laced in your voice. He tried his best not to giggle at you, this version of you was so different from your normal snarky self.

"I got you nice and ready for me, if it hurts too much you say the word and I'll stop, I promise," how could one man be so utterly perfect? He shuffled out from underneath you and in one swoop you were now beneath him. His shining eyes stare down at you in adoration. His hand moves down to mess with your pussy again, moving your slick all around to make sure you were nice and wet for him, all the while keeping eye contact and watching your face contort in pleasure. “you want me to fuck you?” his voice was laced with lust but also a genuine concern for you. You nod vigorously, not being able to wait another second. His hand drifted away from your cunt causing a whine to leave your mouth. Taking his cock in his hand he pumps it a few times before taking the head and rubbing it all through your slick.

“Please, please,” you moan out reaching for his shoulders to pull him into you, your nails desperately scraping down his back.

“Please what?” his voice was teasing and you could tell this was his way of taking back every time he had been teased, flipping it around to make you a frustrated, whiny mess under him.

“Ugh, please Podrick, I want you to fuck me! I want to feel you inside of me, please,” you’d never been so desperate for anything in your life.

“‘Course love, whatever you want, I’m gonna go slow, ‘right?” you silently thank him for his consideration, he knew you were nervous, but you knew he would take care of you, just as he always did. The stretch was magnificent. He slid into you, taking his time and watching your reactions. A small wince at the dull pain that made you feel so achingly full, and an open-mouthed look of pure pleasure as he fully sheathed himself inside of you. “this good?” he asked, you could tell he was trying his hardest to hold himself back for your sake.

“‘S good Pod, please keep going,” your hands were still in his back practically digging your claws into him. Then he pulled out and pushed back inside in one motion, a loud moan left your lips as he groaned out a curse. You were squeezing him so nicely. His pace slowly formed as he kept moving in and out, his forehead falling against yours and your hot breaths mingling together as you panted and moaned. He rutted into you as he held you close, closer than anything you’d felt, you were one.

“That’s it, love,” this new name had you keening your head back. “knew you could take it, take me.” his words were barely coherent and he kept thrusting into you. You felt so full, so good, it was everything you could've hoped for.

"Love you, love you so much," your words made him groan out a "fuck" and he picked up his pace, fucking into you like a madman.

"Love you so much, you're—oh gods, fuck—doing so, so well," you could feel the sweat dripping down his back from where you held and you knew he was holding himself back as best as he could. Podrick was a sweet man, probably the kindest you'd ever met, but what you felt now wasn't kindness, it was desperation, fierce desperation to fuck you and fuck you good and hard. You knew men got like this, so eager for sex, you'd heard the stories about how violent they could get, but you'd never thought about Podrick having the same needs. He wouldn't escalate to violence, not ever, but you could feel the hunger in his thrusts as he gripped your hips tightly. The warmth from before started growing in your belly again, winding up and ready to break; and it got even more intense when he moved a hand from your hip back closer to your center, putting his calloused thumb right on your aching bud and rubbing it in circles. Your needy whines grew more desperate and your nails dug harder into his back—undoubtedly leaving marks. "Feel good?" he asked yet again, constantly making sure everywhere he touched you brought intense pleasure. You nod against his shoulder and move your legs to wrap around him. "There you go, m' getting close love," he grunted out, his thrusts growing sloppier. You cry out as the intense feeling washes over you again and he continues rubbing your clit to work you through it. As soon as it's finished he pulls out of you quickly, spilling himself all over your stomach and tugging on his cock as his spend continues to leak out of him before grunting once more and flopping next to you. Both of you pant hard, trying to recover from the intense feelings. His seed pooled on your stomach stickily and you reached a hand to run your fingers through it before moving them to your mouth and sucking his flavor off of them. You wouldn't lie and say it tasted good, but it was his essence and that alone aroused you again. He looked over at you and smiled cheekily before kissing your forehead.

"Could you, uhm..." you say nodding downwards to where his seed lay cooling on you.

"Oh-oh, 'course, sorry," He jumped up from the bed, the shy Pod returning with a rag and cleaning you off. His face was red, all of a sudden nervous as he realized what you two had just done. "That was good, right? I didn't hurt you or anything?" he rubbed the back of his neck with one hand as he used the other to stroke up and down your thigh, comforting you.

"It was amazing," you smile at him, trying to be reassuring before a smirk grows on your face. "Glad I was able to feel that 'magic cock' after all," you poked his ribs.

"Gods, I wish Bronn had never said anything, I wish I had never said anything!" he whined, moving off the bed to put his breeches back on, turning his face away from you.

"Come on Pod! I'm just teasing, you know I love it," you sit up and cover yourself with the furs, your body growing cold again as your sweat dries. "Come lay with me please," you beg, "just be with me." He turns his head back to you his brows curving down in adoration, your braids became messy and your lips were flushed pink from all the kissing. You'd never have any idea of how much he truly did love you. He walked back to the bed and rolled under the furs, pulling you into him and holding you tight.

"Sleep. You should be warm enough now, my lady," you giggled as you nuzzled your head into his neck and fell into a dreamless sleep.

When you woke the next morning Podrick was gone. Your heart dropped as you thought of countless reasons as to why he would leave. Was he done with you now? Was he ashamed of you? You got dressed quickly and tried your best to fix the mess your hair was without undoing the braids you had from yesterday. You opened the door slowly, looking both ways making sure no one would see you leaving Pod's chambers. You made your way to the hall for breakfast, still seeing no sign of Podrick. You sat beside Sansa with your bowl of oats and pushed it around with your spoon.

"You, uh—you haven't seen Podrick have you?" you asked her quietly, still worried he had just up and left.

"Don't worry, I saw him walking with Brienne to go train," she gave you a cheeky smile. "he had quite the smile on his face too." you blush at the thought of seeing him so happy because of you. You hurry to finish your breakfast so you can make your way out to see him.

You stood on the upper level, looking down on the yard where Podrick was sparring against a new member of the Night's Watch, Brienne watched from afar, occasionally shouting directions out to Podrick. Even though his skills were improving he still had a long way to go to match Brienne's level, that being said you had never seen him win a match against her. But sparring against this boy, someone more his size and skill level, he was doing amazing. He'd knocked the sword out of the boy's hand and walked closer to him, pointing his sword directly at his chest and smirking at him. Wow. You really must've given him the stroke of confidence that he needed. A steady smile sat on your face and you looked around only to see Brienne already staring at you. Her gaze was hard and your smile fell, she moved her head in one short movement to signal you to come down to the lower level. You walked towards her gradually, slightly worried about what she might want to speak to you about. As you reach her side, Podrick begins another round against the boy, catching your eye and giving a sweet smile (for luck he would tell himself, but really it just distracted him).

"Podrick seems happy this morning," Brienne states, eyeing you sideways.

"Suppose he does yes," you feign innocently.

"You weren't in your room this morning," your face falls and a blush grows rapidly on your face.

"I-I was in the kitchens.."

"Oh don't play coy, I know very well what happened," she looks you in the eye, very clearly feeding off your nervousness. "Just be careful, and don't let your father know or he'd have me chop off his 'magic cock' just like he said before we left. And as much as I'd like to do just that sometimes..." she trails off and looks back to Pod fighting before smiling softly at you, "he really makes you happy?"

"Yes, he really does," you turn to watch the man you love continue his fight before disarming the other lad again and putting the sword to his throat. Seven hells, he grew more and more handsome by the day. You could see his stubble shining in the winter sun as he looked to smile proudly at you and his eye glowed with joy. Yes, he made you very, very, happy.

[amaltheas-garden]

What if Jon's sweetness in the bittersweet ending is his short lived love with Daenerys?

While I do think the show is probably accurate to what we'll get in the books in the broadest of strokes, there are still a lot of other plotlines to get through before Jon and Dany can even meet. For how long his books are, grrm really doesn't cover all that much time, meaning in just two books, Jon has to be resurrected (which I suspect won't happen until around the halfway point in Winds, since there's no point in Jon dying and coming back just a few chapters later), Sansa has to make it to the Wall, Arya has to return from Braavos and confront Lady Stoneheart, Littlefinger has to be taken care of, Jon and Sansa have to retake Winterfell, and the Starks have to reunite all amidst the growing threat of the whitewalkers. On Dany's side, Aegon has to get to King's Landing, Dany has to become leader of the Dothraki, fulfill all the bits of her prophecy (the 'to go West you must go East' one), and rally her armies to cross the narrow sea, and resolve ALL the loose ends in Essos since whence Dany leaves, that will be the last time we see it. And that's not including all the other stories, like the Dorne plot, Cersei/Jaime/Brienne, and Stannis/Davos/Melisandre, or accounting for the characters still very separate from everything (Sam off in Oldtown and Bran doing three eyed raven stuff). And all this is build up for the final cataclysmic conflict, the song of ice and fire. Now, that is a lot of content to get through, and when you start laying out every single thing that needs to be resolved, it becomes rather apparent why WoW is taking so long. The point is, Jon and Dany are not meeting in Winds, and it would be a miracle for them to meet even in the first half of Dream of Spring. That's why I highly doubt the relationship between Jon and Dany will be a genuine romantic one. Grrm is not the type to do a quick, star-crossed lovers plotline that ends tragically all within the span of a few hundred pages. A Jon x Sansa romance makes more sense, seeing as, if we accept Sansa as the girl in grey, she and Jon will spend the majority of two books with each other.

As for the show, there was nothing bittersweet in Jon having to kill his lover after she becomes a tyrant and threatens to murder his sisters, and for him to end the series by leaving his family for a lifetime of solitude. If book!Jon is destined to go beyond the wall after DoS, the 'sweetness' will be in knowing he did everything in his power to protect his family. No short-term love affair with Dany could ever replace the love Jon holds for the Starks.

Book wise, I doubt the Jon x Dany relationship will be one of genuine romantic love on Jon's part (see pol!Jon theory), and while Jon could end his story alone, I don't think a relationship with Dany is enough to fulfill a 'bittersweet' ending. I also recommend this incredible meta on Jon's ending (it does skew heavily Jonsa-centric) FedonCiadale — Sometimes scrolling through the Jonsa tag, I find... (tumblr.com) and they also have some other amazing answers on the bittersweet ending.

[aegor-bamfsteel]

In your opinion, is Catelyn Stark a warm person? Or, at least to people who she isn’t particularly close with, do you think she comes across as cold in many of her interactions? Genuinely curious what you think

Instances of Catelyn being warm to strangers/people she doesn’t know well:

Wanted to bury/put under a cairn the men killed in her service from an attack by the mountain clans, saying they deserved better than to be carrion, and wanted the gods to forgive her when told they had to keep moving. —AGOT Tyrion IV

Personally gave each of the oarsmen on the Storm Dancer a silver stag (and a copper to those who carried her to the inn) because she feared Captain Tumitis might want to keep the money for himself. —AGOT Catelyn IV

Asked Mya Stone about “her love” Mychel Redfort, and smiled at her dream of marrying him even though she knows the class difference makes it impossible. —AGOT Catelyn VI

Tried to talk down armored knights from killing Brienne, helped distract Emmon by braining him with a brazier during the duel, taking her with her escort to Riverrun to avoid being killed by Renly’s men, then convincing Brienne not to throw her life away to seek Stannis immediately. This was after one conversation and just feeling Brienne was innocent of Renly’s death. —ACOK Catelyn IV&V

Making sure the Silent Sisters are provided with fresh horses and guards to escort Ned’s bones to Winterfell. —ACOK Catelyn V

Despite her own sadness and misgivings on them being there, allowed Desmond Grell to break open wine casks and for the smallfolk to have a party following the victory at Stone Mill. —ACOK Catelyn VI

Tried to comfort Jeyne Westerling as Robb is getting more distant, telling her about how the Starks belong to the Old Gods, despite not approving of the marriage. —ASOS Catelyn III

Tried to comfort Lynesse Hightower’s despair at how out-of-place she felt at Bear Island by relating her own experience as a southerner with a Northern husband. —ASOS Catelyn V

Strangers to whom Catelyn is courteous (not necessarily warm, but not rude either):

Ser Donnel Waynwood, asking for Maester Colemon to treat Rodrik’s wounds —AGOT Catelyn VI

Ser Vardis Egen, trying to prevent the Vale lords from executing Tyrion —AGOT Catelyn VII

Lord Walder Frey, asking to open the gates for Robb’s men to cross— AGOT Catelyn IX

Margaery Tyrell, saying she was kind to console her for Ned’s death—ACOK Catelyn II

Robar Royce, for escorting her to and from a Bitterbridge Sept —ACOK Catelyn IV

Times when Catelyn was cold/sharp/snappish to people she doesn’t know well:

When Petyr Baelish has her summoned to a tower in the middle of the night by the City Watch, after not seeing her for years —AGOT Catelyn IV

When Tyrion insinuated she had slept with Petyr Baelish. —AGOT Tyrion IV

When Tyrion boasts of Lannister pride, considering she thinks he killed her son at the time. —AGOT Catelyn VI

When Jaime snarks that he doesn’t have her brother, father, and daughters (all in Lannister hands at the time) around, after he’s been captured —AGOT Catelyn X

When Randall Tarly insinuates Robb is less than a man for not coming to parley himself, she sharply protests that Robb is fighting in a war and not a tourney —ACOK Catelyn II

When Stannis and Renly refuse to put their quarrel aside and fight the Lannisters together. —ACOK Catelyn II

When Martyn Rivers tells her that Robb fed Stafford Lannister’s heart to Grey Wind. —ACOK Catelyn V

When Jaime admits to pushing Bran out of a window and insults Ned’s honor. —ACOK Catelyn VII

When she tells Roose about the accusations (rape, murder) against Ramsay. —ASOS Catelyn VI

From these instances I’ve collected, I can conclude that Catelyn is warm to strangers who have helped her, who she sees herself/her family in, or who are innocent and need comfort. She is courteous to strange lords in their own territories when she needs something from them (crossing bridges, medical care), or out of common politeness when they haven’t been rude before. She is cold to people she doesn’t know well who insult her family or have done them harm, gloss over atrocities they/their underlings have committed, or when courtesy has failed and she’s trying to remind them of the larger picture. The interactions with those she does know well (Edmure, Ned, Rodrik, Blackfish, Hoster, Lysa, Robb, Theon) have more dimensions, ranging from affectionate to disappointed to appalled; and she admits she might be too harsh with Edmure or Robb at times, which causes them to freeze her out (ASOS Catelyn V), or that since they’re kings/lords now, she can’t be as openly affectionate (AGOT Catelyn VIII). But I don’t think she comes across any colder than most people when interacting with strangers: she’s kind to those who help/need comfort, polite but reserved according to normal circumstances, and cold when a person is actively hostile to her/her family.

[blade-liger-4ever]

I can hardly believe I just did this, but...

Here's my take for Rhaego Targaryen, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, plus small ideas for a minor AU of sorts.

Warning, I'm putting a cut here because Tumblr is stupid and won't let me order the pictures side by side in the proper order.

So for this take - which is personally how I'd like to see an AU of Game of Thrones, give or take some details that are or aren't changed - I like to imagine that both Drogo and Rhaego lived, with Daenerys and Drogo teaming up to retake the Iron Throne, Daenerys acting as the great strategist/political powerhouse (while being backed by her three dragons, who keep their names and most of their personalities), while Drogo leads the troops and trains all the men Daenerys brings him through her alliances. I'd probably let it be done so that Daenerys, maybe through a dealing with the witch that, obviously, doesn't involve her husband and son's deaths, does leave her unable to bear more children. Regardless of whether or not that's a factor at all in this AU, Rhaego has no more biological siblings, but quickly grows to view Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion as his brothers, while the dragons in turn also view him as their youngest brother and protect him as fiercely as their mother and father (Drogo being their father - oldest boy is named for him, after all.)

Robb would also live, and I'd like to, personally, introduce a tribe of white tiger shape-shifters from "The Land of Always Winter". I'm....honestly wanting him to marry the tribe's princess, who can really kick butt, too. The reason for this is that I feel the Night King's home for the last few centuries is underdeveloped, and I feel Robb should marry someone with experience in warfare - that, and I really like white tigers. Additionally, I'd probably have White Tiger Princess sent to find the Starks and reveal to them their ties to House Targaryen, and organize an alliance with House Stark as they battle the frozen zombies (by the way, this revelation is achieved by prophetesses from their land, and all members of the tribe learn to fight and care for each other because of the constant threat of the Night King.)

So....hrm, let me think. I guess it otherwise goes according to canon, but they manage to fix enough things that when Daenerys and Drogo - who have practically reclaimed most of the Seven Kingdoms, I suppose - meet them and learn of their family ties, Robb and Jon come to an agreement with them: Daenerys will rule the Seven Kingdoms, with Jon acting as her Hand and ruling most of the North. House Stark is still intact, though Ned, Catelyn, and Rickon are still dead, and Robb marries the White Tiger Princess and unites the two lands through their marriage. Additionally, the white tiger tribe (which I'm terribly sorry I forgot to mention earlier) has access to ice dragons, allowing for the regrowth of the dragon presence in Westeros through crossbreeding the species, and giving Jon his own dragon so that he can embrace his Targaryen heritage.

Other bullet points that I want to leave here:

Rhaego rides Viserion, who is the only unclaimed of the three dragons (I feel Drogo should ride Rhaegal, who in this story, grows to be nearly as big as Drogon.) Viserion is also the fastest, earning him the nickname "The Pale Wind".

Grey Wind lives, and gets to remain by his master's side all through to the war's end.

Nymeria reunites with Arya, who perhaps returns to the North or chooses another future for herself.

The Hound lives, always accompanying Arya, regardless of her life choice.

Jaime lives, actually gets to redeem himself, and maybe marries or otherwise has a relationship with Brienne.

Cersei gets to die, hopefully horribly (I hate her, okay?)

Sansa...TBD, either by myself or anyone else who reads this and enjoys it.

Jorah lives, acting as Rhaego's guardian and teacher as he grows.

Jon marries either Ygritte or some other woman; I personally prefer Daenerys x Drogo.

And lastly, we would probably get an epilogue of sorts where we see a young adult Rhaego, having inherited his family legacy and trained Dothraki dragonriders, embarking on a conquest of Valyria, which I'd use as a Sequel Hook for a future series.

And that's it. If you like this, thank you for reading it. If you didn't, just skip this post; it's merely a way for me to kick out the ideas that have been rattling around in my brain for Heaven knows how long.

Also, if anyone wants to make a story out of this, you have my blessing to do so. I only ask you credit me for the source of the concepts and original inventions for this. I'm not a fan of Game of Thrones, nor have I really watched it - I just looked up the characters, found I liked them, and thought "what if?"

Have fun people, and take care.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Mercy (Arya)

She woke with a gasp, not knowing who she was, or where. The smell of blood was heavy in her nostrils… or was that her nightmare, lingering? She had dreamed of wolves again, of running through some dark pine forest with a great pack at her hells, hard on the scent of prey. [...] She took a breath to quiet the howling in her heart, trying to remember more of what she'd dreamt, but most of it had gone already. There had been blood in it, though, and a full moon overhead, and a tree that watched her as she ran.

A full moon, with Bran watching, how sweet.

Allow me to revisit an old theory from AFFC.

In 2014, George confirmed Jeyne Westerling will make an appearance in the prologue of The Winds of Winter. I speculated that it seems highly plausible that the tension-filled escort to Casterly Rock will serve as the focus of that chapter.

In case you weren't here for Jaime VII, AFFC, there is significant emphasis placed on how critical that escort is, and what a disaster it would be if Edmure and/or Jeyne were to escape.

Lord Beric may try to free Edmure before they reach the Golden Tooth. Jaime did not want to have to capture Tully for a third time. - Jaime VII, AFFC

x

"Show them in." At least the girl did not vanish too. - Jaime VII, AFFC

x

When Edmure and the Westerlings departed, four hundred men rode with them; Jaime had doubled the escort again at the last moment. - Jaime VII, AFFC

x

"We don't know where the Blackfish is," Jaime reminded him, "but if he can cut Edmure free, he will."

"That will not happen, my lord." Like most innkeeps, Ser Forley was no man's fool. "Scouts and outriders will screen our march, and we'll fortify our camps by night. I have picked ten men to stay with Tully day and night, my best longbowmen. If he should ride so much as a foot off the road, they will loose so many shafts at him that his own mother would take him for a goose." - Jaime VII, AFFC

x

"Good." Jaime would as lief have Tully reach Casterly Rock safely, but better dead than fled. - Jaime VII, AFFC

x

"—the Young Wolf's widow," Jaime finished, "and twice as dangerous as Edmure if she were ever to escape us." - Jaime VII, AFFC

The problem is, Lady Stoneheart is undermanned and not well positioned to intercept, and the Blackfish is one man against four hundred, so how could Edmure and/or Jeyne possibly escape?

Well, it just so happens that as we progress through Jaime's chapters, we get frequent updates on a certain pack of wolves.

The next day Ser Dermot of the Rainwood returned to the castle, empty-handed. When asked what he'd found, he answered, "Wolves. Hundreds of the bloody beggars." He'd lost two sentries to them. The wolves had come out of the dark to savage them. "Armed men in mail and boiled leather, and yet the beasts had no fear of them. Before he died, Jate said the pack was led by a she-wolf of monstrous size. A direwolf, to hear him tell it. The wolves got in amongst our horse lines too. The bloody bastards killed my favorite bay." - Jaime VII, AFFC

Hundreds of the bloody things!

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

If you are, scroll up, and reread the intro to Arya's first TWOW chapter.

Doesn't it feel like we're being offered a brief glimpse into the events of the prologue?

+.+.+

Half-light filled the room, grey and gloomy. Shivering, she sat up in bed and ran a hand across her scalp. Stubble bristled against her palm. I need to shave before Izembaro sees. Mercy, I'm Mercy, and tonight I'll be raped and murdered. Her true name was Mercedene, but Mercy was all anyone ever called her…

Get it, get it??

"Some call her that. Some call her other things. The Silent Sister. Mother Merciless. The Hangwoman." - Brienne VIII, AFFC

x

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

+.+.+

The air had grown chilly… and a good thing, else she might have slept all day. It would be just like Mercy to sleep through her own rape.

You know how they made Bran emotionally detached, and socially disconnected?

I'm being totally sincere when I say that's how I would describe Arya in this chapter. It's unsettling, and difficult to read.

+.+.+

Dipping a rough cloth, she washed herself head to heel, standing on one leg at a time to scrub her calloused feet. 

At least she's bathing.

If you look hard enough you can still find remnants of Arya.

"Syrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours." Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself. - Eddard V, AGOT

+.+.+

After that she found her razor. A bare scalp helped the wigs fit better, Izembaro claimed.

Arya following in the footsteps of Cersei and Daenerys.

+.+.+

One of her stockings needed mending, she saw as she pulled it up. She would ask the Snapper for help; her own sewing was so wretched that the wardrobe mistress usually took pity on her.

Again, if you look hard enough you can still find remnants of Arya.

+.+.+

Last of all she threw her cloak across her shoulders. It was a real mummer's cloak, purple wool lined in red silk, with a hood to keep the rain off, and three secret pockets too. She'd hid some coins in one of those, an iron key in another, a blade in the last.

What's the key? To the sanctum?

One passage was closed off by a heavy iron door. The priest hung the lantern from a hook, slipped a hand inside his robe, and produced an ornate key. - The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

If it is, I don't think she's supposed to have one of those.

+.+.+

Most days she preferred to go the long way, down the Ragman's Road along the Outer Harbor, where she had the sea before her and the sky above, and a clear view across the Great Lagoon to the Arsenal and the piney slopes of Sellagoro's Shield. Sailors would hail her as she passed the docks, calling down from the decks of tarry Ibbenese whalers and big-bellied Westerosi cogs. 

Is the harbor your favourite spot, Mercy?

+.+.+

The long way also took her across the Bridge of Eyes with its carved stone faces.

How could this not have something to do with Bran?

+.+.+

She heard a cat yowl plaintively. Braavos was a good city for cats, and they roamed everywhere, especially at night. In the fog all cats are grey, Mercy thought. In the fog all men are killers.

Same in the riverlands.

Behind it sat a woman all in grey - Brienne VIII, AFFC

x

but the woman in grey had eyes only for the pommel - Brienne VIII, AFFC

x

The woman in grey gave no answer. - Brienne VIII, AFFC

x

The woman in grey hissed through her fingers. - Brienne VIII, AFFC

The other girl in grey.

+.+.+

Mercy passed an old man with a lantern walking the other way, and envied him his light. The street was so gloomy she could scarcely see where she was stepping. In the humbler parts of the city, the houses, shops, and warehouses crowded together, leaning on each other like drunken lovers, their upper stories so close that you could step from one balcony to the next. The streets below became dark tunnels where every footfall echoed. The small canals were even more hazardous, since many of the houses that lined them had privies jutting out over the water. 

You'll be fine. I trust you in dark tunnels, child.

+.+.+

Izembaro loved to give the Sealord's speech from The Merchant's Melancholy Daughter, about how "here the last Titan yet stands, astride the stony shoulders of his brothers," but Mercy preferred the scene where the fat merchant shat on the Sealord's head as he passed underneath in his gold-and-purple barge. Only in Braavos could something like that happen, it was said, and only in Braavos would Sealord and sailor alike howl with laughter to see it.

The Merchant's Melancholy Daughter and the Titan had me thinking this is somehow related to Sansa and Littlefinger, but I have no idea how.

+.+.+

When Izembaro had first dubbed himself the King of the Mummers, the company had taken a wicked pleasure in it, savoring the outrage of their rivals from the Dome and the Blue Lantern. Of late, though, Izembaro had begun to take his title too seriously. "He will only play kings now," Marro said, rolling his eyes, "and if the play has no king in it, he would sooner not stage it at all." The Bloody Hand offered two kings, the fat one and the boy. Izembaro would play the fat one. It was not a large part, but he had a fine speech as he lay dying, and a splendid fight with a demonic boar before that.

This play is sounding a bit familiar!

+.+.+

Izembaro was telling everyone that he expected the Gate to be packed to the rafters this evening, despite the fog. "The King of Westeros is sending his envoy to do homage to the King of the Mummers tonight," he told his troupe. "We will not disappoint our fellow monarch."

I doubt Tommen is alive at this point, I'm guessing they haven't received the memo. I could be wrong though.

+.+.+

Every mummer's troupe had to have a dwarf. He [Bobono] was theirs. When he saw Mercy, he gave her a leer. "Oho," he said, "there she is. Is the little girl all ready for her rape?" He smacked his lips.

There's a dwarf in this play! I wonder what role he'll play.

+.+.+

The King of the Mummers ignored the brief commotion. He was still talking, telling the mummers how magnificent they must be. Besides the Westerosi envoy, there would be keyholders in the crowd this evening, and famous courtesans as well. He did not intend for them to leave with a poor opinion of the Gate. 

The Westerosi envoy is Harys Swyft, master of coin, and Cersei Lannister's new (old) lapdog. The keyholders are five officials from the Iron Bank.

That seems like a promising sign for Queen Cersei.

+.+.+

And Bobono's cock was indeed flopping out. It was made to flop out, for the rape. What a hideous thing, Mercy thought as she knelt before the dwarf to fix him. The cock was a foot long and as thick as her arm, big enough to be seen from the highest balcony. The dyer had done a poor job with the leather, though; the thing was a mottled pink and white, with a bulbous head the color of a plum. Mercy pushed it back into Bobono's breeches and laced him back up. "Mercy," he sang as she tied him tight, "Mercy, Mercy, come to my room tonight and make a man of me." "I'll make a eunuch of you if you keep unlacing yourself just so I'll fiddle with your crotch." "We were meant to be together, Mercy," Bobono insisted. "Look, we're just the same height."

Even his manhood was ugly, thick and veined, with a bulbous purple head. - Sansa III, ASOS

This play follows canon better than Game of Thrones.

+.+.+

He is teasing me, Mercy thought. He's not drunk tonight, he knows the show perfectly well. "We are doing Phario's new Bloody Hand, in honor of the envoy from the Seven Kingdoms." "Now I recall." Bobono lowered his voice to a sinister croak. "The seven-faced god has cheated me," he said. "My noble sire he made of purest gold, and gold he made my siblings, boy and girl. But I am formed of darker stuff, of bones and blood and clay, twisted into this rude shape you see before you." With that, he grabbed at her chest, fumbling for a nipple. "You have no titties. How can I rape a girl with no titties?" She caught his nose between her thumb and forefinger and twisted. "You'll have no nose until you get your hands off me." "Owwwww," the dwarf squealed, releasing her. "I'll grow titties in a year or two." Mercy rose, to tower over the little man. "But you'll never grow another nose. You think of that, before you touch me there." Bobono rubbed his tender nose. "There's no need to get so shy. I'll be raping you soon enough." "Not until the second act."

"I always give Wendeyne's titties a nice squeeze when I rape her in The Anguish of the Archon," the dwarf complained. "She likes it, and the pit does too. You have to please the pit."

Honestly, what compelled George R. R. Martin to write this?

+.+.+

Daena recognized some Gate regulars in the crowd, and pointed them out for her; the dyer Dellono with his pinched white face and mottled purple hands, Galeo the sausage-maker in his greasy leather apron, tall Tomarro with his pet rat on his shoulder. "Tomarro best not let Galeo see that rat," Daena warned. "That's the only meat he puts in them sausages, I hear." Mercy covered her mouth and laughed.

Hide the rat!

Not that it matters, but I'm a little thrown off by a Braavosi mummer having a Targaryen name.

+.+.+

The Sealord had never visited the Gate, but Izembaro named a box for him anyway, the largest and most opulent in the house. "That must be the Westerosi envoy. Have you ever seen such clothes on an old man? And look, he's brought the Black Pearl!"

[...]

"They should call her the Brown Pearl," Mercy said to Daena. "She's more brown than black." "The first Black Pearl was black as a pot of ink," said Daena. "She was a pirate queen, fathered by a Sealord's son on a princess from the Summer Isles. A dragon king from Westeros took her for his lover." "I would like to see a dragon," Mercy said wistfully.

Be careful what you wish for.

I still don't understand the purpose of all this Black Pearl x Targaryen backstory.

+.+.+

"Why does the envoy have a chicken on his chest?"

Daena howled. "Mercy, don't you know anything? It's his siggle. In the Sunset Kingdoms all the lords have siggles. Some have flowers, some have fish, some have bears and elks and other things. See, the envoy's guards are wearing lions."

It wouldn't be an Arya chapter if she wasn't struggling to identify a sigil.

+.+.+

There were four guards; big, hard-looking men in ringmail, with heavy Westerosi longswords sheathed at their hips. Their crimson cloaks were bordered in whorls of gold, and golden lions with red garnet eyes clasped each cloak at the shoulder. When Mercy glanced at the faces beneath the gilded, lion-crested helm, her belly gave a quiver. The gods have given me a gift.

Uh oh!

Dunsen, Polliver, Chiswyck, Raff the Sweetling. The Tickler and the Hound. Ser Amory, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, King Joffrey, Queen Cersei.

+.+.+

"What of him? Do you know him?" "No." Mercy had been born and bred in Braavos, how could she know some Westerosi? She had to think a moment. "It's only… well, he's fair to look on, don't you think?" He was, in a rough-hewn way, though his eyes were hard. Daena shrugged. "He's very old. Not so old as the other ones, but… he could be thirty. And Westerosi. They're terrible savages, Mercy. Best stay well away from his sort."

George thinks calling the westerners savages one time is going to save him from criticism.

Every time a young girl calls 30-year-old men old, I smile.

+.+.+

"If the Snapper comes looking for me, tell her that I went off to read my lines again." She only had a few, and most were just, "Oh, no, no, no," and "Don't, oh don't, don't touch me," and "Please, m'lord, I am still a maiden," but this was the first time Izembaro had given her any lines at all, so it was only to be expected that poor Mercy would want to get them right.

Good lord.

What do we know about this play? We know a dwarf playing Tyrion is going to rape the maiden Mercy is playing. Any guesses who that might be?

I know what you're thinking, but it's probably not Sansa.

Mercy, I'm Mercy, and tonight I'll be raped and murdered.

Sansa wasn't murdered, and she'd have more lines.

+.+.+

"Seven hells, this place is damp," she heard her guard complain. "I'm chilled to the bones. Where are the bloody orange trees? I always heard there were orange trees in the Free Cities. Lemons and limes. Pomegranates. Hot peppers, warm nights, girls with bare bellies. Where are the bare-bellied girls, I ask you?" "Down in Lys, and Myr, and Old Volantis," the other guard replied. He was an older man, big-bellied and grizzled. "I went to Lys with Lord Tywin once, when he was Hand to Aerys. Braavos is north of King's Landing, fool. Can't you read a bloody map?"

Is that George R. R. Martin trolling his own fanbase?

+.+.+

"How long do you think we'll be here?"

"Longer than you'd like," the old man replied. "If he goes back without the gold the queen will have his head.

In case you missed ADWD's Epilogue, that is a pretty blatant spoiler sitting in plain sight.

Harys Swyft wasn't to travel to Braavos until after Cersei's trial, an event where there's a possibility she'll be executed.

Now he finds himself in Braavos, facing the prospect of losing his head if he doesn't retrieve gold for a queen. Doesn't sound like Margaery Tyrell, does it? Looks like Cersei Lannister managed to survive!

We're now forced to ask ourselves why Margaery Tyrell (Queen), Mace Tyrell (Hand of the King), Randyll Tarly (Master of laws), Paxter Redwyne (Master of ships - not currently in King's Landing, but I'm making a point), and the High Sparrow (High Septon of the Faith of the Seven) are suddenly granting Cersei Lannister the authority to do anything at all.

I have a theory: they're dead, she killed most of them at the trial.

+.+.+

"Longer than you'd like," the old man replied. "If he goes back without the gold the queen will have his head. Besides, I seen that wife of his. There's steps in Casterly Rock she can't go down for fear she'd get stuck, that's how fat she is. Who'd go back to that, when he has his sooty queen?"

For some reason, we're getting additional information about Harys Swyft's unknown wife. That tells me we might be seeing both her and Dorna Swyft in King's Landing soon (Kevan's funeral?).

"Hardstone has cleared the broken men from Darry castle," he replied. "Lancel's bride awaits us there."

"Will your lady wife (Dorna) be joining you for the nuptials?" - Cersei III, AFFC

x

"Your wife … do you mean to bring her to court?"

"No." Dorna was a gentle soul, never comfortable but at home with friends and kin around her. - Epilogue, ADWD

That should please Cersei.

+.+.+

When the dwarf appeared suddenly from behind a wooden tombstone, the crowd began to hiss and curse. Bobono waddled to the front of the stage and leered at them. "The seven-faced god has cheated me," he began, snarling the words. "My noble sire he made of purest gold, and gold he made my siblings, boy and girl. But I am formed of darker stuff, of bones and blood and clay…"

By then Marro had appeared behind him, gaunt and terrible in the Stranger's long black robes. His face was black as well, his teeth red and shiny with blood, while ivory horns jutted upwards from his brow. Bobono could not see him, but the balconies could, and now the pit as well. The Gate grew deathly quiet. Marro moved forward silently.

A mummer playing the Stranger appears behind Tyrion?

This brings me immense joy.

+.+.+

So did Mercy. The costumes were all hung, and the Snapper was busy sewing Daena into her gown for the court scene, so Mercy's absence should not be noted. Quiet as a shadow, she slipped around the back again, up to where the guardsmen stood outside the envoy's box. 

Again, if you look hard enough you can still find remnants of Arya.

+.+.+

On stage, Bobono was bargaining with Marro's sinister Stranger. He had a big voice for such a little man, and he made it ring off the highest rafters now. "Give me the cup," he told the Stranger, "for I shall drink deep. And if it tastes of gold and lion’s blood, so much the better. As I cannot be the hero, let me be the monster, and lesson them in fear in place of love."

Bargaining with the Stranger? No damnit, hold firm, Stranger.

What is this drinking deep? Cersei and Jaime poison things? Joffrey's cup? I don't understand this.

Also, that last line sounds like something Daenerys might say.

+.+.+

She studied it carefully, to be sure. Am I too young for him? she wondered. Too plain? Too skinny? She hoped he wasn't the sort of man who liked big breasts on a girl. Bobono had been right about her chest. It would be best if I could take him back to my place, have him all to myself. But will he come with me?

x 

He'll want me or he won't, she thought, so let the play begin. 

x

Fuss and feathers, Mercy thought, they only know the Common Tongue. That was no good. Give it up or go ahead. She could not give it up. She wanted him so bad.

Are you having fun yet?

+.+.+

Mercy looked down at her feet, so shy. "Izembaro said to please the lords," she whispered. "If there is anything you want, anything at all…" The two guardsmen exchanged a look. Then the handsome one reached out and touched her breast. "Anything?" "You’re disgusting," said the older man. "Why? If this Izembaro wants to be hospitable, it would be rude to refuse." He gave her nipple a tweak through the fabric of her dress, just the way the dwarf had done when she was fixing his cock for him. "Mummers are the next best thing to whores." "Might be, but this one is a child." "I am not," lied Mercy. "I'm a maiden now." "Not for long," said the comely one. "I'm Lord Rafford, sweetling, and I know just what I want. Hike up those skirts now, and lean back against that wall."

"Not here," Mercy said, brushing his hands away. "Not where the play is on. I might cry out, and Izembaro would be mad."

Isn't this awesome?

+.+.+

He grabbed her wrist. "I'll do the teaching. Time for your first lesson." He pulled her hard against him and kissed her on the lips, forcing his tongue into her mouth. It was all wet and slimy, like an eel. Mercy licked it with her own tongue, then broke away from him, breathless. "Not here. Someone might see. My room's not far, but hurry. I have to be back before the second act, or I'll miss my rape."

She's so incredibly badass, isn't she?

+.+.+

"Mercy," he said. "My name is Raff."

"I know." She slipped her hand between his legs, and felt how hard he was through the wool of his breeches.

"The laces," he urged her. "Be a sweet girl and undo them." Instead she slid her finger down along the inside of his thigh. He gave a grunt. "Damn, be careful there, you —"

Mercy gave a gasp and stepped away, her face confused and frightened. "You're bleeding."

"Wha —" He looked down at himself. "Gods be good. What did you do to me, you little cunt?" The red stain spread across his thigh, soaking the heavy fabric.

The creators of Game of Thrones would like you to cheer now.

+.+.+

"Mother have mercy, girl. A healer… run and find a healer, quick now."

"There's one on the next canal, but he won't come. You have to go to him. Can't you walk?"

"Walk?" His fingers were slick with blood. "Are you blind, girl? I'm bleeding like a stuck pig. I can't walk on this."

"Well," she said, "I don't know how you'll get there, then."

"You'll need to carry me."

See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I.

"Think so?" asked Arya, sweetly.

Raff the Sweetling looked up sharply as the long thin blade came sliding from her sleeve. She slipped it through his throat beneath the chin, twisted, and ripped it back out sideways with a single smooth slash. A fine red rain followed, and in his eyes the light went out.

There's Arya! Doing Arya things.

Earlier:

"You could be a mummer, if you wanted," she told him, as he pressed her up against the wall of the playhouse.

"Me?" The guardsman snorted. "Not me, girl. All that bloody talking, I wouldn't remember half of it."

"It's hard at first," she admitted. "But after a time it comes easier. I could teach you to say a line. I could."

Annndddd much earlier than that:

"Can you walk?" He sounded concerned.

"No," said Lommy. "You got to carry me."

"Think so?" The man lifted his spear casually and drove the point through the boy's soft throat. Lommy never even had time to yield again. He jerked once, and that was all. - Arya V, ACOK

Rest in hell, Raff the Sweetling.

+.+.+

"Mercy, Mercy, Mercy," she sang sadly. A foolish, giddy girl she'd been, but good hearted. She would miss her, and she would miss Daena and the Snapper and the rest, even Izembaro and Bobono. This would make trouble for the Sealord and the envoy with the chicken on his chest, she did not doubt. She would think about that later, though. Just now, there was no time. I had best run. Mercy still had some lines to say, her first lines and her last, and Izembaro would have her pretty little empty head if she were late for her own rape.

Make trouble for the Sealord and the envoy? Is the Iron Bank going to be forced to give Harys Swyft money to make up for this? Cersei Lannister, you never lose. Lol.

Anyway, notice how the author intentionally made that impossible to enjoy? Apparently David & Dan didn't.

Final thoughts:

And so, we reach the end of the last Arya chapter, a character who holds a special place in my heart.

Before we proceed, I'd like to take a moment to express my gratitude to someone without whom this reread project wouldn't have been possible.

Thank you, friend. We'll meet again someday.

Next chapter: Arianne II

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[rohanneofcoldmoat]

Thinking about Brienne and idealism and despair, I feel like George has sown some seeds in the last couple glimpses we get of her that hint at a crisis of faith she'll have in twow. There's this deep-set sense of futility, of helplessness, in Brienne's last chapter, one that extends beyond the fact that she's a prisoner.

"He turned back at the river, m'lady. He's gone back to his forge, to Willow and the little ones, to keep them safe." No one can keep them safe. She began to cough again. "Ah, let her choke. Save us a rope." One of the shadow men shoved the girl aside. He was clad in rusted rings and a studded belt. At his hip hung longsword and dirk. A yellow greatcloak was plastered to his shoulders, sodden and filthy. From his shoulders rose a steel dog's head, its teeth bared in a snarl. "No," Brienne moaned. "No, you're dead, I killed you."

Those kids at the inn that Brienne was willing to die to protect, the kids that she was literally eaten to protect, well now, in her mind, no one can keep them safe. Of course, Brienne feeling like the odds are against her is not something that will make her fold on its own. "No chance and no choice" after all, but here, you can feel her wondering, is there ever really a chance? And as if to confirm this, the monster haunting the Riverlands, the same one that Brienne killed at to crossroads to protect the children, is seemingly back again and right in front of her.

And then, the last time we see actually see Brienne, her appearance startles Jaime.

Jaime scrambled to his feet. "My lady. I had not thought to see you again so soon." Gods be good, she looks ten years older than when I saw her last. And what's happened to her face? "That bandage … you've been wounded …"

Obviously, her injuries and the fever she suffered are likely contributing to the fact that she seems to have aged ten years, but if we take this more metaphorically, what else is associated with youth? Resilience, innocence, idealism. In Winds we may see a Brienne who has lost some of these things. Being confronted with the rotting husk of your liege lady who commands you to do something you deem unjust lest she kill you and and an innocent child will do that I guess. Jaime says "You've been wounded," when he sees her, and he's right, and not just physically. Brienne's in a lose-lose situation, where any decision she makes requires her to compromise her own morality, a part of the too many vows dilemma that led Jaime to lose his faith in the institution of knighthood that Brienne still holds sacred. I think there are some dark places she could go internally, and the fact that she's going to get slammed with the fact that Tarth has been invaded and has possibly fallen is certainly not going to help. How far things will go, and what morally grey actions Brienne may take I don't know. In my mind there's a certain something to Brienne killing Catelyn, with Oathkeeper no less, but considering all the foreshadowing that Arya will meet her mother again before her final death, I don't know that that will be the case. What this faltering idealism will look like in Brienne's story I'm not sure, I just know that I am ready for George to tear my heart out in twow (one of these days).

"There are a lot of dark chapters right now in the book that I'm writing. You know, it is called The Winds of Winter, and I've been telling you for 20 years that winter was coming. And winter's the time when things die, and you know, cold, and ice, and darkness fills the world, so this is not going to be the happy feel-good book that people may be hoping for, and some of the characters are in very dark places." - GRRM x

[jimblejamblewritings]

snow falls hot | part 15.

Summary: (Y/N) Snow isn’t a Snow at all. She’s a Targaryen— Rhaegar’s child. Taken in by the Starks, she leads her life as another on of Ned’s bastards. Will she be able to live in Westeros comfortably? More importantly, does she have any ambition to see herself one day on the Iron Throne?

Warnings: it’s game of thrones…

Pairing: gendry x reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist) 

Winterfell was thriving. The North was very much the same. It was still taking time to recover after the dead marched through. But the North felt promising with you. The lords and ladies of their houses had confidence when they agreed that you should lead. Under Ned’s thumb, side by side with Robb. It was obvious you knew the North in and out. And from little, the ones old enough to remember you remembered the air of royalty and leadership that trailed behind you as you walked through Winterfell.

You and Shadow had come back from Bear Island the day before. Some of the Free Folk were now living there with all of House Mormont killed. The Free Folk adapted well to living inside the Wall. They still did things their way but found that a lot of their customs aligned with typical views of the North. Shadow became the best resource possible. You quickly could reach the farthest ends of your kingdom. If supplies were needed, you could take them by strapping a basket to her legs.

When you didn’t need to go very far or the baby wasn’t in the mood to fly, you would take Grey Wind. The wolf reached full height when he was practically still a puppy, but the spryness of a young almost teenage wolf was apparent. He seemed to run faster nowadays and get distracted rather easily sometimes. Ghost often came with you if he wasn’t trailing behind Tormund who stayed in Winterfell instead of marching South.

The gates opened to let you and Grey Wind back inside. You laughed as you watched the children race after their dragons— Eddard stopping briefly to wave to you before following his friends. Sansa approached, her dragon blowing a puff of smoke before flying far away in the other direction. You slid off of Grey Wind, who licked the back of your hand and walked away to wherever he was going.

“You’re barely showing,” she commented. “Was it like that with Eddard?”

Having missed your first pregnancy, Sansa was very much involved with this one. She was there for every task to the point where she was almost pushing the midwife out of her job. You laughed and held your stomach.

“Oh no. By the time we reached the Twins it was fairly obvious I was pregnant. Sam is learning about children from the midwives. They say sometimes you stay small all the way until the birth.”

Before Sansa could say something else or take another step, Jaime and Brienne approached on horseback. They jumped down from the horses and Jaime brandished a letter. You looked at the wax seal with a dragon on it— it could only be from Daenerys. You tore through the seal.

“What is it?” Sansa asked as your eyes scanned the paper quickly.

“It’s from Varys.”

“What does the Spider want?” Brienne asked.

“He says Cersei has brought all the citizens into the city… a human shield.”

��Surely—”

“She won’t attack? They killed her dragon, taken her closest friend captive. She says she will tear Cersei from root to stem. When the false queen doesn’t surrender because we all know she will not, Aunt Daeny wants everyone to know it was Cersei’s fault the sky was brought down on King’s Landing.”

You read the exact quote from the parchment. You read the paper once more and crumpled it up.

“How did she take Meereen, lead the Dothraki? She has always used fire to get what she wants. Brash and a tyrant. A single utterance of a word she doesn’t like and she thinks you must be destroyed from it as if everyone will agree with every decision you make. She speaks of breaking a wheel but all she has done is continue it, she thinks because her people aren’t in chains that means she is just.”  

The three around you watched as your eyes went white and Grey Wind returned to your side. Another flash of white and Shadow dropped into the courtyard. You turned to Sansa.

“I know you’ve only ridden her for fun but the saddle is in the stables, Eddard is comfortable as well if you need help.”

You adjusted your bow, sword, and quiver of arrows and swung back onto Grey Wind. Jaime grabbed your arm.

“Where are you going, Your Grace?”

“I need to get my brother before our Aunt leads him to his death.”

“He is capable. This is Jon— ”

“No! He isn’t Jon Snow or Lord Crow or whatever. His name is Aegon, Aegon Targaryen-Stark and I will not let that usurper of a Dragon Queen take his life. Gendry is with him!”

“You are pregnant.”

Brienne’s words stopped you. You relaxed your fingers from where they were gripping Grey Wind’s fur and looked at three of your advisors in front of you. They watched your fingers dance on your stomach before you squared off your shoulders and looked them in the eye.

“I had a dream and Daenerys has taken the second path. One that promises fire and blood on the backs of innocent people. I wanted to put my faith in her because she is family, it has been broken. I am not the Queen in the North, nor the rightful heir to Seven Kingdoms or an Iron Throne. The Iron Throne is a chair, a concept that no longer exists. Seven Kingdoms do not exist, only one and that is Westeros. I am Queen of Westeros and two false queens threaten my people.”

Brienne, Jaime, and Sansa all bowed down understanding that nothing would change your mind. They didn’t want to agree but acknowledged you were speaking like a true royal.

“What would you have us do, Your Grace?” Sansa asked when they stood back up.

“Little Bird, keep Winterfell in the dark. Northernmen do not need to march for me, they are needed here. You will arrange for Uncle Edmure and the Vale to escort Bran, Tormund, Sam and anyone else you deem important to King’s Landing. They will need to leave tomorrow. You and Eddard will as well. Fly to us on Shadow.”

“Should you not take your dragon?” she asked.

“No. She will see Shadow a mile away. I want to save King’s Landing not rain fire on them. Grey Wind, big as he might be, is less noticeable.”  

“And us?” Brienne asked, motioning to her and Jaime.

Your eyes went white and they watched Grey Wind howl. Not long after, Ghost appeared.

“Riding a direwolf is much like riding a horse. Do you two need a saddle?”

Ghost growled slightly when Jaime went to attach his horse’s saddle to the wolf until you shushed him. The dire wolf let the saddle be strapped around him and then both new riders get on. You nodded at Sansa before Grey Wind sped off. Brienne and Jaime both held to Ghost’s fur with a nervousness as he followed behind his brother.

The wolves were well on the path to King’s Landing when you stopped so they could drink. With the people in the land now knowing who you were, you weren’t concerned about food. If the three of you got hungry, any tavern or farmer would be glad to feed you. The wolves were lapping at the river water when you gasped. Brienne and Jaime were up immediately but you reassured them it was fine.

“You sounded anything but,” Jaime commented.

“I’ve never dreamed while awake before. Ser Jaime, what did my grandfather say before you killed him?”

“Burn them all… why?”

“Dracarys,” you whispered.

“I’m sorry?”

You shook your head. There was no way to tell them you saw Missandei’s head. You saw fire not just red but green as well. The ringing of bells still echoed in your ear. There was no way to tell them that what you saw was like the Long Night only fire instead of ice and the living instead of the dead. You walked away from them to bend down and pet Ghost and Grey Wind while they were drinking. Jaime and Brienne watched you sit in the grass between the wolves who eventually sat down as well.

“Was she always like this?” Brienne asked him.

Jaime nodded. “I remember seeing her in Winterfell, how they loved her. She was a Snow then but there was always something different about her. Of course back then I was only thinking not the worst choice for a wife that Robert could have made me take.”

Brienne lightly hit his shoulder and Jaime chuckled before continuing.

“But yes, she’s always been like this. A bit more hardened now.”

“Who wouldn’t be after what has happened to her. I can’t help but think how different the world would be if Ned had told the truth,” Brienne pondered.  

“I’d still be queen,” you said suddenly and looked back at them.

Your two knights jumped slightly in surprise, thinking you hadn’t been listening to them. You laughed and stood up to walk back over to them and sit down. Brienne held up a canteen of water and you took it along with some bread that was in their bag. Picking at the bread, you took a bite and chewed a bit before continuing to speak.

“Your words are kind Ser Jaime but I haven’t always been like this. I wasn’t smart. I told Ned to bend the knee to Joffrey and he died.”

“You did?”

“Varys took me to see him in the dungeons and Ned told him. My biggest kept secret was one shared by too many people to be a secret if any of you were aware the other ones knew. Our trusty spider told Ned he had a choice to install the true ruler and I… I still remember what I said, I… Lord Stark will bend the knee. My decisions led many to death when I was younger, more stupid.”

“You did what you thought was right to protect your family and your people.”

You shook your head at Brienne’s words. “But I didn’t. I second guessed my own dreams because I was so determined to be a plain girl, just live.”

“What changed that?”

“There’s a small farm nearby, I know the family. They took care of Eddard and I when he was still a baby. Winter was coming and they, the other families around, were barely surviving. My dreams became too much to ignore anymore— that’s all I did after Robb’s death, ignore my dreams. But I couldn’t anymore… I used to scoff at the idea of birthrights and prophecies.”

“Now?”

“Now? I still think they can be a crock of shit,” you chuckled at how the two knights looked stunned at your word choice. “But they also mean something to those willing to rise to the occasion.”

Jaime raised his canteen.

“Enith of House Targaryen-Stark. First of Her Name, Commander of Beasts, Shadow Rider, and Magic Entertainer. Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of Winterfell, Azor Ahai, rightful heir to the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms now turned one. Queen of Westeros.”  

Brienne raised her canteen as well. You bowed your head and with a smile held up the bread in your hand as a toast. The two knights seemed so sure of you that you couldn’t help but be sure of yourself. As soon as the sun broke the horizon, you guys were immediately back on the wolves. In a few hours, Sansa would be sending the Vale to protect Bran on his way. In a few days, she and Eddard would be in King’s Landing. Not just to save innocent citizens but to save your son as well, you didn’t have much time.

The wolves were almost at King’s Landing when you abruptly stopped. Brienne and Jaime looked around in confusion when you jumped down from Grey Wind. Your head whipped wildly and you turned to face them, worry apparent on your face.

“Do you hear it too?”

“Hear what?” Brienne asked.

“The bells.”  

Jaime couldn’t help but adjust his grip on his sword, having heard a conversation similar to this before. Brienne cleared her throat to inform you that she hadn’t. Jaime shook his head in agreeance. You nodded slowly and laughed. Jaime held onto his sword a bit harder. Even Brienne was slightly worried.

“Magic is madness. It isn’t ringing— it’s death. It always comes back to the Doom doesn’t it?”

“Your Grace?”

“Daenys Targaryen, the reason our House even exists today. The Doom, whatever it was, sounded like ringing in her dreams. Death has always sounded like the ringing of bells and it haunts us all whether we know it or not.”

“What are you saying?” Brienne tried to find meaning in your words.

“The gods don’t flip a coin each time a Targaryen is born. We are all mad. We all hear death, play with magic, exist in realms man probably shouldn’t go. It isn’t fate or the gods’ whim that some of us are tyrants, potentially even evil. That is a choice all on our own.”

“What you hear?” Jaime asked as he relaxed his grip on the sword. “This bell ringing, death… does that mean Daenerys has made her choice?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“I hear death and it tells me to protect the living and avoid it. Aerys heard death and it told him to kill who he perceived as an enemy and ensure it. Jon— Aegon— hears death and it tells him to keep fighting and hold it off another day, for enemies and his people alike. I do not know what Viserys heard, we’ll never know what Rhaegar heard. And I don’t know what Daeny hears, not for certain. I don’t think she quite knows herself.”

“But she will make a choice soon.”

“She will.”

“And?”

You touched your stomach, the icy wound chilling your fingertips.  

“I haven’t looked for ghosts since getting stabbed by the Night King. They remind me too much of my own death to speak to them but they are forcing me to listen. If I am to protect the living and avoid death, we cannot wait for Daenerys to decipher what the bells mean to her. The people cannot wait.”

“We need to warn them, then.”

“Sansa should be flying overhead soon. King’s Landing might be on fire when we get there, Cersei hiding in the Red Keep. I don’t know about Jon and Gendry, or Arya. We have to be smart, you are my Queensguard but the people are more important than I am at the moment.”

“You want us to help get them to safety?” Brienne asked.

“Yes. I’ll find everyone else on my own. I’m going to kill Cersei and when Daeny comes for her head she will see me sitting on the throne instead, waiting for her to answer to all her crimes. But I need you two to move as many people out of the fire’s path… and don’t get yourselves killed while doing so.”

They nodded and you made the little journey left into King’s Landing. Armies stormed the streets and the fire hadn’t started yet and while you had hope, you were worried it was coming. Grey Wind raced through the streets until you found your men, Jon, Gendry, and Ser Davos leading them all along with the Unsullied. Lannister men were in their way— a tense standoff. Gendry and Jon were surprised to see you in front of them. You jumped down from Grey Wind and Gendry was immediately to you, hand on your stomach.

“Take our armies and go back to your camp.”

“You swore an allegiance to help Daenerys,” Grey Worm interjected.

You ignored him and looked at Gendry and Jon then at the Lannister army behind you. “Their swords are on the ground. Have they surrendered?”

“Yes,” Jon responded.

“Good, take them with you. And if any would like to go back to Winterfell or even Casterly Rock they are welcome to stay in our camp until we leave. You are done here.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Your allegiance—”

“Is to my Queen,” Jon cut Grey Worm off. “And that is not Daenerys.”

Bells started to ring and you shook your head. At first Northern men were smiling in relief but one look at their queen and they knew something else was wrong. Your grip on Gendry’s forearms tightened. You looked to the skies to try and find the large looming form of Drogon.

“Tell them to stop,” you said. “Tell them to stop ringing the bell.”

Your hands moved to cover your ears but the ringing could still be heard. You felt surrounded and soon the physical bells sounded like the ones of spirits and you knew what your Aunt’s choice would be. You looked past Gendry at Jon.

“Get the people out of here! As many as you—”

Fire. You all ducked as fire swept overhead, hitting the tops of buildings right around you. Grey Worm picked up his spear and threw it at the Lannister army— the Unsullied and even some Northern men resuming in fighting. Jon, Gendry, and Ser Davos rushed you to the side underneath the cover of another building as the men began a rampage. You organized as quickly and as efficiently as you could. The Northerners that hadn’t gone red with bloodlust listened to Ser Davos’ orders to sweep the streets before everyone was turned into ash.

Others went with Jon to stop the Unsullied from attacking more Lannister men, who were retreating, or innocent civilians now that Daenerys had declared war on all of them. Gendry went with you on Grey Wind as you tried to avoid the fire and race through the Red Keep. A puff of green caught your eye in the distance. Wildfire, the random spots left by Aerys were lighting up around the city. You and Gendry reached the Red Keep, not completely in shambles but parts of it damaged.

“Arya?” you questioned at the figure in the distance by the stairs.

Your sister straightened up and looked at you. You cleared the distance first to give her a hug.

“Oh, I wasn’t sure if you were in the city or safe.”

“Daenerys—”

“I know. Jon is trying to get her to stop. They are helping people to safety. Where is the Hound?”

“He just left to fight his brother.”

“You and Gendry clear the people from the Keep before the fire reaches. Take Grey Wind with you, he’ll lead you back to me when you are finished.”

Arya nodded and gave you another hug before running off. Gendry stepped up to you again. His hands rubbed over your stomach as he looked over you. His lips mashed up against yours, not quite fitting properly together, before he followed Arya. You watched the three figures disappear before making your way up the stairs and into the castle.

~~

Cersei knew when it was time to retreat. There was an exit through the dungeons. She would leave there and live another day. Live another day to fight off the Dragon Queen. Her footsteps echoed against the concrete but abruptly stopped when she became aware that she wasn’t the only one making noise in the dungeon. Faint humming made her stop running and slowly walk, the humming turned into low singing.

“Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know,” you began to sing as your fingers traced your bow. “In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws…”

You were sitting on the large dragon skull that you touched years ago. Cersei backed up when suddenly an arrow zipped past her, causing her to stop and turn back to you. She stood deathly still and you couldn’t help but smirk as you pointed an arrow at Cersei. It was like herding a sheep, she only moved when you made a motion.

“If you had had better control of your son, maybe we wouldn’t be here now,” you said.

“Please,” Cersei muttered.

“Are you here to beg for mercy? Bend the knee to me, ask me to be honorable? You should have left us alone, all the Starks ever wanted was to be left alone.”

“It was war.”

“I’ve heard your brother say that before. You know, Stark men don’t fare well when they come South. Luckily, I am not a man and we are no longer just Starks.”

Before she could say another word, you let the arrow fly. Cersei sunk to her knees as she clutched at her shoulder— you were careful not to aim directly for her heart. You slid down from the dragon skull, pulling out your sword. It scraped against the concrete as you dragged it.  

“Our House live by a code. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword. Cersei Lannister, for your crimes against Westeros, I sentence you to die—”

“I am with child,” Cersei begged. “Let me live my life in the dungeons, I beg of you.”

“You’re pregnant?” you asked with eyebrows raised as she nodded frantically.“Who is the father?”

“Euron Greyjoy.”

Cersei watched your hand automatically go to your own stomach. “You are too, with child? You have a new lover?”

You nodded without much thought. “Gendry… Robert’s bastard.”

A chuckle escaped your lips as your words sunk in that Robert Baratheon was still haunting everyone in a way— his presence forever known. The chuckle erupted into laughter and soon Cersei joined you as she realized the same thing. The dungeon echoed with shrill laughter of women and then fell silent as Cersei’s head hit the floor, your sword making a clean cut through her neck. You bent down to where her head was.

“I am not Ned or Robb, I will not die by honor. A lesson the Lannisters taught me.”

You picked her head up by the hair and began to walk out of the dungeons. Grey Wind greeted you as you made your way to the main area again. Only Arya was with him.

“Sansa’s arrived.”

“Here.” You threw Arya Cersei’s head. “Let us greet the Dragon Queen and our guests.”

(end)...

[iheartbookbran]

Ok so actually my biggest problem with the whole “Daenerys will burn KL” theory—not even the Mad Queen Dany theory, which is of course very sexist for obvious reasons, but just like, the idea that Dany will ~accidentally~ ignite the wildfire in the city, burning it all to the ground. That, at first, doesn’t sound that bad, but the longer I think about it the more I hate it because tbh it doesn’t do anything for her character? And also… that fate for her is just down right cruel.

Like, the most frequent argument I see on why this would be at all satisfactory for Dany’s arc is basically that it would be a sort of lesson for her about the dangers of unchecked power and the real threat the Dragons can pose on humans and that she shouldn’t use them to fight against other people. And that’s all well and good, excellent message… except that’s not something Dany’s ever really needed to learn? Not anymore that her fellow rulers, which I will touch on more detail later, but in general Dany has seen what the abuse of power can do. Starting with her conflicting feelings regarding Viserys and how she recognizes that even though he was her brother and she loved him, he also abused his power over her as her older brother, her only family and her king; she feels guilt about the atrocities Drogo committed to the lhazarene and tries to help them; she feels so much guilt about not handling things correctly in Astapor that she decides to throw away all her plans to go to Westeros and instead stays in Meereen.

And about not knowing the true danger that her dragons can pose? I mean, this is the same girl that literally agonizes across several of her ADWD chapters because Drogon killed a child, and then takes the extreme measure of caging Rhaegal and Viserion to prevent that from ever happening again. I think she’s at least a little bit aware that the dragons can be dangerous, thank you very much.

Ok so this got long...

Anyways, the only time Dany legit uses Drogon to harm someone and not just as bluff was at the house of the Undying, where she was being attacked, and in Astapor… and like, lmao, that asshole Kraznys mo Nakloz and the rest of his slaver buddies deserved it. Don’t at me. Also, Dany’s hardly the only one with a big magical and deadly beast at her disposal, why didn’t Robb had to go through some horrifying traumatic incident to learn he shouldn’t use Grey Wind in battle to tear his enemies’ throats. Bran will be learning about the dangers of abusing power, but that’s linked to his magic powers and an actual reprehensible thing he’s doing, not the use of his glorified prehistoric dog to kill, which he’s done, just like Robb. By all means let the narrative hold Dany accountable for her mistakes… but her actual mistakes and not shit she has no control over, because she doesn’t have much control over Drogon or the other dragons even though she’s trying to, and that’s very obvious in her last ADWD chapter where she’s delirious and Drogon could kill her at any moment, and she knows that.

The other big argument people make for Dany burning KL (even if it’s by accident!) is that it will teach her about the price of war, that someone as young as her shouldn’t be leading armies and conquering kingdoms, and that fighting for the Iron Throne is not a worthy cause, and I feel like that misses the actual point of her story by a mile. First of all because a) Dany is hardly the only teenage ruler in the story and b) this is a fantasy medieval story, a lot of the characters shouldn’t be doing the things they do, aaaand yet. Also speaking of other teenage rulers with far more power that they should have—Robb and Jon, being the biggest examples.

Granted, Robb and Jon aren’t exactly successful during their time as rulers, they’re literally betrayed and killed by their own men (even if Jon will technically come back for round 2 of bullshit he’s too tired for). But the moral of their stories is not that they lost because theirs was an unworthy cause and they were stupid kids wholly unprepared for their roles. And I actually partially agree! They are just kids, including Dany, and they shouldn’t be responsible for looking after so many others and going to battle, but their cause is still just and worthy, even with all the mistakes they make along the way. Robb didn’t loose because he was wrong in demanding justice for his family or trying to protect the riverlands from the Lannisters and their minions, he lost because Tywin Lannister was a giant coward who couldn’t take him out in a fair fight.

Likewise, it isn’t wrong of Jon to try to incorporate refugees from beyond the Wall into Westeros. He’s not too stupid and honorable to do politics like his father (how I hate when people insult Jon and Ned like that), and while he did some very obvious mistakes that inevitably ended in a coup and in him dying, this is more connected to his inability to let go of his ties with his family (mainly Arya or who he believes to be her), and in isolating himself from his friends and the people he could actually trust.

I’ve always thought that Dany and Jon share a parallel narrative within the story, so while Jon is struggling with that Dany is faced with similar problems. She cages her dragons, that to her represent the only family she has left, and she tries to compromise with the slavers, marry a man she doesn’t love, pretend she’s ok with reopening the fighting pit. While she tries her best to rule wisely in Meereen, it all comes at the cost of betraying herself and her beliefs, so it’s no surprise when it all crashes around her and she’s betrayed and nearly killed. Ironically, it is Drogon who comes to rescue her.

If they are monsters, so am I.—Daenerys II, ADWD.

This is hands down one of my favorite Dany quotes from the whole series, and I hate that it’s been given such a negative connotation in the fandom, when for me it represents Dany’s humanity and compassion at the fullest.

GRRM has a knack for humanizing the ‘monsters’ of his story, for showing the good in the outcasts and the ugly and the scary. He embraces their ‘otherness’ and makes them the heroes of his stories; Arya, Bran, Brienne, Dany, Tyrion, Jon, Theon and many others are all compared to monsters or beasts at one point or another in the books.

Dany sees herself in her dragons, literal monsters in every sense of the word. Later on she faces Drogon inside the pit, and in that moment you could say that she accepts that ‘monstrous’ part of her, and in doing so she’s saved from her fate of dying at the hands of the men who would crucify innocent children and gleefully profit off of the suffering of their fellow human beings while watching them fight each other to the death for their own amusement. Now tell me who’s the real monster in this situation.

But shortly before that happens, Dany is able to see the humanity in Tyrion, an outcast who has been branded as monstrous and unlovable due to his disability all his life, a man who has come to believe in his abusers’ rhetoric about him so strongly that he’s started to act cruel and detached. She saves his life. She sees value in his life when few others would, because she cares.

I’ve always find it funny that the “dragons plant no trees” is—another—example fans use to argue in favor of Dany’s descent into Darkness™ because the actual scene goes like this:

You are a queen, her bear said. In Westeros.

"It is such a long way," she complained. "I was tired, Jorah. I was weary of war. I wanted to rest, to laugh, to plant trees and see them grow. I am only a young girl."

No. You are the blood of the dragon. The whispering was growing fainter, as if Ser Jorah were falling farther behind. Dragons plant no trees. Remember that. Remember who you are, what you were made to be. Remember your words.—Daenerys X, ADWD.

Now am I the only one who finds it at least a bit relevant that it’s freaking Jorah Mormont aka Jorah the Enslaver whom Dany’s subconscious, at her literal lowest moment, utilizes to represent this particular thought, which btw I’ve always interpreted as Dany’s own self-loathing manifesting in her, and this is something she’s actually always struggled with—the idea that she’s not enough and she’s failing. Because above all things, even Westeros or the Iron Throne, what Dany wants is peace, she wants to plant trees.

When Dany made her descent, Reznak and Skahaz dropped to their knees. "Your Worship shines so brightly, you will blind every man who dares to look upon you," said Reznak. […] This match will save our city, you will see."

"So we pray. I want to plant my olive trees and see them fruit." Does it matter that Hizdahr's kisses do not please me? Peace will please me. Am I a queen or just a woman?—Daenerys VII, ADWD.

But of course the world doesn’t work like that, and so long as there’s Jorahs and Tywins and Eurons out there, men who would take the freedom of humans and submit them to their will, Dany can’t have the luxury of peace, just like Jon can’t have the luxury of belonging and family so long as there’s people still beyond the Wall who need his protection.

And I think that’s fine. It’s fine that Dany failed, it will help her develop as a character and realize that there’s no room to compromise with slavers, the metaphorical monsters of the story who do far more harm than the other more literal ‘monsters’ of the story. So that when she has to face down Euron Greyjoy—who btw, there’s a high chance he will end up stealing one of Dany’s dragons via Victarion using Dragonbinder… y’know, as in enslaving one of her children and using said dragon to inflict god knows what horrors, yet not many people ever consider this for some reason?—she will know. When she has to face down the Others, the magical ice fairies with no regard for human life, she will know.

That’s why I believe that it would make absolutely no sense for Dany to have to go through such a tragic and traumatic experience like burning a whole city even by pure accident, over something that’s either never been a problem with her character or she’s well into her way of learning anyways, so it would just feel repetitive. As I have pointed out, she’s already reached one of the lowest moments of her arc. Not saying there will be no other blows for her, and probably the destruction of KL will be one of them, and knowing Dany she will feel responsibility over it no matter what, but that doesn’t mean she has to be the culprit, intentional or otherwise.

[ao3feed-tywin]

I swear it by the Old Gods, and the New (Sandor Clegane x Female!Reader)

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3g8f8t7

by Squiish

You had grown up allies with house Lannister, a high-born young woman such as yourself would be an ideal Queen for the recently-crowned King Joffrey, refusing such a proposal would surely mean devastation for your houses' centuries-old bond, however your heart lies elsewhere and you'd sooner die than marry the King of Winterfell.

Words: 1080, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Game of Thrones (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Categories: F/M

Characters: Female Reader - Character, Original Female Character(s), Sandor Clegane, The Hound - Character, Tyrion Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon, Cersei Lannister, Jaime Lannister, King Slayer, Joffrey Baratheon, Tommen Baratheon, The Mountain - Character, Gregor Clegane, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Ned Stark, Samwell Tarly, Gilly (ASoIaF), Daenerys Targaryen, Tormund Giantsbane, Petyr Baelish, Littlefinger, Robb Stark, Brienne of Tarth, Gendry Waters, Bran Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Catelyn Tully Stark, Rickon Stark, Davos Seaworth, Robert Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Ramsay Bolton, Tywin Lannister, Podrick Payne, Oberyn Martell, Benjen Stark, Hodor (ASoIaF), Kevan Lannister, Original House Lannister Character(s), Theon Greyjoy, Grey Worm, Yara Greyjoy, Euron Greyjoy, Balon Greyjoy, Grey Wind (ASoIaF), Alannys Greyjoy, Aeron "Damphair" Greyjoy, Original House Greyjoy Character(s), Greyjoys (ASoIaF), Lyanna Stark, Brandon Stark, Rickard Stark, Original House Stark Character(s), Alys Karstark, Starks (ASoIaF), Khal Drogo, Varys (ASoIaF), Mae

Relationships: Sandor Clegane/Reader, The Hound/ Reader, Ser Clagane/ Reader, GOT/ Reader, The Hound (Sandor Clegane)/ Reader

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3g8f8t7

[cappymightwrite]

So I’ve just read your meta on the TWOW Alayne I sample chapter (it’s amazing btw!) and I noticed something while reading it that I wanted to share and see if anybody else has noticed - nearly every man Alayne dances with during the feast could be taken as a reference to Jon or the Night’s Watch.

Ben Coldwater -> Snow is, obviously, cold water, and Ben is a sneaky Benjen reference

Andrew Tollett -> most likely related to Dolorous Edd Tollett, Jon’s old steward and good friend

Ser Byron the Beautiful -> GRRM has described Jon as a Byronic hero

Ser Morgarth and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse -> these men are more dubious, I’m not really sure of the link with Morgarth. Shadrich is a callback from Brienne’s AFFC plot though, and a sign that Sansa’s cover isn’t as secure as she and Littlefinger think it is

Ser Albar Royce - a reference to Waymar Royce, he of the many Jon parallels and Sansa’s old crush, though she finds his cousin(?) stout and dull

The Sunderlands - their family are the lords of the Three Sisters. In ADWD, Davos is told a story on Sweetsister about Ned having to sneak across the Bite during Robert’s Rebellion, to get North and call his banners. A fisherman helped him but drowned when a storm caught their boat - but his daughter got Ned safely to the Sisters. The prevailing story on the islands seems to be that he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly, whom she named after Jon Arryn

Uther Shett - I was half-convinced this guy also had a relative on the wall, because his name (insulting pun aside) seems to be a reference to Chett, the prologue POV of ASOS who had a grudge against Jon for losing him his position as one of Maester Aemon’s stewards in favour of Sam

Ser Targon the Halfwild - Jon will likely be half-wild when he comes back from the dead, but he’s already been described as ‘half a wildling’ multiple times. Also Targon = Targ-Jon?

Ser Roland and Ser Wallace Waynwood - both are described earlier in the chapter as long-faced with brown hair, which are also Stark features. Alayne thinks of them as “horsefaced”, probably an Arya reference that also calls back to her and Jon’s shared Stark look. Wallace is even the same age as Robb, and thus Jon, would be.

So though Jon wasn’t mentioned by name in the chapter, I think he was very present... not just lemoncake-wise ;)

Thank you! :D Haha for a moment there I was like...wait which meta? Had to take my mind back for a sec there because I've written quite a bit since then! But yeah, doing deep dives into certain chapters is really fun — my next one that's in the works is Jon XI in A Dance With Dragons. Great to hear you enjoyed my Winds one :)

Ooooh that is really interesting and a mighty fine catch! Definitely the vibe I got whilst reading that chapter, after having analysed Alayne II, AFFC (which chronologically precedes it), is that Jon's presence or references to him are made subtly throughout the chapter(s) — especially whenever Winterfell is alluded to because Jon is the "Snow of Wintefell", the "blood of Winterfell", etc. But also vice versa, Sansa is very much connected to Winterfell in Jon's chapters as well — "Winterfell belongs to my sister, Sansa."

But let's take a look at those names you listed below the cut! Big post ahead, so buckle up kids!

So, I hadn't noticed the significance of those names on my reading, but I can well believe what you're suggesting because it plays very much into how I interpreted the subconscious goings on of that chapter — that you have these rememberances/reminders of Winterfell and Sansa's Stark idenity at crucial moments within the chapter’s narrative pacing, especially prior to moments with Harry the Heir. Not to sound too crass, but it's sort like a marking of territory, and this is made even stronger by that goddamn phallic as hell Giant's Lance lemoncake (aka Jon's peen). It's all quite neatly buried, but when you start matching up the imagery...I mean, I guess wolves are territorial beasts, so...checks out? (George...why are you like this?)

It is interesting that we get that iconic entrance of the Giant's Lance lemoncake prior to these dance partners, i.e. a claim has been staked essentially, and it ain't from Littlefinger, which is what could be interpreted on first inspection. And let's not beat around the bush, as uncomfortable as it is (because Sansa is ONLY 13/14!!), this is a sexual claim being made owing to the phallic symbolism and the general tone of the chapter being about Alayne's betrothal/marriage:

And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.

I legit just snorted re-reading this: "splendid subtlety" MY ASS! What follows is a whole lot of gift-giving, which come to think of it, in combination with this bloody big cake...well, it reads quite a bit like a wedding breakfast to me, followed by dancing, in addition to a possible nod to a Stark bridal cloak, masked by the Arryn colours:

There were gifts as well, splendid gifts. Each of the competitors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falcon’s wings. Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt. For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.

Because if we compare this "cloak of cloth-of-silver" with previous descriptions of Sansa's maiden cloak, we see this obvious recurring inclusion of either silver or grey as one of the Stark colours:

Cersei Lannister ignored the question. "The cloak," she commanded, and the women brought it out: a long cloak of white velvet heavy with pearls. A fierce direwolf was embroidered upon it in silver thread. Sansa looked at it with sudden dread. "Your father's colors," said Cersei, as they fastened it about her neck with a slender silver chain.

A maiden's cloak. Sansa's hand went to her throat. She would have torn the thing away if she had dared. – ASOS, Sansa III

"[...] 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 [...]" – AFFC, Alayne II

This is all very in keeping with the theme of the chapter, which is meeting Alayne's betrothed, Harrold Hardyng, so obviously a future marriage/alliance is very much a prevalent theme here. Furthermore, the mention of "Myrish lace" for the "ladies fair" does somewhat remind me of Alys Karstark's wedding garb:

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. "Let him be scared of me." The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled.

"Winter's lady." Jon squeezed her hand. – ADWD, Jon X

I think some other people have mentioned before how even though Jon makes a conscious comparison between Arya and Alys — "reminded Jon so much of his little sister" — the romanticised, flushed cheeked imagery very much points towards a subconsious allusion to Sansa (ETA: anyone spoken on this got a link?). With that in mind, we could see this as foreshadowing of not only Jonsa, but a Jonsa wedding, and Sansa as Queen in the North — "a frosty crown" "Winter's lady" — with Jon as her king/consort. In my current Jon chapter analysis I've been working with the idea that actually as soon as Jon starts romanticising a girl, which is notably different from just noticing someone's physical beauty (e.g. with Val), that is when the subconscious comparisons to Sansa really jump out.

But anyway! Onto those names...or rather, Jon Snow stand-ins.

Rising, [Ben Coldwater] offered Alayne his hand. “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”

“You’re very kind,” she said, as he led her to the floor.

He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

If I've counted that right, that's 14 men? Alright, here we go.

First up...Ben Coldwater

I think you're right that Ben Coldwater feels very much like a nod to Ben-jen Stark, who is referred to as Ben a few times I think, and Jon Snow (cold water = snow), both men of the Night's Watch. House Coldwater also traces its lineage back to the First Men, and are sworn to House Royce, who are also notably descended from the First Men, have previously married into the Stark family and still maintain close connections to the current house through Ned's fosterage in the Vale. So, through the Royces, we see another possible connection to the Starks and Jon Snow...Jon Snow who was named after Jon Arryn.

I would also add that we have Ben make this inquiry prior to his dance with Alayne:

“Are there no singers?” asked Ben Coldwater.

I don't know, maybe I'm reaching but...singers feature quite a lot in connection to Jon, for instance:

Mance Rayder, who infiltrates Winterfell disguised as a singer called Abel, an anagram of Bael, aka Bael the Bard;

Bael the Bard and the Blue Rose of Winterfell — a story told to Jon by Ygritte, which very much evokes the tale of Rhaegar and Lyanna;

Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon's real father, was a notably skilled lyre player, whose singing supposedly made Lyanna cry — "The dragon prince sang a song so sad it made the wolf maid sniffle," (ASOS, Bran II). He is also theorised to have written the song Jenny of Oldstones, possibly for the Ghost of High Heart, Jenny's friend.

Ygritte — when Jon starts to find her more attractive, when he starts to romanticise her, he observes that "sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him," (ASOS, Jon II).

Val — again, we start to see Jon begin to warm to Val, to see her in more of a romantic + typically feminine light, because of her singing to the baby Monster: "I have heard you singing to him," (ADWD, Jon VIII).

Sansa — oh, my sweet Sansa...when remembering his family, not quite in his dying moments, but a little bit prior to that, Jon thinks "Of Sansa, brushing out Lady's coat and singing to herself. You know nothing, Jon Snow," (ADWD, Jon XIII).

I think it's clear that Jon loves a good song and you know what? He'd probably be asking about the lack of singers too! One final detail perhaps worth noting is the seat of House Coldwater:

[...] the Coldwaters of Coldwater Burn [...] – TWOIAF, The Vale

Obviously, the "song of ice and fire" is not a person, but more the elemental and destructive forces of the Others and the dragons, yet nevertheless, through Jon's parentage, as well as his actions (burned hand, etc.), plus his personality to a certain extent (hot-headed then repressing emotions) you do have this duality of hot and cold, of fire and ice...Coldwater Burn? Could be something.

Ser Andrew Tollett

So, like you said, the name Tollett immediately puts us in mind of Eddison Tollett, also known as Dolorous Edd, who is like Jon, a black brother of the Night's Watch. And he is a good brother to Jon, voting for him in the election for the Lord Commander, as well as becoming his loyal steward for a time, before being sent on a mission to Long Barrow. Interestingly, Dolorous Edd, as well as the Tolletts in general, do have a bit of a Stark vibe to them...

Like a typical Stark, Dolorous Edd is described as having a "long face" (ACOK, Jon III), a face like a mule's to be exact, but also notably a horse's as well:

"[...] Me, I have the mules. Nettles claims we're kin. It's true we have the same long face, but I'm not near as stubborn [...]" – ADWD, Jon XII

He only wished he had time to kill Tollett as well. Gloomy horsefaced fool, that's what he is. – ASOS, Prologue

He is given the nickname Dolorous Edd (dolorous = mournful), and is referred to several times as being "dour" (ACOK, Jon II, Jon III, ASOS, Jon V, ADWD, Jon XII, XIII), an attribute not entirely out of place when we consider some notable Starks and their disposition, as well as their house words:

He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. – AGOT, Tyrion II

Winter is coming. The Stark words had never sounded so grim or ominous to Jon as they did now. – AGOT, Jon VIII

I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty. – ACOK, Catelyn VI

Ned was shorter and plainer of face, and so somber. He spoke courteously enough, but beneath the words she sensed a coolness that was all at odds with Brandon, whose mirths had been as wild as his rages [...] And after the war, at Winterfell, I had love enough for any woman, once I found the good sweet heart beneath Ned's solemn face. – ASOS, Catelyn V

So, not unlike Jon, Arya and Ned, Dolorous Edd has a "long and solemn" face (AGOT, Arya I), as well as a "dour" personality. Furthermore, even House Tollet of Grey Glen's sigil and words have Stark vibes, since according to semi-canon sources, their shield is "pily grey and black" and their words are "When all is darkest," which arguably carries the same ominous, Long Night warning of "Winter is coming". In addition to this, like the Coldwaters, the Tollets are sworn to the First Men descended Royces.

But beyond this, if we take a look at some legendary and historical Tolletts...we actually have two notable names:

Torgold Tollett — also known as Torgold the Grim, though ironically, because he was famous for riding into battle laughing, and naked from the waist up:

The songs say that Torgold knew no fear and felt no pain. Though bleeding from a score of wounds, he cut a red swathe through Lord Redfort's staunchest warriors, then took his lordship's arm off at the shoulder with a single cut. Nor was he dismayed when the sorceress Ursula Upcliff appeared upon a bloodred horse to curse him. By then he was bare-handed, having left both of his axes buried in a foe's chest, but the singers say he leapt upon the witch's horse, grasped her face between two bloody hands, and tore her head from her shoulders as she screamed for succor. – TWOIAF, The Vale

Ser Jon Tollett — In Fire & Blood, Jon Tollett is recorded as a member of King Maegor the Cruel's Kingsguard. After the king's mysterious death, his successor, King Jaeherys I, offered Maegor's surviving Kingsguard a choice between execution or taking the black. Jon Tollett chose the latter. This somewhat parallels Ned's decision to take the black, to a certain extent.

You could argue that there are more than a few similarities, or future foreshadowings, between these Tolletts and Jon Snow...

Ser Byron the Beautiful

Like you mentioned, Jon Snow has been described by GRRM as a "Byronic, romantic hero". I'm so annoyed with myself, because I had written up some good stuff on how Jon really does possess certain Byronic traits but as I was inserting a gif it ended up deleting most of what I wrote...so I'm still a bit bitter over that, but will rewrite it at some point soon. Take my word for it though, Jon Snow is 100% more of a Byronic Hero (a la Byron's own Manfred), than Sandor Clegane, for example:

GRRM: “Well who wouldn’t want to be Jon Snow — the brooding, Byronic, romantic hero whom all the girls love.” [source]

Ser Byron, as well as being described as beautiful, is also notably very gallant, the perfect knight:

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

We all know that Sansa appreciates a bit of genuine courtesy, and in fact, she's taught Jon well in that regard:

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

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. – ACOK, Jon III

I think this Jon stand-in does rely mostly on Jon's connection to the Byronic Hero. So, if anyone is still a bit dubious on that (because Rochester and Heathcliff are trash), just hang in there for my eventual meta on the subject, which focuses on Lord Byron's OG Byronic Hero, rather than the later Brontë/Victorian iterations.

In fact, in terms of Jon's parentage and future romance with Sansa, there's one Byronic tale that may be a particular source of inspiration — The Bride of Abydos. This poem notably includes a romance in which half-siblings are revealed to be cousins...sound familiar?

Ser Morgarth the Merry

Another hedge knight, like Ser Byron, who is sworn into the service of Petyr Baelish. I've got to agree with you here, red-nosed Ser Morgarth's connection to Jon is quite a bit harder to decipher! I have done a little digging though, and it is possible that the Garth in Morgarth is a reference to several Garths that appear in Jon's chapters, as well as Garth Greenhand, the alleged ancestor of legendary House Stark founder...Brandon the Builder:

Garth of Oldtown

Garth of Greenaway

Garth Greyfeather

All of these Garths are rangers/members of the Night's Watch at the same time as Jon, though I think by Dance it is presumed that they are all dead, or at least missing — in fact, Garth of Greenaway kills Garth of Oldtown. Garth on Garth violence!!

Haha, oh god...I think I just got the pun...Morgarth = More Garth! More Garths the merrier! Get it?! More Garths everybody!

George, I hate you.

Ok, so that's what that is. It's literally just a dumb pun, yet it also connects Morgarth to the Night's Watch Garths, and therefore Jon.

Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse

I think you're right that Ser Shadrich's presence connects us to Brienne's quest, as well as foreshadowing potential shit hitting the fan at the tourney of the Winged Knights. But he also notably makes some interesting remarks, both to Brienne and Sansa, which we can connect to Jon Snow's secret Targaryen heritage:

"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." – AFFC, Brienne III

On the surface, in response to Brienne's questioning about the whereabouts of the Stark sisters, Shadrich is talking about a monetary bribe. However, beneath that explicit meaning, is an implicit reference to a stag (Joffrey) failing, where a dragon (Jon) will succeed. Others have talked about this line in more detail elsewhere, but it seems like a pretty good allusion to the foils, Joffrey (a prince who is really a bastard) and Jon (a bastard who is really a prince).

In this exact Winds chapter, however, we also see a conversation between Alayne and Shadrich, which hints at his possible plans to uncover and abduct Sansa Stark in return for a lucrative reward:

“A good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And that’s not likely, is it?”

This "stumbl[ing] on a bag of dragons" could also be seen as an implicit nod towards stumbling upon Jon's Targaryen heritage later in the novel, something that is more "likely" than anyone would expect. That claim might be a reach, were it not for the implication that when Shadrich talks about money, i.e. dragons...he isn't actually talking about gold coins, he's talking about Targaryens, but more than that...he's talking specifically about Jon Snow.

Ser Albar Royce

"Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir." I think like Ser Morgarth, the physical appearance of these stand-ins doesn't always play a factor, because it would be kind of unnerving if they all had solemn long faces... So, what is important here is, like you say, the name Royce and his relation to Ser Waymar Royce, Sansa's first crush, who just happens to resemble and parallels Jon quite a bit:

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. – AFFC, Alayne I

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. Mounted on his huge black destrier, the knight towered above Will and Gared on their smaller garrons. He wore black leather boots, black woolen pants, black moleskin gloves, and a fine supple coat of gleaming black ringmail over layers of black wool and boiled leather. Ser Waymar had been a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch for less than half a year, but no one could say he had not prepared for his vocation. At least insofar as his wardrobe was concerned. – AGOT, Prologue

Jon's eyes were a grey so dark they seemed almost black, but there was little they did not see. He was of an age with Robb, but they did not look alike. Jon was slender where Robb was muscular, dark where Robb was fair, graceful and quick where his half brother was strong and fast. – AGOT, Bran I

"They're not my brothers," Jon snapped. "They hate me because I'm better than they are." – AGOT, Jon III

Although, it is worth noting that the Royces, as a whole, do somewhat resemble the Starks in appearance, at least in terms of their eye colour:

Bronze Yohn Royce, the current head of House Royce of Runestone, has "slate-grey eyes" as well as a "solemn face", (AFFC, Alayne I).

Ser Robar, his second son was "comely in a rough-hewn way" (ACOK, Catelyn III), with "pale" eyes (ACOK, Catelyn IV), possibly grey like his father's.

Ser Waymar, Yohn's third son, as mentioned, was "grey-eyed" (AGOT, Prologue).

It isn't as clear whether or not their cadet branch, which Albar belongs to, tend towards grey eyes as well, though we know that Myranda has brown hair, specifically "thick chestnut curls" (AFFC, Alayne II) — typical looking Starks, like Ned, Arya, and Jon, all have brown/dark hair.

As previously mentioned, the Royces are also descended from the First Men, have kinship links to the Starks, knew Ned when he fostered in the Vale, and Bronze Yohn even "knows" Sansa Stark:

"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. "And that was not the only time. Lord Royce saw...he saw Sansa Stark again at King's Landing, during the Hand's tourney." – AFFC, Alayne I

His seamed and solemn face brought back all of Sansa's memories of his time at Winterfell. She remembered him at table, speaking quietly with her mother. She heard his voice booming off the walls when he rode back from a hunt with a buck behind his saddle. She could see him in the yard, a practice sword in hand, hammering her father to the ground and turning to defeat Ser Rodrik as well. He will know me. How could he not? She considered throwing herself at his feet to beg for his protection. He never fought for Robb, why should he fight for me? The war is finished and Winterfell is fallen. "Lord Royce," she asked timidly, "will you have a cup of wine, to take the chill off?"

Bronze Yohn had slate-grey eyes, half-hidden beneath the bushiest eyebrows she had ever seen. They crinkled when he looked down at her. "Do I know you, girl?" – AFFC, Alayne I

They also have the house words "We will remember", which somewhat evokes the recurring refrain "the north remembers" (ASOS, Catelyn, ADWD, Davos IV, ADWD, A Ghost in Winterfell, TWOW, Theon I), as well as a possible remembrance of the Long Night, similar to the Starks’ and Tolletts’ words. All in all, as well as evoking a certain Starkness (and Jon-ness), the Royces seem set up to be staunch allies of the Starks going forward.

All Three Sunderlands

Since these Sunderland brothers aren't given names, we can assume what is significant about them, in relation to Jon and Sansa, is their Sunderland name. As you noted, the Sunderlands are the reigning lords of the Three Sisters, and in Dance, through Davos' pov, we hear about Ned's time there during Robert's Rebellion:

"At the dawn of Robert's Rebellion. The Mad King had sent to the Eyrie for Stark's head, but Jon Arryn sent him back defiance. Gulltown stayed loyal to the throne, though. To get home and call his banners, Stark had to cross the mountains to the Fingers and find a fisherman to carry him across the Bite. A storm caught them on the way. The fisherman drowned, but his daughter got Stark to the Sisters before the boat went down. They say he left her with a bag of silver and a bastard in her belly. Jon Snow, she named him, after Arryn.

"Be that as it may. My father sat where I sit now when Lord Eddard came to Sisterton. Our maester urged us to send Stark's head to Aerys, to prove our loyalty. It would have meant a rich reward. The Mad King was open-handed with them as pleased him. By then we knew that Jon Arryn had taken Gulltown, though. Robert was the first man to gain the wall, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. 'This Baratheon is fearless,' I said. 'He fights the way a king should fight.' Our maester chuckled at me and told us that Prince Rhaegar was certain to defeat this rebel. That was when Stark said, 'In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true…but what if we prevail?' My father sent him on his way with his head still on his shoulders. 'If you lose,' he told Lord Eddard, 'you were never here.' " – ADWD, Davos I

This passage has one of my favourite asoiaf quotes of all time..."In this world only winter is certain. We may lose our heads, it's true...but what if we prevail?" Truly iconic. So defiantly hopeful.

But, yes, you're right that this story, and the Sunderlands, connects us to Ned, but more importantly...to Jon Snow. Really, Jon has quite a few Vale connections, all things considered, and he is named after Jon Arryn after all!

Uther Shett

Well, along with his buddy Ossifer Lipps (ass for lips), Uther Shett (utter shit) is an example of George having some pretty lowbrow fun with punny names. During their dance, Uther paid Alayne "slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet"...so not the best partner!

But from one shit to another...I think you're probably right that Uther Shett is meant to recall Chett, indeed, if we take a look at his description in Winds:

The one on her left was no more than eighteen, and skinny as a spear. His ginger-colored whiskers only partially served to disguise the angry red pimples that dotted his face.

His bad skin is somewhat comparable to Chett's boils:

Chett had a wen on his neck the size of a pigeon's egg, and a face red with boils and pimples. Perhaps that was why he always seemed so angry. – AGOT, Jon V

What is also noteworthy about Chett's prologue pov in ASOS, is that we get this linking of literal snow and Jon Snow:

Snow was falling.

He could feel tears freezing to his cheeks. It isn't fair, he wanted to scream. Snow would ruin everything he'd worked for, all his careful plans. It was a heavy fall, thick white flakes coming down all about him [...] The snow's taken it all from me...the bloody snow...

Snow had ruined him once before. Snow and his pet pig. – ASOS, Prologue

This makes any mention of snow beyond this point a bit more noteworthy, especially since Jon is referred to as "the Snow of Winterfell," (ASOS, Jon I), and we also have Sansa's famous "drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses" whilst building Winterfell out of snow scene, also in ASOS, (Sansa VII). So, Chett is very important when it comes to establishing this connection.

Ser Targon the Halfwild

Targon is only mentioned once and it is in that list of dance partners. He's not connected to any particular house, all we know of him is that he is a knight and that he "proved to be the soul of courtesy." This detail is interesting because it sort goes against his "Halfwild" moniker — he is courteous in spite of his half-wildness. Likewise, Jon is also courteous, chivalrous and knightly even, in spite of the stigma attached to being a bastard:

They still think me a turncloak. That was a bitter draft to drink, but Jon could not blame them. He was a bastard, after all. Everyone knew that bastards were wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. And he had made as many enemies as friends at Castle Black...Rast, for one. Jon had once threatened to have Ghost rip his throat out unless he stopped tormenting Samwell Tarly, and Rast did not forget things like that. – ASOS, Jon VII

As mentioned in comparison to Ser Byron, Jon behaves courteously towards Gilly, calling her name "pretty", just as Sansa taught him. He also often refers to Val as "my lady" despite her being a proud woman of the Free Folk. Jon also clearly looks up to and wishes to emulate legendary knights to a certain extent, and behaving with courtesy and honour is very much part of that:

They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne." – ASOS, Jon XII

Furthermore, Jon has this connection to the Free Folk, also known as the wildlings, having spent a fair amount of time with them:

"The wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows in the veins of the Starks [...]" – ASOS, Jon I

"Some of your own Sworn Brothers would have me believe that you are half a wildling yourself. Is it true?" – ADWD, Jon IV

Mully cleared his throat. "M'lord? The wildling princess, letting her go, the men may say—"

"—that I am half a wildling myself, a turncloak who means to sell the realm to our raiders, cannibals, and giants." Jon did not need to stare into a fire to know what was being said of him. The worst part was, they were not wrong, not wholly. "Words are wind, and the wind is always blowing at the Wall. Come." – ADWD, Jon VIII

"A wildling. A filthy, murdering wildling." Cregan's hands closed into fists. The gloves that covered them were leather, lined with fur to match the cloak that hung matted and stiff from his broad shoulders. His black wool surcoat was emblazoned with the white sunburst of his house. "I see what you are, Snow. Half a wolf and half a wildling, baseborn get of a traitor and a whore. You would deliver a highborn maid to the bed of some stinking savage. Did you sample her yourself first?" He laughed. "If you mean to kill me, do it and be damned for a kinslayer. Stark and Karstark are one blood."

"My name is Snow." – ADWD, Jon X

I am not the trusting fool you take me for...nor am I half wildling, no matter what you believe. – ADWD, Jon XI

If Stark blood is also essentially wildling blood, and Jon is half Stark on his mother's side...that would make him "Halfwild" in blood as well as in spirit. And like you said, Targon feels very close to Targaryen/Targ-Jon. So this name is there solely as a hint towards Jon's true parentage — half Targaryen and half Stark. But I think you could argue that the "Halfwild" element could allude to Jon's post-resurrection state as well. I do personally like the idea of Feral Jon™.

Ser Roland & Ser Wallace Waynwood

Like the Royces, and Dolorous Edd, the Waynwoods also bear some notable Stark physical traits, as noted by Myranda in this chapter:

“The first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? [...]"

As we know, looking horse-faced, or in Edd's case, mule-faced, indicates a rather long visage:

Arya took after their lord father. Her hair was a lusterless brown, and her face was long and solemn. Jeyne used to call her Arya Horseface, and neigh whenever she came near. – AGOT, Arya I

[Arya] even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. – AGOT, Sansa I

Interestingly though, Jon is never referred to as being called horse-faced, although we know he has a long Stark face. You'd think that Chett, in the ASOS Prologue would have made that kind of dig, since he says as much about Dolorous Edd? This is why I tentatively believe that, although long-faced, Jon isn't as apparently "homely" as these Stark looking Waynwood brothers:

Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.

That being said, I don't think he's as "handsome" as Ser Waymar Royce, or "beautiful" like Ser Byron. But obviously, he's got something going for him because as GRRM says "all the girls love" him, and you know, he's got a good bod probably and if the Giant's Lance cake is anything to go by, as well as all Tormund's small penis jokes...um, well, maybe he's packing, I don't know! (Don't look at me like that guys...it's GRRM not me!)

But anyway! Like you said, Ser Wallace Waynwood is even of an age with Robb, and therefore also Jon:

Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.

There is also a teeny bit of Stark blood, though obviously potent stuff, in the mix with those Waynwoods:

"No," Catelyn agreed. "You must name another heir, until such time as Jeyne gives you a son." She considered a moment. "Your father's father had no siblings, but his father had a sister who married a younger son of Lord Raymar Royce, of the junior branch. They had three daughters, all of whom wed Vale lordlings. A Waynwood and a Corbray, for certain. The youngest...it might have been a Templeton, but..."

"Mother." There was a sharpness in Robb's tone. "You forget. My father had four sons." – ASOS, Catelyn V

Shit — "all of whom wed Vale lordlings" — that's probably where all these Stark looking mother fudgers are coming from. So, all in all, I think there's some strong parallels.

And finally...Ser Harrold Hardyng

But let's not forget this bitch.

And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

Prior to Harry, who notably fits into the Ashford pattern of Sansa's suitors, we have all these Jon stand-ins, or references to Jon. We can actually separate them out into their different functions, though there is some overlap with Andrew Tollett:

Those who reference Jon's Starkness/the Stark Look™:

Andrew Tollett

Albar Royce

Roland Waynwood

Wallace Waynwood

Those who reference his position/location at the Night's Watch:

Because in the Alayne chapter prior to this one, Sansa learns that Jon has been made Lord Commander:

[..] 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.” – AFFC, Alayne II

So, it is interesting that you then have a number of dance partners connected to members of the Watch:

Ben Coldwater

Andrew Tollett

Morgarth the Merry

Uther Shett

This could be read as foreshadowing for Sansa's future journey north, and specifically to the Wall, where she believes Jon to be.

Those who reference his true/uncertain parentage:

Byron the Beautiful

Shadrich the Mad Mouse

The Three Sunderlands

Targon the Halfwild

All these guys get a dance, but when Harry asks? He is denied. It is only after some A+ dragging by Alayne, and begging by Harry that the latter gets his dance. Yet don't be fooled into thinking this is a win for Harrold:

"Should we ever wed, you'll have to send Saffron back to her father. I’ll be all the spice you’ll want."

He grinned. "I will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?"

"You may not. It is promised to… another." She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.

First off, we have this reminder of the betrothal, but there is a lack of certainty there — "should we wed" — and I would argue that's because...they ain't gonna. Remember all that wedding breakfast imagery, including an umcomfortably phallic lemon (wedding) cake, gift-giving and nod to a bridal cloak? Remember how that was followed by several dances with Jon stand-ins?

"[...] It is promised to… another."

Oh, I wonder who that could be? Honestly...GRRM has very clearly, for those who care to really look, stated someone else's claim here, and it ain't Harry's. In fact, it is the very same person who also evokes Valarr Targaryen in the Ashford pattern.

...it's our boi, Jon Snow.

“Jon Snow?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Snow? Yes, it would be Snow, I suppose.” – AFFC, Alayne II

You "suppose", Myranda? Honey, I'm certain.

[butterflies-dragons]

DUNK SNOW

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

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

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

The Hedge Knight

The Sworn Sword

The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

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

DUNK AND JON

Thinking fast, we can say that,  

Dunk and Jon are both orphans and presumed bastards.  

Dunk defending Tanselle resemblances Jon defending Samwell.

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

Their sexual awakening was with a red haired woman. 

Both met Maester Aemon.

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

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

But there is much more.

THE  HEDGE KNIGHT

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

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

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

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

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

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

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Don’t call me “My Lord”

Egg smiled. 

"Yes, my lord."

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

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

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

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

“I’m no lord.”

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

Sansa Stark and Lady Ashford

Sansa and Lady Ashford are noble ladies.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are of the same age.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are associated with tourneys.

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

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

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

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

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

Sansa Stark and Tanselle Too-Tall

Sansa and Tanselle are tall girls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dunk and Jon know how to treat a girl 

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

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Dreams of a highborn lady 

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

A red-haired whore 

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—GOT S01E04 – Cripples Bastards and Broken Things

Complaining about getting bad seats

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

"I remember."

"And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?"

Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

Dunk and Jon admire the same heroes

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

Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall?

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

A dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

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

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

(...)

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

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

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

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

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

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

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Fascinated by a Knight

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

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

(...)

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Not allowed

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

A Death with Honor

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Warg imagery

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Self doubt 

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

It should have been you

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes?" he said.

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Old Gods

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

“And what answer does your tree give you?”

“None that I can hear.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

A Tree on a Shield

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

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

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

[...]

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

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

Dragonflies or Dragons

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

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

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

"That the realm needed good men."

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

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

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

The Prince of Dragonflies

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

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

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

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

The Black Prince and the White Guardian

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

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

Valarr is called The Black Prince and the White Guardian:

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

—The Hedge Knight

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

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

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

* * *

THE SWORN SWORD

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

A Mysterious Red Lady

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

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

—The Sworn Sword 

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

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

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

—AGOT - Sansa I

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

—ASOS - Arya XIII

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

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

—ASOS - Jaime VII

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

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

—AFFC - Cersei IV

A man’s pride

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

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

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

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

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

(...)

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

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I had forgotten, ser.”

“How could you forget?”

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

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

"I don't even know your name."

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Marrying a Lady

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

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

(...)

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

“She’s dead, ser.”

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

“Four,” said Egg, “but no children.

(...)

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne. 

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it. 

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister. 

Silent Sisters wear always grey. 

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger's wives. 

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

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark. 

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

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

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

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

A Lady Mother

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

Marrying a Sister / Bedding a Sister

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

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

“Who was he?”

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

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

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

“Longspear’s not your brother.”

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Joining a celibate brotherhood

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

You’re not going...

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Warg imagery again...

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

Usurping another’s place 

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

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

. . . was forswear his vows again.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

“Your hair, I meant…it’s soft and…”

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

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

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

Rohanne was small, like Ygritte.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s meant to be an elm, m’lady.”

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

A Suitor / A Husband

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

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

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

(...)

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

A Lady’s claim

Rohanne’s claim is coveted by many suitors

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

“Must?” said Dunk.

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

(...) 

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

Rohanne and Sansa are red haired.

Rohanne and Sansa have a “wicked” reputation. 

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

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

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

Rohanne and Sansa have suffered forced marriages.

Rohanne and Sansa have become disillusioned with men.

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

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

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

Rohanne physically hurt Dunk / Ygritte physically hurt Jon  

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Bastards

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

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

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

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

For once Egg had nothing to say.

—The Sworn Sword

I’ve never knew my mother?

Maybe I killed my mother at birth?

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

The Ice Dragon

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Rohanne was called a whore / Ygritte was called a whore

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

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

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon IX

Rohanne Vs Tanselle

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

Sex Dreams

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Killing a woman 

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

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

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

“The Little Lion.

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

His hand froze. "A girl."

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

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

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

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

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

Killing a Royal Child

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

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

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

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

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

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

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

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

The Wall

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

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

(...)

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

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

“Summerhall is south. Your father.”

“The Wall is north.”

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

“I have a new horse, ser.”

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

“Well,” said Egg, “I hear it’s tall.”

—The Sworn Sword

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

Fire and Blood

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

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

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

—The Sworn Sword

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

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

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

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

Something To Remember Me By

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

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

(...)

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

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

“I might say the same to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I ride one.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

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

“Why not?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Take her!”

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

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

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

—The Sworn Sword

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

This passage is full of innuendos:

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

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

¡¡¡SEVEN GODS!!! 

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

THE MYSTERY KNIGHT

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

A New Tree on a Shield

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

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

(...)

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

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

(...)

“I am a hedge knight, seeking service.”

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

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

“Why? Did you rob it off a corpse?”

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

(...)

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

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

“For the shield.”

“Yes, but…

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

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

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

A Bastard Prince in Disguise 

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

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

(...) 

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

Wait!

A bastard dragon in disguise? 

With dark hair?

Called John?

Also the Fiddler?

Fiddles and Swords as his sigil? 

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

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

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

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

Gormon Pyke

Dunk meets the man that killed Roger of Pennytree 

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

So many things to say about these three hedge knights.

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

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

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

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

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

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

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

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

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

Ser Maynard Plumm, flaxen hair.

And we have these hedge knights in ASOIAF:

Ser Byron the Beautiful, blonde hair. 

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

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

Then we can associate them this way:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dragon Eggs

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

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Would it?” Dunk had his doubts.”

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

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

(...)

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

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

Egg gave him a doubtful look.

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

Winterfell

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

Florian the Fool imagery

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

“They call me John the Fiddler.”

“Are you a musician or a warrior?”

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

Having a Thirst during a Feast

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

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

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

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

(...)

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I 

A Bedding

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

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

(...)

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

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

Another Prophetic Dream 

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

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

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

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

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

“Where are you going, ser?”

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

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

“What do you want of me?”

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

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

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

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

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

Better with a Sword

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

(...)

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

(...)

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

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

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

(...)

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Warg imagery once again...

A trumpet sounded.

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

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

Coming back to life

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

(...)

“Tell me. What’s happened?”

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

(...)

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

“Four hours, by the sundial.”

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

(...)

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

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

Honor

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

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

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

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

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

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

True Identities and Targaryen Names

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

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

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

(...)

“You are no hedge knight.”

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

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

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

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

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

He has Egg’s eyes.

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

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

(...)

“I never did you any harm.”

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

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

—The Mystery Knight

These passages give me hope about Aemon being Jon’s Targaryen name: 

Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

Aemon. The name rang in Dunk’s (?) head. Not Jon. Aemon, after his father uncle.

Who will discover Jon’s true parentage and Jon’s Targaryen name? My bet is on Sansa since she unbeknownst helped Ned to discover that “Prince” Joffrey were a bastard. So it would be a full circle if she discovers by herself that the bastard Jon Snow is a true prince.

The Redhead Lady of the Tale

Mad Danelle Lothston herself rode forth in strength from her haunted towers at Harrenhal, clad in black armor that fit her like an iron glove, her long red hair streaming.

—The Mystery Knight

There is always a redhead woman with a wicked reputation. In the first tale a red haired whore is mentioned; in the second tale Rohanne Webber is a protagonist; and in this third tale Mad Danelle Lothston makes a triumphant entrance riding all armored next to Bloodraven to put an end to the Second Blackfyre Rebellion. Such a powerful image...   

An Elm Tree again!

The Hand’s pavilion was half a mile from the castle, in the shade of a spreading elm tree. A dozen cows were cropping at the grass nearby. Kings rise and fall, Dunk thought, and cows and smallfolk go about their business. It was something the old man used to say.”

—The Mystery Knight

Bloodraven put his pavilion in the shade of a spreading elm tree. This is a reminiscence of the first tale:

On the outskirts of the great meadow, a good half mile from town and castle, he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall, leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight’s banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts.

(...)

“There’s my pavilion.” Dunk swept a hand above his head, at the branches of the tall elm that loomed above them.

“That’s a tree,” the boy said, unimpressed.

“It’s all the pavilion a true knight needs. I would sooner sleep under the stars than in some smoky tent.”

—The Hedge Knight

Dunk took that elm tree as his sigil the same way Lyanna took a weirwood as his sigil as a Mystery Knight.

Dunk also took a shooting star as part of his sigil and when Jon’s was born, there was a shooting star symbol around him, Ser Arthur Dayne’s sword, Dawn, made of a falling star, and House Dayne’s sigil is also “a white sword and falling star crossed on lilac”.

So Dunks sigil is really telling us about Jon Snow’s birth story, about the identity of his mother and the place when he was born, that was named by his biological father and was guarded by a knight with a sword made of a falling star.   

Roger of Pennytree 

Flanking the entrance, the severed heads of Gormon Peake and Black Tom Heddle had been impaled on spears, with their shields displayed beneath them. Three castles, black on orange. The man who slew Roger of Pennytree.

Even in death, Lord Gormon’s eyes were hard and flinty. Dunk closed them with his fingers. “What did you do that for?” asked one of the guardsmen. “The crows’ll have them soon enough.”

“I owed him that much.” If Roger had not died that day, the old man would never have looked twice at Dunk when he saw him chasing that pig through the alleys of King’s Landing. Some old dead king gave a sword to one son instead of another, that was the start of it. And now I’m standing here, and poor Roger’s in his grave.”

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very sad scene where we can see how Dunk still feels guilty for all the men that had to die for him to live the life he is living. Jon shares the same guilt along his arc and is heartbreaking.   

Tower of Joy imagery

Bloodraven ordered Whitewalls to be pulled down stone by stone, the same way Ned Stark pulled down the Tower of Joy

“And Whitewalls?” asked Butterwell, with quavering voice.

“Forfeit to the Iron Throne. I mean to pull it down stone by stone and sow the ground that it stands upon with salt. In twenty years, no one will remember it existed. Old fools and young malcontents still make pilgrimages to the Redgrass Field to plant flowers on the spot where Daemon Blackfyre fell. I will not suffer Whitewalls to become another monument to the Black Dragon."

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

“It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory’s father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

As you can see, Whitewalls, the castle where Egg “hatched” and revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, is ordered by Bloodraven to be pulled down stone by stone. And after reading this it’s impossible not to think about the Tower of Joy, the place where Jon was born, being pulled down by Ned Stark. 

A Dragon Rises

“We had some help, m’lord,” Dunk added.

“Hedge knights.”

“Aye, m’lord. Ser Kyle the Cat, and Maynard Plumm. And Ser Glendon Ball. It was him unhorsed the Fidd…the pretender.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that tale from half a hundred lips already. The Bastard of the Pussywillows. Born of a whore and a traitor.”

“Born of heroes,” Egg insisted. “If he’s amongst the captives, I want him found and released. And rewarded.”

“And who are you to tell the King’s Hand what to do?”

Egg did not flinch. “You know who I am, cousin.”

“Your squire is insolent, ser,” Lord Rivers said to Dunk. “You ought to beat that out of him.”

“I’ve tried, m’lord. He’s a prince, though.”

“What he is,” said Bloodraven, “is a dragon. Rise, ser.”

Dunk rose.

“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest,” Bloodraven said, “so we should not be surprised if from time to time a Blackfyre displays the gift as well. Daemon dreamed that a dragon would be born at Whitewalls, and it was. The fool just got the color wrong.”

Dunk looked at Egg. The ring, he saw. His father’s ring. It’s on his finger, not stuffed up inside his boot.

(...)

“My place is with Ser Duncan. I’m his squire.”

“Seven save you both. As you wish. You’re free to go.”

“We will,” said Egg, “but first we need some gold. Ser Duncan needs to pay the Snail his ransom.”

Bloodraven laughed. “What happened to the modest boy I once met at King’s Landing? As you say, my prince. I will instruct my paymaster to give you as much gold as you wish. Within reason.”

—The Mystery Knight

And finally, the dragon egg that actually hatched in Whitewalls was Egg, a Targaryen Prince in disguise that revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, a future king, that will also died while trying to hatch dragon eggs, next to Dunk at Summerhall, the place when another human dragon hatched, Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon’s biological father.

GRRM really likes his full circles... 

This has been a long ride. I hope you enjoy it.

THE END.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Favorite Passages of 2020

thought I’d start a new tag for writers for the end of the year--favorite lines/ passages written. There might be a tag like this already but hey I felt like taking a trip down memory lane. I feel like this year has seen me grow a lot. I finished 3 WIPs from 3 different fandoms and decided to make a part 2 of a previously finished fic. What a year, what a year, am I right? Fic writing has certainly made the days easier, made me happy and taken my mind off of situations. 

Obviously the year isn’t over yet maybe something will overtake this, but I felt like taking a trip through memory lane. Also, number five has some light smut.

tagging @laraslandlockedblues @ma-sulevin @kemvee @galadrieljones @thevikingwoman @jentrevellan @wardenari @roguelioness @idrelle @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold @queen-kass-the-writer @ellenembee

1. Only Lovers, Resident Evil, Leon S. Kennedy x Ada Wong

She laughs to herself. One moment, they told each other last night. And this is it. They were fools. They’re still fools. Happy, sated, blissful fools. And lovers.

And yet, it’d be cruel not to tell him, to let him live in an illusion. 

“You don’t love me,” she whispers. “you love the me you think about when you’re lonely.” 

“Not lonely now.” 

He glances at her with a mischievous, knowing look. “Neither am I,” she tells him, and she even plays the part, tells him she loves him too. They’re only lovers now, after all. 

“You didn’t have to say that,” he says. “I know what’s true.”

“Then what’s true?” 

He rises, faces her. He cups her cheek, caresses her face. He follows with a gentle kiss.

“Now,” he whispers. “Us.”

***This is from my one shot of Leon and Ada from the Resident Evil games. I played the game over quarantine and my twelve year old feels for the femme fatale and hot agent reignited, so I wanted to tribute that. Now I like Leon and Ada vastly more than Leon and Claire because I just find it more interesting--but beyond that I really wanted to explore an enemies to lovers relationship. They’re on two different sides of a war but they can’t help that attraction and pull, and I just like the idea they kind of see each other sometimes and release some tension, though both skirt around the idea of love. I like this passage because it encapsulates their tense yet dynamic and even romantic pull. Plus when I wrote “you don’t love me, you love the me you think about when you’re lonely” I just felt really powerful and badass, and I collect badass lines that come to my head for future wham lines in my writing, and I am 90 percent sure this was one such line. Either that or it came to me as I was writing, but I honestly don’t remember. 

2.  Love Song on Sapphire Isle, GOT, Jaime x Brienne

From the palace, there’s a strum of a lute, the sound intermingling with the crash of the waves that’s melodic and lulling. They stand side by side, listening to the song—a love song, though Jaime says she is his love song, his greatest adventure.  And she wraps her arms around him, and tells him he is her love song, and her later. Though now, she thinks her later has turned into an always.

***This is from my Jaime and Brienne longfic, a pseudo fix it that really just made me feel better after how disappointed I was with where they took Jaime and Brienne’s arc in the show. Come on George make them each other’s true love in the books I know you are prove those people who can’t read subtext wrong In the fic the term “later,” is part of their romantic dynamic, Jaime and Brienne always telling each other there will be time for romance later before the battle. then they get their later and and they’re stuck in a rut, not knowing what exactly to do. The last chapter, a snap shot of their “later,” years after the penultimate fic chapter, shows the life they’ve built. I tell my kids in my class that their final lines in a paper should pack a punch, and I think with everything that happened in the fic and the idea of later, it was the perfect final line. 

3.The Sweetest Sorrow, RDR2. Arthur Morgan x Charlotte Balfour

Come back, she said to him, sitting by their favorite spot in the clearing by the water. I know what you said, and I accepted it, but it is not easy to be the one that waits. It’s not fair that I am always the one that waits. These men in old stories, men like Arthur who masqueraded as an outlaw but were also knights, thought they had the harder duties. Charlotte, though she would always sing for Arthur and the good man underneath that always won over the evil bad man he claimed to be, was tired of singing songs of those men. She sung praises for Penelope and other women like her, the waiters. She sung for herself and her strength, and waited for the day when she could show him again just how strong she was, as strong as him. If only he would come back, one more time. She made sure to pour longings and promises in their parting kiss after he said that she gave him his dream. She kissed him to woo him back.

“Come back,” she said, and she hoped the wind carried her prayers. Come back to me Arthur, she wrote on her journal in her lap. She prayed that her longing, tangible in the words she wrote and spoke would make him stronger, beat that vile thing that had made it’s way into her once proud man and withering him. If he came back and it turned that he had given her his ailment, they could be brave together. She was tired of being brave alone. She was good at being alone, but that didn’t mean she had to endure it.

Come back.

Arthur was made to believe he was alone, and he had to be alone with his ailment. She couldn’t rely on their last conversation, her last kiss to him. Once he was away from her she knew his duty and self-sacrifice would win. Why, why did she not go with him, why did she allow herself to think she had to be the one that stayed? If she was his equal, she would have showed him.

Come back.

He wasn’t alone. He could find a way back to her once everything was fixed, but nothing could ever become truly fixed. Would he remain and remain, hopelessly fixing until he became too frail and withered? She knew him. He would. He was too much of a good man, especially now.

Come back.

It wasn’t that she wanted him to be selfish. She wanted him to be true to himself. But that man was wrestling with a giant called doubt.

Come back.

The wind blew her journal to the last few dozen pages. She hadn’t realized how worn it was before, how the binding was tearing and the pages weren’t sticking to the spine as they used to. Come back, she wrote. Come back to me Arthur. Again and again, she wrote, more furious than the last, her hand flying through her remaining blank pages. The wind was strong, and before she could catch one of the pages that ripped out, she could only watch as the wind ripped it’s away across the stream. More pages began to fly from her journal with all the same messages, come back, come back, Arthur come back, don’t leave me in this dark, cruel place where I can’t find you. Some fell in the river, some were carried to the clearing behind her.

She lost all her blank pages. She didn’t mourn.

“Come back,” she said once more, for the final time. “Come back.”

***So I stopped updating this fic in 2019 because I lost the muse. Frankly too I spent the bulk of writing this story in an unhappy mood, and I associated a lot of my feelings of the time when I thought about going back. however, wanting to replay RDR2 made me fall for Arthur all over again, and made me want to come back to this world, so I reread it and tidied it up and went back. I found I no longer associated the fic with my mood at the time and could appreciate it as it’s own thing. The meta of this section and why I’m found of it is that the idea of blank pages is associated with Arthur and Charlotte’s relationship.  they want to write a story together and fill up their blank pages together. Plus I am just very attached to the image of Charlotte writing in a journal and the pages getting lost in the wind. Also love the literary references and allusions in this fic, and you can see that here. Truth to be told i think this is one of my technically best fics for it’s consistency and build. Also, Arthur lives.   

4. Memoirs of a Long, Long Time, Morrigan x Warden

Rowan had no shame. Once outside the blacksmith’s, he took Morrigan’s hand, leading her out by the water. He held up his hand to Alistair, Leliana and Sten, promising it would be one moment, and one moment only.

“Yes?” she asked, with a dollop of sugary sweetness

He didn’t play games. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Why are you?” she fired back. “We are here for the Arl, not to save the entire village."

“Look around,” he told her. “Who will help these people if I do not?”

“Yet to accept a kiss? From that woman? Shall we keep our list? Leliana, that girl in the chantry, the tavern wench…me….”

He didn’t care if Alistair, Leliana, and Sten were all watching. “You know what I feel for you is different,” he muttered.

“Oh? Is it?”

“Shall I kiss you now to prove it?”

“But I do wonder if you would, gallant knight from a story book? You—”

He took her hand and pulled their bodies closer together, her words disappearing. “Am I a knight, or rogue?” he asked her. “No. I’m a Grey Warden.”

She bit her lip, mesmerized by his. Oh, to have done it then before battle, in front of his companions.

It was a nice thought, but it wasn’t what he wanted.

“I won’t kiss you now,” he said, “though a kiss before battle is what the bards sing of. I’d rather wait to kiss you when you aren’t so…salty. Kisses taste better that way.”

The temptress, Witch of the Wilds smiled, both agreeing with him, and knowing he did indeed want her lips and her lips alone. She stood by his side in battle, and then stood by his side come morning when the village remained. When Bella thanked him again after they came to the tavern with for complimentary glass of mead—a small reprieve before they would head to Castle Redcliffe— Morrigan said nothing and merely stood by his side, her arm pressed against his. When his mead sat untouched on the counter after a few sips, she took his glass and took a sip.

“I suppose I am to wait till after we storm the castle?” she asked.

“If I find a small grotto to take you. I hear kisses happen only in beautiful places.”

“Then we should do it anywhere you are.”

He flushed with vanity. He knew he looked tired, with dark, purplish circles under his eyes and scraggly hair that was growing out, though at least it had some wave to it. He lost weight as well, as his cheeks were hollower. His beard was growing as well, and he knew soon he would need to trim it. Frankly, he looked like what he was: a tired man who slept in the woods and was forced to settle every squabble in Redcliffe Village. And yet the Witch of the Wilds, who looked at radiant as she did when he first met her, would have him anywhere. She liked him as he was: tired and frankly annoyed.

He took one last sip of mead before suggesting they meet Teagan. After that, he would be one step closer to his kiss.

Or, not.

***I always wanted to write Morrigan x Warden. I was so close to making the Warden in In Waking Dreams a male that romanced Morrigan and had Kieran with her, but I chickened out and went with what I was most familiar with, a female Cousland who romanced Alistair. Well, 2020. Time to do the creative things that once scared me lol. If I had the will I’d rewrite IWD just to stick in Morrigan and Rowan, but that would be too hard and mess with the timeline, of Cullen and Lyd’s relationship, because the hero of Ferelden is Hawke’s Warden contact in this fic, and there’s no way Rowan wouldn’t visit his wife and son....I mean maybe I can do it but I don’t have the energy, I’d rather just keep IWD as it is, and I do like the Warden in that fic.

Anyway this fic reminds me a lot of a play---fitting because Rowan was once an actor. I really enjoy their dialogue and banter and I think Rowan’s knightish, charming ways come across in his dialogue. Also I’m proud of the way the story is told. It’s his memories, interspersed with the current time, also switches to Morrigan at Skyhold. ****

5. In Waking Dreams: Dragon Age, Cullen x Quiz

Lydia knew it immediately before he handed it to her, the book of Ferelden myths and legends, with the story of Cliodna, the Avvar priestess who roamed the world looking for her lover nestled within the pages. Lydia had a copy before, though different than the one Cullen handed to her. This was the one his mother held in her hands as she read to her children, the one that survived the Blight to be held in Cullen’s hands again, to be given to his lover.

“Cliodna and Concohbar,” Lydia said thumbing through the pages, captivated by the drawing of the long, dark-haired woman, reunited and swimming in the constellations with the man she loved, the final illustration of the book. Her gaze fell back to Cullen, his expression soft.

“Us,” she said.

“We’re us,” he said. “But they do remind of a certain couple I know.” He caressed her face. “We’re in the same constellation, you and I.”

They couldn’t wait. They made love upstairs in his room, the book safely tucked away on his dresser. He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off her clothes one by one, slowly and savoring each new patch of revealed skin. He pressed a kiss to her belly as she stood fully nude and himself still clothed—though she helped him rid himself of his shirt as he kicked off his boots and pushed down his trousers and smalls. She sat on his thighs, slid her hands down his body, filled herself with him to the brim. He wrote love letters of a happy birthday on her body, made her come against his hand as she thrust herself down and back upon him, riding his thighs as his calloused hands dug into her hips. Moonlight spilled through the gap in his roof, creating her favorite painting—one of a reverent, loving Cullen—a slight Commander to him in the way he whispered how good she felt, how her want was leaking on him, but unquestionably he was her Cullen.

She spoke his name, a chant and prayer stronger than one she ever prayed to the Maker, his arms wrapping around her and grasping as he shuddered and came, pouring inside of her, resting his head against her beating heart.

“My darling,” she said, covered in both their sweats. “My love.”

“Be honest,” he said against her breasts, peering at her. “Would you have preferred our secret place, something else today? You said you wanted quiet.”

She stroked his bearded face, tousled his hair. “What you all did was perfect. And you coordinated it?”

“Mostly Josephine. But I had some ideas.”

She grinned. “Darling. You have given me the happiest of days.”

***Well, I always wanted to continue IWD, just got caught up in other fandoms. Plus I didn’t think I was ready yet. Believe me I tried but I had no clue where to start. Well, I finally learned: Lydia’s birthday, Cullen throwing her a party. Actually I do enjoy this whole chapter--it’s Lydia and Cullen being romantic and fun and throwing out their pet names, the two just enjoying each other as they are. It’s so refreshing to see them happy and not uptight in a canon fic, because oooh boy rereading the fic and getting back into the world made me realize just how damn dramatic they are, lol. And I wouldn’t have it any other way, we high drama here or we go home. Anyway, really happy to be back, like over the moon even, and I had a reader tell me my writing has improved since I finished in 2018. So, it was quite nice to hear, quite affirming.******

Part of me has never gotten rid of my innate flowy language, but I do think I have improved with just saying what I need to say with no embellishment at certain points. 

[ginmo]

Hi Ginmo, I apologize if you've already answered this but I need your opinion. Do you think GRRM wrote Cersei badly? A lot of Cersei stans say that Cersei was originally conceived as a smart, cunning and intelligent woman who became messed up due to patriarchy and childhood trauma. But then we got the backstory with the Valonqar and Melara, and how she was evil all along. Cersei stans think that that was a bad move because it makes her a less interesting character and makes her one-dimensional. They also seem jealous of Jaime and say it's sexist that Jaime (the man) is given redeeming moments while Cersei (the woman) isn't. I would agree with their logic if Cersei were the only female character but she's not?? Brienne, Arianne, Arya, Sansa and Catelyn also exist. Is it sexist that Dany is written as the better Targaryen sibling while Viserys was fucked up and killed off in the first book? Is it sexist that Joffrey was evil but Myrcella is the kind and smart girl? Is it sexist that Galladon drowned and doesn't have a personality, while Brienne (the woman) is the sibling who lived and has a story? Is it sexist that Euron Greyjoy isn't Euridyce Greyjoy? Sometimes I wonder if Cersei stans are aware that she's not the only character in the books.

I’ve noticed this opinion in the JB fandom as well, so it isn’t only a Cersei stan thing. 

I respect the opinions of those who do find issue with it, and I think it’s open to debate for sure, but IMO no, I don’t think it’s sexist that he wrote Cersei the way he did, because of the reasons you listed and also... women can be narcissists, abusers, selfish, sociopaths, etc. Women aren’t immune to possessing traits that are typically applied to and explored through men. If she were the only woman and it was framed as See Power Makes Women Go Crazy, then sure. And if he has only Dany and Cersei going Mad at the end of the day Because Power while the men are trying to step in to chill them out, then there’s a problem there. But from what we’ve been given, I don’t see it that way. I don’t even see Cersei surviving Winds, so I’m not anticipating a Battle Between Two Mad Women. I see shades of grey, some worse than others, mixed in with men who are also shades of grey. As you mentioned, we have other female characters, some in pursuit of power and others who aren’t, that are various shades of grey. But we’ll see. As of now, I don’t have a problem with how he’s written Cersei. 

Tbh I find it more questionable to have her only sympathetic qualities be through A Mother’s Love For Her Children, which is a popular trope applied to women that the show pushed, as if babies tame her and without them she goes crazy. Not all mothers have an innate, selfless love for their children. Just like not all fathers do. 

She’ll never be redeemed in the eyes of some. She’s a character who’s very protective of her children. You can argue, well, does she genuinely love her children, or does she just love them because they’re her children? There’s certainly a great level of narcissism in Cersei. She has an almost sociopathic view of the world and civilization. [x] 

Unlike the show, he’s intentionally writing in narcissistic and sociopathic tendencies in relation to love and the world around her, which is what makes this female character interesting and different. Some will look past those traits and question if she genuinely loves them, others won’t. Personally, the narcissist read is where I lean, because I haven’t seen any evidence of genuine love throughout the series, and I love the psychology of it. What caused this? How long has she been this way? And considering Jaime isn’t like Cersei, it makes me wonder wtf happened and feel sympathy for her in that way. Many female characters were born into that world, some with similar experiences, and each of those female characters are coming out of it differently. 

Her character is still complex, but in a psychologically complicated way that’s very human and realistic, not a cartoonish, flat depiction. 

[ravxnqueen]

some special relationships in my asoiaf x sense8 au:

robb & margaery oh these two can argue the whole day without stopping. margaery simply enjoys teasing and disagreeing with everything robb says or does. he riles her up in a way no one else does so she couldn’t help but argue with him at every chance, but she also does it because she finds his flushed cheeks and fiery eyes adorable. the others find them annoying everytime they start on another spat. she also offers valuable advices when he’s dealing with the northern lords.

aegon & margaery they love to trade barbs too, but it’s more witty and dry-humoured than argumentative. they are both clever and shrewd creatures, trickster spirits at heart. they see through deceptions and lies easily because they grew up around them. they take care of the sly politics so their kinder cluster mates doesn’t get tricked or deceived by the lurking snakes around them.

brienne & margaery bffs 💕 they get along unexpectedly well, especially after the renly situation. margaery is really protective of brienne. she’s brienne’s emotional support, but also her to-go person when she wants practical advice. margaery is unlike any lady brienne has ever met, and despite their lack of common interests, they don’t seem to find each other boring.

aegon & brienne also another unexpected friendship since they are basically two opposites when it comes to morals. with brienne, aegon finds courage in her resolve and faith. he has never believed in tales of shining knights and rescued princesses; there’s no true knight in this world, but maybe brienne of tarth is an exception. with aegon, brienne no longer keeps seeing the world in black and white. she learns to see beyond the shades of grey and accept things more with an open mind. she has a quiet protective streak when it comes to him, especially after witnessing his life in essos.

jon & meera she’s like a breath of fresh air to jon. meera reminds him of arya, and she’s usually there to kick him out of whenever he disappears too long inside his head. it’s something that even robb couldn’t accomplish when jon’s at his most stubborn. she certainly doesn’t let him overthink and brood too much and actively encourages to speak his mind.

alleras & aegon it’s complicated with this relationship. both of them are hiding their identities from each other, even though they are all telepathically connected. amongst the seven, they are the best at hiding their emotional thoughts from the cluster. they are both intellectuals; very curious and greedy for knowledge. they bond with their love for books and never-ending want to learn more. they are always in deep discussions of some new invention or theory. both of them know they are hiding their identities from the cluster, but they won’t reveal anything that either of them does not want anyone to know. 

meera & brienne they are both tough, positive babes and fellow female warriors. they delight in trading fighting tips and comparing the differences of their weapons. brienne, always eager to learn, enjoys learning the art of hunting from meera. the two of them would throw down anyone who thinks to mock the other. they are also usually the first to come to their cluster’s defense. 

robb & aegon & jon would go to hell for each other tbh. aegon enjoys teasing the two of them, finding their honorable and upright personalities too easy to wind up. he especially likes the tug-of-war conversations he have with robb, while he’s more comfortable and fond of jon’s quieter disposition. with robb, he finds the balance between being just and unforgiving. with jon, he learns to slowly open up his heart around others, to try to be good and kind for himself instead of others’ sakes.  with aegon, robb learns that while being too compassionate is a good trait in a man, it’s not a very admirable trait in a king, but it’s far better to be a merciful king than a merciless one. with jon, he learns to be more observant, to listen better, even with those who doesn’t open their mouths to speak.  with aegon, jon learns to be more patient, to stop reacting at every perceived slight to his person. sometimes it’s better to be underestimated. with robb, he finds his bravery and his resolve to stand firm. to never falter in front of any adversary. the three of them help out each other the most in the cluster, unknowingly drawn to each other by their blood and destiny. 

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ASOS: Arya XI (Chapter 52)

The feast tents were behind them now. They squished over wet clay and torn grass, out of the light and back into the gloom.

✨ metaphors ✨

+.+.+

The Hound reined up so suddenly that she almost fell off the wayn. "Seven bloody buggering hells," Arya heard him curse, as their left wheel began to sink in soft mud. The wayn tilted slowly. "Get down," Clegane roared at her, slamming the heel of his hand into her shoulder to knock her sideways. She landed light, the way Syrio had taught her, and bounced up at once with a face full of mud. 

Mud!

+.+.+

Somewhere far off she heard a wolf howling. It wasn't very loud compared to the camp noise and the music and the low ominous growl of the river running wild, but she heard it all the same. Only maybe it wasn't her ears that heard it. The sound shivered through Arya like a knife, sharp with rage and grief. 

I wonder if she felt Grey Wind's death.

(Knife!)

+.+.+

I know this song, Arya realized suddenly. 

[...]

Only a cat of a different coat, that's all the truth I know.

Of all the lines in the song, he went with that one.

+.+.+

Clegane cut Stranger loose with a single slash of his sword and leapt onto his back. The courser knew what was wanted of him. He pricked up his ears and wheeled toward the charging destriers. In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws. And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours. Arya had prayed a hundred hundred times for the Hound to die, but now . . . there was a rock in her hand, slimy with mud, and she didn't even remember picking it up. Who do I throw it at?

The one with bells.

+.+.+

"My brother . . ."

"Dead," he shouted back at her. "Do you think they'd slaughter his men and leave him alive?" He turned his head back toward the camp. "Look. Look, damn you."

The camp had become a battlefield. No, a butcher's den.

God, would it kill him to be a little nicer about it?

Arya still doesn't want to see for true. I don't blame her.

+.+.+

She could see torches moving on the walls, their flames dancing and blowing in the wind.

x

It was only then that she heard the riders pouring out the castle gate in a river of steel and fire, the thunder of their destriers crossing the drawbridge almost lost beneath the drumming from the castles. 

x

Then the flames went licking up from the fallen tent, and now the other two were collapsing, heavy oiled cloth settling down on the men beneath. A flight of fire arrows streaked through the air. The second tent took fire, and then the third. The screams grew so loud she could hear words through the music. Dark shapes moved in front of the flames, the steel of their armor shining orange from afar.

x

She saw two knights ride down a running man. A wooden barrel came crashing onto one of the burning tents and burst apart, and the flames leapt twice as high. A catapult, she knew. The castle was flinging oil or pitch or something.

x

The song was done. There was only one solitary drum, its slow monotonous beats echoing across the river like the pounding of some monstrous heart. 

It's not as blatant as the Battle of the Blackwater, but I'd still say there's some interesting language/imagery happening here.

+.+.+

There were no more Freys riding out. I came so far. "We have to go get my mother."

"Stupid little bitch." Fires glinted off the snout of his helm, and made the steel teeth shine. "You go in there, you won't come out. Maybe Frey will let you kiss your mother's corpse."

And there's this other band, led by this woman Stoneheart . . . Lord Beric's lover, according to one tale. Supposedly she was hanged by the Freys, but Dondarrion kissed her and brought her back to life, and now she cannot die, no more than he can. - Brienne V, AFFC

+.+.+

"Maybe we can save her . . ."

"Maybe you can. I'm not done living yet." 

You're close!

+.+.+

He rode toward her, crowding her back toward the wayn. "Stay or go, she-wolf. Live or die. Your—"

Arya spun away from him and darted for the gate. The portcullis was coming down, but slowly. I have to run faster. The mud slowed her, though, and then the water. Run fast as a wolf. The drawbridge had begun to lift, the water running off it in a sheet, the mud falling in heavy clots. Faster. She heard loud splashing and looked back to see Stranger pounding after her, sending up gouts of water with every stride. She saw the longaxe too, still wet with blood and brains. And Arya ran. Not for her brother now, not even for her mother, but for herself. She ran faster than she had ever run before, her head down and her feet churning up the river, she ran from him as Mycah must have run.

His axe took her in the back of the head.

Least convincing fake death in the series.

"Stay or go, I don't care, but you'll die in there...

...actually you know what? Change of plans, I'm going to kill you myself for no reason."

(More mud!)

Final thoughts:

Well, that was unpleasant.

Hopefully Bran is next, I can't take any more torture...

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