#forest of qohor

[asoiafreadthru]

A Game of Thrones, Daenerys III

They crossed the rolling hills of Norvos, past terraced farms and small villages where the townsfolk watched anxiously from atop white stucco walls.

They forded three wide placid rivers and a fourth that was swift and narrow and treacherous, camped beside a high blue waterfall, skirted the tumbled ruins of a vast dead city where ghosts were said to moan among blackened marble columns.

They raced down Valyrian roads a thousand years old and straight as a Dothraki arrow.

For half a moon, they rode through the Forest of Qohor, where the leaves made a golden canopy high above them, and the trunks of the trees were as wide as city gates.

There were great elk in that wood, and spotted tigers, and lemurs with silver fur and huge purple eyes, but all fled before the approach of the khalasar and Dany got no glimpse of them.

[jozor-johai]

I noticed a little subplot happening in the background of ADWD, and I’m wondering if anyone has any theories on where this is going. I have my own theory, which I'll explain in full at the end, but is essentially this: I think that GRRM is placing these Dothraki khalasars strategically along the Rhoyne and telling us about them in ADWD so that if Dany commands the loyalty of the entire Dothraki in TWOW, she'll already have loyal armies in place right by the Free Cities, rather than having to wait transport troops anywhere—even though the Dothraki aren't a threat now, the Dothraki will be in place to attack the Free Cities while the Free Cities have sent all their armies to fight Dany's forces at Meereen.

I'll explain my reasoning, and where I think GRRM is putting the pieces into place here—under the cut, since it's a slightly long post with maps.

We first hear of Dothraki along the Rhoyne in ADWD Tyrion III:

“Griff means to strike downriver the instant we are back. News has been coming upriver, none of it good. Dothraki have been seen north of Dagger Lake, outriders from old Motho’s khalasar, and Khal Zekko is not far behind him, moving through the Forest of Qohor.” The fat man made a rude noise. “Zekko visits Qohor every three or four years. The Qohorik give him a sack of gold and he turns east again. As for Motho, his men are near as old as he is, and there are fewer every year. The threat is—” “—Khal Pono,” Haldon finished. “Motho and Zekko flee from him, if the tales are true. The last reports had Pono near the headwaters of the Selhoru with a khalasar of thirty thousand. Griff does not want to risk being caught up in the crossing if Pono should decide to risk the Rhoyne.”

As a reminder, Dagger Lake is where the Rhoyne in the east meets the Qhoyne in the west to make the full-force Rhoyne that we know and love.

Illyrio dismisses any reason to be concerned with these particular Dothraki, and perhaps he is right. But we do get our first preview into the concerns of Khal Pono, and the premise of Dothraki along the Rhoyne. Are they doing to be placated by gifts, like Illyrio says? Or is something different afoot?

Next we get an update in Tyrion VI, by Selhorys.

Haldon Halfmaester explained. “On the way down from the Sorrows to Selhorys, we thrice glimpsed riders moving south along the river’s eastern shore. Dothraki. Once they were so close we could hear the bells tinkling in their braids, and sometimes at night their fires could be seen beyond the eastern hills. We passed warships as well, Volantene river galleys crammed with slave soldiers. The triarchs fear an attack upon Selhorys, plainly.”

Another reminder for geography, Selhorys is significantly south from Dagger Lake. Like, further than King’s Landing is from the Trident. Once again, we have this concern: will Khal Pono cross the Rhoyne for Selhorys?

That concern is brought up again in Tyrion VI:

“Three,” Qavo allowed, “against thrice three thousand enemies. Grazdan mo Eraz was not the only envoy sent out from the Yellow City. When the Wise Masters move against Meereen, the legions of New Ghis will fight beside them. Tolosi. Elyrians. Even the Dothraki.” “You have Dothraki outside your own gates,” Haldon said. “Khal Pono.” Qavo waved a pale hand in dismissal. “The horselords come, we give them gifts, the horselords go.” He moved his catapult again, closed his hand around Tyrion’s alabaster dragon, removed it from the board.

As predicted by Haldon in Tyrion III, here is Khal Pono across from Selhorys. We hear that Qavo is unconcerned with Khal Pono, despite Haldon’s concerns.

This might be a bit of a meta opinion, but whenever someone is as flippant as Qavo is being here, expect them to be wrong. They definitely aren’t going to go away with gifts, Qavo is totally jinxing it—that’s my prediction.

Then we get another update later on, in The Lost Lord:

Haldon’s horses did not please him. “Were these the best that you could find?” he complained to the Halfmaester. “They were,” said Haldon, in an irritated tone, “and you had best not ask what they cost us. With Dothraki across the river, half the populace of Volon Therys has decided they would sooner be elsewhere, so horseflesh grows more expensive every day.”

By this point, they’re in Volon Therys, which is only barely outside of Volantis—think roughly the distance between King’s Landing and Duskendale, for comparison. And here, too, there are Dothraki on the other side of the river. Are these the same Dothraki, are they traveling south at the same pace as Tyrion/JonCon? Or is this yet another khalasar? We haven’t heard any update from Qohor, and this is the first time that we’ve unexpectedly encountered a khalasar—are they here to meet with the Volantenes about Meereen, like Dany’s advisors fear? Or are they here for another reason? Is it possible that Illyrio and Qavo are wrong?

The last update we get is in ADWD Victarion, when he captures a ship from Myr heading for New Ghis and Yunkai:

Sailing out of Myr, the Dove brought them no fresh news of Meereen or Daenerys, only stale reports of Dothraki horsemen along the Rhoyne, the Golden Company upon the march, and others things Victarion already knew.

Unfortunately, this is stale news for both Victarion and we the readers—this is like a snapshot back to Tyrion II/III, when the Golden Company broke its contract and started marching east, and when we first heard about the Dothraki on the Rhoyne in my first quote.

However, despite this being a snapshot back in time to old news, I wonder about GRRM’s choice to include this again so close to end of the book—is this a reminder for the readers about these Dothraki on the Rhoyne? We’ve learned why the Golden Company marching ended up being important, could this passage from Victarion be a reminder of these tidbits of news because they will continue to matter moving forward?

I am doubly interested because it’s in this same book, in the very midst of all this talk of Dothraki on the Rhoyne, that we hear the tale of a previous time the Dothraki came. This is back in ADWD Tyrion IV, between the reports of Motho and Zekko on Dagger Lake and before the talk with Qavo about Pono. I’ve bolded the relevant sections, because it’s long, but left the rest for context.

“The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruins remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, and some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years.”

Maybe this wasn’t just to set the stage for the Volantene elections, but to remind us that the Dothraki can come out of the east to wreak havoc…. when the Free Cities are weak. And boy, is Volantis looking undefended right now: the Golden Company is gone to Westeros, other sellsword companies have gone to Meereen, the Volantenes have sent their fleets to Meereen.

Before I continue, here’s a map of the locations of the Dothraki khalasars along the Rhoyne:

Why we should care

We can be almost certain that Dany has to return to Vaes Dothrak to visit the Dosh Khaleen. Though we don’t know for sure if Khal Jhaqo’s forces are going to outpower Dany and Drogon, Dany is already envisioning the future where she returns to Vaes Dothrak when she sees Jhaqo’s outrider at the end of ADWD:

One rider, and alone. A scout. He was one who rode before the khalasar to find the game and the good green grass, and sniff out foes wherever they might hide. If he found her there, he would kill her, rape her, or enslave her. At best, he would send her back to the crones of the dosh khaleen, where good khaleesi were supposed to go when their khals had died.

Of course, we ought to already have known this from Dany’s vision in the House of the Undying:

Beneath the Mother of Mountains, a line of naked crones crept from a great lake and knelt shivering before her, their grey heads bowed.

If Dany was truly seeing her future—and I believe she was—then we know we will inevitably be seeing her return to Vaes Dothrak to accept the homage of the Dosh Khaleen.

However, this creates a bigger problem: we need Dany to get to Westeros, and potentially have time to also reach both Volantis and Pentos (though whether or not Dany will actually go either of those places is purely speculation, however well-founded). Vaes Dothrak is in the entirely opposite direction from where she is now—that would be heading east, away from Westeros, not closer to her end goal.

For some readers, this isn’t a concern: we might trust Quaithe, who reminds Dany that:

To reach the west, you must go east. To go forward you must go back, and to touch the light you must pass beneath the shadow.

Some readers, though, wonder about the time and ability for TWOW to contain this storyline within its time. GRRM is realistic about how long travel time takes, which is great for the realism, but presents immense logistic problems.

Dany doesn’t need to worry about the time it takes to travel long distances as mucha as she used to—if she can begin to control Drogon, she can fly around at will. However, that’s only her; if Dany does gain the allegiance of the Dothraki at Vaes Dothrak, how can she actually leverage that in a meaningful way when they’re constrained to horseback? While the AGOT timeline is largely unclear, we can use Dany’s pregnancy to at least be sure it takes months to get from one side of the Dothraki Sea (in Dany III) to Vaes Dothrak (in Dany IV). Does Dany have months to mobilize Dothraki from one side of the Sea to the other?

With the Dothraki along the Rhoyne, though, she doesn’t need to wait for anyone to ride across the sea. Conveniently, they’re already there. If there’s some way to send a message that the Dosh Khaleen have decreed that the Dothraki will follow Dany, that she is the Stallion Who Mounts the World, then she has a ready-made army just waiting for her word to cross the Rhoyne after all, and take the Free Cities. Then Dany can fly over there on her own and just meet them.

I know we’re all looking forward to Dany taking Volantis, so I don’t want to propose something too contrary, but how about this: sicne we’ve been hearing all through ADWD that there are a ton of Dothraki already in place, conveniently for story purposes, ready to accept their regular gifts… or perhaps ready to act if, for example, word came that the Stallion Who Mounts The World has come after all. That might speed things up a bit. We know Volantis is only weakly defended, we know there are Dothraki outside of Selhorys, Qohor, and Volon Therys. Dany has spent five books searching for home and finding one among the people she’s freed. Maybe this is how she makes sure it’s the Volantene slavers who don’t have a home to go back to this time.

[istumpysk]

OPERATION ICEBERG: THE TIER LIST

THEORY:

Curtain of Light

TIER:

Fanfiction: These "theories" are nothing short of delusional fan-crafted fantasies, embarrassingly disconnected from any shred of textual reality.

[Tier list overview]

EVIDENCE:

Oh boy!

First, let's outline the theory.

Please note, like any other fan theory, there are always minor differences of opinion. So, we'll cover the basics that most people seem to agree on.

Daenerys, Jon, and Tyrion are the three heads of the dragon.

To defeat the Others, they will each mount a dragon and travel as far north as possible, beyond a curtain of light, where they will encounter a Lovecraftian, apocalyptic dimension filled with all kinds of monsters.

While they are beyond this curtain of light, they will engage in life-affirming activities in the face of death. Some believe this could manifest as Tyrion learning to love himself, childbirth, or a sexual encounter between Jon and Daenerys.

They will then sacrifice themselves and their dragons to defeat the Others. Presumably, much will go up in flames.

Apparently, this epitomizes the theme of the human heart in conflict with itself and will serve as the conclusion of the story.

Now, for the evidence...

Oops, there isn't any.

If you've ever had the privilege of reading someone discuss this theory, you'll have noticed a glaring lack of textual support. Nevertheless, I'll do my best to piece together a coherent argument for why this could happen.

(Honestly, I'm a bit bitter that I'm putting in more effort to prove this theory than anyone else has.)

What does it mean when something is Lovecraftian?

To borrow from dictionary.com, 'Lovecraftian' pertains to elements reminiscent of the works of fantasy and horror writer H.P. Lovecraft, especially those that depict monstrous, misshapen beings from other dimensions or universes.

George R. R. Martin, a fan of literature, incorporates numerous Lovecraftian references in his A Song of Ice and Fire series and its associated works.

Examples include:

Leng (Island): Inspired by Lovecraft's Plateau of Leng.

Sarnath (City): Likely inspired by the city of Sarnath in Lovecraft's "The Doom that Came to Sarnath."

Ib (Island/Civilization): Possibly a nod to Ib from "The Doom that Came to Sarnath."

K'dath in the Grey Waste: Inspired by Lovecraft's Kadath in the Cold Waste.

Church/Cult of Starry Wisdom: A probable reference to the same cult in Lovecraft's "The Haunter of the Dark."

Deep Ones: Likely inspired by the aquatic creatures in Lovecraft's "The Shadow over Innsmouth."

"What's dead may never die": Possibly inspired by Lovecraft's phrase "That is not dead which can eternal lie / And with strange eons even death may die."

The Drowned God: Possibly a nod to Lovecraft's Cthulhu.

Dagon: An Ironborn-associated name, also an ancient being in Lovecraft's lore.

The Black Goat of Qohor: Possibly a reference to Lovecraft's Shub-Niggurath, the "Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young."

N'Ghai and Nefer: Likely inspired by Lovecraft's N'Kai, an underground realm associated with Tsathoggua.

Are you noticing a pattern? These nods to Lovecraft are mostly found in peripheral settings, with minor association to the Ironborn. George tends to make a lot of references to all kinds of literature in a similar fashion.

I'd hesitate to jump to the conclusion that this implies the existence of a parallel universe with otherworldly monsters, accessible via a portal in the far north. But since this is appearing in the evidence section, I guess we'll do that anyway.

Moving on.

The words "curtain of light" appear in a Bran chapter. One time. In only this chapter.

Finally he looked north. He saw the Wall shining like blue crystal, and his bastard brother Jon sleeping alone in a cold bed, his skin growing pale and hard as the memory of all warmth fled from him. And he looked past the Wall, past endless forests cloaked in snow, past the frozen shore and the great blue-white rivers of ice and the dead plains where nothing grew or lived. North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. Now you know, the crow whispered as it sat on his shoulder. Now you know why you must live. - Bran III, AGOT

Melisandre also references curtains, though they are clearly different curtains than Bran's curtains. Whatever, it's fine.

Shadows in the shape of skulls, skulls that turned to mist, bodies locked together in lust, writhing and rolling and clawing. Through curtains of fire great winged shadows wheeled against a hard blue sky. - Melisandre I, ADWD

x

The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange, appearing and disappearing again, a shadow half-seen behind a fluttering curtain. Now he was a man, now a wolf, now a man again. - Melisandre I, ADWD

There is a place called the Land of Always Winter. It's like the Arctic.

The icy trenches rose around them, knee high, then waist high, then higher than their heads. They were in the heart of Winterfell with the castle all around them, but no sign of it could be seen. They might have easily been lost amidst the Land of Always Winter, a thousand leagues beyond the Wall. - Theon I, ADWD

x

Yet no matter the truths of their arts, the children were led by their greenseers, and there is no doubt that they could once be found from the Lands of Always Winter to the shores of the Summer Sea. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Dawn Age

x

What is commonly accepted is that the Age of Heroes began with the Pact and extended through the thousands of years in which the First Men and the children lived in peace with one another. With so much land ceded to them, the First Men at last had room to increase. From the Land of Always Winter to the shores of the Summer Sea, the First Men ruled from their ringforts. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Age of Heroes

The Others are believed to originate from the Land of Always Winter, where, according to legend, you can also find spooky ice spiders.

However, I should mention, a detail that might be easily missed in the books is that they are currently at Hardhome and continue to press south towards the Wall.

Yet there are other tales—harder to credit and yet more central to the old histories—about creatures known as the Others. According to these tales, they came from the frozen Land of Always Winter, bringing the cold and darkness with them as they sought to extinguish all light and warmth. The tales go on to say they rode monstrous ice spiders and the horses of the dead, resurrected to serve them, just as they resurrected dead men to fight on their behalf. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

In 2012, George confirmed that future books would explore further and further north. No shit, you don't say. I wonder if Bran's journey through history, where we learn more about the origins of the Others, has anything to do with that.

"And what lies really north in my books—we haven't explored that yet, but we will in the last two books." - George R. R. Martin

Bran uses the common metaphor "the heart of _____ (winter)" in the same passage that the curtain of light appears. Later, in another book, Daenerys enters the House of the Undying, where she encounters blue figures reminiscent of the Others. There, she finds a literal blue heart that appears to be their life force. Drogon eats it. Together, these things might suggest that there is a literal blue heart beyond a portal that needs to be set on fire to defeat the Others.

Also, another time, Theon stands in the middle of Winterfell and uses the same "the heart of" metaphor (common phrase found throughout the series). Shortly after, he references the Land of Always Winter, so I thought I would throw it in to be generous.

He looked deep into the heart of winter, and then he cried out, afraid, and the heat of his tears burned on his cheeks. - Bran III, AGOT

x

They were in the heart of Winterfell with the castle all around them, but no sign of it could be seen. They might have easily been lost amidst the Land of Always Winter, a thousand leagues beyond the Wall. - Theon I, ADWD

x

A long stone table filled this room. Above it floated a human heart, swollen and blue with corruption, yet still alive. It beat, a deep ponderous throb of sound, and each pulse sent out a wash of indigo light. The figures around the table were no more than blue shadows. As Dany walked to the empty chair at the foot of the table, they did not stir, nor speak, nor turn to face her. There was no sound but the slow, deep beat of the rotting heart. [...] Through the indigo murk, she could make out the wizened features of the Undying One to her right, an old old man, wrinkled and hairless. His flesh was a ripe violet-blue, his lips and nails bluer still, so dark they were almost black. Even the whites of his eyes were blue. They stared unseeing at the ancient woman on the opposite side of the table, whose gown of pale silk had rotted on her body. One withered breast was left bare in the Qartheen manner, to show a pointed blue nipple hard as leather. She is not breathing. Dany listened to the silence. None of them are breathing, and they do not move, and those eyes see nothing. Could it be that the Undying Ones were dead? [...] Then indigo turned to orange, and whispers turned to screams. Her heart was pounding, racing, the hands and mouths were gone, heat washed over her skin, and Dany blinked at a sudden glare. Perched above her, the dragon spread his wings and tore at the terrible dark heart, ripping the rotten flesh to ribbons, and when his head snapped forward, fire flew from his open jaws, bright and hot. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

x

Only its eyes lived. Bright blue, just as Jon said. They shone like frozen stars. 

[...]

When he opened his eyes the Other's armor was running down its legs in rivulets as pale blue blood hissed and steamed around the black dragonglass dagger in its throat. - Samwell I, ASOS

If you cherry-pick through the text and remove all context, you might be able to piece together a few sentences suggesting that life and love will defeat the Others and that a great self-sacrifice is imminent.

The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. - Bran II, AGOT

x

We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory, and our great tragedy. - Jon VIII, AGOT

x

"Sansa, permit me to share a bit of womanly wisdom with you on this very special day. Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same." - Sansa IV, ACOK

x

"You're mine," she whispered. "Mine, as I'm yours. And if we die, we die. All men must die, Jon Snow. But first we'll live." - Jon V, ASOS

x

Someone threw a stone, and when Dany looked, her shoulder was torn and bloody. "No," she wept, "no, please, stop it, it's too high, the price is too high." More stones came flying. - Daenerys VIII, AGOT

x

"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. "You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son." - Jon I, AGOT

Daenerys is convinced that there will be three heads of the dragon, and let me tell you, that girl's expectations are always fulfilled.

"If you were grown," she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, "I'd fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag." But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one. She thought of Daario. If ever there was a man who could rape a woman with his eyes . . . - Daenerys V, ASOS

If the author leads you to believe that something will happen, it must be true.

Lastly, I should mention that there are vague references suggesting that George has written other stories with events and themes similar to this proposed ending. However, I can't verify these claims, and unsurprisingly, the works in question are never cited.

Well, that was it.

Say what you will about the "Daario is Euron" theorists, but at least they attempt to back up their crazy idea with actual text from the books.

COUNTER-EVIDENCE:

To put it bluntly, this theory has no basis—no textual support, no historical parallels, no evidence in the companion books, no prophetic visions, no dreams, no myths, no legends, no similarities to the television show, and no foreshadowing to speak of. It is entirely made up, with only a few words from the text as its foundation.

Does that sound like George R. R. Martin to you?

That said, now that I’ve realized his three-fold revelation strategy, I see it in play almost every time. The first, subtle hint for the really astute readers, followed later by the more blatant hint for the less attentive, followed by just spelling it out for everyone else. It’s a brilliant strategy, and highly effective. - Anne Groell, George R. R. Martin's editor

A Song of Ice and Fire is about the people of Westeros putting aside their petty differences and uniting against two existential threats: ice, represented by the Others, and fire, represented by Daenerys Targaryen and her dragons. It's not a story about fire defeating ice.

Well, of course, the two outlying ones — the things going on north of the Wall, and then there is Targaryen on the other continent with her dragons — are of course the ice and fire of the title, "A Song of Ice and Fire." The central stuff — the stuff that's happening in the middle, in King's Landing, the capital of the seven kingdoms — is much more based on historical events, historical fiction. It's loosely drawn from the Wars of the Roses and some of the other conflicts around the 100 Years' War, although, of course, with a fantasy twist. You know, one of the dynamics I started with, there was the sense of people being so consumed by their petty struggles for power within the seven kingdoms, within King's Landing — who's going to be king? Who's going to be on the Small Council? Who's going to determine the policies? — that they're blind to the much greater and more dangerous threats that are happening far away on the periphery of their kingdoms. - George R. R. Martin

x

Ice and fire of course are also opposites, they're a duality and there's a lot in my books that are about duality. Certainly the religion of Melisandre, one of the most important characters, I think is basically a dualist religion with the premise that there are two gods. It's somewhat based on Zoroastrianism, and a little bit based on Catharism, Albigenses heresy who I know had some roots here in Spain once upon a time, before they were all killed. The idea of a world divided between good and evil, war between the two, which is so basic to so many fantasy starting with Tolkien, but much more so in the case of Tolkien imitators, was something that I wanted to recast and think about and maybe subvert a little. But I'm still using kind of the language of it, and some of the symbols associated with it. So all of these are grist for the mill, it's not something as simple as saying ice is this and fire is that. They're both many things. And one of the most important things is that both of them, ice and fire will kill you dead. So they're both dangerous in their own ways, hate, love, desire, coldness, they can both be deadly. - George R. R. Martin

x

While the lion of Lannister and the direwolf of Stark snarl and scrap, however, a second and greater threat takes shape across the narrow sea, where the Dothraki horselords mass their barbarian hordes for a great invasion of the Seven Kingdoms, led by the fierce and beautiful Daenerys Stormborn, the last of the Targaryen dragonlords. The Dothraki invasion will be the central story of my second volume, A Dance with Dragons. The greatest danger of all, however, comes from the north, from the icy wastes beyond the Wall, where half-forgotten demons out of legend, the inhuman others, raise cold legions of the undead and the neverborn and prepare to ride down on the winds of winter to extinguish everything that we would call "life." - The Original Outline

x

I have tried to make it explicit in the novels that the dragons are destructive forces, and Dany (Daenerys Targaryen) has found that out as she tried to rule the city of Meereen and be queen there.

She has the power to destroy, she can wipe out entire cities, and we certainly see that in 'Fire and Blood,' we see the dragons wiping out entire armies, wiping out towns and cities, destroying them, but that doesn't necessarily enable you to rule — it just enables you to destroy. - George R. R. Martin

In the established lore of A Song of Ice and Fire, dragons can't cross the Wall and dislike cold and wet weather. How exactly will they get to this Lovecraftian Land of Always Winter, and how will they be of any use in that climate?

The men of the Night's Watch were as thunderstruck by the queen's dragon as the people of White Harbor had been, though the queen herself noted that Silverwing "does not like this Wall." Though it was summer and the Wall was weeping, the chill of the ice could still be felt whenever the wind blew, and every gust would make the dragon hiss and snap. "Thrice I flew Silverwing high above Castle Black, and thrice I tried to take her north beyond the Wall," Alysanne wrote to Jaehaerys, "but every time she veered back south again and refused to go. Never before has she refused to take me where I wished to go. I laughed about it when I came down again, so the black brothers would not realize anything was amiss, but it troubled me then and it troubles me still." - Fire & Blood: Jaehaerys and Alysanne—Their Triumphs and Tragedies

x

Autumn was well advanced when the Prince of Dragonstone came to Winterfell. The snows lay deep upon the ground, a cold wind was howling from the north, and Lord Stark was in the midst of his preparations for the coming winter, yet he gave Jacaerys a warm welcome. Snow and ice and cold made Vermax ill-tempered, it is said, so the prince did not linger long amongst the northmen, but many a curious tale came out of that short sojourn. - Fire & Blood: the Dying of the Dragons—A Son for a Son

x

The big man looked out toward the terrace. "I knew it would rain," he said in a gloomy tone. "My bones were aching last night. They always ache before it rains. The dragons won't like this. Fire and water don't mix, and that's a fact. You get a good cookfire lit, blazing away nice, then it starts to piss down rain and next thing your wood is sodden and your flames are dead." - The Dragontamer, ADWD

x

He saw no sign of dragons, but he had not expected to. The dragons did not like the rain. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

x

(bonus, for laughs:)

"The things…Mother have mercy, I do not know how to speak of them…they were…worms with faces…snakes with hands…twisting, slimy, unspeakable things that seemed to writhe and pulse and squirm as they came bursting from her [Aerea Targaryen] flesh. Some were no bigger than my little finger, but one at least was as long as my arm…oh, Warrior protect me, the sounds they made…" "They died, though. I must remember that, cling to that. Whatever they might have been, they were creatures of heat and fire, and they did not love the ice, oh no. One after another they thrashed and writhed and died before my eyes, thank the Seven. I will not presume to give them names…they were horrors." - Fire & Blood: Jaehaerys and Alysanne—Their Triumphs and Tragedies

House Targaryen and their dragons played no role in the previous Long Night.

How the Long Night came to an end is a matter of legend, as all such matters of the distant past have become. In the North, they tell of a last hero who sought out the intercession of the children of the forest, his companions abandoning him or dying one by one as they faced ravenous giants, cold servants, and the Others themselves. Alone he finally reached the children, despite the efforts of the white walkers, and all the tales agree this was a turning point. Thanks to the children, the first men of the Night's Watch banded together and were able to fight—and win—the Battle for the Dawn: the last battle that broke the endless winter and sent the Others fleeing to the icy north. Now, six thousand years later (or eight thousand as True History puts forward), the Wall made to defend the realms of men is still manned by the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch, and neither the Others nor the children have been seen in many centuries. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

x

The Targaryens were of pure Valyrian blood, dragonlords of ancient lineage. Twelve years before the Doom of Valyria (114 BC), Aenar Targaryen sold his holdings in the Freehold and the Lands of the Long Summer and moved with all his wives, wealth, slaves, dragons, siblings, kin, and children to Dragonstone, a bleak island citadel beneath a smoking mountain in the narrow sea. - The World of Ice and Fire—The Reign of the Dragons: The Conquest

Bran's curtain of light is simply a reference to the aurora borealis. For the love of christ, it's not a portal to another dimension.

North and north and north he looked, to the curtain of light at the end of the world, and then beyond that curtain. - Bran III, AGOT

x

Sailors, by nature a gullible and superstitious lot, as fond of their fancies as singers, tell many tales of these frigid northern waters. They speak of queer lights shimmering in the sky, where the demon mother of the ice giants dances eternally through the night, seeking to lure men northward to their doom. - The World of Ice and Fire—Beyond the Free Cities: The Shivering Sea

Speaking of Bran, why isn't he central to this theory? Didn't that sentence appear in his chapter? What is Arya up to? Where is Sansa? Why are the Starks, who are the central characters of this series, taking a backseat in their own conflict, which is unfolding in their own backyard?

(Not to mention the Night's Watch, the wildlings, the northerners, and the children of the forest—you know, the people who are actually integral to this storyline.)

Yeah, the children were always at the heart of this. The Stark children, in particular, were always very central. Bran is the first viewpoint character that we meet, and then we meet Jon and Sansa and Arya and the rest of them. It was always my intention to do that. - George R. R. Martin

x

Whenever I propose analogies like that, fans jump in with their own ideas, but it depends on what team you root for. To me, the Starks are heroes, so they would be the Giants. - George R. R. Martin

It's going to be a pact facilitated by Bran.

What is commonly accepted is that the Age of Heroes began with the Pact and extended through the thousands of years in which the First Men and the children lived in peace with one another. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Age of Heroes

x

Regardless, the children of the forest fought as fiercely as the First Men to defend their lives. Inexorably, the war ground on across generations, until at last the children understood that they could not win. The First Men, perhaps tired of war, also wished to see an end to the fighting. The wisest of both races prevailed, and the chief heroes and rulers of both sides met upon the isle in the Gods Eye to form the Pact. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Coming of First Men

x

According to these tales, the return of the sun came only when a hero convinced Mother Rhoyne's many children—lesser gods such as the Crab King and the Old Man of the River—to put aside their bickering and join together to sing a secret song that brought back the day. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

x

How the Long Night came to an end is a matter of legend, as all such matters of the distant past have become. In the North, they tell of a last hero who sought out the intercession of the children of the forest, his companions abandoning him or dying one by one as they faced ravenous giants, cold servants, and the Others themselves. Alone he finally reached the children, despite the efforts of the white walkers, and all the tales agree this was a turning point. Thanks to the children, the first men of the Night's Watch banded together and were able to fight—and win—the Battle for the Dawn: the last battle that broke the endless winter and sent the Others fleeing to the icy north. - The World of Ice and Fire—Ancient History: The Long Night

Tyrion Lannister is not a Targaryen; he is not one of the three heads of the dragon. He is the malevolent, vindictive son of Tywin Lannister. He rapes women, he kills women, he marries child hostages to acquire their castles, he will be complicit in the death of potentially hundreds of thousands of people, and he isn't getting anything remotely resembling a heroic ending.

Jaime kissed her cheek. "He left a son." "Aye, he did. That is what I fear the most, in truth." That was a queer remark. "Why should you fear?" "Jaime," she said, tugging on his ear, "sweetling, I have known you since you were a babe at Joanna's breast. You smile like Gerion and fight like Tyg, and there's some of Kevan in you, else you would not wear that cloak . . . but Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you. I said so once to your father's face, and he would not speak to me for half a year. Men are such thundering great fools. Even the sort who come along once in a thousand years." - Jaime V, AFFC

Daenerys and her dragons represent one of the two principal threats in the narrative. Azor Ahai is a misinterpreted prophecy that is intended as a warning, not as the foretelling of a hero.

Since the first book, her sole objective has been to rule foreign lands seized through force. She exploits slaves, consistently engages in brutal acts of violence, and leaves devastation wherever she sets foot. She will intentionally burn King's Landing to the ground, and then she'll be stabbed to death.

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. "Fire and Blood," Daenerys told the swaying grass. - Daenerys X, ADWD

The idea that Daenerys, Jon, and Tyrion will love themselves or each other, either physically or emotionally, and then collectively sacrifice themselves, is the dumbest climax anyone has ever conceived. You forfeit the right to ever complain about the show if this is what you thought should happen.

Finally, please remember that, by default, the original creators of this theory are always wrong about everything.

STUMPY'S THOUGHTS:

You might be asking yourselves, "How do we distinguish between joke and fanfiction theories?"

I'll tell you. Both are equally absurd, but the fanfiction tier has the unique quality of making you feel like you're reading a story written by a fanfic writer who's in denial about their aspirations to write fanfic.

VOTE:

I welcome discussions. Feel free to reblog, respond, or challenge my perspective—I won't be offended by any of it.

Please note, if "no" is the eventual winner, or if it's competitive, a second poll will be conducted to determine the proper location.*

*won't be necessary for this theory.

NEXT THEORY:

Varys has Tyrek Lannister

[blue-mint-winter]

Reading TWOIAF - the regions section:

Each region has a description with some legends and history from before the Conquest, so it feels like they could have been placed earlier in the book. The history is in general rather repetitive, first the settling by First Men, some mentions of children of the forest and giants, then Andal invasion and recorded history. The wars are also very repetitive and it could be to show how they were done normally, perhaps to contrast with what happens in the main series.

My favourite regional sections were the Vale and Iron Islands in Westeros, then Free Cities - Qohor, Lorath and Braavos sound interesting.

There's a lot about marriage alliances and mixing blood between different species, like mentions of humans having children with giants or children of the forest or even sea creatures (Deep Ones). Interestingly, humans are unable to crossbreed with Ibbenese and natives of Sothoryos, which could mean they're completely different species. By A 1000 Worlds' logic First Men and then Andals were in the beginning base humans, then started mixing with other human mutations and that's how they gained psychic abilities. Btw, human/children of the forest hybrids could explain why the histories speak about kings that ruled for hundreds of years, they'd inherit longevity from children of the forest. Valyrian dragonriders were defiitely another mutation, bred selectively. Maybe this is the true explanation of Maegor, he was too Valyrian and not enough human and lost the ability to have children with humans.

The main mystery of the book seems to be the ancient race that built various old structures all around the world, like Seastone Chair, fortress at the base of Hightower, mazes in Lorath, cities of Yeen and Asshai. The widespread locations and lack of equally ancient roads suggest either a spacefaring civilization, human or alien (and the parts about worshipping a stone that fell from the sky could support this theory, as well as the legends of Yi-Ti and the emperor going back to the sky) or an ancient dragonriding civilization. Both of those would have the ability to fly around the world without needing any roads and to make the indestructible structures from black oily stone.

It's also interesting that the practice of voting and electing a leader is ancient and crops up all around the world, but fell out of use in most places. But it hints that it originated with the mysterious ancient race (human space colonists?).

From the description it seems the Free Cities and Essos in general are more advanced than Westeros, bigger, more populous, wealthier. They develop various crafts. Economically, Westeros just doesn't compete, they have raw resources - food, timber, mines... and people. Essos runs on slave trade with Dothraki supplying the slaves they catch, however that resource is drying up as those terrains are getting depopulated. The Essosi invasion in Westeros seems imminent if they want to catch more slaves. Then when you look at Dany's marriage to Drogo, the whole puzzle comes together - in exchange for his crown, Viserys was selling his subjects into slavery.

Braavos is probably the best place to live in freedom, but Pentos is a good choice because weather is better.

Ice dragons above the Shivering Sea - that sounds really cool.

Asshai and Yeen - both ancient cities, made from black oily stone, nothing can grow there, no one can be born there. It's clear that they're toxic and polluted, even after thousands of years. The ancient wars were hardcore or it's the stone itself that's toxic.

Sarnor rhymes with Arnor, looks like another homage to Tolkien - a northern, ruined kingdom.

[imaginarianisms]

the children of king aegon iv targaryen & captain bellegere otherys.

bellenora otherys-targaryen: born in the maidenvault in the red keep the same year the princesses of the maidenvault were imprisoned, bellenora inherited all of her mother's great beauty & took after her in the refined etiquette of a courtesan. under her mother's tutelage, she learned from the matriarch not only the art of a courtesan, but political intrigue & using daggers. graceful & elegant, bellenora became popular in king's landing & singers wrote tales of her great beauty after the death of king baelor. she grew weary of her royal father's antics, however, & decided to make her own destiny across the narrow sea. after his death, she sailed to braavos & became a courtesan under the same title as her mother: the black pearl of braavos. bellenora was said to be the most beautiful woman in all the world in her day with singers making songs about her beauty, seamstresses begging to make her the most beautiful dresses, showered with gifts by goldsmiths, bravos killing each other in her name & merchants, nobles, princes, & even kings vied for her hand in marriage. wedding a sealord, she became wealthy for the rest of her long life living in luxury, with her descendants continue the courtesan tradition to this day: house otherys.

narha otherys-targaryen: born in the maidenvault two years after her elder sister, narha grew up a rebellious child, a perfect combination of both of her parents. wild almost from birth, narha took the path of her mother, becoming a pirate queen. seafarer by nature & by trade & skilled in blades & archery with a goldenheart bow, her vessel the black dragon's goldenheart has made port in hundreds of docks across westeros & essos & sailed as far east as the dark city of asshai-beyond-the-shadow. eventually she stopped sailing & settled down south in the summer isles & became the ruling princess of the summer isles in her own right after uniting the princes & princesses of the summer isles under her rule to fight against the ghiscari slavers. after the war, she established her own dynasty, under her rule, the summer isles prospered in a way they haven't in centuries, even when westeros was long at war, with trade growing to westeros & essos, & her descendants still widely respected to this day.

balerion otherys-targaryen: the only son of the three, balerion, named after balerion the black dread, the largest, fiercest & most terrifying dragon ridden by aegon the conqueror himself, from his namesake balerion was destined to become a fierce warrior, born two years after his sister, growing up in the maidenvault & was raised by the many ladies who lived there until his royal father demanded to see his second son. it was said for quite a long time that balerion was aegon's favorite son, unlike his trueborn son daeron by his wife naerys... that is, until daemon waters (later known as daemon blackfyre) was born years later. he grew up to become a warrior then as a retired pirate, he was once captain of his own crew until he retired to become a bravo, using both his skills as knight & a water dancer to fight in the streets of braavos to defend his elder sister's honor, was briefly exiled from the city after an altercation with the sealord's son where the latter was slain after he insulted his family & in that time of exile he headed east towards volantis & valyria & was rumored to follow the rhoyne to its headwaters & explored the shadowy depths of the forests of qohor & then upon returning became the first sword of braavos then he went on to gain his own titles & rose to become the sealord of braavos: balerion otherys, son of the black pearl, the black dread, scion of braavos, the summer isles & old valyria & keeper of the three dragon eggs lady elissa farman gave to the sealord of braavos all those years ago, the very three petrified eggs that would eventually come to hatch over a century later into queen daenerys i targaryen's three dragons: drogon, rhaegal & viserion.

[ladyimaginarium]

the children of king aegon iv targaryen & captain bellegere otherys.

bellenora otherys-targaryen: born in the maidenvault in the red keep the same year the princesses of the maidenvault were imprisoned, bellenora inherited all of her mother's great beauty & took after her in the refined etiquette of a courtesan. under her mother's tutelage, she learned from the matriarch not only the art of a courtesan, but political intrigue & using daggers. graceful & elegant, bellenora became popular in king's landing & singers wrote tales of her great beauty after the death of king baelor. she grew weary of her royal father's antics, however, & decided to make her own destiny across the narrow sea. after his death, she sailed to braavos & became a courtesan under the same title as her mother: the black pearl of braavos. bellenora was said to be the most beautiful woman in all the world in her day with singers making songs about her beauty, seamstresses begging to make her the most beautiful dresses, showered with gifts by goldsmiths, bravos killing each other in her name & merchants, nobles, princes, & even kings vied for her hand in marriage. wedding a sealord, she became wealthy for the rest of her long life living in luxury, with her descendants continue the courtesan tradition to this day: house otherys.

narha otherys-targaryen: born in the maidenvault two years after her elder sister, narha grew up a rebellious child, a perfect combination of both of her parents. wild almost from birth, narha took the path of her mother, becoming a pirate queen. seafarer by nature & by trade & skilled in blades & archery with a goldenheart bow, her vessel the black dragon's goldenheart has made port in hundreds of docks across westeros & essos & sailed as far east as the dark city of asshai-beyond-the-shadow. eventually she stopped sailing & settled down south in the summer isles & became the ruling princess of the summer isles in her own right after uniting the princes & princesses of the summer isles under her rule to fight against the ghiscari slavers. after the war, she established her own dynasty, under her rule, the summer isles prospered in a way they haven't in centuries, even when westeros was long at war, with trade growing to westeros & essos, & her descendants still widely respected to this day.

balerion otherys-targaryen: the only son of the three, balerion, named after balerion the black dread, the largest, fiercest & most terrifying dragon ridden by aegon the conqueror himself, from his namesake balerion was destined to become a fierce warrior, born two years after his sister, growing up in the maidenvault & was raised by the many ladies who lived there until his royal father demanded to see his second son. it was said for quite a long time that balerion was aegon's favorite son, unlike his trueborn son daeron by his wife naerys... that is, until daemon waters (later known as daemon blackfyre) was born years later. he grew up to become a warrior then as a retired pirate, he was once captain of his own crew until he retired to become a bravo, using both his skills as knight & a water dancer to fight in the streets of braavos to defend his elder sister's honor, was briefly exiled from the city after an altercation with the sealord's son where the latter was slain after he insulted his family & in that time of exile he headed east towards volantis & valyria & was rumored to follow the rhoyne to its headwaters & explored the shadowy depths of the forests of qohor & then upon returning became the first sword of braavos then he went on to gain his own titles & rose to become the sealord of braavos: balerion otherys, son of the black pearl, the black dread, scion of braavos, the summer isles & old valyria & keeper of the three dragon eggs lady elissa farman gave to the sealord of braavos all those years ago, the very three petrified eggs that would eventually come to hatch over a century later into queen daenerys i targaryen's three dragons: drogon, rhaegal & viserion.

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

For anyone who actually wants to know more about Jaehaelor Mataeryon, "a Valyrian dragonlord and botanist", you can find details here (yes the article is titled "shrubbery", you did not read that wrong) and here. Jaehaelor managed to survive the Doom of Valyria because he was a great big plant nerd on a research trip:

Elsewhere on the continent of Essos were dragonlords, spending time away from their homelands. Some were on patrols, and some to exact punishment upon anyone who dared deny the power of Valyria. Yet one other, whose name has come down to us, was away to take stock of the foliage, plants, and teal mosses known throughout the resplendent forests of Qohor. Jaehaelor Mataeryon, a freeborn landowner and gardener by trade and passion, was at work collecting samples when the earth shook and the sky turned red. As the days passed and news travelled, it became clear that Jaehaelor’s home, family, and people had been destroyed. Not knowing if he were the last of the dragonriders, Jaehaelor packed his bags and flew to the southeasternmost of the free cities, Valyria’s first daughter in Volantis. It was there, if tales can be believed, where he spent the remainder of his life scratching everything he could remember of his gardens on sheets of parchment so long they rivaled the broad stone highways of his people.

And as the article says, it's not known who wrote the original English text, but IMO a good amount of the wording screams GRRM. Just doing a little bit of tertiary character nonsense like he does...

edit: found out the original english was written by Ti Mikkel, GRRM's assistant. *nod* makes perfect sense to me.

if you think youre a hotd lore scholar and do not know the tale of jahaelor mataeryon you're a phony sorry i am officially gatekeeping

[esther-dot]

Show creators did injustice by not properly showing that how Dany created havoc in Essos. They promoted it as she was ridding slavery and killing bad people looking badass. But in books it's more than that. Like the whole Asaptor is hell, slavery returned in Yunkai and we have seen how she is doing as queen in Meereen. Her burning of Dothraki temple is shown as badass in show which will be terrifying in books. Hell they show her burning of Mirri and birthing of Dragons as power move.

I think they did that deliberately because they didn’t want the audience to know where Dany’s trajectory was going. It’s a hell of a thing to choose not to tell the story because you don’t want the audience to realize what the story is too soon, but that is what they did. Not sure how they convinced themselves that was a good idea, but they did. 😬

I guess many of us underestimated how anti war and anti violence Martin is. I definitely did! There is a widespread belief that violence is the solution to certain issues, and it seems that Martin is questioning that idea by showing the limitations of force as a power to bring good or lasting change. That’s a nuanced discussion and flies against some people’s firm political/moral stances. It’s hard to translate that convo to a different medium, but I agree with you that doing so would mean a show critical of Dany. IMO Martin reveals his sentiments repeatedly throughout the series, and we just have to connect the dots:

"Volantis is the oldest of the Nine Free Cities, first daughter of Valyria," the lad replied, in a bored tone. "After the Doom it pleased the Volantenes to consider themselves the heirs of the Freehold and rightful rulers of the world, but they were divided as to how dominion might best be achieved. The Old Blood favored the sword, while the merchants and moneylenders advocated trade. As they contended for rule of the city, the factions became known as the tigers and elephants, respectively.                 

"The tigers held sway for almost a century after the Doom of Valyria. For a time they were successful. A Volantene fleet took Lys and a Volantene army captured Myr, and for two generations all three cities were ruled from within the Black Walls. That ended when the tigers tried to swallow Tyrosh. Pentos came into the war on the Tyroshi side, along with the Westerosi Storm King. Braavos provided a Lyseni exile with a hundred warships, Aegon Targaryen flew forth from Dragonstone on the Black Dread, and Myr and Lys rose up in rebellion. The war left the Disputed Lands a waste, and freed Lys and Myr from the yoke. The tigers suffered other defeats as well. The fleet they sent to reclaim Valyria vanished in the Smoking Sea. Qohor and Norvos broke their power on the Rhoyne when the fire galleys fought on Dagger Lake. Out of the east came the Dothraki, driving smallfolk from their hovels and nobles from their estates, until only grass and ruins remained from the forest of Qohor to the headwaters of the Selhoru. After a century of war, Volantis found herself broken, bankrupt, and depopulated. It was then that the elephants rose up. They have held sway ever since. Some years the tigers elect a triarch, and some years they do not, but never more than one, so the elephants have ruled the city for three hundred years."

"Just so," said Haldon. "And the present triarchs?"         

"Malaquo is a tiger, Nyessos and Doniphos are elephants."                 

"And what lesson can we draw from Volantene history?"

"If you want to conquer the world, you best have dragons."

(ADWD, Tyrion IV)

This idea is talked about in various ways, in various POVs, and Martin seems pretty consistent in his idea that if possible, peace, even at great sacrifice, is better, and means other than war must be used. In entertainment, violence is usually the means by which the good guys win, so it would take a lot of dedication to the theme for writers/showrunners to refuse to glorify violence and instead represent it negatively. They should have, but commercially, I understand why they weren’t going to do that. Whenever they do a remake, I think new showrunners would be wise to approach this very differently and allow the horror of war to be felt. D&D couldn’t do that and keep people thinking this was going to end up happily for Dany though.

[ficsilike-reblogged]

Sweetest of Exiles - Three

A/N: We have reached the end, my loves. As always, all my love to anyone and anyone who read/liked/reblogged and commented on previous chapters. I love you all very much. I allude to a few things that actually happen in ASoIaF lore, so if you have any questions, please just ask!

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x F!Reader (no Y/N), Oberyn Martell x Pero Tovar, Pero Tovar x F!Reader, Ellaria Sand x Oberyn Martell

Warnings for this Chapter: Too much backstory, angst, a threesome, oral (male receiving, female receiving), my uncontrollable need for a happy ending.

Word Count: 6.3k (I need to be stopped)

(banner by my darling @starlight-starwrites​) 

Or read on Ao3 here!

CHAPTER THREE: The Blessed

The sight of Qohor on the horizon almost put tears in her eyes.

She rested her head on her folded arms in the window of the carriage, and watched it grow closer and closer. Home. She was finally home.

But her eyes drifted to the prince and her mercenary as they led the small group toward the city gates. They were quite the pair. And, at least for a few stolen moments, they were all hers.

Most of Oberyn’s company had stayed in Myr, now newly employed by Orestes who had been catapulted to near-royalty status with his wild tales of how his household put down a foreign threat. If his ego had been bruised by her refusing his last-minute proposal, hastily given at the gates of the city and just as easily rejected, he did not show it as he waved them off with a small smile.

Orestes would be fine—she knew it. But his life no longer involved her, no matter his attempts to keep her at his side. No, her future remained unclear. To her, anyway. Her god had not permitted her visions of her own life—perhaps that was for the best.

Again, her eyes drifted to the pair of Oberyn and Pero. And what a pair they were—handsome and startlingly similar in so many ways but different in so many others. While she had been blessed by her god, she considered herself doubly blessed simply for having this pair of men in her life.

The large gates opened and she pulled in a hearty lungful of air, tasting the familiar spices and letting the hint of burnt and cut wood tickle her nose. Nothing compared. And now she had smelt different cities, seen and tasted what they had to offer—she knew nothing could compare. And while she could travel again, she knew that no other place would replace her home.

She called for the carriage to slow to a stop in front of a familiar stone-sided bazaar stall. It was hardly the most eye-catching stall on the cobbled road but it was her favorite. She opened the door before the carriage was completely stopped and she leapt out, pushing by a few possible buyers, and found her father waiting for her with open arms.

His familiar and wonderful arms wrapped around her and he murmured her name into her ear, the word tinged with relief and love. “I shall not have you leave my sight for as long as there is breath in my lungs, my darling.”

“And I shall agree to that, papa.” She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to his grizzled cheek. She turned at the sound of two more people entering the stall and smiled. “Lord Ollo, may I present Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell—and, of course, you remember Pero Tovar.”

She felt her father stiffen, just for a moment, before he stepped in front of her and greeted the two men. Interesting.

**

She tried to tell herself that it did not hurt when Pero turned away from her after supper, telling her father he wanted to retrace his childhood footsteps with Oberyn. She tried to tell herself that it did not hurt when he was not in the room her father provided for him when she went to speak to him in the middle of the night. She tried to tell herself that it did not hurt when he did not even blink when she presented him with a blue rose and asked if he remembered that day in the forest.

She told herself it did not hurt. But it did.

At least Oberyn was still able to make her smile. He always kissed her goodnight (whether he visited her bedchambers or not) and pulled her into a dance in the cobbled streets when a handful of bards broke into song on a crowded street when she had been showing the prince around the expansive city. “He does not know what he does, Petal. Give him time.”

And perhaps she was being childish, hoping that Pero seeing his old home would bring back his smiles and his affinity for her company, too. But she only nodded at Oberyn’s suggestion and let him lead her in another dance before they set off toward another part of the city, promising him the best spiced hippocras this side of the Narrow Sea. The threat of the zealots had been dealt with—she should be happy. She survived. Her father’s secrets were safe, too.

But when it was quiet on her fifth night back in her own rooms, she knew she could not wait any longer. After pulling on her dressing gown, she sought out her father in his chambers—unsurprised to see him whittling at a chunk of wood instead of sleeping with the late hour. He had not kept regular sleeping hours since her mother had disappeared.

“You should be sleeping, my darling.”

“As should you, papa.” She settled into the cushioned chair beside his working table with a sigh. “Has Pero spoken with you?”

Her father looked at her for a moment before setting down his tools and the bit of wood that was starting to look like a serpent. “He has been cordial, as he always has been. Possibly a bit more unpolished than he had been as a boy—but that was to be expected. It is not often that one meets a well-mannered sellsword.” He almost smiled but it did not last. “I know he has been…different.”

“Has he told you why he left?” She asked, needing to know. Surely her father knew. Right?

But Ollo’s mouth set in a familiar, hard line and he looked away from her. “I had to do it, darling.”

She felt her face crumple at his words. “What do you mean? You were the reason-”

“I sent him away. It was for the best.”

“But…why? Why did you send him away?”

Her father stared at her, lips still set in a firm line before a long breath. “Do you not remember… the day your mother left. You, my darling, hurt Pero. Nearly took his eye.”

“No! No, I…” the words died on her tongue as she tried, tried so hard to remember the day her mother left. Her lady mother had pressed the blue rose petals to her skin and then she had escaped to the forest with Pero, not knowing that would be the last time she would look upon her mother’s face. He had been so sweet. So full of smiles. So different from the hardened man who still held her heart.

She watched the petals float away with the wind and felt something warm slide down her spine—it reminded her of her mother’s calming touch, soothing her when night terrors would keep her awake.

“Petal,” Pero whispered. And she knew it was for her, a name just for her.

But then the gentle warmth turned to a scorching heat and her vision turned dark.

The next thing she remembered was waking on the forest floor, a gentle sprinkling of dew on her cheeks and Pero nowhere to be found.

“I doubt he remembers anything,” her father said as he shook his head. “He stumbled in, face covered in blood. He muttered something about petals and then slumped over on the floor.” He paused. “Just before he completely lost consciousness, he murmured your name and how your eyes had gone white.” Her father paused again. “I knew then what had happened. It had happened with your mother, too.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your mother’s gift, like yours, needed control. She needed to control it or it would control her. Her control slipped. Just once.”

“What happened?” She sat forward in her chair, needing to know what he had seen.

“It looked like someone, something else had inhabited her skin. Only for a moment. She held out a hand and then I felt the room shake. Like the world was trying to break itself open. And then she took a breath and the shaking stopped.”

“Is that all?”

Her father’s mouth once again set in a familiar firm line. “My darling girl, she leveled two dozen trees—cracked them from the trunks without leaving the room. And after she came back to herself, she told me that she had no idea what had transpired. All she remembered was darkness and a sensation akin to sticking her hand in my forge’s fire. And while she had sworn she had not ever done that before, I remembered it happening. It was the night you were born. The entire city shook—I know it—screaming with you as you entered the world.”

She felt her face fall.

“You toppled part of the city with your first breaths, my darling.” Ollo reached out to gently grasp his daughter’s hands and squeezed. “Your mother was always very careful with teaching you about control.”

“Yes, I remember that.” And she did. Her mother had been adamant to sit her down every day to teach her when to realize something was spiraling, her control was slipping—anything like that. And she had always thought she had learned those lessons. But apparently not.

“Something within you, reached out grabbed at whatever living thing was closest to you—needing blood to flourish. It just happened to be Pero.”

Tears stung her eyes and she looked away from her father, not wanting him to see anymore of her shame. “So you sent him away. To protect him.”

“To protect you both. I knew you would never forgive yourself if you had hurt him again—or taken his life. And I knew he would have willingly given anything to you without thought. I had to separate you to keep you both alive—at least until I was sure you could protect yourself.” He shook his head. “I considered it another small blessing that neither one of you remembered what had transpired. Your memories would not be tainted.” Ollo looked like he wanted to say more but was trying to read her face before he continued. He must have seen her heartbreak, because with a final, defeated sigh, he spoke again. “Your mother left because your power was growing—evolving far faster than she had ever seen or heard, even within her own bloodline. She needed to know why. She wanted to do everything in her power to make sure her daughter, her most prized creation, was safe and protected. Even if it was from yourself.”

“But she never returned,” she said. “She never came back.”

Ollo nodded. “But you are old enough now—you have been old enough for quite some time, actually, but I did not want to admit that to myself—to know what happened to her.” He stood and left the room, returning a few moments later with a roll of parchment. A broken golden seal was stamped on it, curled horns and crossed swords. It was her family’s crest. The parchment felt brittle under her fingers as she took it from her father and she carefully unfurled it.

Within the first handful of words, she had to press the back of her hand to her mouth to keep the cry at bay. Her mother—her fierce, beautiful, powerful mother—had set off toward Asshai in search of answers. Answers as to why her little daughter could do such unimaginable things with ease. Why her magic was growing at a rate not thought of in centuries. But she did not find answers. What she found instead, were a group of zealots, also demanding answers from their bloodthirsty god. And their god had required blood, magical blood, and Valyrian Steel. While Daeryssa had evaded them for a moment, she wrote in her missive that she knew her time was limited. After all, she had seen it.

My dear Ollo, I only wish to have been able to look upon your sweet face again and watch our daughter grow strong and beautiful. I am sorry, my love. I know I will see you again in the next life.

With a shaking hand, she handed the parchment back to her father and he quietly slipped away to hide the bit of paper again. She stared out the window, watching the trees sway in the breeze. “I have ruined your life. Pero’s life. Mother’s life. What good is this gift if it only breeds heartbreak?”

Her father’s roughened hands suddenly reached out to grab hers, the familiar scratchy warmth of his hold nearly made tears come to her eyes. “You, my darling, are powerful. Never forget that—and what you are capable of is not a burden or only capable of destruction. You are the heir to your mother’s blood. To her power—the power her family has carried for centuries. Before the Doom. Before the Dragons—and after. And your mother loved you—loves you still, as I do. What she did for you, I know she would have done a thousand times over if it meant you lived, if it meant you smiled.”

She shook her head, feeling the first tears slip down her cheeks. “But I-”

“No, darling. No. You are powerful. You are blessed. Never think to forsake it. He leads us down a path we must follow. I am just sorry that this road has been so cruel to you and Pero. You deserve kindness. Both of you.” He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, like he used to do when she was little and had crawled into his lap to watch him work. “I will speak with Pero. But I believe you should as well.” He patted her cheek and gently wiped her tears away. “But first, you must sleep, darling.”

**

“Keep your eyes closed, Petal,” Oberyn hummed into her ear.

She could only laugh and do as she was told, letting Oberyn tug her forward with a gentle grip on her hands.

Oberyn had taken to Qohor easily—and he was fond of almost everything he could find within the city and its famed forest. But she knew the prince missed home, missed Dorne, and his family fiercely. So, she let him do whatever he wanted, let him show her whatever treasure he had discovered and would delight in it with him—even if she had grown up with those little treats, trinkets, and experiences he found so amusing. She would deny him nothing. She only cared to have him smile.

But today, she could not discern what path he was leading her on—and that was a feat in and of itself. A root catching her foot made her stumble but Oberyn quickly righted her footing and kissed her hands with a laugh. “Careful, Petal. I will not have you hurting yourself.”

She only held his hands tighter and let him continue to lead her forward to some unknown destination. But, soon enough, he pulled her to a stop with a laugh.

“Open your eyes, Petal. We are here.”

She did as she was told and had to blink against the sunlight as it streamed through the thick canopy of the forest. Moss-covered stone and soft grass gave way to large, ancient trunks of trees. Truly, it could have been anywhere in the forest—a forest she had grown up in and loved since she could walk on her own—but this place, this one place of sunshine, was magical.

But maybe it was the fact that Pero was nervously pacing on the edge of a finely women blanket that was stacked with a bit of food and an abundance of wine. Pero had shed his usual armor and was left in his worn, gray tunic and linen breeches. He looked…soft and nervous.

“I almost thought you would have left us with crumbs, Tovar. I am surprised there is still food left.”

Tovar’s pacing ceased and he frowned but his dark eyes quickly flitted to her before his shoulders dropped. “You’re here.”

She felt herself smiling at that, the thought that he did not think she would come if he was present was funny. But she bit back her laugh. “Of course I’m here. I don’t believe either one of us can tell our prince ‘no’ under any circumstances.”

“It is part of my charm,” Oberyn said with a wink in her direction before gently pushing her toward the blanket. “Come now, Petal. Our Pero has managed to raid the best taverns and alehouse to bring us the best feast imaginable.”

As she settled on the blanket, she held out a hand toward Pero who still stood stock-still at the edge. Perhaps she could have brushed aside another rejection, but she hoped she would not have to—after all, he had been the one to set this fete up. For her. For them.

And all her worries were washed away when he placed his calloused hand in hers and let her tug him onto the blanket at her side. “What would you suggest first, Pero? It all looks delicious.”

And so, the three of them settled in, partaking in the admittedly delicious foods and wines Pero had procured and soon they were laughing and speaking and smiling as if there had never been any hurt or confusion between them. And perhaps, one day it could always be like that. But the alcohol continued to flow and each of them, she knew, were starting to feel it and their tongues loosened with each new sip. Inhibitions slipped. Laughs grew louder. And she let herself fall against Pero’s side as Oberyn regaled them with a tale about evading Yronwood’s guards on his way to visit his lady-wife’s chambers. Pero easily adjusted her, letting her rest against his muscular thigh and his fingers trailed, almost absentmindedly, down and across the exposed skin of her collarbone as he would snicker at Oberyn’s stories. “You are a braggart, princeling.”

And perhaps she would have also poked fun at Oberyn if she hadn’t been so transfixed with Pero’s gentle touch. Her eyes fluttered close in a wine-fueled haze, letting herself truly enjoy the easy touch of the man she had loved for most of her life.

“I am a Prince of Dorne!” Oberyn cheered.

“Did you have me haul this out here like a poor pack mule so you could tell us these ridiculous stories?”

Oberyn hmphed and almost glared at Pero but a teasing smile softened the expression. “I had a plan. You two are impossible. I could not sit idly by while you both sulk and cry like children. I love you both. You love each other. You just need a bit of guidance.” He waved a hand at the blanket and discarded bottles.

She looked up at Pero to see him looking down at her, fingers paused their ministrations on her skin.

“Of course, not everything will be fixed with a bit of wine,” said Oberyn, ever the expert. “But it is good to let yourself feel something.” Oberyn leaned forward, smile growing, and stole the last bit of overpriced but delicious hippocras from the jug she had been clutching to her side. “Love is simply the best thing to feel. And if anyone in this world deserves to feel it, it is you two.”

“We love you too, Oberyn,” she said, knowing it was true. And Pero hummed his agreement.

“Of course,” he replied with a smirk. “I am easy to love.”

With that strange admission, they continued to drink and eat. But now, touches started to linger. Gazes grew heated. And then Oberyn kissed her as she sat nearly in Pero’s lap. She felt him smile against her mouth before he stole another kiss and sat back on his heels with a wink. But his heated gaze quickly turned to Pero. “Kiss her, Pero. Kiss her as if your life depends on it. And perhaps it does.”

Pero’s hands were warm and calloused as they gently framed her face. She could have sworn his fingers were shaking before she pushed forward to press her lips against his. And he tasted…like paradise.

it would be impossible to know when the laces were starting to be undone, or who slipped their tunic off first. But soon they were bare and hands were grasping and touching and groping.

The haze of the wine and the euphoria of their touch had her gasping and moaning—even before Oberyn’s talented fingers found their way between her thighs. And then Pero’s hand was joining as his mouth dragged down the column of her throat. She bucked up into their touch, only earning a hand pressing down against her stomach and a familiar chuckle in her ear. “Patience, Petal. We will take care of you.”

“But I…” her breath stuttered. “I want to take care you, too.”

Pero carefully pulled his hand back and swatted at Oberyn until he could press her down into the blanket, warm hands pushing her legs apart before leaning down to lick against her pussy and Oberyn devoured the moan she let out.

It did not take long for her to scream in ecstasy against the prince’s mouth—she had never come so fast.

In a daze, she turned her head and took Oberyn’s cock into her mouth, bobbing her head down as much as she was able, and his answering groans were near music to her ears. But soon—too soon—his hands were gently pulling her off of him and licked into her mouth as Pero finally stopped licking at her, and trailed a line of kisses up her stomach to lathe attention at her breasts.

“Can you take us both, Petal?”

She could only nod against Oberyn’s mouth at his question—she would do anything either of them asked.

And carefully, with a bit of reverence in each of their touches, the pair positioned her between them on her knees. Pero was at her front, Oberyn at her back. And she shuttered as something cool was dripped down her back.

It was all in a haze, how they moved to keep her comfortable but still rob the air from her lungs. And she was so full—so deliciously full. Four hands cradled her softly as she adjusted and words of encouragement were whispered against her neck or kisses pressed to her cheeks. It was all so…beautifully stimulating. So wonderfully filled.

And then they began to move.

They were everywhere at once, devouring every sense she had. All of it, all of her, belonged to them in that moment. And she loved it. Loved the slow and harsh thrusts they gave. Loved the slide of their tongues against hers or the sting of their teeth against her skin.

She felt a tightness in her core that she had never before experienced, and she gasped into Pero’s mouth as his hips continued to thrust and Oberyn matched his tempo.

“You’re doing so well, Petal.” Oberyn bit out a curse against her throat. “You feel like heaven.”

“Oh please,” she breathed out, “please-please-please.” She did not know what she was begging for, but the pair readily gave it. Moving their hips in tandem, they dragged her higher and higher until tears were pricking at her eyes and she screamed with her release, feeling the coil snap and bite. It was soon followed by a beautiful, heady warmth and her men groaning into her skin and biting at her neck.

“You’re so beautiful,” Pero whispered against her sweat-slick skin. “So beautiful.”

“And so are you, Pero. You’re beautiful,” she hummed in return. She turned her head and managed to steal a kiss against Oberyn’s panting mouth. “And you are, too, my prince.”

And again, carefully and with veneration, they pulled away from her and let her rest against the rumpled blanket. A cold cloth was pressed between her thighs, cleaning her up as kisses upon kisses were pressed against her heated skin and her slick, smiling lips.

“Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful,” Pero chanted. “My beautiful Petal.”

**

Oberyn was quiet. That in and of itself was strange—but the rigidity of his posture was even stranger. A small strip of parchment was crumpled in his hand. Something was wrong.

Carefully, slowly, she approached him and slipped her fingers around his, taking the parchment from his grasp. The horror she read in such few lines had her cupping a hand over her mouth to hide her gasp. His sister, her babies, his uncle—all of them gone in brutal ways. And now the men responsible were ruling the Seven Kingdoms.

“I must go back to Westeros,” was all Oberyn said.

She only nodded. She would never deny him his wrath.

And so, their time together came to a close. She had known it was coming, and Pero seemed to know it, too. When he learned of Oberyn’s decision to leave, he only nodded and held her as she cried. He was fond of holding her, it seemed. Even when he did not speak. And she did wish for him to speak—she still had questions that needed answers—but she had to be content with this for now.

He continued to hold her, arms wrapped around her waist, as they met Oberyn at the city gates to see him off. The gift she had brought was heavy in her arms as she watched Oberyn tie his packs to the horse. Tears gathered in her eyes as she held the gift up toward her prince and he took the wrapped package with a nod and untied it carefully. The spear glinted in the sunlight and the wooden handle was carved with a snake, its open maw biting at the metal. It was Valyrian Steel, forged and constructed only for him. “A gift for you. A token of my and my father’s thanks for all you have done.”

She smiled as Oberyn took the spear and twirled it just once, before nodding, the barest trace of a smile on his lips. She considered it a small victory, seeing him smile once more. Just before he left, she pressed a kiss to Oberyn’s lips and then Pero did the same.

“Be safe, my prince.”

The Prince of Dorne only nodded. “I will see you again, my friends. I promise you that.” And then…he was gone.

**

It took some time for her to find Pero in the bazaar. He had taken to working with her father, learning the trade and secret art behind Valyrian Steel. While he still scared some of the Qohorik people, he was gentle with the little ones who wandered away from their mothers and into her father’s stall. His sword had been retired in all but oath. And he seemed to become even more pensive and quiet after Oberyn’s departure. And it almost broke her heart all over again. But she was tired of being hurt. And she wanted answers. So, on the third night after Oberyn left, she slipped into his chambers.

She kneeled on his featherbed and smiled when he startled awake and reached for a blade she knew was hiding beneath his pillow. She pulled it from his grasp and set it aside as he blinked against the dim candlelight of his room.

“Tell me, Pero. Tell me why you left me all those years ago. I cannot bear it any longer. If you must leave me again, leave me as Oberyn did, please give me a reason. That is all I ask. You know you have my heart, I only wish to know yours.”

Pero frowned. “You’ve chosen quite the hour for this question, Petal. Could it not have waited until morning?” But he continued on without waiting for her answer, but his dark eyes fell to the blankets across his waist. “My family’s name had been tarnished by my father’s deeds. What more would having a woodcutter as a son do? It was not as if I could marry and help my family’s prospects. The least I could do was give them a bit of coin to survive. So, I came here and found work with your family. And then…” his dark eyes finally raised to meet hers. “My priorities changed. I only ever wanted to prove myself to you, to your father, to know I was worthy to be at your side. But then I was sent away. Like a little beggar. I knew then that I had been deceiving myself in thinking that I could ever call you mine.”

“But I am. I am yours. I always have been and always will be—even if you send me away and curse my name. I am yours. It was my fault you were sent away. You did nothing wrong. My father adores you. Mother loved you. This was my doing. I…hurt you, Pero. My father sent you away to keep you alive. I did not have control.” She reached up and placed her hand against his cheek, thumb catching the end of the scar below his eye. “Your blood—it called to me. I did not, could not control it. And I hurt you. Father suspects you do not remember it.”

Pero shook his head but she did not remove her hand from his face, unable to part from his warmth again.

“I have only the faintest memory of it and, truthfully, it may be only shaped by my father’s account of the incident. But it was my fault. It was me. If anything had been different, if I had been better, you could have stayed.” Tears once again stung at her eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”

He was quiet for a moment before, ever so quietly, he said, “there is nothing to forgive. We have both wasted enough time, wouldn’t you agree?”

She could only nod before a happy sob wrenched its way out of her throat and she threw her arms around him, pressing her lips against his over and over again, uncaring of his rumbling laughter. His grip tightened, nearly to the point of pain, before she was lifted off her feet and spun around.

They were suddenly ten years younger and without a care in the world.

“I love you, Petal,” he whispered against her mouth.

“I love you, too.”

She had Pero in her hands again. And she would never let him go.

**

Years passed. And while the pair did take a handful of travels outside Qohor, they always returned to Qohor and the city’s comforting forest and dark stone. When the smallest Tovar came screaming into the world exactly a year after they said their quiet vows in the familiar shadow of the forest, they all decided that their travels would not take them from their home until they knew that their child, a precocious little boy who loved to sit on his grandfather’s lap and watch him work when he was not tugging on his mother’s skirts for attention, could fend for himself.

Another two years passed and another babe was born. This time, they had a little girl. Pero—just as he had been with their son—was smitten the moment he set eyes on their dark hair and gentle eyes. Like her mother, the little one inherited the gift.

She felt tears coming to her eyes when Pero rolled toward her in their overstuffed featherbed and grasped her hands. “I swear to you, our little girl will not suffer as we did. Our boy will know only happiness. On my life, on my blood, I swear it.”

She leaned forward and kissed him, knowing his words to be true.

Her gift flourished with Pero at her side and her children’s laughter ringing in her ears. There was peace in her life, for the most part.

Ravens from Dorne came often. Oberyn was keen on retaining his friendship with the pair and they were always happy to receive his missives and send a lengthy letter back in return. There was a certain anger in most of his letters now, or sadness. Even when he spoke of his love, Ellaria, or announced the birth of his daughter Elia, she and Pero knew he was still grieving. He would always grieve. The prince’s heart was too big to truly heal.

The latest raven arrived on a cold morning, its wings dotted with dew. She stroked under the bird’s neck and it flapped its wings in thanks before flying off after she untied the small bit of parchment from around its leg.

She unfurled it with a sigh, recognizing the handwriting instantly. As soon as she was finished reading it, she found Pero in the small forge outside their home and handed it over. She watched him read it before throwing the paper into the fire, its contents meant to be a secret.

Pero held the sword he was forging into a tub of water and looked at her over the rising steam. “We must go to Braavos.”

The children were happy to spend time alone with their grandfather but did cling to their mother’s skirts and father’s trousers before they left and Pero kept turning back on his horse to look at them as they waved at their parents.

“They will be fine, my love,” she said with a smile, blowing a final kiss toward her precious children.

“I know,” Pero grumbled. “But I still do not like it.”

She reached out and grasped her husband’s hand and squeezed. “We will return before they can even start to miss us. But our prince needs us. He would do the same if it were us asking.”

And thankfully, the trip from Qohor to Braavos was less than exciting and they arrived the day Oberyn’s boat was set to appear, too. They knew that Oberyn had come to Braavos on business he spoke of in code in the missive. Meetings with a Pentoshi Magistrate by the name of Illyrio Mopatis. A marriage pact. A secret alliance. It was all so clandestine. She only hoped Oberyn would not suffer any more than he already had.

But they settled into their rooms and then dashed toward the port. The orange and golden sails of a foreign ship were a delight to see—as was Oberyn walking down a gangplank, dressed in a fine golden robe. His dark eyes spotted them and he raised a hand in greeting, smile splitting his face as he walked toward them.

She smiled as she noticed the beautiful woman on Oberyn’s arm, her belly gently swelling with child. The woman she had seen—she was even more beautiful than her mind could have conjured.

“My friends, this is my paramour, Ellaria Sand. My love,” Oberyn started, stretching out his arm toward her and Pero, “these are my two dear friends. Pero Tovar and his lady-wife-”

“You must call me Petal,” she said, stepping forward to grasp Ellaria’s hands. “I feel as if we are friends already.”

Ellaria smiled and squeezed her hands. “I feel the same. Oberyn has told me much about his adventures at your side.”

Pero let Oberyn pull him into a hug in greeting before the four of them walked further into the city, knowing they had time before Oberyn was to meet with the magistrate. They spoke of their time apart, telling each other what they had missed. Ellaria easily proved herself to be a fierce friend and she found herself whispering into Ellaria’s ear like they were just girls again while Pero and Oberyn challenged each other to a drinking game.

It was all so…easy. It almost made her forget the reason behind Oberyn’s presence in the city.

A sudden hiss of pain caught her attention and she turned to see Oberyn shaking his hand, a broken chalice on the table in front of him. Without thought, she reached out and grasped his bloodied hand, staunching the blood with her fingers.

“Petal…” Ellaria’s words faded as she pulled back to see Oberyn’s hand already starting to heal.

Oberyn huffed out a laugh and kissed her bloodied fingers in thanks. “You are still to kind and talented for your own good, Petal.”

She glanced at the Ellaria and winked, “I know your prince told you about me. Don’t be scared.” Almost unconsciously, she wiped her hands clear of his blood on the strip of linen she had been using as a napkin during their meal. Almost clear. As she took a bite of her food and licked her finger clean.

She froze.

“Petal?” Pero whispered, his hand finding hers under the table.

“Beware the fallen mountain. It will rise again,” she said, hearing her voice but not recognizing it. And as soon as it started, the gift released its grip on her and she felt something cold slide down her spine.

Oberyn and Ellaria were staring at her, eyes wide, from across the table and Pero’s hand was gripping hers tightly. “What does that mean?” Ellaria asked.

She could only shake her head. “I do not know. Only time will tell.”

**

Oberyn seemed hopeful when he told them goodbye. And Ellaria was smiling, still cradling her growing bump as she held both of them close and told them she would send a raven when the newest Sand Snake was welcomed into the world.

They were good people. She knew it.

She leaned against Pero with a sigh, smiling when his arm wrapped around her waist as they watched the boat disappear on the horizon.

“Will we see them again?”

“I know we will,” she answered as she turned to press a kiss against her husband’s cheek. “The world is not done with Oberyn Martell nor Ellaria Sand. I can feel it.”

She felt his smile as he turned his face against hers, pressing his lips to her temple. “Let us go home, then, Petal.” And he kissed her again.

A/N: thanks for taking this adventure with me. I love you all. 

beautiful people who asked to be tagged:  @huliabitch @heatherbel @corrupt-fvcker @justanotherblonde23 @din-damn-djarin @mikariell95​

[witchqueenvisenya]

this chapter is soooooo

'what sort of magician are you?” “A thirsty one”'

'“Can you free me from this pit?” “I could … but will I?'

'the forest is the abbatoir of the gods.'

'There is no creature on earth half so terrifying as a truly just man.'

'No one knows what Stannis has been doing on Dragonstone, but I will wager you that he’s gathered more swords than seashells.'

'are you in league with Littlefinger?” “I would sooner wed the Black Goat of Qohor.'

'If that’s true, Lord Eddard, tell me … why is it always the innocents who suffer most, when you high lords play your game of thrones?'

.....................aaaaaaand CUT

getting lost in my asoiaf bookset pdf on this unholy tuesday morning like where was i???? which pov????? who got killed??? which sex scene was it exactly that made me go ewwwwwwwwww HELP

[disneyprincessbuffyannesummers]

i want to thank @enchantingemiliaclarke for the screencaps.

because this caps would've been so hard to find otherwise on kissgoodbye.net (even though i do love that site, it's just the ads)

i have also used this quote before.

I also have no idea where the quote come from.

❮Though she walked through a green kingdom, it was not the deep rich green of summer. Even here autumn made its presence felt, and winter would not be far behind. The grass was paler than she remembered, a wan and sickly green on the verge of going yellow. After that would come brown. The grass was dying. Daenerys Targaryen was no stranger to the Dothraki sea, the great ocean of grass that stretched from the forest of Qohor to the Mother of Mountains and the Womb of the World. She had seen it first when she was still a girl, newly wed to Khal Drogo and on her way to Vaes Dothrak to be presented to the crones of the dosh khaleen. The sight of all that grass stretching out before her had taken her breath away. The sky was blue, the grass was green, and I was full of hope. Ser Jorah had been with her then, her gruff old bear. She'd had Irri and Jhiqui and Doreah to care for her, her sun-and-stars to hold her in the night, his child growing inside her. Rhaego. I was going to name him Rhaego, and the dosh khaleen said he would be the Stallion Who Mounts the World. Not since those half-remembered days in Braavos when she lived in the house with the red door had she been as happy. But in the Red Waste, all her joy had turned to ashes. Her sun-and-stars had fallen from his horse, the maegi Mirri Maz Duur had murdered Rhaego in her womb, and Dany had smothered the empty shell of Khal Drogo with her own two hands. Afterward Drogo's great khalasar had shattered. named Ko Pono himself Khal Pono and took many riders with him, and many slaves as well. Ko Jhaqo named himself Khal Jhaqo and rode off with even more. Mago, his bloodrider, raped and murdered Eroeh, a girl Daenerys had once saved from him. Only the birth of her dragons amidst the fire and smoke of Khal Drogo's funeral pyre had spared Dany herself from being dragged back to Vaes Dothrak to live out the remainder of her days amongst the crones of the dosh khaleen.❯

-AdwD:Dany10-

[jaehaerysiitargaryen]

Below you will find the details of the North’s planned trade route after securing a loan with the Iron Bank and setting up plans for trading to branch out their reach.  Note; All plans are subject to change due to plotting. 

Braavos; The first place of the east where Theon will set up a trade route to improve the conditions of the North. The Iron Bank and The North have worked out a 5 year repayment plan with the bank that comes with discounts in regards to tariffs and items the North trades in.    -. timber (namely ironwood)    -. sentinel and soldier pine tree sap    -. wool    -. fur    -. hides    -. Braavosi trade; oysters, eels, crabs, crawfish, clams, rays, and many sorts of fish.

Lorath; they have a preference of trading with near neighbors, there is an exception being granted due to the relationship with the Winter King and the Iron Bank.    -. Lorathi trades; salt cod, walrus tusks, sealskins, and whale oil. They have powerful textile merchants specialize in rich velvet which they trade for steel.    -. The North; timber, tree sap, wool, fur, and hides

Norvos; involved in trade with Lorath and rarely the seven Kingdoms, Theon will use his connections with the Iron Bank and Lorath to gain access to trade in Norvos.    -. Norvoshi trades; tapestries (known trades according to the wiki)    -. The North; furs, hides, and wool

Pentos; a major trading port and with the changes during the dance Theon has worked out new plans.    -. Pentoshi trade; Spices, peppers, and amber wine    -. The North; ironwood, hides, and dragonglass

Myr; is the most advanced of the free cities famed for its arts and learning. Because the people of Myr have no history of seeking slaves from the north Theon will continue this trade relationship.    -. Myrish trade; carpets, lace, glass and lenses, myrish eyes (telescopes), and the heal herb myrish fire    -. The North; dragonglass, ironwood, and hides

Tyrosh and Lys; There is NO TRADING with Tyrosh or Lys and they cannot dock at Northern ports because of their involvement in the slave trade. Theon is especially offended by Tyroshi sailing beyond the wall in search of wildlings to enslave. Wildlings or no, Theon believes no man should live as a slave.

Qohor; The forest of qohor is the principal source of wealth for the city.     -. qohor trade; silver, tin, and amber     -.  the north; copper ( once discovered ) and ironwood

There are currently no trades officially set up beyond Qohor. Theon is hoping to use other connections to extend the reach of Northern trade and connections. While it's rare there are trading caravans that travel further out.

Selhorys, Valysar, and Volon Therys; Three "towns" larger than King's Landing are vital to Theon's goals of making the north economically sound he wants to take advantage of the timber trade by offering their ironwood, oak, and the sap from sentinel and soldier pine trees. The sap will turn out to be a huge export as it can be used for starting fires and is used in the many lanterns used in these towns.

Because VOLANTIS is so close to Volon Therys, there are some caravaners who will make this journey versus going back to Myr.

This is a dangerous trade route. Those who travel to Qohor, Selhorys, Valysar, Volon Therys, and Volantis are paid handsomely for the risk they take on for the North.

NOTE: I know that Myr and Volantis are in the slave trade as well but, the slavers of Myr and Volantis have never come to the North looking for slaves. And that's where Theon is coming from concerning getting involved with places knee deep in slavery.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion III (Chapter 8)

Once again I'll be examining Aegon Blackfyre evidence, and letting you decide.

"Did you hear that, Haldon? The little man wants to fight with us!"

His companion was older, clean-shaved, with a lined ascetic face. His hair had been pulled back and tied in a knot behind his head.

[...]

The man called Haldon studied Tyrion with cool grey eyes before turning back to Illyrio. 

[...]

"So he does. I am Haldon, the healer in our little band of brothers. Some call me Halfmaester. My companion is Ser Duck."

Haldon the Halfmaester is Aegon's healer/tutor.

If I'm supposed to be reminded of Qhorin Halfhand, it worked.

Jon knew Qhorin Halfhand the instant he saw him, though they had never met. The big ranger was half a legend in the Watch; a man of slow words and swift action, tall and straight as a spear, long-limbed and solemn. Unlike his men, he was clean-shaven. His hair fell from beneath his helm in a heavy braid touched with hoarfrost, and the blacks he wore were so faded they might have been greys. - Jon V, ACOK

x

Qhorin's shrewd grey eyes seemed to see right through him. - Jon VII, ACOK

+.+.+

The man called Haldon studied Tyrion with cool grey eyes before turning back to Illyrio. "You have some chests for us?"

[...]

"How fares our lad?" asked Illyrio as the chests were being secured. Tyrion counted six, oaken chests with iron hasps. 

[...]

"There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. He was always fond of it." 

Get ready for baseless chest drama.

+.+.+

"How fares our lad?" asked Illyrio as the chests were being secured. 

[...]

"There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. He was always fond of it." Illyrio sounded oddly sad. "I thought I might continue on to Ghoyan Drohe with you. A farewell feast before you start downriver …"

"We have no time for feasts, my lord," said Haldon. "Griff means to strike downriver the instant we are back. News has been coming upriver, none of it good. Dothraki have been seen north of Dagger Lake, outriders from old Motho's khalasar, and Khal Zekko is not far behind him, moving through the Forest of Qohor."

The fat man made a rude noise. "Zekko visits Qohor every three or four years. The Qohorik give him a sack of gold and he turns east again. As for Motho, his men are near as old as he is, and there are fewer every year. The threat is—"

"—Khal Pono," Haldon finished. 

Illyrio's sounding sad, and getting agitated when he can't see Aegon.

Many would tell you that means Aegon is Illyrio's son. Others might say that's not abnormal, given Illyrio helped raise the boy.

+.+.+

"So he does. I am Haldon, the healer in our little band of brothers. Some call me Halfmaester. My companion is Ser Duck."

"Ser Rolly," said the big man. "Rolly Duckfield. Any knight can make a knight, and Griff made me. And you, dwarf?"

Oops.

Ser Rolly Duckfield (Duck) is a knight in Aegon's service, and he just stupidly announced to Tyrion that Griff is also a knight.

+.+.+

Illyrio spoke up quickly. "Yollo, he is called."

Yollo? Yollo sounds like something you might name a monkey.

I KNEW IT.

"Perhaps your silver queen would like a monkey," said Gerris. - The Merchant's Man, ADWD

+.+.+

Worse, it was a Pentoshi name, and any fool could see that Tyrion was no Pentoshi. "In Pentos I am Yollo," he said quickly, to make what amends he could, "but my mother named me Hugor Hill."

"Are you a little king or a little bastard?" asked Haldon.

Tyrion realized he would do well to be careful around Haldon Halfmaester. "Every dwarf is a bastard in his father's eyes."

Hugor was the first King of the Andals.

Hill is the surname given to bastards in the Westerlands.

Have you made any connection to another character? A king or a bastard? Maybe both? :)

+.+.+

"No doubt. Well, Hugor Hill, answer me this. How did Serwyn of the Mirror Shield slay the dragon Urrax?"

"He approached behind his shield. Urrax saw only his own reflection until Serwyn had plunged his spear through his eye."

Haldon was unimpressed. "Even Duck knows that tale. Can you tell me the name of the knight who tried the same ploy with Vhagar during the Dance of the Dragons?"

Tyrion grinned. "Ser Byron Swann. He was roasted for his trouble … only the dragon was Syrax, not Vhagar."

Please don't tell me some poor schmuck will try this a third time.

+.+.+

"I fear that you're mistaken. In The Dance of the Dragons, A True Telling, Maester Munkun writes—"

"—that it was Vhagar. Grand Maester Munkun errs. Ser Byron's squire saw his master die, and wrote his daughter of the manner of it. His account says it was Syrax, Rhaenyra's she-dragon, which makes more sense than Munken's version. Swann was the son of a marcher lord, and Storm's End was for Aegon. Vhagar was ridden by Prince Aemond, Aegon's brother. Why should Swann want to slay her?"

Tyrion's pretending to be a bastard from the Westerlands, but he can't help showing off his giant brain.

Hard for me to not see Daenerys vs. Aegon hints here. Should I also be thinking about Balon or Donnel Swann? I couldn't tell you.

+.+.+

Haldon pursed his lips. "Try not to tumble off the horse. If you do, best waddle back to Pentos. Our shy maid will not wait for man nor dwarf."

"Shy maids are my favorite sort. Aside from wanton ones. Tell me, where do whores go?"

Please die.

+.+.+

"Do I look like a man who frequents whores?"

Duck laughed derisively. "He don't dare. Lemore would make him pray for pardon, the lad would want to come along, and Griff might cut his cock off and stuff it down his throat."

Aegon, you tramp! Lol

+.+.+

"Good fortune," Illyrio called after them. "Tell the boy I am sorry that I will not be with him for his wedding. I will rejoin you in Westeros. That I swear, by my sweet Serra's hands."

I question why a man would skip his own son's wedding.

The hands are still weird.

+.+.+

The last that Tyrion Lannister saw of Illyrio Mopatis, the magister was standing by his litter in his brocade robes, his massive shoulders slumped. As his figure dwindled in their dust, the lord of cheese looked almost small.

Still upset.

+.+.+

This time Duck laughed, and Haldon said, "What a droll little fellow you are, Yollo. They say that the Shrouded Lord will grant a boon to any man who can make him laugh. Perhaps His Grey Grace will choose you to ornament his stony court."

Duck glanced at his companion uneasily. "It's not good to jape of that one, not when we're so near the Rhoyne. He hears."

"Wisdom from a duck," said Haldon. "I beg your pardon, Yollo. You need not look so pale, I was only playing with you. The Prince of Sorrows does not bestow his grey kiss lightly."

His grey kiss. The thought made his flesh crawl. Death had lost its terror for Tyrion Lannister, but greyscale was another matter. The Shrouded Lord is just a legend, he told himself, no more real than the ghost of Lann the Clever that some claim haunts Casterly Rock. Even so, he held his tongue.

There's a first time for everything.

The Shrouded Lord spreads greyscale through his grey kiss, unless you can make him laugh. All of this was probably foreshadowing, but the scene was cut.

Someday I will die, and I hope you're right and it's thirty years from now. When that happens, maybe my heirs will decide to publish a book of fragments and deleted chapters, and you'll all get to read about Tyrion's meeting with the Shrouded Lord. It's a swell, spooky, evocative chapter, but you won't read it in DANCE. It took me down a road I decided I did not want to travel, so I went back and ripped it out. So, unless I change my mind again, it's going the way of the draft of LORD OF THE RINGS where Tolkien has Frodo, Sam, Merry, and Pippin reach the Prancing Pony and meet... a weatherbeaten old hobbit ranger named "Trotter." - George R. R. Martin

Instead of the above, we got this:

He dreamt of his lord father and the Shrouded Lord. He dreamt that they were one and the same, and when his father wrapped stone arms around him and bent to give him his grey kiss, he woke with his mouth dry and rusty with the taste of blood and his heart hammering in his chest.

"Our dead dwarf has returned to us," Haldon said. - Tyrion VI, ADWD

It's been theorized that Tyrion was supposed to "encounter" the Shrouded Lord when he's pulled into the river by stone men, while travelling through the Sorrows.

I guess Tyrion made him laugh, and escaped greyscale? Apparently Jon Connington isn't as witty.

+.+.+

"Those chests we brought you," he said as they were chewing. "Gold for the Golden Company, I thought at first, until I saw Ser Rolly hoist a chest onto one shoulder. If it were full of coin, he could never have lifted it so easily."

"It's just armor," said Duck, with a shrug.

"Clothing as well," Haldon broke in. "Court clothes, for all our party. Fine woolens, velvets, silken cloaks. One does not come before a queen looking shabby … nor empty-handed. The magister has been kind enough to provide us with suitable gifts."

This isn't important, but let me talk anyway.

A ton of people believe the Valyrian sword Blackfyre and Targaryen banners are in these chests.

The sword theory comes from a draft of this chapter, that was read before release.

Haldon interrupts him by saying they already know this because Bennaro has seen it in his fires and that the Golden Company makes for Volantis. That is why Griff needs them to make haste. Illyrio says there is no need for haste. Haldon says Griff believes there is need for haste. Haldon eyes Tyrion and then begins to speak in another language. Tyrion cannot tell what it is but think it might be Volantene. He catches a few words that come close to High Valyrian. The words he catches are, queen, dragon, and sword. - Tyrion III, ADWD (Draft)

Queen, dragon, sword.

Tyrion catches the word sword, so people jumped to the conclusion that Haldon is referring to Blackfyre.

Anyone paying attention should know what sword is being referenced.

The Volantene waved a hand. "In Volantis, thousands of slaves and freedmen crowd the temple plaza every night to hear Benerro shriek of bleeding stars and a sword of fire that will cleanse the world. He has been preaching that Volantis will surely burn if the triarchs take up arms against the silver queen." - Tyrion VI, ADWD

It's Daenerys's sword of fire, Drogon. Queen, dragon, sword.

They also believe candied ginger is code for Blackfyre because of the following exchange:

There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. - Tyrion III, ADWD

x

"Time to raise some bruises. Swords today, I think."

"Swords?" Young Griff grinned. "Swords will be sweet." - Tyrion IV, ADWD

Lol, okay.

The Golden Company might have Blackfyre, but this is not evidence for it. As for the banners? Total guesswork.

+.+.+

"If it is useful occupation you require, useful occupation you shall have," his father then said. So to mark his manhood, Tyrion was given charge of all the drains and cisterns within Casterly Rock. Perhaps he hoped I'd fall into one. But Tywin had been disappointed in that. The drains never drained half so well as when he had charge of them.

Tyrion will repeat this information again.

David and Dan couldn't even remember Samwell was a point of view character, so I doubt they'd remember this.

I have to believe it wasn't a show invention. Tyrion will eventually weaponize that knowledge of Casterly Rock.

+.+.+

After the animals had been tended to, the riders shared a simple supper of salt pork and cold white beans, washed down with ale.

x

I need a cup of wine, to wash the taste of Tywin from my mouth. A skin of wine would serve me even better.

Tyrion's been mostly cut off this entire chapter, but he's still an alcoholic.

+.+.+

The city was no more impressive. Ghoyan Drohe had never been large, Tyrion recalled from his histories, but it had been a fair place, green and flowering, a city of canals and fountains. Until the war. Until the dragons came. A thousand years later, the canals were choked with reeds and mud, and pools of stagnant water gave birth to swarms of flies. The broken stones of temples and palaces were sinking back into the earth, and gnarled old willows grew thick along the riverbanks.

Something something dragons plant no trees.

+.+.+

"Duck!" came a shout. "Haldon!" Tyrion craned his head to one side, and saw a boy standing on the roof of a low wooden building, waving a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair. The dwarf put his age at fifteen, sixteen, or near enough to make no matter.

Apparently the wide-brimmed straw hat is an Egg reference? Shrug.

Aegon shares some similarities with Illyrio's statue.

A naked boy stood on the water, poised to duel with a bravo's blade in hand. He was lithe and handsome, no older than sixteen, with straight blond hair that brushed his shoulders. So lifelike did he seem that it took the dwarf a long moment to realize he was made of painted marble, though his sword shimmered like true steel. - Tyrion I, ADWD

Of course Rhaegar's son should be older than sixteen, so that might also be a red flag.

However, Tyrion has never been the best judge.

Tyrion sighed. "You are remarkably polite for a bastard, Snow. What you see is a dwarf. You are what, twelve?"

"Fourteen," the boy said.- Tyrion II, ADWD

+.+.+

The roof the boy was standing on turned out to be the cabin of the Shy Maid, an old ramshackle single-masted poleboat. She had a broad beam and a shallow draft, ideal for making her way up the smallest of streams and crabwalking over sandbars. A homely maid, thought Tyrion, but sometimes the ugliest ones are the hungriest once abed.

Why are you still alive?

+.+.+

An older couple with a Rhoynish cast to their features stood close beside the tiller, whilst a handsome septa in a soft white robe stepped through the cabin door and pushed a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes.

[...]

I do not like his eyes, Tyrion reflected, when the sellsword [Griff] sat down across from him in the dimness of the boat's interior, with a scarred plank table and a tallow candle between them. They were ice blue, pale, cold. The dwarf misliked pale eyes. Lord Tywin's eyes had been pale green and flecked with gold.

We'll cover Septa Lemore in another chapter, but it's important to note Tyrion never states the colour of her eyes. That's unlike Tyrion.

+.+.+

Tyrion turned to Young Griff and gave the lad his most disarming smile. "Blue hair may serve you well in Tyrosh, but in Westeros children will throw stones at you and girls will laugh in your face."

The lad was taken aback. "My mother was a lady of Tyrosh. I dye my hair in memory of her."

The sun's son.

+.+.+

He watched the sellsword read. That he could read said something all by itself. How many sellswords could boast of that? He hardly moves his lips at all, Tyrion reflected.

Who's better at hiding their identity, Jon Connington or Sansa Stark?

+.+.+

"Tywin Lannister dead? At your hand?"

"At my finger. This one." Tyrion held it up for Griff to admire. "Lord Tywin was sitting on a privy, so I put a crossbow bolt through his bowels to see if he really did shit gold. He didn't. A pity, I could have used some gold. I also slew my mother, somewhat earlier. Oh, and my nephew Joffrey, I poisoned him at his wedding feast and watched him choke to death. Did the cheesemonger leave that part out? I mean to add my brother and sister to the list before I'm done, if it please your queen."

"Please her? Has Illyrio taken leave of his senses? Why does he imagine that Her Grace would welcome the service of a self-confessed kingslayer and betrayer?"

A fair question, thought Tyrion, but what he said was, "The king I slew was sitting on her throne, and all those I betrayed were lions, so it seems to me that I have already done the queen good service."

Because she's an idiot?

His brother's smile curdled like sour milk. "Tyrion, my sweet brother," he said darkly, "there are times when you give me cause to wonder whose side you are on."

Tyrion's mouth was full of bread and fish. He took a swallow of strong black beer to wash it all down, and grinned up wolfishly at Jaime. "Why, Jaime, my sweet brother," he said, "you wound me. You know how much I love my family." - Tyrion I, AGOT

Oh Daenerys, you silly girl, a blind man could see what's coming from a mile away.

+.+.+

"There is blood between Targaryen and Lannister. Why would you support the cause of Queen Daenerys?"

"For gold and glory," the dwarf said cheerfully. "Oh, and hate. If you had ever met my sister, you would understand."

Would you betray her for gold?

For Casterly Rock?

For your golden siblings?

+.+.+

"I understand hate well enough." From the way Griff said the word, Tyrion knew that much was true. He has supped on hate himself, this one. It has warmed him in the night for years.

"Then we have that in common, ser."

"I am no knight."

Not only a liar, but a bad one. That was clumsy and stupid, my lord. "And yet Ser Duck says you knighted him."

Why tell him you know what's going on?

Tyrion's the type of guy who would include his IQ score on an online dating profile.

+.+.+

"Some might wonder that a duck can talk at all. No matter, Griff. You are no knight and I am Hugor Hill, a little monster. Your little monster, if you like. You have my word, all that I desire is to be leal servant of your dragon queen."

I didn't like that Tyrion came immediately after that Bran passage.

I hate it even more now.

"A monster," Bran said.

The ranger looked at Bran as if the rest of them did not exist. "Your monster, Brandon Stark." - Bran I, ADWD

+.+.+

"And how do you propose to serve her?"

"With my tongue."

+.+.+

"I can tell Her Grace how my sweet sister thinks, if you call it thinking. I can tell her captains the best way to defeat my brother, Jaime, in battle. I know which lords are brave and which are craven, which are loyal and which are venal. I can deliver allies to her. And I know much and more of dragons, as your halfmaester will tell you. I'm amusing too, and I don't eat much. Consider me your own true imp."

I can't stop laughing. The most despised man in all of Westeros just said that.

What allies will you be delivering, demon monkey?

+.+.+

Griff weighed that for a moment. "Understand this, dwarf. You are the last and least of our company. Hold your tongue and do as you are told, or you will soon wish you had."

+.+.+

Yes, Father, Tyrion almost said. "As you say, my lord."

"I am no lord."

Liar. "It was a courtesy, my friend."

Oh my goodness, he's so smart. So clever. So cunning.

+.+.+

"What if we should find the queen and discover that this talk of dragons was just some sailor's drunken fancy? This wide world is full of such mad tales. Grumkins and snarks, ghosts and ghouls, mermaids, rock goblins, winged horses, winged pigs … winged lions."

You mean a GRIFFin?

Almost like naming yourself after your house's sigil is the dumbest idea in the world.

+.+.+

Griff stared at him, frowning. "I have given you fair warning, Lannister. Guard your tongue or lose it. Kingdoms are at hazard here. Our lives, our names, our honor. This is no game we're playing for your amusement."

Of course it is, thought Tyrion. The game of thrones. "As you say, Captain," he murmured, bowing once again.

Title drop!

Final thoughts:

I wouldn't say I believe Tyrion will lose his tongue, but I'm definitely giving it more consideration than I was two books ago.

One thing I keep returning to is that George likes to deprive Lannisters of the things they value most. For Jaime, it's his sword hand. For Cersei, it's her children/beauty (depending on your point of view).

For Tyrion, it would be his tongue. . . I don't know.

38 down, 11 to go. :(

-> return to menu <-

[izvozvi]

a proud and quarrelsome people, the sarnori were seldom ever united under a single ruler, but their kingdoms dominated the western grasslands, from the forest of qohor to the eastern shores of the vanished silver sea, and fifty leagues beyond. their gleaming cities were strewn across the grasslands like jewels across a green velvet mantle, shining beneath the light of sun and stars. the greatest of these cities was sarnath of the tall towers, where the high king dwelt in his fabled palace with a thousand rooms.

— the world of ice and fire

asoiaf meme: cultures | the sarnori

[imaginarianisms]

a few notes on aelyx targaryen, trueborn son of aemond targaryen & alys rivers.

born in one of harrenhal's dark towers to alys (strong)rivers the witch queen of harrenhal & to his late father prince aemond targaryen, the father he never knew.

aelyx is a trueborn targaryen in the eyes of the old gods, for aemond married alys & took her to wife before the great weirwood in harrenhal's courtyard shortly after he was told that she was carrying his child & acting as prince regent, gave her her own household & name by the name of strongrivers. the faith of the seven, however, does not recognize aelyx's legitimacy. aelyx is the last surviving male descendant of house strong & is a rival to king aegon iii of queen rhaenyra's sons.

alys' dynamic with aemond was complex to say the least, while she was not in love with him, she did deeply respect him as a leader, a warrior & a dragonrider. she loved her son aelyx more than anything & anyone in the world. she attempts to press her son's claim to the iron throne. aelyx has a younger half-sister, addalynn, borne of addam velaryon & alys, who was born not too long after aelyx.

aelyx favors his mother in terms of his skintone & his raven black hair streaked with white, but he has his father's amethyst eyes, trademark valyrian features. possesses a necklace with his father's sapphire eye & carries it on him at all times.

in ancient times, whether a child was born in or out of wedlock did not matter, the individual's character mattered & as long as one was faithful to their community, it mattered little to nothing before the andals & the faith of the seven came along.

while alys reigns as the witch queen of harrenhal, she is kind to the poor & downtrodden of the civil war & uses broken men & outlaws to protect & defend them & the castle walls for the boy king & all his counsellors will not.

alys taught aelyx everything that she possibly could've known about house targaryen through dragonlore, the lost culture & sacred teachings of her ancient house who were known for their powerful warriors, sorcerers, skinchangers & medicine people long before the andal invasion & later the arrival of the rhoynar & valyrians as well as dream-knowledge, animal-knowledge, & ecological-environmental knowledge, how to communicate with & travel between the worlds, how to skinchange into different animals & men & all the sorcery she had in her arsenal, hoping that aelyx & his descendants would one day take the iron throne. aelyx was also taught how to fight with a blade & bow & arrow & was also taught how to make potions & like his mother could see in stormclouds, pools of water, & in the flames. as a child, aelyx was taken to the isle of faces in the gods eye & introduced to the last descendants of the children of the forest south of the wall & the green men who protect them.

courteous, independent & a survivalist in contrast with many of his cousins, if not hyper-independent & egotistical, unafraid to boast of his abilities. reserved & charismatic, aelyx is an excellent actor & has a soft spot for the downtrodden.

depending on the verse, aelyx is introduced to court in king's landing or moves east to essos in exile with his mother & their supporters to qohor, city of sorcerers.

depending on the verse, aelyx claims either silverwing in the red lake or the cannibal in skagos or his own dragon from vhagar's clutch of eggs at harrenhal.

[aliveanddrunkonsunlight]

Date tag - January 28

January 28 - Angst with Confessions

Author’s Note: So one of my weird, obsessive interests is war correspondents. I’ve read lots of books by them and lots of articles, including this amazing one about female war correspondents. There really was a “reporter hotel” outside Baghdad during the various wars in Iraq, which is oft cited as being a place that is falling apart and may suffer from rubble from bombings and blackouts, but offered an array of black market booze for the reporters. I really admire war and conflict correspondents, so I hope I don’t make light of the harrowing situations they put themselves through in order to do their jobs well. Also, this was oddly inspired by a convo with @theunpaidcritic about reporter!AUs for JB.

Slightly NSFW.

***

“Fuck, Hyle, how many times do I have to tell you? Your job is to send our editor the photos we choose together. Not your favorites.” 

Jaime looks across the crowded hotel ballroom, where Brienne’s usually calm voice is raised above the normal level of ruckus of the room. At any given time, the Orange Coast Hotel, is a temporary home to numerous reporters and photographers from across the known world who cover the war raging in the Disputed Lands and beyond. 

The nearby conflict has not left the hotel unharmed, and at any given time, there are bombings and blackouts. Correspondents hunker down in the ballroom, swearing over stories or taking calls on their various phones, both the slim mobiles if there’s service available, and the chunky satellite phones when in an emergency, which for them means a deadline. 

Brienne sorts out whatever issue she’s having with her colleague after more raised voices and wild hand gestures, before she huffs across the room and sits down next to him. “I don’t know why you put up with him,” he says calmly. 

“He has a lot of conflict experience,” she sighs, her voice a near grumble. 

“But you don’t get along. In this line of work, you need someone who has your back, and not just with your editor.” 

Brienne narrows her eyes at him and takes a swig from Jaime’s half finished glass of whiskey. “It’s only a six week assignment. I’ll make do.” 

The first time he met Brienne, he called her too innocent to be a war correspondent. She’d been green, he hadn’t been wrong about that, but she found her footing quickly. Brienne scarcely backed down--not from her editors or a story--and over the years, their admiration for each other had only grown. Reporting on conflict and trauma made you bond quickly, and sometimes in unhealthy ways, with your colleagues. “You could come work with me,” he offers easily. 

“I already want to kill Hyle,” she grouses, running a hand through her hair. “You think that wouldn’t apply to you?” 

Jaime chuckles. “Probably doubly so.” 

She allows a small smile at that. “Where’s Dacey?” 

“Off on a world tour,” he shrugs, but catches Brienne’s worried gaze. “She’s having a tough time, after what happened in Qohor. So she’s taking a break. A long one.” 

“So you’re out here by yourself?” He sent in his photos an hour ago, but prefers to stay in the midst of the fray rather than return to the quiet of his room. He nods. “That isn’t safe, Jaime.” Her hand falls to his knee and he tries not to think of all the times they’d turned to each other for comfort. This godsforsaken place. 

“It’s alright,” he replies, a little too cavalierly. Brienne’s blue eyes slice through him, practiced and observant. 

*

It’s practically a rite of passage at the Orange Coast Hotel: reporters and photographers drinking heavily and then winding up in each other’s rooms. Some of those nights have destroyed long distance relationships, a few marriages, but never, as far as she knows, anyone’s career. War reporters are far too proficient at being damaged. They might fuck a colleague, but their moral obligation is to tell the story, to let people know of the world’s horrors and injustices, to challenge them not to look away. 

So when Jaime shows up at Brienne’s room after midnight, she’s hardly surprised. He steps into her arms without so much as a hello and then her hands are undoing his belt, and fuck, she’s forgotten how fun it is. It feels wrong to say she missed this, but it rises up on her tongue all the same, Jaime kissing her in reply. He fucks her, Brienne bent over, her hands against the wall. When she drags him to bed, they slow things down, the closest to loving she’s ever had. 

Afterwards, he falls asleep, his soft snores keeping her company as she lies awake, wondering what it would be like to work together. Jaime is the best in his field, and has been since before she graduated. Brienne never told him that when she was still in university, he came to give a lecture on war photography. All the other girls were swooning over his brooding nature, his devil may care smile, but she thought he was full of himself, and he proved her right the first time they met in a conflict zone. Never meet your idols, she remembers thinking, and now, she sleeps beside him, trying to puzzle together when she may have fallen in love with him. 

In the morning, she’s surprised to find him there with coffee, orange juice, and toast brought up from the bar downstairs. His camera bag is by the door. “You don’t even carry a suitcase now?” she teases, starting to reach over him for a piece of toast, but he snags her wrist and to her surprise, pulls her down onto his lap, kissing her. “Jaime, is everything okay?” They’ve never done this. The morning after. At most, they would give each other a nod or wave in the hotel lobby, one or both of them with bags under their eyes. 

“I have to go to the Painted Mountains for a couple weeks,” he tells her, voice gravelly and still thick from sleep. “But when I get back we should talk about this.” 

Brienne blinks, thinking she’s dreaming it. “About what?” 

“You and I,” he chuckles, his green eyes twinkling. 

“Working together?” she asks, confused. 

“Brienne.” He says, exasperated, but he’s laughing, and then leaning in for another kiss, longer this time. Oh. Her hand tentatively traces his cheek, skin weathered from the time spent outdoors in the desert sun, her fingertips burning over his scruff. 

When they pull apart, Brienne nearly laughs, she’s scarcely felt this happy. “Why now?” They’ve been doing this for years. 

“Why not now?” he replies, not giving much away, but understanding slowly dawns on his face. She wants a real answer. “Because I miss you when you’re gone.” 

A warmth pulses through her, realizing the kernel of truth in what she said last night. Brienne doesn’t just miss the sex, their connection. She misses him, she misses them, when they’re apart, each off on assignment. “I miss you, too.” He wraps his arms around her then, Brienne resting her chin on the top of his head. “You’re coming back here in two weeks?” Jaime nods. 

*

She and Hyle return to the hotel after a long day. Covered in dust and mud and possibly blood, all she wants is to take a shower, but Brienne stops in the middle of the lobby when she sees Catelyn Tully at the hotel front desk, looking frazzled. Her heart rate picks up. Why would Jaime’s editor be here if he’s not due back for another week? It’s been a long time since they’ve seen each other, but Brienne steps over to where the older woman is standing. “Catelyn, what are you doing here?” 

“Oh, Brienne, thank gods. I’m trying to find someone to take me to Slaver’s Bay. Jaime is in the hospital there.” Everything happens in slow motion after that. Catelyn must lead her over to one of the lobby’s couches, because that’s where she finally returns to herself, a stiff drink in her hand. “You didn’t hear?” She shakes her head. “There was an ambush in Khyzai Pass. He was with the company under attack.” 

“Khyzai Pass?” It was incredibly dangerous, much more so than the Painted Forest. 

“I didn’t know either,” the older woman says, her tone somber. “I wouldn’t have let him go.” 

Jaime’s sudden need for clarification about their relationship takes on a new meaning and Brienne curses herself for being so stupid. “I should have realized.” The whole area is in such tumult that for years, Slaver’s Bay has been cut off from most means of transportation. The only way they might be able to reach Jaime is by boat, but traversing the straits of Valyria would take days. “Did you talk to the hospital?” 

Catelyn nods, her face pale. “They said he was stable, but he’d lost a lot of blood. He...his hand got hurt. There may be nerve damage.” 

She nods, her throat thick with emotion, tears welling up in her eyes. If he couldn’t take photos, Jaime wouldn’t want to live. An urgency rises up in her chest. “We have to get to him.” 

A shadow falls across the two of them, and Brienne looks up to find Sandor Clegane looming. “I can take you there.” 

They spend the next two days in an armored Jeep, barely stopping, but Clegane is true to his word, they breeze through checkpoints, and Brienne can barely thank him before she’s racing through the hospital corridors, a name echoing in each heartbeat. Jaime Jaime Jaime.