#i never bought her for you [tyrion]

[jaimelannisterthings]

"I already slayed the men I thought killed you-"

"-too late to come back now, I'm afraid."

@fantasywritten

[uluthrek]

au in which robert, the starks and the lannisters play monopoly instead of going hunting and pushing each other‘s kids from towers.

tyrion implements a tax system to make things more interesting and fights cersei over the cat for a solid ten minutes.

around thirty minutes into the game, catelyn realizes that she has free will and stops paying taxes.

arya and sansa haggle over new york avenue, which ends up being bought by theon. this causes the two to completely cast aside their differences, ally and subsequently start doing everything in their power to make theon‘s life hell.

theon himself is quite severely stoned the entire time throughout.

ned enters horrendous debt pretty much immediately and, after two hours of being financially sucked dry by both cersei and his tax evader of a wife, decides to just place his figurine in jail and never leave.

jon, playing the dog, controls the railroads and makes jaime, playing the ship, go completely broke within minutes. being beaten by a bastard and officially the first to lose the game makes jaime so mad he spends the rest of the evening perched on the family‘s ancestral armchair eating flaming hot cheetos and stifling sobs.

cersei is holding onto her last two dollars and her one house in atlantic avenue like a maniac and evades taxes like it‘s an olympic sport. she claims ownership of kentucky avenue on the grounds that red is her house‘s color at least twice. after three hours, she‘s consumed enough vintage red to kill a large mammal and keeps quoting the art of war. fascinatingly enough, she never goes completely broke.

robert, just as broke and drunk as his wife but not nearly as ferocious, proposes marriage for tax advantages to bran, who is in possession of the boardwalk and lets him dangle on his proposition for two rounds before accepting and feeling like a benevolent god.

sansa sees this and immediately proposes to arya, who accepts, only for them to be sued by their mother for public indecency („you‘re siblings, jesus christ!“). arya argues that this is just a game and that one could argue that robert‘s and bran‘s marital alliance is just as if not even more inappropriate, considering that bran is seven and robert thirtyseven. sansa countersues her mother for tax evasion, who promises she‘ll drop her lawsuit if her daughters let her keep hoarding perverse amounts of wealth. „love wins!“ arya says, which causes jaime, still perched on the armchair but now eating old nan‘s home made whiskey truffles, to hysterically sob. cersei stares him down.

robb, in a rare moment of almost prophetic foresight, excuses himself one hour in and goes on a very, VERY long walk with grey wind.

tyrion, whose tax system has spectacularly backfired in his face, proposes marriage to catelyn, jon and cersei in rapid succession, who all turn him down. „i wish i was the monster you think i am. i wish i had enough poison for the whole pack of you. i would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it.“ he screams before he leaves the table.

at that, joffrey, who has refused to participate and instead sits on the couch playing doom on his nintendo ds, starts hysterically laughing. tyrion turns on his heel and awards his nephew with the bitchslap of the century. this causes cersei to completely abandon the game and chase after him with a broom. catelyn makes sure that everyone is distracted by the lannister antics and then reaches across the table and bags cersei‘s money and properties.

with a heavy heart, myrcella trades arya and sansa one of her limited edition bayala schleich unicorns for park place.

at this point, the game is between the tycoons that are catelyn and jon, the bran-robert alliance, the arya-sansa-alliance, and ned, who is still in jail and watching ice hockey on his phone under the table. that is when catelyn hears rickon gagging and discovers that he, in the absence of tyrion, the self declared bank manager, has managed to eat all bank notes from the box.

rickon gets his stomach pumped, cersei and tyrion have both been arrested, theon is still stoned, arya, sansa and myrcella have wandered off to go play schleich horses, and jon remains at the table, alone, content, and quietly considering himself the winner.

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

The truth was rather different. His uncle had taught him a bit of tumbling when he was six or seven. Tyrion had taken to it eagerly. For half a year he cartwheeled his merry way about Casterly Rock, bringing smiles to the faces of septons, squires, and servants alike. Even Cersei laughed to see him once or twice.

All that ended abruptly the day his father returned from a sojourn in King’s Landing. That night at supper Tyrion surprised his sire by walking the length of the high table on his hands. Lord Tywin was not pleased. “The gods made you a dwarf. Must you be a fool as well? You were born a lion, not a monkey.”

"Tysha?" His stomach tightened. "What of her?"

"She was no whore. I never bought her for you. That was a lie that Father commanded me to tell. Tysha was . . . she was what she seemed to be. A crofter's daughter, chance met on the road."

[...]but Tyrion is Tywin's son, not you

Tywin & Tyrion

The Carnivorous Lamb - Agostin Gómez-Arcos// Tywin's favor - Sidharth Chaturvedi// Tyrion IV - ADWD// Origin Story - Desirée Dallagiacomo// Tyrion IX - ASOS// Game of Thrones s01 ep10// Jaime V - AFFC// Mirror Traps - Hera Lindsay Bird// Game of Thrones s04 ep10.

[damn-stark]

Chapter 6 The white wolf & The white dragon

Chapter 6 of Sandstorm

A/N- since it’s my birthday I released it earlier. Also I CAN'T WAIT TO WRITE THE NEXT CHAPTER, some things are gonna change from what’s on the show, be ready!

Warning- Y/N has a son, swearing, fluff, incest, ANGST, slowburn, talks of pregnancy and abortian.

Pairing- Jon Snow x Targaryen!fem-reader

Episode- 8x02 & only small part of 8x03

(Let me know if you want to be tagged)

————

What is a lion without its pride?

Nothing but a lonely wanderer vulnerable to other lurking predators.

That’s what Jaime is now, nothing without his sister or father to keep him from death.

“When I was child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story,” Daenerys interjects in such a venomous tone that frightens you for obvious reasons. “About the man who murdered our father.”

Yeah because he was such a great guy. Please.

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor,” she continues. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasp. Your sister pledged to send her army north.”

Jaime nods, “she did.”

Daenerys scoffs. “I don’t see an army. I see one man, with one hand. It appears your sister lied to us.”

Yeah well is anyone really surprised? You definitely aren't.

“She lied to me as well,” Jaime interjects. “She had no intention of sending her army North. She has Euron Greyjoy’s fleet and 20,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for…”

You scoff at the sound of his words that only proved your concern right about not trusting her.

You look over at Jon to share your proud look after being right, but just as he feels your gaze and looks, he quickly averts his gaze and stiffens.

Did something happen between last night and this morning? He never came to your chambers at night like he said he would, he didn’t attempt to talk to you earlier either, he’s been…cold, distant.

Maybe the news of the baby did actually upset him now that he’s had time to really think about it.

And if he is, he only needs to say the word…

“We?” You catch Daenerys snap back to something Jaime had said.

“I promised to fight for the living,” Jaime explains to her, “I intend to keep that promise.”

Daenerys looks over at you, and you slowly look over at her to share the same angered look.

“Your Grace, I know my brother,” Tyrion cuts in, causing you to snap your gaze over to him and snap back.

“Like you knew your sister? You don’t get to speak on this matter. He is your brother.”

Tyrion lowers his gaze and sighs deeply before continues regardless. “He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?”

“Perhaps, he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat, or stabs my family through the back.” Daenerys counters spitefully.

“You’re right,” Sansa pitches in. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.”

“Don’t you want me to apologize?” Jaime interrupts, making you furrow your eyebrows and narrow your gaze deeper. “I won’t,” he continues. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I’d do it all again.”

You scoff before you lean forward on your chair and clasps your hands on the table to then interject. “So you’re saying you’d break your promises, sacred oaths? You would let my family get killed all over again? All for what?” You spat. “Three seconds of glory?”

“The King was mad, he would have—”

“I don’t give a shit about King Aerys,” you cut Jaime off, and earn a side glare from Daenerys. “He was a cruel man. Mean to his own kin. It’s said my own father planned to overthrow him. So I don’t care about that old fucking King, I am talking about my family, my mother, my five year old sister and baby brother, Ser Jaime.” You slowly stand up as you begin to scowl. “The ones you promised to protect,” you continue to spat, causing Jaime to blink rapidly and go rigid as you catch him off guard with your comment.

“Tell me,” you say and lift your chin to look down at him. “Tyrion Lannister, what is it that happened to my family? What is it that your father order happen? What is it that Ser Jaime Lannister let happen?”

Tyrion clears his throat, “I wasn’t there, Princess.”

“Say it,” Daenerys commands him.

Tyrion let’s out a deep sigh and parts his lips to speak, “it’s said that…the Mountain smashed prince Aegon's skull in the wall in front of his mother. That Princess Rhaenys was dragged from under her fathers bed and stabbed fifty times…and that Princess Elia was…raped and murdered.”

You hum and tilt your head as you keep holding Jaime’s stare. “Yes,” you mutter. “So Ser Jaime, would you let that happen again? Would you break that promise?”

Jaime’s gaze falls, and now he has nothing to say back in his own defense. It makes you proud that you can cause such an effect on such a proud man, that you can leave him speechless.

“The things we do for love,” Bran suddenly interjects, making everyone around the table including you to look at him.

And he doesn’t add anything else to his comment, he just awkwardly leaves it at that; Jaime doesn’t say anything either, so you just take a seat and let out a small sigh to try and keep the bad memories away.

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys asks.

“Because this goes beyond loyalty,” Jaime responds and glances at his side. When you follow his line of gaze you see him looking at Lady Brienne—“this is about survival.”

You hum at his comment and sit back in your chair, catching in that moment Lady Brienne stands up.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace, Princess,” Lady Brienne adds and walks to the center. “But I know Ser Jaime. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once. But when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jaime defended me. And lost his hand because of it. Without him, my Lady, you would not be alive,” she says and glances over at Sansa. “He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he swore an oath to your mother.”

You break your gaze away from Lady Brienne to drift your gaze to Sansa, seeing her gaze drop and her face express distraught.

“You vouch for him?” Sansa queries and blinks to look at Lady Brienne.

“I do,” she says.

“You would fight beside him?”

“I would,” Lady Brienne says with confidence, making you feel…indifferent about her. Not in a bad way, just different. Maybe more respect for her.

“I trust you with my life,” Sansa continues. “If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.”

Daenerys snaps her head in Sansa’s direction with disbelief, wanting blood as revenge and not pardon.

“What do you say about this Princess?” Daenerys asks you as she looks ahead at the man in trial.

You blink and look at Jaime too, you play Lady Brienne’s words in your mind, as well as Sansa’s. Even if anger wants to get the best of you, even if you crave to also burn him alive, you step back and don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment. You couldn’t.

“If Lady Sansa vouches for Lady Brienne,” you interject with a sigh. “Then…I second it. He can stay. Besides, we will need men for the battle to come. I do hope you keep your promise now, Ser Jaime.”

Daenerys shoots you another side glare before she hesitates for a moment, and then finally adds her last word. “Very well.” She then looks over at Greyworm standing at the other end of the table, and with her look alone, he grabs Jaime’s sword to hand it back to him.

The meeting is disbanded after that, Jaime bows and gives his thanks to the Queen, and Sansa leaves the hall first. Daenerys turns to look at you, but you quickly avert her gaze and look at Jon. Yet he hardly meets your gaze before he walks past you without a single word. He just leaves. Daenerys leaves after that, leaving you to stand alone at table with two options, walk after her and argue about this affair, or go after Jon and interrogate his weird behavior.

Yet as much…as you care for Daenerys, he means more to you. So you go after him.

Thankfully he doesn’t make it far, but when you see him down the hall you do see him talking to Sansa.

“Princess,” she greets and ends whatever it is she was talking about with Jon when she spots you approaching. “Or should I call you sis—” she cuts herself off as she catches Jon’s pointed glare due to her lack of discretion. “Princess,” she corrects herself with a teasing smirk.

You stop just beside them and glance at Jon one more time before you meet his sister's gaze and greet her back.

“Lady Stark.”

“I admire your choice,” Sansa says. “I’m sure it wasn’t easy. And for that I’m sorry.”

You clasp your hands together and offer her a gentle smile. “Thank you, and it wasn’t easy. But my uncle Doran, would say not to let my vengeance cloud my judgment. No matter how much I wanted Ser Jaime to burn alive.” You scoff. “Besides I also like to think about Rhaenar, what my actions teach him.”

Sansa hums and offers you a kind smile. “I like that.”

You shoot her a smile. “Thank you,” you mutter.

“Hm…” she trails off and looks between her brother and you before she continues. “Well, I will leave you two be.” She begins to smirk and steps back. “I hope we can talk later, Y/N, so you can show me your dress.”

You smile wider and nod eagerly. “Of course, I would love that.”

Sansa smiles softly one more time before she turns and walks away. Once you can no longer see her anymore you look to your betrothed and add a comment hoping that can break this weird tension. “She seems excited.”

Jon hums and slowly meets your gaze with a very strained smile. “I haven’t seen her this excited in a long time, so maybe I should thank you.”

You scoff and shake your head as you feel flustered by his comment. “I try my best,” you tease him, and earn a more genuine smile. But even then he can barely hold your gaze, so you immediately probe and don’t hold back anymore.

“What's wrong? You’ve been distant, kind of cold, did something happen?” You want to ask about the baby, but it’s dangerous to ask in such a public hall.

Jon knows that and grabs your hand to walk you down more stone halls, past doors, down steps, until finally he reaches his chambers and walks you in there. When he closes the door though he remains quiet, distant still.

“Jon,” you whisper and keep your distance. “What’s wrong? If this is about the ceremony we can have it some other day…” you blink and sigh. “And if it’s about the baby then…the maester said I should talk to him soon if I change my mind.” You flicker your eyes up and see him averting his gaze.

“Jon,” you whisper and finally approach him. “Please talk to me.” You grab his hands and he finally blinks and meets your gaze with a deep frown and a melancholy look that makes you catch your breath.

“It’s not about the baby…” he says. “It’s about me….Sam told me about my true parentage last night.”

Has he been brooding about that? Is that why he never went to your room?

“Really?” You sigh with relief. “That’s good. I mean…right?”

Jon swallows thickly and continues without expressing any sort of happiness. “My mother,” he says. “My mother is Lyanna Stark….”

Your own relief begins to dwindle and your heart strings begin to twist as you wait for the next part, the part of the father…because there’s so many answers that can be said.

“And my father. My true father is…Rhaegar Targaryen.”

You blink in disbelief and pull your hands away from Jon’s as you feel your heart sink to your stomach at the sound of his revelation, at the meaning behind it.

Rhaegal…that explains that.

And your father…he…While you and your family were trapped in the Red Keep belittled by the man he called father, he was out having a child with her….he was…what? Enjoying his life? Breaking his vows to your mother?

“I know—”

“What?” You cut him off sharply with tears stinging your eyes as you held them back. “Did they marry, or did he take advantage of her? Can Sam tell you that?”

Jon sighs and averts his gaze. “They married,” he whispers.

Stupid fucking bastard.

Your mother, Aegon, Rhaenys, they died, you almost died because he was chasing after some younger woman. Because he preferred her.

“I’m sorry,” he says as if he’s the one to blame for the discretions of his father and mother.

And maybe you should blame him too, hate him because he was born out of that love they kept a secret. But in all honesty…maybe you’re a fool because you can’t…you can’t bring yourself to hate him, only them.

“It’s not your fault,” you assure him quickly and meet his gaze without tears brimming your eyes. You just can’t cry or get angry about this subject in front of him.

Also there’s matters to consider now, like how Jon is your half sibling….

Not like it bothers you whatsoever though. By law he is still a bastard, marriage or not his mothers marriage to Rhaegar doesn’t count. The people are probably willing to turn the blind eye just to have him be King, but if they follow the law then the marriage doesn’t matter. Plus, he wasn’t raised by Rhaegar, he only knew of his true father until last night, so it shouldn’t bother him—then again people from the North are different, they don’t share the same…morals you do as a Valyrian.

“So…then does it bother you?” You ask and go serious. “That we share the same father?”

Jon lets out a deep sigh and walks past you to watch the flames dance in the fireplace. You turn and watch him brood for a second before you walk after him, but keep your distance for his own sake.

“He never raised me, I never even met him,” Jon argues. “Ned Stark raised me, he is my father, but…”

He’s going to say he can’t isn’t he?

“…doesn't it bother you?” He suddenly asks and turns around to face you with his face contorted in that same sad look he always seems to carry.

You blink and look at the floor as you clasps your hands together. “Rhaegar may be blood of my blood, we may share the same name, he may be the reason why I am here, but I don’t respect him.” You look at Jon and face him with tears in your eyes now.

You just can’t hold them back.

“He’s the reason I don't have my mom, my sister, my brother, he’s the reason I had to escape home,” you continue. “He destroyed my life…he will never have my respect. My uncles are the father he never could be. So no, it doesn’t bother me…but you,” you utter unsurely. “You can’t just stay with me because of the baby, I can’t make you do that, so tell me the truth, be honest, does it bother you?” You ask with a fearful gaze.

Jon lets out a deep breath and keeps his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he looks at your belly, and then drops his gaze.

Out of fear of his response, of his reaction, you begin to fiddle with your rings and hold your breath in hopes he doesn’t break what you do have, that he doesn’t break the promise of an eternal life together.

“Why don’t you care?” He mutters and meets your gaze. “Knowing who I am means I am now a threat to Daenerys, to you and Rhaenar.”

“Right now?” You say softly. “Because my love for you means much more than a stupid iron throne.” You breathe out shakily and see his eyes soften. “If you were to tell me to leave it all behind, if you asked me to stop fighting and have a life here, I would. It all means nothing without you. I don’t want to lose you. That’s why.”

“I am not Stark, not really, nor am I a Targaryen, I don’t think I would ever consider myself that. I have no reason to go against Daenerys or you, nor do I want you to stop fighting because of me,” he says and takes a step closer to you, making your heart finally begin to unclench. “So…no…it doesn’t bother me. I don’t want to lose you. Or our family.”

You smile softly yet you don’t find relief yet as you do remember about your other problem.

“And what about Daenerys?” You press seriously. “Will you tell her?”

Jon sighs and nods hesitantly. “I have to. I’d rather she hear it from me. So please let me talk to her.”

You nod as you find trust in his words, only because you don’t want to face her wrath when she finds out. It’s a miracle she accepted you to be at her side knowing you are her brother's offspring, “the rightful heir”.

Then again it’s not like she had any other blood family besides Rhaenar and you…she’d be foolish not to let you in.

“All right,” you sigh but squeeze in one last question. “And your family?”

“I’ll talk to them too. Soon.”

You let out a relieved breath and let your eyes linger on him for a moment before you both give in to desire and close the gap and crash your lips together. He grabs your waist, and you grab his cheeks and linger in the feeling. As he does too.

Your heart flutters, and your body finally untenses as you’re no longer frozen with fear.

“So,” you whisper against his lips. “Am I still wearing that dress or should I look for someone else to marry? The Baratheon bastard isn’t so bad on the eyes, hm.”

Jon scoffs in distaste. “Yes, the ceremony is still happening, I’m still going to marry you.”

You grin softly and tilt your head as you caress his cheek.

“Rhaenar is excited,” you mention. “I told him last night, he’s excited to present me to you.”

Jon smiles softly. “That’s good.”

You hum and let your eyes linger on him for a moment longer before you pull away from him. “I need to go to my chambers and do some stuff. Maybe rest for a bit.”

Jon's eyes instantly express concern as he glances down. “Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod. “I am. These early stages are just hard, so I need to rest for a moment.”

Jon caresses your cheek and nods in comprehension. “All right. I should go too before people come looking for me.”

You press one last kiss on his lips before you pull away again for good this time and leave without another word. He doesn’t follow, nor does he ask to walk you—not like you want him to walk you. You want to be alone. You need to be alone. The anger you feel for your father still burns fiercely within you, the truth still hurts you. The realization of what happened after he left stabs deeper into your heart, welling your eyes with more and more tears the closer you get to your room.

Yet you don’t let those tears out in the hall, you clench your jaw and breathe heavily. You don’t run to try and reach the intimacy of your room faster, you just stride there quickly and see every bit of your surroundings blurry.

That is until you reach your room. Those tears you held back come out as an angry sob, and those deep breaths begin to tremble. All you want to do is lay down and cry, cry until you can't shed another tear. Yet right away you’re reminded of something you had held dear to your heart.

You swipe a blade from your desk and storm over to the end of your room to uncover your fathers painting.

And now as you see his face, as you see his eyes, all you feel is utter disgust and burning fiery. That spark that was the love you held for him was completely blown out leaving nothing. Not even the good memories you cherished. Nothing.

So it’s easy stabbing the blade through his face, it’s relieving slicing the stupid painting over and over again until his face can no longer be put together, until it’s no longer recognizable. And not an ounce of guilt hits you when you grab it and examine the damage. You actually smile as tears come out of your eyes.

“I will get whatever you never could, father ” you mutter to the shredded painting. “For me. For my mother, my sister, my brother. Not you. Never you,” you spat and lift your gaze to watch the flames dance in your own fireplace.

The flames brighten your eyes and the smirk on your face.

“I hope you’re burning in all seven hells,” you grimace before you throw the painting in the flames.

You wipe the tears off your face and watch the painting wither away until there’s nothing but ashes. After that you clear your throat and walk over to look at yourself in the vanity.

Your face is red, and your eyes still gleam from the tears you had shed. The heartbreak is clear. Luckily, the coldness disguises your redness as simply that. And the heartbreak that is so clearly featured within your gaze can just be worry.

And people believe that, when you step out in search of Rhaenar no one bats an eye, not even those who you had traveled with. Not even Rhaenar himself.

Then again you wouldn’t let them see you down, they can’t see you down. And as of your son, well he was busy reading with Ser Jorah.

“Am I interrupting?” You make yourself known.

Both Ser Jorah and Rhaenar look back at you, and the boy quickly smiles, but doesn’t ask any questions.

It’s good though, to tell him the truth about his grandfather is something you don’t need him to know yet.

“Mother!” He greets you happily. “And no you’re not, Ser Jorah was just helping me with my studies.”

Ser Jorah stands up and nods as he smiles timedly. “A good prince needs to be well taught of his country's history.”

You nod in agreement. “Yes. Even if that boy doesn’t much like to study.”

The orange dragon, Helios, flaps to the little boy's shoulder and tilts his head as he sees you.

“Well,” Rhaenar scoffs. “There are better things to do.”

You roll your eyes and Ser Jorah chuckles quietly.

“I hope I can take my son if that’s okay,” you interject.

Ser Jorah nods right away. “Of course, Princess. We have been studying for quite some time, he deserves a short break.”

You hum and step aside to watch Rhaenar run out of the library with his dragon on his shoulder. You offer Ser Jorah a small smile before you follow your son out to the hall and begin to lead him towards the chambers where the dragon eggs are kept.

“Mother,” Rhaenar asks as you walk down the hall. “Why is it…” he pauses and lets out a deep sigh. “Why is it that the people here don’t like talking to me? I mean the Stark’s do, but the others, their people…they give me weird looks all the time, and all the other kids avoid me, even when Helios isn’t with me.”

You blink rapidly in disbelief and swallow thickly.

All the dirty looks, the looks full of judgment and hate is something you noticed, but after riding here you just ignored them, there was no point. And it’s like Jon says, they’ll warm up with time.

Yet hearing that Rhaenar gets those same looks, hearing that he’s been avoided because of who he is, what he looks like lights an anger within you that is unlike any other.

However, you can’t let that grow bigger. No matter how much it tempted you.

“Well,” you mutter as you come up with a good answer. “People here don’t normally see people like us. That’s all.” You glance at him and see him stare down as he listens to your every word. “You just need to give them time, okay? Continue to be kind like you are already, and if anyone dares to say anything tell me right away.”

Rhaenar looks up at you and gives you a partial smile as he nods in agreement. “All right,” he whispers. He then blinks and begins to smile. “When are Sarella and Elia coming? I want to see them. I want them to see Helios.”

You scoff softly, “soon.”

The chamber now stands dead ahead, and two Unsullied stand guard out the door. It’s a miracle Daenerys didn’t keep them in her quarters, she took them as if they were actually hers, when it wasn’t even her dragon who birthed them.

“Why are we here?” Rhaenar asks as the guards grant you access. “Did one of them hatch?!” He exclaims and runs to the heating pots. Yet when he opens them he finds both of them still over the kindling. “Oh.”

You clasps your hands in front of you and make sure that you don’t hear anyone approaching before you interject, “if you could pick between the blue or the silver one, which one would you pick? Hm?” You ask and slowly walk to the end of the table.

Rhaenar lifts his head and furrows his eyebrows in confusion. “Mother,” he mutters, whilst his dragons hops on the table to approach the pots. “I already have a dragon.”

You scoff softly and nod. “I know that,” you tell him. “But if you could pick one for someone else, which one would you pick, hm?” You begin to smile wider and slowly put your hands over your belly.

Rhaenar blinks and keeps still for a second before he turns on his heels to examine both dragon eggs.

He looks at the one that gleams silver, and then looks at the blue one that gleams like a beautiful sapphires. His dragon leans his head in the pot of the blue one, and doesn’t even react to the steam that blows out.

“I suppose,” Rhaenar says slowly and walks towards the blue dragon egg. “This one. The blue one.”

You grin and hum. “That’s a good one. I know it will be a beautiful dragon.”

Rhaenar blinks and looks up at you to meet your gaze. “Why do you ask?” He probes.

You peer back at the closed door and hear if anyone is approaching. When you hear no approaching footsteps you walk to him and begin to whisper so the guards won’t hear.

Alas, maybe you should have checked, because sometimes there are steps that aren’t heard echoing on the ground when someone wants to be discreet.

“Well…I recently discovered something…soon enough, in nine months or so, you will be a big brother.” You begin to fiddle with your rings and watch him lower his gaze as he thinks of what you said.

“A brother,” he whispers and hums before he lifts his gaze and slowly begins to smile before he wraps his arms around you.

You sigh in relief before you giggle and immediately return his embrace. “Does that make you happy?” You ask.

Rhaenar nods and pulls his head back to meets your gaze. “Yes! Yes! It means I finally won't have to be alone. And I can ride my dragon alongside my brother.”

You scoff. “My Sunspot, we don’t know if it’s a boy or girl yet. Not until it’s born.”

Rhaenar shrugs. “It doesn’t matter! It means I will have someone to talk to.”

Hearing him not be disappointed over the news makes you happy. For so long he’s been the only child that you worried he’d take the news badly. Then he still doesn’t know who you’re with.

That’s what he realizes now too.

“And…” he lowers his voice as his smile begins to fade. “Who is the baby’s father? Is it Jon? Is that why you’re getting married?”

You smile softly and nod. “Yes. That’s one of the reasons.”

Rhaenar grins again and jumps back to look at the blue egg. “That’s good. I like Jon. He’s very nice.”

“Yes,” you agree, “he is, isn't he?”

“Can I show him the egg I chose for my brother?”

You roll your eyes and scoff at his insistence, but don’t correct him anymore. “Yes, you can.”

“And aunt Dany! I’m sure she’ll love to know—”

“No,” you snap and crouch down to grab his shoulder and turn him not face you. “You may not tell her or anyone else, not even any of the Stark’s. Jon will tell his family, I will tell ours when the time is right.”

Rhaenar goes serious and quickly nods in agreement. “Yes, mother.”

“Swear to me,” you insist. “Swear you won’t say a word. I’ll tell you when you can speak of it. Okay?”

The boy sighs and nods in comprehension.

“Good,” you sigh. “Now let’s go. There’s plenty to do, and people will come look for us.”

Alas, just as you walk out of the room you catch Jon approaching the room. When he spots the both of you he stops and faces you with a sad look on his face, as if he just received the most terrible news.

“What is it?” You ask right away as you approach him.

Jon lets out a sigh and mutters, “the dead are coming.”

——

“They’re coming. We have dragon glass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many. Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel….”

Perhaps illusion is what kept you thinking they’d somehow take months to get here, blinding illusion. But they’re here now. Only hours away. And with their arrival the plans to marry are foiled.

Which is probably something stupid to be angry over, but it was a beautiful desire.

“We can’t beat them in a straight fight,” Jon continues to say to those gathered around the table.

“So what can we do?” Jaime asks.

“The Night King made them all. They follow his command. If he falls…getting to him may be our best chance.”

You sigh and clasps your hands together to begin fiddling with your rings as you interject, “if that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.”

“Yes, he will,” Bran cuts in, making everyone look over at him by the fireplace. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three-Eyed Ravens.”

Whatever that’s supposed to really mean.

“Why?” Sam asks what everyone is thinking. “What does he want?”

“An endless night,” Bran answers, creating chills down your spines. “He wants to erase this world, and I am it’s memory.”

You swallow thickly and begin to clench your hands to fists.

“That’s what death is, isn’t it?” Sam continues to say. “Forgetting.” He looks around the table, and you all slowly look at him. “Being forgotten. If we forget where we’ve been and what we’ve done, we’re not men anymore. Just animals. Your memories don’t come from books. Your stories aren’t just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

He’s got a nice way with words you have to give him that.

Maybe that’s why he wants to be a maester.

“How will he find you?” Tyrion cuts in to ask Bran.

“His mark is on me,” Bran answers and lifts his sleeve to show off a red bruise formed as a handprint. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest,” Jon assures his brother.

Yet his brother rebuttals.

“No. We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys all…..”

You stop fidgeting and slowly look up at him….

There’s heavy sheets of snow on the ground, the sky is dark; in the middle stands a large weirwood tree, around it are skulls. Dead.

“In the Godswood,” you interject.

Bran might’ve not been in your dream, but this…this is what the dream means.

Bran and everyone looks over at you, and the boy nods.

“Yes,” he says, “exactly.”

“You want us to use him as bait?” Sansa snaps, grabbing your attention.

“We’re not leaving you out there,” Arya also chimes in.

“He won’t be,” Theon suddenly cuts in. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn. I took this castle,” he says and looks at the boy. “Let me defend you now.”

Without a word Bran nods in agreement, and Theon does as well, bringing a silence that lets you continue to focus on the next plan.

“We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can,” Ser Davos inputs.

“When the time comes,” Tyrion adds. “Ser Davos and I will be on the walls to give you the signal to light the trench.”

“Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own,” Daenerys counters him. “You’ll be in the crypt.”

If it were up to you he could stay up and fight, he may be smart, but he hasn’t been so lately.

Regardless, Tyrion seems to find offense to Daenerys' command and awkwardly turns to face her to try and persuade her otherwise. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.”

“There are thousands of them and only one of you,” Daenerys cuts him off. “You can’t fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You’re here because of your mind. If we survive, I’ll need it.”

“May I be with Ser Davos?” The young voice beside you interjects.

You scoff and look down at your son as he keeps his gaze fixed on the map. “No,” you quickly answer him. “No. You are the heir to Daenerys, and far too young, you’ll be in the crypts.”

The boy shoots you a narrowed look. “But mother, I am not a boy any more. I can help as well.”

You keep your mouth shut and just raise your eyebrows as you shoot him a pointed glare.

He parts his lips to argue, but as he watches your look he shuts his mouth and just huffs.

“I’m sure they will need you down at the crypts,” Jon tries to assure him, pulling your gaze to him. “Whatever happens, you can keep them safe. You and your dragon.”

Rhaenar keeps his eyes down and just sighs, “I suppose.”

You share a soft thankful look with Jon and lets gaze linger before he looks away.

“The dragons should give us an edge in the field,” Ser Davos breaks the tension between Jon and you.

Jon looks back at the table and interjects. “If they’re in the field, they’re not protecting Bran. We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won’t come.” He exhales deeply. “But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

You hum in agreement, and Jon passes you a displeased look when you do.

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya asks and looks to Bran.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “No one’s ever tried.”

Well that’s assuring.

“We’re all going to die,” the big ginger man, Tormund interjects bluntly, pulling your immediate attention. “But at least we’ll die together.”

You scoff in amusement, and muster a partial smile.

Yet as you do smile Daenerys passes you a judgemental look that makes you go serious.

“Let’s get some rest,” Jon says and ends the meeting, letting you grab Rhaenar’s shoulder to walk out with him, catching from the corner of your eye Jon following close behind.

Since the people are all walking out and following you both, you make sure to walk somewhere discreet, somewhere far from curious eyes and passersby to meet up.

Once you’re isolated Rhaenar breaks away from you and turns to face Jon with a grin.

“Jon!” He exclaims. “Guess what?!” He says with his eyes wide with excitement. “I picked a dragon egg for my brother.”

Jon eyebrows furrow as he retorts, “brother?” He scoffs. “What if it’s a girl?”

Rhaenar scoffs and brushes him off. “It will be a boy, I’m sure.”

You roll your eyes, but can’t help but smile.

“Well, we’ll see when the baby is born,” Jon counters him. “Won’t we?”

“Sure,” the boy shrugs him off again. “But will you want to see the egg I chose? Maybe after the battle is over?”

Jon smiles softly and nods. “Of course I would love to see it.”

Rhaenar smirks and steps away from Jon and you. “Now may I prepare for this battle? I have new armor I want to wear.”

You nod, and the boy runs off, leaving Jon and you alone. And right away he expresses that displeasure he felt before.

“Mayhaps you should go to the crypts too,” he suggests—no actually not, he's giving a discreet order.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you and the baby.”

You check if anyone is nearby, and when no one is you step towards him and fix the collar of his shirt as you meet his gaze. “Eraxis won’t fight unless I’m with her, and we need her out there. You need me out there. I can’t just sit back and listen to everyone risk their lives, I can’t sit and just let you risk your life. What if I lose you because I’m down there? What then?” You argue. “You’ll have me raise this child alone?”

“You’ll have Sansa, Arya,” Jon interjects with his gaze on yours as if that is meant to assure you. “The entire North. And you’ve done it before and you’ve done a great job.”

You shake your head and grab onto his jaw now. “The baby will need their father. I need you,” you snap softly.

Jon caresses your face and leans in to rest his forehead against yours. “Swear to me you’ll be careful,” he says.” The moment you see things go to shit you run the other way.”

You let out a deep sigh and nod, even if you really don’t intend to run. You just can’t argue all night.

“So…” you change the subject. “I suppose the wedding is off then?”

Jon scoffs and smirks softly. “It doesn’t have to be. I mean we probably won’t have a wedding night or a feast.”

You giggle. “No wedding night? Well then it’s a damn good thing we’ve had that already.” You grin and press a kiss on his lips, feeling him grab onto you tighter before he pulls back and faces you.

“If you want we can marry right now, I’ll gather my siblings. You can gather Rhaenar, and we can marry, if it’s what you want.” Jon suggests.

Marry amongst the chaos, moments before battle?

You may never have dreamt of a perfect wedding because the truth is you never expected to choose your suitor. When you met Jon, when you accepted his love and let yourself love, there was a picture in your mind, but now….

Now in the middle of this chaos, not knowing whether either of you will survive the night, the promise of forever under the eyes of the gods sounds like the sweetest bliss. Perhaps the only one you’ll ever feel.

“Okay,” you whisper with excitement. “I want to do it. Let’s do it.”

——

*LATER*

“Beautiful,” Sansa whispers and smooths out one more invisible wrinkle on your cream colored skirt. “Truly.”

You look away from your rings and meet her glimmering gaze. “Thank you,” you whisper.

Sansa studies you one more time, she takes her time to study the beautiful work of the skirt, the soft red flames designed to the bottom of the skirt, the long train that spread out over the floor, the small embroidered dragon on the bosom of the dress and the sun that it wraps around demonstrating two of the houses you’re a part of. She looks at your reflection, at the dragon wings embroidered on your back, and then looks back at your face.

“I’m sure you’ll give Jon a heart attack,” Sansa teases.

You smile softly. “If he doesn’t have one what’s the point?”

Sansa laughs softly and takes one step towards you and unhooks a wolf pin from her dress to pin it on a sleeve of your dress.

“There,” she says and presses it as she meets your gaze. “Now you’re ready.”

You look down at the silver wolf and feel your eyes sting.

“Why?” You whisper in disbelief. She’s shown not to like Daenerys for what she demands from Sansa, you are on Daenerys side, why is she so nice to you?

“Why what?” She queries.

You lift your gaze to meet hers. “Why be kind to me? I mean it seems that you don’t really like Daenerys, so why be nice to me.”

Sansa scoffs, “you were the first one to truly tell me you felt sorry,” she shares softly and holds your gaze. “Back in King’s Landing. Everyone else didn’t say a word, they hated my family, so they treated it as a victory. There were even some who said they were sorry but never meant it. Not you though, you were really sorry, perhaps the first one to be sorry for me. You were kind when I needed it the most. That’s why, because you are a good person.”

Your breath gets trapped in your throat at the sound of her sincerity, and more tears gloss over your eyes, real tears that really hurt your eyes not to let fall. She didn’t answer your question regarding Daenerys, and it seems she won’t so you leave it be and offer her a soft smile before you can’t help but wrap her in an embrace.

Sansa gets surprised, but after a small exhale she returns your hug and squeezes tight.

“Be good to my brother,” she whispers as she keeps you in her arms.

You scoff softly and nod. “I will, I swear. He’s…very special to me.”

Sansa pulls back and offers you one last smile. A knock then raps on the door, and you slightly stiffen hoping it won’t be anyone unwanted, but muster the courage to get the door; Seeing that it’s only Rhaenar.

“Come in,” you say and step back to not been seen in case anyone passes by.

“I’m ready,” he says and closes the door for you. “Are you…” he trails off as he lays his eyes on you and smiles a very sweet smile. “You look very beautiful mother.”

You grin brightly and feel your heart skip at his sweet comment. “Oh, why thank you, sweetling. And you look very dapper yourself in your armor.”

Rhaenar scoffs but can’t help his little smirk.

“Are you ready?” He then asks.

You let out a soft nervous sigh and nod. “I’m ready.” You look at Sansa over your shoulder and probe. “Are you sure they won’t see us?”

Sansa nods right away. “I’m sure,” she assures you. “But if anything, here,” she trails off and walks to a rack to grab a long cloak. “Just so you can feel assured.”

You take it from her and throw it on, making sure that every inch of the dress was covered in case you do run into someone that can’t know quite yet.

“Okay.” You say again, but for the final time. “I’m ready. Let’s not keep him waiting anymore.”

Rhaenar shoots you an excited smile, and Sansa is the first one to walk out, letting you and Rhaenar follow after her through more discreet halls that lead outside to the Godswood where Jon is waiting.

And luckily her path is short, you don’t run into anyone, but…now all you feel is your pounding heart, your spinning mind, and your nervous and shallow breaths when you step outside to the evening that slowly brought the night.

It seems that Eraxis can sense your high stressed, and excited emotions because she flies overhead and begins to circle the Godswood. If she could she’d probably land within the grounds, but she’s far too big to do so, so all she can do is circle from above and keep a watchful eye.

“Here,” Sansa sort of startles you as she comes to a stop just outside the entrance into the Godswood. “I can take the cloak now.”

You scoff softly, “right,” you whisper and slide it off your shoulders, filling the coldness nipping at your sleeveless arms.

“It’s okay, it will be okay,” Sansa assures you as she notices your emotions.

You meet her gaze and hum.

She smirks and steps back. “I’ll see you in there.”

You hum again and watch her disappear within the grounds of the woods. And once she is gone, once you make sure you won’t run into her you let out one last deep breath and expel all your nerves, after all Jon isn’t a stranger you’re suddenly matched with, you know him, you love him already, he’s the love your life…a comfort in the chaos…

You smile softly and glance up at Eraxis one last time before you meet Rhaenar’s gaze. “Ready?” You probe.

Your son offers you a sweeter smile and nods eagerly before he turns to face the Godswood, and then walks you inside.

The walk is not long or rushed, it’s calm. For what awaits everyone tonight, it’s all forgotten right now at this moment as you walk down the snowy path to the Heart Tree, as you see Jon there waiting in front of that red leaved Weirwood tree with his eyes soft and full of love the moment he sees you. There’s only peace, solace. No war, no Night King, no one else but you and him as you walk to him.

Once you do reach him, once you stand close you don’t feel nervous anymore, not even if you see his family, Theon, his friend Sam watching and his very pregnant…wife? Paramour? By his side. You feel at peace and excited, smug even when you see Jon catch his breath.

“Who comes before the Old Gods this evening?” You hear Arya ask, and finally notice that she had stepped forward.

“Y/N,” Rhaenar announces like he was told to say, “of the House Targaryen and House Martell. Whoms here to be wed. A woman grown, generous, true born, and noble. She comes to beg the blessings of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?”

You smile softly and watch Jon take a step forward, leaving his white wolfs side. “Jon, of House Stark,” he says, “Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. Who gives her?” He asks as he keeps holding your gaze.

“Rhaenar,” your son shares happily. “Of House Targaryen. Heir to the Queen.”

“Princess Y/N,” Arya interjects. “Will you take this man?”

You take a step forward and grin brighter. “I take this man,” you agree without hesitation.

Jon lips tug wider as he gaze lingers for a moment longer as he takes your hand. You gently secure yours around his to walk closer to the Heart Tree and kneel before it.

You both then bow your heads as a token of submission, and join in prayer.

It’s not something you’re accustomed to but you only think of a simple prayer in hopes that his life nor the lives of the ones you care about get taken tonight, and that this baby within you is born healthy. That’s all.

After he’s done with his prayers he helps you to your feet and turns to face you with your hand secured in his. He caresses your face gently before he steps back to take off his fur cloak and walk behind you to carefully place it on your shoulders.

Supposedly what follows is him carrying you to the feast, but well that can’t happen tonight, so he stands before you and shares a lingering and enamored gaze before you close the gap to steal a sweet and deep kiss he quickly returns.

He cups your cheeks and deepens it more, making sure to savor what could be your last kiss ever. When he pulls back the few people that are gathered clap, and you remain in front of one another and press your foreheads against each other to cherish this moment. This blissful moment that is soon filled with the sound of Eraxis song, and Jon’s wolfs soft beautiful howl.

“I love you,” you murmur.

Jon smiles softly. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

You cup his jaw and caress his cheek one last time before you both pull away and face your families.

“Congratulations,” Sam is the first one to tell Jon as he walks to him and gives him a quick embrace.

Jon scoffs softly and pats his friends back. “Thank you, Sam.”

Sams paramour approaches you with a beaming grin and curtsy’s. “Congratulations, princess.”

You grin in amusement and offer her a thankful nod. “Thank you. You’re very sweet.”

The woman offers you one last smile before she steps away, letting Jon speak now.

“Thank you for attending, now I hope you all can keep your promise and keep the ceremony a secret until we can tell the Queen and everyone else.”

His family share a knowing look, and Arya is the one that speaks for her siblings. “Of course we will.”

Jon's eyes drift to Theon, and the man offers Jon a stiff but assuring nod. When he looks to Sam, he immediately nods and assures him too.

“I swear. We swear.”

Jon nods, and now the reality of what you’re going to face hits again. That beautiful short lived bliss wears off and doom and dread hits you harder than ever.

This might be the last time you ever see Rhaenar and Jon. This might be your last day.

“Jon,” you call out before you can leave the Godswood.

He looks over and stops in his tracks as you slow down to a stop.

Rhaenar catches you fall behind and looks back.

“It’s okay, go, get Helios and meet me in my chambers.”

The boy nods and begins to walk off, but Jon then stops him. “Wait.”

Rhaenar is caught off guard, but waits where he is and watches Jon approach him.

“I just want to wish you good fortune,” Jon says as he stops before the boy. “You’ll be down protecting people at the crypts so it’s my last time seeing you until the battle is over.” He hesitates but after a small breath he cups the back of the boy's head and offers him a gentle smile. “It’s okay to be afraid, remember?”

Rhaenar sighs shakily and nods in comprehension.

“I hope you make it,” Rhaenar tells Jon. “And kill that ice bastard.”

You and Jon chuckle as Rhaenar smiles.

“I will,” Jon assures the boy and pulls his hand back to step away. “Now go on, listen to your mother.”

Rhaenar steals a glance at you one more time before he walks off, letting Jon face you again.

“Will you tell me that it’s okay to be scared,” you whisper as he gets close to you. “I’m meant to be the face of bravery, I’m a princess, a dragon rider, I am meant to inspire people, but…I’m scared.

Jon offers you a sweet smile and grabs your fidgeting hands. “That means you’re not stupid,” he says and lifts your hands to press a kiss on your knuckles. “And people will understand your fear, we’re fighting the dead. As long as you fight, the people will follow.”

You lower your gaze and let out a soft shaky sigh. “Will you promise me that you’ll stay alive?” You ask for comfort.

Jon cups your cheeks and whispers, “I will try.” He then lowers his hand and rubs your belly. “By the way, you are breathtakingly beautiful.”

You grin shyly and meet his gaze. “Thank you,” you retort and lift your hand to cradle his cheek. “I’m glad that the truth didn’t change us.”

“I told you,” he sighs. “I won’t consider myself a Targaryen. Never.”

You begin to smirk. “Not even now that we’re married? You can be Jon Targaryen, husband to Y/N Targaryen.”

“You would like that wouldn’t you?” He quips with a partial grin.

You nod. “Very much.”

Jon grins and then steals one last lingering kiss from you, making your eyes instantly fill with tears.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your lips. “So much.”

You swallow thickly as you hold back your tears and reply, “I love you too.”

Jon pulls you in for one last lasting embrace before you break away and go your separate ways before the battle begins.

Now rather than wearing a wedding dress you have armor protecting your body. How sad is that?

Instead of a feast you’re holding your son tightly in your arms with tears welled in your eyes for what could be the last time. He usually complains that he’s getting too old to be treated like a child, but today as you wait for those horns to blow to announce the beginning of an end, he lets you cuddle with him. And his little orange hatchling nuzzles himself in between the both of you too

“Will you sing to me?” You ask Rhaenar quietly as you stroke his curly hair. “One more time.”

Rhaenar lets out a small breath before he begins to sing the song he loves in High Valyrian.

His voice quietly carries throughout the room, lolling his hatchling to sleep, blocking out the shouts from outside as people still worked, as they gathered. He had a way to make you forget for a moment the dread, and the violence that ensues.

For a moment there was peace as he sang the song. For a moment.

And then reality broke the short peace as horns were blown.

“You have your weapons right?” You ask as you both stand to your feet.

Rhaenar points to his dragon glass sword and pats his dragon glass daggers, and nods in confirmation. And you study his new shiny silver armor to check that everything was strapped and tight.

“Good,” you whisper and brush his bangs back.

“You?” He probes. “Do you have your weapons?”

You smirk and point to your double bladed dragon-glass spear by the door and pat your daggers, and nod in confirmation. “Yes I do.”

“Okay,” he sighs and walks out first, making sure to take Helios and grab his spear on the way out. You take yours too and walk him all the way to the crypts first, even if his guards were going to escort him and be with him until the battle was over.

Once again, he would’ve minded any other time, but not tonight. Tonight he hesitates to leave your side when you do reach the crypts. He looks down at the torch lit pathway and lets out a deep sigh before he turns to throw his arms around you.

“I love you, mama,” he mutters.

You laugh softly and hug him back tighter. “I love you too, my sweet boy.” You put on a brave face so he won’t feel as afraid and pull back to take in his beautiful tan face, his sweet brown eyes, his dark curly black hair, and his sweet brave smile before you press a kiss on his forehead and linger there for a moment longer. “Take care, swear to me.”

Rhaenar pulls back and offers you an assuring nod as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I swear,” he murmurs. “And you take care too. And keep my little brother safe.”

You chuckle breathlessly and nod as you step back before you stay down there with him to make sure he makes it throughout the night. “I love you my sweet boy.” You tell him one last time and wave before you turn around and head for Eraxis.

And luckily on your way out you run into Daenerys and Jon going to the same place. However, the moment Daenerys sees you she looks at you up and down before striding away faster.

You quickly look to Jon to ask what happened in a speechless manner, and all he does is sigh deeply and frown, letting you know that her reaction wasn’t due to anything good.

He probably told her about his parents, who he is.

Why couldn’t he wait if there is a tomorrow? At least then things wouldn’t be so tension filled at the moment of battle.

However, once you’re on Eraxis’s back flying over the armies formed in front of the castle, that anger you knew she held, that tension, none of it mattered. It all ceases to matter. Especially when you land on the snowy hill that overlooks it all; the castle, the armies that await for the dead, especially when all you hear is nothing but a dreadful silence.

All that matters is the dead, and you.

Even if you can’t see them below due to the darkness that envelopes the land, you know that now nothing stands between you and them. It was now or never, this fight.

You try to pump yourself with hope and desperation to win this fight. As flames light the Dothraki’s weapons below, that hope only grows.

Alas, when the Dothraki ride forward and every single flame gets snuffed out that burning hope falters. Once there’s darkness again, you’re rattled, more afraid. Yet anger also begins to take root.

That same anger is something Daenerys displays right away without a fault when she sees her people dying. And when she tries to act on it and get on her dragon to join the battle Jon stops her.

“The Night King is coming,” he tells her as he grabs her arm, making you narrow your gaze as you can’t help your jealousy from sprouting.

“The dead are already here,” Daenerys snaps back and yanks her arm away to turn away. She meets your gaze briefly but doesn’t add anything and continues towards Drogon.

Once her back is turned Jon and you meet each others gazes and share one last lingering and longing look before you climb on Eraxis.

You proceed to strap yourself on to secure yourself on your saddle, and then pat your dragon's neck for comfort as the wind brings the sound of the dead’s growl and groans the closer they get to the castle.

Now there’s no escaping them. They’re here, and you’re ready.

“<Fly,>” you order Eraxis.

.

.

.

.

A/N- Daenerys knows who Jon is, imagine when she finds out her niece is pregnant with his baby, and that they got married in secret 😗🫣 dance of dragons 2? 😗

Tagged: @watercolorskyy @jessimay89 @cecespizza01 @theroyalbrownbarbie @crybabyatthediscooffandoms @neenieweenie @midnightpantherxo

[agentrouka-blog]

It actually gives me such satisfaction that Olenna was likely PISSED when Sansa (and later Tyrion) fled KL,  because it interfered with her plans.

Think about it. Their escaping means the murder of Joffrey remains open.  With nobody to execute for the assassination of her “sweet son”,  Cersei is going to remain obsessed with getting justice and in turn that obsession could easily turn to other people who might have had a reason to wish Joffrey ill.

Given the fact that at one point Cersei entertained the thought that the Tyrells were involved in Tywin’s death and that they secreted Tyrion and Sansa to safety, it’s not exactly a leap for her to eventually suspect them of being involved within Joffrey's death.   Cersei being resentful over seeing Margaery’s influence over Tommen means it won’t be hard for her to believe that the Tyrells killed Joffrey because Tommen was the more attractive alternative to them as you said.  Cersei also believes that Margaery never loved Joffrey and only his crown. Of course, it is likely that she would still believe Sansa and Tyrion guilty in some way.   She will likely go to her grave believing Sansa killed Joffrey and hating her for it.

But anyway, the Tyrells killing Joffrey makes Cersei’s animosity towards Margaery all the more dangerous because it would not be that hard for said animosity to turn into suspicion, especially with Sansa and Tyrion escaping the capital.   This easily could have been what Olenna was fearing, and this was why she didn’t want to leave the capitol after Margaery was wed to Joffrey/Tommen.  She uses her dislike of KL as a front, but the reality is I don’t think she was ignorant of the fact that Cersei disliked Margaery and therefore leaving her in KL was not something she wanted.   

And Olenna’s fears end up being realized but in a different way.  Cersei doesn’t try to punish her granddaughter after discovering the truth, but she tries to punish her by doing the same thing Olenna tried to do to Sansa. 

What happens to Margaery is absolutely poetic justice aimed at Olenna primarily.

But also, yes, Olenna tried to make Very Sure that Tyrion (and by extension Sansa) would get convicted of the murder and be out of the picture ASAP.

After Pycelle came the procession, endless and wearisome. Lords and ladies and noble knights, highborn and humble alike, they had all been present at the wedding feast, had all seen Joffrey choke, his face turning as black as a Dornish plum. Lord Redwyne, Lord Celtigar, and Ser Flement Brax had heard Tyrion threaten the king; two serving men, a juggler, Lord Gyles, Ser Hobber Redwyne, and Ser Philip Foote had observed him fill the wedding chalice; Lady Merryweather swore that she had seen the dwarf drop something into the king's wine while Joff and Margaery were cutting the pie; old Estermont, young Peckledon, the singer Galyeon of Cuy, and the squires Morros and Jothos Slynt told how Tyrion had picked up the chalice as Joff was dying and poured out the last of the poisoned wine onto the floor. When did I make so many enemies? Lady Merryweather was all but a stranger. Tyrion wondered if she was blind or bought. At least Galyeon of Cuy had not set his account to music, or else there might have been seventy-seven bloody verses to it. (ASOS, Tyrion IX)

Taena Merryweather, who works so very dilligently at becoming Cersei's friend in AFFC, is the sole reason mere circumstantial evidence becomes 100 % damning.

And she just so happens to be the wife of a Lord who may be in need of having his lands restored by the crown to what they were before the Rebellion. Goodness. What could have motivated her to lie. And become an undercover agent in Cersei's camp. Hmm.

Tyrion escaping probably annoyed Olenna quite a bit, and she refuses to leave until Margaery is properly married to Tommen and officially a queen.

[finitefall]

@stargareed​, we’re spamming the comments on @lives4lovesworld​ post, so I’m making a post.

You obviously missed the part where Drogo only chose to listen to Dany when he wanted to. Dany’s marriage to Drogo isn’t the same as any arranged marriage in Westeros, we’ve been explaining this I don’t know how many times. Are you sure you understand what you’ve been reading? Illyrio made profit when he arranged this marriage. In other words, he sold her. A person sold to another is their slave. You see Dany having power as khaleesi and it’s an illusion. She did what she could, but she didn’t have power: Drogo did. As for Viserys, he was her brother and her king, so she worried for him and wanted to protect him even though he abused her for years until he threatened her unborn child:

“They can’t kill us. They can’t shed blood here in the sacred city… but I can.” He laid the point of his sword between Daenerys’ breasts and slid it downward, over the curve of her belly. “I want what I came for,” he told her. “I want the crown he promised me. He bought you, but he never paid for you. Tell him I want what I bargained for, or I’m taking you back. You and the eggs both. He can keep his bloody foal. I’ll cut the bastard out and leave it for him.” The sword point pushed through her silks and pricked at her navel.

And you’re seriously wondering why she didn’t scream at Drogo to not kill him? Why she didn’t tell Jorah “kill everyone who tries to hurt him”? Good luck finding a pregnant woman who will agree with you. The only people who would “naturally conclude” what you’re saying are misogynists, and they exist in Westeros, but it doesn’t matter what they think because she’s the rightful heir. She’s next in line after Viserys, no matter what they think. It seems awfully obvious that you just don’t want her to be and can’t stand that Jon wouldn’t have a better claim than Daenerys. Why? Jon is my third favorite character in the novels after Dany and Arya, you don’t need to give him things from a female character for him to be an interesting and compelling character.

You say on your blog that you don’t hate Daenerys. But apparently, you only like her as long as you’re sure she’s not more important than Jon. Flashnews: all the key five characters (Tyrion, Daenerys, Jon, Arya, Bran) will play an important role. That’s kinda why they’re called the key five. So you can stop trying to prove that Jon is important.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion X (Chapter 47)

"Lot ninety-seven." The auctioneer snapped his whip. "A pair of dwarfs, well trained for your amusement."

The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown Skahazadhan flowed into Slaver's Bay.

There's some unfortunate context.

Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams. Melony, she thought. Lot Seven. - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

The bidders sat on wooden benches sipping fruit drinks. A few were being fanned by slaves. Many wore tokars, that peculiar garment beloved by the old blood of Slaver's Bay, as elegant as it was impractical. Others dressed more plainly—men in tunics and hooded cloaks, women in colored silks. Whores or priestesses, most like; this far east it was hard to tell the two apart.

I hope that's not also telling us something about Melisandre's past.

+.+.+

The slave sailors off the Selaesori Qhoran, sold singly, had gone for prices ranging from five hundred to nine hundred pieces of silver. Seasoned seamen were a valuable commodity. None had put up any sort of fight when the slavers boarded their crippled cog. For them this was just a change of owner. The ship's mates had been free men, but the widow of the waterfront had written them a binder, promising to stand their ransom in such a case as this. The three surviving fiery fingers had not been sold yet, but they were chattels of the Lord of Light and could count on being bought back by some red temple. The flames tattooed upon their faces were their binders.

Something tells me this is not the last time we'll see the Lord of Light in a Tyrion chapter.

+.+.+

Tyrion gave Penny's shoulder a squeeze. Strands of hair, pale blond and black, clung to his brow, the rags of his tunic to his back. 

Since when does Tyrion have blond and black hair? Where the hell have I been? Is that new?

(I know about the eyes.)

+.+.+

He had not been so foolish as to fight the slavers, as Jorah Mormont had, but that did not mean he had escaped punishment. In his case it was his mouth that earned him lashes.

+.+.+

Penny's mouth was frozen in a rictus of a smile. Well trained for your amusement. Her father had a deal to answer for, in whatever small hell was reserved for dwarfs.

Tyrion's still annoyed Penny was never taught to hate herself.

He hated her name. Her brother had gone by the name of Groat, though his true name had been Oppo. Groat and Penny. The smallest coins, worth the least, and what's worse, they chose the names themselves. It left a bad taste in Tyrion's mouth. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

x

"[...] We make the most coin in the big cities, but I always liked the little towns the best. Places like that, the people have no silver, but they feed us at their own tables, and the children follow us everywhere."

That's because they have never seen a dwarf before, in their wretched pisspot towns, Tyrion thought. The bloody brats would follow around a two-headed goat if one turned up. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

At sixteen hundred the pace began to flag again, so the slave trader invited some of the buyers to come up for a closer look at the dwarfs. "The female's young," he promised. "You could breed the two of them, get good coin for the whelps."

We're about to experience a whole chapter of slavers being depicted as subhuman trash, which means Daenerys is going to unleash unspeakable brutality on them.

+.+.+

"His eyes don't match neither. An ill-favored thing."

"My lady hasn't seen my best part yet." Tyrion grabbed his crotch, in case she missed his meaning.

The hag hissed in outrage, and Tyrion got a lick of the whip across his back, a stinging cut that drove him to his knees. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He grinned and spat.

+.+.+

"Two thousand," called a new voice, back of the benches.

And what would a sellsword want with a dwarf? Tyrion pushed himself back to his feet to get a better look. The new bidder was an older man, white-haired yet tall and fit, with leathery brown skin and a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. Half-hidden under a faded purple cloak were a longsword and a brace of daggers.

[...]

"Three thousand." The brown-skinned man pushed through the crowd, his fellow sellswords shoving buyers aside to clear a path. Yes. Come closer. Tyrion knew how to deal with sellswords. He did not think for a moment that this man wanted him to frolic at feasts. He knows me. He means to take me back to Westeros and sell me to my sister. The dwarf rubbed his mouth to hide his smile. Cersei and the Seven Kingdoms were half a world away. Much and more could happen before he got there. I turned Bronn. Give me half a chance, might be I could turn this one too.

Brown Ben Plumm smells a golden Lannister.

+.+.+

The crone and the girl on the shield gave up the chase at three thousand, but not the fat man in yellow. He weighed the sellswords with his yellow eyes, flicked his tongue across his yellow teeth, and said, "Five thousand silvers for the lot."

The sellsword frowned, shrugged, turned away.

Seven hells. Tyrion was quite certain that he did not want to become the property of the immense Lord Yellowbelly. Just the sight of him sagging across his litter, a mountain of sallow flesh with piggy yellow eyes and breasts big as Pretty Pig pushing at the silk of his tokar was enough to make the dwarf's skin crawl. And the smell wafting off him was palpable even on the block.

Sometimes it feels like George has a lot of contempt for characters who are obese.

There's a lot to unpack there.

+.+.+

"Five thousand is an insult!" Tyrion called out. "I joust, I sing, I say amusing things. I'll fuck your wife and make her scream. Or your enemy's wife if you prefer, what better way to shame him? I'm murder with a crossbow, and men three times my size quail and tremble when we meet across a cyvasse table. I have even been known to cook from time to time. I bid ten thousand silvers for myself! I'm good for it, I am, I am. My father told me I must always pay my debts."

The sellsword in the purple cloak turned back. His eyes met Tyrion's across the rows of other bidders, and he smiled. A warm smile, that, the dwarf reflected. Friendly. But my, those eyes are cold. Might be I don't want him to buy us after all.

The yellow enormity was squirming in his litter, a look of annoyance on his huge pie face. He muttered something sour in Ghiscari that Tyrion did not understand, but the tone of it was plain enough. "Was that another bid?" The dwarf cocked his head. "I offer all the gold of Casterly Rock."

If announcing to the world he's Tyrion Lannister is meant to be clever, I fail to see why.

+.+.+

He heard the whip before he felt it, a whistle in the air, thin and sharp. Tyrion grunted under the blow, but this time he managed to stay on his feet. His thoughts flashed back to the beginnings of his journey, when his most pressing problem had been deciding which wine to drink with his midmorning snails. See what comes of chasing dragons. A laugh burst from his lips, spattering the first row of buyers with blood and spit.

Exactly.

+.+.+

The next piece of chattel was already being led up to take their place. A girl, fifteen or sixteen, not off the Selaesori Qhoran this time. Tyrion did not know her. The same age as Daenerys Targaryen, or near enough. The slaver soon had her naked. At least we were spared that humiliation.

See how depraved the slavers are?

+.+.+

Meereen remained a free city for the nonce. Within those crumbling walls, slavery and the slave trade were still forbidden. All he had to do was reach those gates and pass beyond, and he would be a free man again.

Unreliable narrator Tyrion Lannister.

+.+.+

Their master's overseer was waiting to take charge of them, with a mule cart and two soldiers. He had a long narrow face and a chin beard bound about with golden wire, and his stiff red-black hair swept out from his temples to form a pair of taloned hands. "What darling little creatures you are," he said. "You remind me of my own children … or would, if my little ones were not dead. I shall take good care of you. Tell me your names."

[...]

"Bold Yollo. Bright Penny. You are the property of the noble and valorous Yezzan zo Qaggaz, scholar and warrior, revered amongst the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Count yourselves fortunate, for Yezzan is a kindly and benevolent master. Think of him as you would your father."

[...]

"Your father loves his special treasures best of all, and he will cherish you," the overseer was saying. "And me, think of me as you would the nurse who cared for you when you were small. Nurse is what all my children call me."

lmfao.

Think of the master as the father, and the slaves as his children.

Oh my goodness.

+.+.+

"Lot ninety-nine," the auctioneer called. "A warrior."

The girl had sold quickly and was being bundled off to her new owner, clutching her clothing to small, pink-tipped breasts. Two slavers dragged Jorah Mormont onto the block to take her place.

We started with lot ninety-seven and end on Jorah Mormont, lot ninety-nine.

Is ninety-nine hinting at something?

They tell me that you are the nine-hundred-ninety-eighth man to command the Night's Watch, Lord Snow. - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

The knight was naked but for a breechclout, his back raw from the whip, his face so swollen as to be almost unrecognizable. Chains bound his wrists and ankles. A little taste of the meal he cooked for me, Tyrion thought, yet he found that he could take no pleasure from the big knight's miseries.

More for me!

+.+.+

Even in chains, Mormont looked dangerous, a hulking brute with big, thick arms and sloped shoulders. All that coarse dark hair on his chest made him look more beast than man. Both his eyes were blackened, two dark pits in that grotesquely swollen face. Upon one cheek he bore a brand: a demon's mask.

Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king's justice. - Eddard II, AGOT

+.+.+

When the slavers had swarmed aboard the Selaesori Qhoran, Ser Jorah had met them with longsword in hand, slaying three before they overwhelmed him. Their shipmates would gladly have killed him, but the captain forbade it; a fighter was always worth good silver. So Mormont had been chained to an oar, beaten within an inch of his life, starved, and branded.

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them." - Daenerys VII, AGOT

+.+.+

"Big and strong, this one," the auctioneer declared. "Plenty of piss in him. He'll give a good show in the fighting pits. Who will start me out at three hundred?"

No one would.

[...]

"Two hundred, then," the auctioneer said. "A big brute like this, he's worth three times as much. What a bodyguard he will make! No enemy will dare molest you!"

[...]

"Who will give me one hundred?" cried the auctioneer.

No one wants him.

+.+.+

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Tyrion could read that look as easy as a book: so near and yet so distant. The poor wretch had returned too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai'i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

And then she'll bake us all a lemon pie and kiss our widdle wounds and make them better, the dwarf thought. He had no faith in royal rescues. 

Some people believe Tyrion will be enamored with Daenerys Targaryen, but I don't buy that for a second.

I'll eat metal the day George R. R. Martin gives his golden boy the Jorah Mormont and Barristan Selmy treatment.

You really think he's going to be duped by a woman who's exactly like his sister? This isn't the show.

+.+.+

If need be, he would see to their deliverance himself. The mushrooms jammed into the toe of his boot should be sufficient for both him and Penny. Crunch and Pretty Pig would need to fend for themselves.

Oh, are you and Penny going to consume some poison to avoid a worse fate? Is that something all Lannisters do?

What will happen to these mushrooms, I wonder.

+.+.+

"Who will give me one hundred?" cried the auctioneer.

That drew a bid at last, though it was only fifty silvers. The bidder was a thin man in a leather apron.

"And one," said the crone in the violet tokar.

One of the soldiers lifted Penny onto the back of the mule cart. "Who is the old woman?" the dwarf asked him.

"Zahrina," the man said. "Cheap fighters, hers. Meat for heroes. Your friend dead soon."

He was no friend to me. Yet Tyrion Lannister found himself turning to Nurse and saying, "You cannot let her have him."

Nurse squinted at him. "What is this noise you make?"

Tyrion pointed. "That one is part of our show. The bear and the maiden fair. Jorah is the bear, Penny is the maiden, I am the brave knight who rescues her. I dance about and hit him in the balls. Very funny."

WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING.

+.+.+

"Why did you do that?" Penny asked, in the Common Tongue.

A fair question, thought Tyrion. Why did I? 

BECAUSE YOU'RE THE WORST.

+.+.+

Nurse returned with Jorah Mormont. Two of their master's slave soldiers flung him into the back of the mule cart between the dwarfs. The knight did not struggle. All the fight went out of him when he heard that his queen had wed, Tyrion realized. One whispered word had done what fists and whips and clubs could not; it had broken him. I should have let the crone have him. He's going to be as useful as nipples on a breastplate.

+.+.+

The dry, scorched plains around Meereen were flat and bare and treeless for long leagues, but the Yunkish ships had brought lumber and hides up from the south, enough to raise six huge trebuchets. They were arrayed on three sides of the city, all but the river side, surrounded by piles of broken stone and casks of pitch and resin just waiting for a torch. One of the soldiers walking along beside the cart saw where Tyrion was looking and proudly told him that each of the trebuchets had been given a name: Dragonbreaker, Harridan, Harpy's Daughter, Wicked Sister, Ghost of Astapor, Mazdhan's Fist. Towering above the tents to a height of forty feet, the trebuchets were the siege camp's chief landmarks. "Just the sight of them drove the dragon queen to her knees," he boasted. "And there she will stay, sucking Hizdahr's noble cock, else we smash her walls to rubble."

These trebuchets get a lot of attention in the upcoming chapters, but I don't think Daenerys comes to Westeros with any less than three dragons.

Maybe they'll serve as good foreshadowing.

+.+.+

Tyrion saw a slave being whipped, blow after blow, until his back was nothing but blood and raw meat. A file of men marched past in irons, clanking with every step; they carried spears and wore short swords, but chains linked them wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. The air smelled of roasting meat, and he saw one man skinning a dog for his stewpot.

See how repulsive the slavers are?

+.+.+

He saw the dead as well, and heard the dying. Under the drifting smoke, the smell of horses, and the sharp salt tang of the bay was a stink of blood and shit. Some flux, he realized, as he watched two sellswords carry the corpse of a third from one of the tents. That made his fingers twitch. Disease could wipe out an army quicker than any battle, he had heard his father say once.

It's impossible to not think of Jon Connington during moments like this.

+.+.+

A quarter mile on, he found good reason to reconsider. A crowd had formed around three slaves taken whilst trying to escape. "I know my little treasures will be sweet and obedient," Nurse said. "See what befalls ones who try to run."

The captives had been tied to a row of crossbeams, and a pair of slingers were using them to test their skills. "Tolosi," one of the guards told them. "The best slingers in the world. They throw soft lead balls in place of stones."

Tyrion had never seen the point of slings, when bows had so much better range … but he had never seen Tolosi at work before. Their lead balls did vastly more damage then the smooth stones other slingers used, and more than any bow as well. One struck the knee of one of the captives, and it burst apart in a gout of blood and bone that left the man's lower leg dangling by a rope of dark red tendon. Well, he won't run again, Tyrion allowed, as the man began to scream. His shrieks mingled in the morning air with the laughter of camp followers and the curses of those who'd wagered good coin that the slinger would miss. 

See how monstrous the slavers are?

+.+.+

 "Those are the dwellings of our noble master's cooks, concubines, and warriors, and a few less-favored kinsmen," Nurse told them, "but you little darlings shall have the rare privilege of sleeping within Yezzan's own pavilion. It pleases him to keep his treasures close." He frowned at Mormont. "Not you, bear. You are big and ugly, you will be chained outside." The knight did not respond. "First, all of you must be fitted for collars."

"An army," said Ser Jorah. "If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen . . . but it is Astapor I'd set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied." - Daenerys I, ASOS

x

"When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says."

"Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace," the old man reminded her. "There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you." - Daenerys II, ASOS

+.+.+

The collars were made of iron, lightly gilded to make them glitter in the light. Yezzan's name was incised into the metal in Valyrian glyphs, and a pair of tiny bells were affixed below the ears, so the wearer's every step produced a merry little tinkling sound.

What.

Are these slaves about to become dragonriding masters or something?

+.+.+

Tyrion squeezed her hand. "It's solid gold," he lied. "In Westeros, highborn ladies dream of such a necklace." Better a collar than a brand. A collar can be removed. He remembered Shae, and the way the golden chain had glimmered as he twisted it tighter and tighter about her throat.

A little taste of the meal he cooked for me, Tyrion thought

+.+.+

They would share this space with Yezzan's other treasures: a boy with twisted, hairy "goat legs," a two-headed girl out of Mantarys, a bearded woman, and a willowy creature called Sweets who dressed in moonstones and Myrish lace. "You are trying to decide if I'm a man or woman," Sweets said, when she was brought before the dwarfs. Then she lifted her skirts and showed them what was underneath. "I'm both, and master loves me best."

A grotesquerie, Tyrion realized. Somewhere some god is laughing.

...

Alrighty.

+.+.+

As they waited their own turn to perform, he watched Yezzan and his guests. The human prune in the place of honor was evidently the Yunkish supreme commander, who looked about as formidable as a loose stool. A dozen other Yunkish lords attended him. Two sellsword captains were on hand as well, each accompanied by a dozen men of his company. One was an elegant Pentoshi, grey-haired and clad in silk but for his cloak, a ragged thing sewn from dozens of strips of torn, bloodstained cloth. The other captain was the man who'd tried to buy them that morning, the brown-skinned bidder with the salt-and-pepper beard. "Brown Ben Plumm," Sweets named him. "Captain of the Second Sons."

A Westerosi, and a Plumm. Better and better.

The Yunkish supreme commander, the Tattered Prince, Brown Ben Plumm ... isn't it great how all the major players fall into Tyrion's lap the second he steps into Slaver's Bay?

+.+.+

Their master Yezzan laughed loudest and longest whenever one of his dwarfs suffered a fall or took a blow, his whole vast body shaking like suet in an earthquake; his guests waited to see how Yurkhaz no Yunzak responded before joining in. 

When you work hard to confuse the reader, often times you end up confusing yourself.

+.+.+

When Penny's helm was struck off and flew into the lap of a sour-faced Yunkishman in a striped green-and-gold tokar, Yurkhaz cackled like a chicken. When said lord reached inside the helm and drew out a large purple melon dribbling pulp, he wheezed until his face turned the same color as the fruit. He turned to his host and whispered something that made their master chortle and lick his lips … though there was a hint of anger in those slitted yellow eyes, it seemed to Tyrion.

I don't understand the point of this line.

Yezzan is one of the few Yunkai lords who wishes to honor the peace between Yunkai and Meereen. He quickly dies from the pale mare in Tyrion's next chapter.

+.+.+

Brown Ben Plumm lifted the fallen table, smiling. "Try me next, dwarf. When I was younger, the Second Sons took contract with Volantis. I learned the game there."

"I am only a slave. My noble master decides when and who I play." Tyrion turned to Yezzan. "Master?"

The yellow lord seemed amused by the notion. "What stakes do you propose, Captain?"

"If I win, give this slave to me," said Plumm.

"No," Yezzan zo Qaggaz said. "But if you can defeat my dwarf, you may have the price I paid for him, in gold."

The sellsword is not about to give up on this bag of gold.

+.+.+

As they set up for their third contest, the dwarf studied his opponent. Brown-skinned, his cheeks and jaw covered by a close-cropped bristly beard of grey and white, his face creased by a thousand wrinkles and a few old scars, Plumm had an amiable look to him, especially when he smiled. The faithful retainer, Tyrion decided. Every man's favorite nuncle, full of chuckles and old sayings and roughspun wisdom. It was all sham. Those smiles never touched Plumm's eyes, where greed hid behind a veil of caution. Hungry, but wary, this one.

And before:

The sellsword in the purple cloak turned back. His eyes met Tyrion's across the rows of other bidders, and he smiled. A warm smile, that, the dwarf reflected. Friendly. But my, those eyes are cold. Might be I don't want him to buy us after all.

I promise you Tyrion will never be made to look dumb around Daenerys.

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

The sellsword was nearly as bad a player as the Yunkish lord had been, but his play was stolid and tenacious rather than bold. His opening arrays were different every time, yet all the same—conservative, defensive, passive. He does not play to win, Tyrion realized. He plays so as not to lose. It worked in their second game, when the little man overreached himself with an unsound assault. It did not work in the third game, nor the fourth, nor the fifth, which proved to be their last.

Near the end of that final contest, with his fortress in ruins, his dragon dead, elephants before him and heavy horse circling round his rear, Plumm looked up smiling and said, "Yollo wins again. Death in four."

"Three." Tyrion tapped his dragon. 

"You would die," said Brown Ben. At Yunkai, when he took command of the Second Sons, he claimed to be the veteran of a hundred battles. "Though I will not say I fought bravely in all of them. There are old sellswords and bold sellswords, but no old bold sellswords." She saw that it was true. - Daenerys V, ASOS

I'm not sure what to make of those games (battles?).

+.+.+

"I was lucky. Perhaps you should give my head a good rub before our next game, Captain. Some of that luck might rub off on your fingers." 

How can there be a next game? Brown Ben Plumm will switch back to the queen's side in TWOW.

The only way there can be a next game is if Brown Ben Plumm switches sides in Westeros.

+.+.+

Tyrion was on his knees, his legs aching and his bloody back screaming with pain, trying to scrub out the stain that the noble Yezzan's spilled wine had left upon the noble Yezzan's carpet, when the overseer tapped his cheek gently with the end of his whip. "Yollo. You have done well. You and your wife."

"She is not my wife."

"Your whore, then. On your feet, both of you."

Somehow his brain didn't malfunction after this.

+.+.+

"Nurse said you would be rewarded if you pleased your father, did he not? Though the noble Yezzan is loath to lose his little treasures, as you have seen, Yurkhaz zo Yunzak persuaded him that it would be selfish to keep such droll antics to himself. Rejoice! To celebrate the signing of the peace, you shall have the honor of jousting in the Great Pit of Daznak. Thousands will come see you! Tens of thousands! And, oh, how we shall laugh!"

How convenient, the plot is taking Tyrion right through the walls of Meereen.

Tyrion's storyline is more contrived than every other character put together.

Final thoughts:

Go ahead and cheer when their faces start melting off. I'm sure the author would like that.

45 down, 4 to go. :(

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[greenbloods]

Runner up lines that didnt make it because of tumblr poll word length limitations. I'm including more of the peripheral scene because it's my post and i want to.

Tyrion and Jaime

The ruin was sad enough, but knowing what it had been made it even sadder. There was laughter here once, Tyrion thought. There were gardens bright with flowers and fountains sparkling golden in the sun. These steps once rang to the sound of lovers’ footsteps, and beneath that broken dome marriages beyond count were sealed with a kiss. His thoughts turned to Tysha, who had so briefly been his lady wife. It was Jaime, he thought, despairing. He was my own blood, my big strong brother. When I was small he brought me toys, barrel hoops and blocks and a carved wooden lion. He gave me my first pony and taught me how to ride him. When he said that he had bought you for me, I never doubted him. Why would I? He was Jaime, and you were just some girl who’d played a part. I had feared it from the start, from the moment you first smiled at me and let me touch your hand. My own father could not love me. Why would you if not for gold?

2. Catelyn and Robb

If Robb was frightened, he gave no sign of it. Catelyn watched her son as he moved among the men, touching one on the shoulder, sharing a jest with another, helping a third to gentle an anxious horse. His armor clinked softly when he moved. Only his head was bare. Catelyn watched a breeze stir his auburn hair, so like her own, and wondered when her son had grown so big. Fifteen, and near as tall as she was.

Let him grow taller, she asked the gods. Let him know sixteen, and twenty, and fifty. Let him grow as tall as his father, and hold his own son in his arms. Please, please, please. As she watched him, this tall young man with the new beard and the direwolf prowling at his heels, all she could see was the babe they had laid at her breast at Riverrun, so long ago.

3. Needle

Her floppy hat went next, then the gloves. They were Salty’s too. She emptied her pouch into her palm; five silver stags, nine copper stars, some pennies and halfpennies and groats. She scattered them across the water. Next her boots. They made the loudest splashes. Her dagger followed, the one she’d gotten off the archer who had begged the Hound for mercy. Her swordbelt went into the canal. Her cloak, tunic, breeches, smallclothes, all of it. All but Needle.

She stood on the end of the dock, pale and goosefleshed and shivering in the fog. In her hand, Needle seemed to whisper to her. Stick them with the pointy end, it said, and, don’t tell Sansa! Mikken’s mark was on the blade. It’s just a sword. If she needed a sword, there were a hundred under the temple. Needle was too small to be a proper sword, it was hardly more than a toy. She’d been a stupid little girl when Jon had it made for her. “It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time . . .

. . . but it wasn’t.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

Polliver had stolen the sword from her when the Mountain’s men took her captive, but when she and the Hound walked into the inn at the crossroads, there it was. The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father’s gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can’t have this.

4. Jenny's song

She drank the last of the wine in four long swallows, flung the skin aside, and pointed her stick at Lord Beric. “I’ll have my payment now. I’ll have the song you promised me.”

And so Lem woke Tom Sevenstrings beneath his furs, and brought him yawning to the fireside with his woodharp in hand. “The same song as before?” he asked.

“Oh, aye. My Jenny’s song. Is there another?”

And so he sang, and the dwarf woman closed her eyes and rocked slowly back and forth, murmuring the words and crying. Thoros took Arya firmly by the hand and drew her aside. “Let her savor her song in peace,” he said. “It is all she has left.”

5. Maester Cressen and Stannis

Maester Cressen blinked. Stannis, my lord, my sad sullen boy, son I never had, you must not do this, don’t you know how I have cared for you, lived for you, loved you despite all? Yes, loved you, better than Robert even, or Renly, for you were the one unloved, the one who needed me most. Yet all he said was, “As you command, my lord, but . . . but I am hungry. Might not I have a place at your table?” At your side, I belong at your side . . .

(9) a son or a daughter.

'where's 'ned loves my hair?'' nowhere. you must choose.

[jaimelannisterthings]

“I’m trying to see things from your point of view, but--”

“--I just can’t seem to get my head that far up my ass.”

@tyrion-lanni-star​

[a-libra-writes]

OH SPEAKING OF BOBBY B WOULD YOU EVER WRITE HCS FOR BEING LIKE HIS DAUGHTER/LIKE JOFF’S TWIN OR SMTH AND ROBERT ACTUALLY LIKING YOU

-🐚🌌

i miss my dad so i guess thats why im doing these specific requests LOL

So, imagine the first child between Cersei and Robert. The one that survived a sickly cradle, against all odds. The one with hair that was unmistakably black, not gold. The one Cersei couldn't stand the moment every time she laid eyes on her in the crib, because of all her negative and hurt feelings toward Robert. This is back when she was still a teenager, and her fantasies about the brave Baratheon that toppled the Mad King turned to smoke and mirrors.

Needless to say... over the years, she'd take out a lot of her frustration on this kid.

Robert likes that the child laughs and runs and smiles. He's far too indulgent, allowing her to sit on his knee during tourneys even if Cersei finds them too violent. He has extravagant gifts for her, anywhere from expensive dolls made of silk or a whole pony. He'd even take her on hunting expeditions - even if his Kingsguard protested - showing her how to use a bow and boarspear, even if she's far, far too young and small to handle such weapons.

When Joffrey is born, Robert struggles to bond with him the same way. Joff doesn't laugh easily like his daughter did, instead he cries and screams all the time. Cersei protectively keeps him away, claiming Robert distresses the boy. In truth, she prefers Joff right away, because he's a boy, and a son of Jaime besides ... ... and deep down, she's always been hurt how her daughter seems to prefer Robert.

The more the girl grows up to be like him, the more Robert prefers her. If she's outgoing and laughs easily, he'd much rather spend time with her than a fussy Joffrey. If she's active and healthy, he'll want to teach her how to ride. He'd allow lessons with swords and spears if she begged enough, though Cersei would absolutely forbid it.

As the child gets older, she'd begin to notice her father breaking promises. Sometimes he smells too much like drink, and he loses his temper and yells at her mother. Her mother yells at him, yells at her. She can't seem to get her mother's favor, no matter how nicely she dresses or speaks.

Her grandfather Tywin is cold, distant and scary, and she knows her father dislikes him, so she hates coming to Casterly Rock. Uncle Jaime is strangely distant too, but at least Uncle Tyrion is kind and plays with her. He gives her books and encourages her to read to Myrcella and Tommen, and look after them. Uncle Stannis is a bit strict, but once he showed her all the ships on the harbor, and she always remembered that. Uncle Renly was almost as funny as her father, and always smelled better.

To Cersei, Robert's favor to their first child is beyond irksome. He should be favoring his first son, his heir! He's a little indulgent with Myrcella, and doesn't think too much about Tommen. She'll begin to criticize and pick at her eldest daughter, trying to cut down on traits that are too much like her father.

She'll quickly think of marriage, not caring that her daughter hasn't even had her first moonblood yet, not remembering how panicked and angry she was at her own father's plans to marry her quickly. She doesn't want Ned's oldest marrying her daughter, as much as Robert wants that match. In her anger, she almost wants to punish her husband and oldest daughter for having the gall to be so similar. She wants a match that will upset them.

If the girl was more tomboyish and fond of fighting, she'd win the argument to learn swords. It would be a huge wedge between Cersei and Robert, one of their big fights, but she'd learn. And she'd be good at it. If she was more ladylike and interested in the court, she'd begin to find her father's mistakes and cover for them at too young of an age. Lord Arryn would try to shield her from it, but, well ...

No matter what, by the time she's thirteen or fourteen, her idyllic image of her heroic, strong father would begin to tarnish. She'd see the drinking, the whores, the expensive feasts, the explosive fights with her mother. She'd notice the cruel tendencies in Joffrey, and would try to shield Myrcella and Tommen from not just him, but the rumors surrounding their father. She'd want them to stay sweet and good. She tried with Joffrey, but he never liked her. He was clearly Cersei's favorite, while she was clearly Robert's, and that meant they were tools during their parent's arguments.

She'd have no end of handmaidens from various wealthy kingslander families, and the loyal Kingsguard that were fond of her, and whatever pets she desired. She might still feel lonely in the Red Keep, and escape to the vast gardens to hide from her parent's fighting over who she'll marry. The feasts and parties were fun, but sometimes too tiring, and it seemed every knight and lord's son wanted to fight in her honor or be the first to dance with her.

And she'd start to notice that Lord Arryn and Uncle Stannis were asking her odd questions, or observing her as she played with her youngest siblings. She didn't hear them muttering about her black hair or loud laugh.

She'd have a lot on her plate, and a lot of pressure to work under. When Jon Arryn died and her father announced they were going North, a place she'd never been, to meet a man she'd heard so many stories about but never met... Well, it was an exciting adventure and a distraction. She even got to take her youngest siblings, and her father would let her ride with him if the road was safe. He even bought her a new, fine horse for the long journey.

He always told her war stories, but when he talked about these, he finally seemed happy. His blue eyes twinkled as he talked about the mischief he got up to in the Eyrie with his best friend Ned, who was more brother than his own brothers. He'd tell her about Winterfell, and how she might be the Lady of it someday.

"It only seems right to join our houses," Her father was saying. He didn't bother wearing the crown on this ride, and he was dressed in comfort instead of style. "It's what I've always wanted, but... I'll make sure that son of his is deserving of my girl. You're the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms! We'll have to have a talk with this wolf-boy of Ned's. We'll see if he's up to your standards."

Robert laughed, and it was hard not to smile. He meant it, she knew. He really did want what was best, and he'd been delaying marrying her away to whoever asked. She had cautious optimism when it came to her father's promises, but for now... it was a beautiful day, and they were having a nice ride.

[esther-dot]

On the other hand I am one of those who haven't bought into the Aegon hype. I think DnD's ending is even closer to the book, meaning that Euron-Cersei will be on the throne, thus making the bombing of KL purely abt the people, Jon being the catalyst in her decision to bomb them (bc imo it is relevant to the early AGoT themes). But I think who lives/dies might change the overall message, esp. Tyrion or Theon. Thanks Dot!

Oh, now that is interesting to me! If you have a tumblr and have written about this I would really like a link. Or if you just want to send the bullet points as an ask sometime, I’d love to read it. I've always believed that there was far more in GoT that came from Martin than the rest of the fandom wanted to believe, but I didn't buy Cersei making it to the end. That's so funny to me that we agree about the show using a lot of Martin's points and yet reached the opposite conclusion there! BTW, I reblogged your previous ask with an addition because someone commented with suggestions as to who lived and who died that were better than mine (link).

I agree that if Tyrion dies it is a much easier ending to swallow, even if nothing else was different. Having him as hand to King Bran was very disturbing. Martin pointed out in his last update how different his Theon is from show Theon, so I don't know that his odds are great. I think child murder is the big red line for Martin, but I know a lot of fans are hoping for a completed redemption arc and a better ending for him.

I think it’s possible we end the story without anything conclusively proving Aegon is who he thinks he is or not, but the interesting part is how Jon and Dany will wrestle with his presence, and what it will say about them. To me, Dany having to decide to wage war against a Targ is a far more interesting thing than her determining to take the throne from Cersei. It’s a very different challenge. Is she really interested in a Targaryen dynasty or is she only interested in assuming power for herself?

I suppose your idea that this is about Jon rather than Aegon might work, but it seems to make more sense to me for Dany to burn a city as part of taking it from the person in power which I don’t think Jon would be. There’s also a Tyrion line about two Targs just adding confusion, and in the context of the story, he’s thinking about prophecy and Dany and Aegon, but it immediately felt like a nod from Martin at his audience because he was introducing a second hidden Targ prince late in the game. Very confusing! But it allows shades of grey in the Targ stuff. This way we have the Targ who refuses it all (Jon), the Targ who conquers but would try to serve his people (Aegon), and the Targ who will go full Targ and burn the place (Dany). That was my thought, but again, we may never know for certain one way or the other.

[captainelliecomb]

WIP Wishlist Round Fifteen

WIP Wishlists

Oh Lazarus, Were You so Afraid? by enemiesloversparadise @crowcoven (24,034 words, first posted 19 June 22, last updated 21 Aug 22)

Summary: He somehow smells it before he sees it. Whether that’s impossible and simply him sensing something wrong in the air, or as real as what he now sees he doesn’t know. What he does know is that the city is on fire, and the smoke carries the faint trace of green flame.

Jaime leaves Cersei at the end of season 6 instead of 7, and arrives early enough to save Tommen. My rewrite of seasons 7 & 8, where character arcs are payed off, timeline (hopefully) makes sense, and my favs get the endings they deserved.

Title from the song "Blood on my name" by The Brothers Bright.

Things I Love: Jaime actually dealing with the sept explosion, Tommen, queer Westeros, how Brienne and Pod relate to each other, Jon Snow and his politics, Sansa and Brienne’s friendship, the secondary pairings, the adventure of the story so far and potential to come. 

Play On by motorbike_on_the_avenue (42,379 words, first posted 27 April 22, last updated 25 July 22)

Summary: Problem: Cersei Lannister, pop-star extraordinaire has eloped and sailed off on honeymoon two weeks before she’s supposed to open the newly built King’s Landing stadium in London. She’s got engagement events booked solid, but all calls and texts to her phone go unanswered.

Plan: Jaime Lannister, Cersei’s twin brother and one of the two people she text to tell what was happening will pretend to be her for the two weeks. He’s spent his whole life hearing how him and Cersei are a mirror image of each other. All he needs is her diary so he can plan how to fool the public until she comes back.

Problem: Brienne Tarth, Cersei’s assistant and the only other person Cersei told about her elopement is not on board with Jaime’s plan.

Plan: Jaime doesn’t need her help; he used to be Cersei’s PR manager, before he went travelling for three years. He’s sure he can pick up where he left off.

Problem: He can’t.

Plan: After a failure, Brienne is now on board.

Problem: The more time he spends with his sister’s assistant the more time he actually wants to spend with her. These feelings certainly weren’t part of his plan...but just what will Cersei be coming back to?

Things I Love: The humour, Jaime and Brienne’s bickering, Brienne’s friendship with Margaery, the slow reveal of Brienne’s history, Brienne’s relationship with Cersei, the job choices for secondary characters, and the sheer entertainment of the setup.

unfiltered. by SeeThemFlying @seethemflying (27,326 words, first posted 17 Aug 21, last updated 18 June 22)

Summary: Beauty is bought by judgement of the eye - William Shakespeare, Love's Labours Lost.

Supermodel Jaime does a photo shoot with plus size model Brienne.

It makes him reconsider everything he knows about everything.

Things I Love: Brienne’s characterisation, Olenna Tyrell in all her glorious sharpness, Jaime’s inexplicable -- to him -- reactions to Brienne and to other people appreciating her, the punch of sexual tension, Jaime’s emotional softness set against his sharp words when he feels attacked, and the pining, conscious and unconscious.

when gold turns to rust by ifancymyselfawriter (3,216 words, first posted 01 May 22)

Summary: Brienne had heard tales of his valour and bravery and political genius, his beauty and style and humour. She had heard other tales as well, of his rage and cruelty and bloodlust. And, now she smiled at him for she did find him impressive and oh, how she craved an impressive enemy.

Things I Love: Complicated King Jaime, shades of grey when Brienne wants black and white, Brienne and her mission, the layers of intrigue, Shae’s view of how Tyrion uses her, and, of course, the sparring.  

and things we’ve never seen will seem familiar by lilsherlockian1975 (9,330 words, first posted 30 Dec 21, last updated 16 Jan 22)

Summary: Jaime's ghost is haunting the Lord Commander of the Kingsgard. Or perhaps it's not. Perhaps she is haunting him.

He smiles fondly now like he knows he’s gotten to her. “Until I met this stubborn wench who dragged me through the Riverlands and told me to fight. She reminded me why I wanted to be a knight in the first place and of the honour I thought I’d lost. She wouldn’t shut up about vows and oaths.” Biting his lower lip in that way that always makes Brienne’s tummy do flips, he steps closer. “We had this… bath together, you see. I bared my soul to this wench.” His eyes travel the length of her, taking her apart as they move. “And she bared herself, all her beautiful strength, to me. I had never seen anything quite like this wench.”

Things I Love: The creepiness of Brienne’s point of view in the first chapter, the twisting little details, Brienne’s broken heart, Pod and Sam worrying about her so, everything that comes after.

[felicjana050896]

Jaime and Brienne- Best Marriage:

Some things here will be what I wrote, others not, now I am putting it all together in one post.

Writing a previous post about Mya and Edd allowed me to find something extra, and before that I wanted to put it all together in one post, along with a more detailed explanation of these quotes.

We'll start with Jaime being aroused the most by wench:

"He remembered the night as if it were yesterday. They spent it in an old inn on Eel Alley, well away from watchful eyes. Cersei had come to him dressed as a simple serving wench, which somehow excited him all the more. Jaime had never seen her more passionate. Every time he went to sleep, she woke him again. By morning Casterly Rock seemed a small price to pay to be near her always. He gave his consent, and Cersei promised to do the rest." (ASOS, Jaime II)

I wonder if the fact that Cersei was so passionate back then is a reference that Brienne will always be passionate, because we have evidence that this is what it will be like:

,,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. The poleboats that plied the rivers of Dorne were often brightly painted and exquisitely carved, but not this maid. Her paintwork was a muddy greyish brown, mottled and flaking; her big curved tiller, plain and unadorned. She looks like dirt, he thought, but no doubt that’s the point." (ADWD, Tyrion III)

The Shy Maid is, of course, Brienne, The Maid of Thart.

The Shy Maid was ugly, broad and with mottled (freckles), but still agile, like Brienne, Jaime notes that while she is broad and huge, she is also very agile: 

The beast turned clumsily, too far and too fast. Quick as a cat, Brienne changed direction.There’s the wench I remember. She leapt in to land a cut across the bear’s back. (AFFC, Jaime VI)

Then we have a statement about crabs, and crabs are a favorite delicacy of Paris, George's wife:

Devourer of Crabs

Never get between Parris and a crab, especially if it’s a blue crab from the Chesapeake Bay. She gets a manicial gleam in her eye, and begins to wield her little wooden mallet like Thor wields Mjolnir. Witness this shot of her at the 1983 worldcon in Baltimore, where the concom made the mistake of combining the Hugo Awards with a crab feast. I lost another Hugo that night, but Parris made up for it by devouring hundreds of crabs. (George RR Martin, https://georgerrmartin.com/about-george/life-and-times/parris/)

And Brienne also likes crabs and meets a lot of them on her way:

Elsewhere locals filled the benches, sopping up bowls of hot crab stew with chunks of bread.

(...)

"Gold?" The brother gave her a red smile. "A bowl of that crab stew would be enough reward for me, but I fear I cannot help you.

(...)

True to her word, Brienne bought him his bowl of hot crab stew . . . and some hot fresh bread and a cup of wine as well.

(...)

In the first village she came to, barefoot boys ran along beside her horse. She had donned her helm, stung by the giggles of the fisherfolk, so they took her for a man. One boy offered to sell her clams, one offered crabs, and one offered her his sister.

Brienne bought three crabs from the second boy. (AFFC, Brienne II)

With Septon Meribald afoot and his donkey bearing such a heavy load, the going was slow all that day. They did not take the main road west, the road that Brienne had once ridden with Ser Jaime when they came the other way to find Maidenpool sacked and full of corpses. Instead they struck off toward the northwest, following the shore of the Bay of Crabs on a crooked track so small that it did not appear on either of Ser Hyle's precious sheepskin maps. (AFFC, Brienne V)

Dog stuck his nose in one and yelped when a crab pinched it with his claw. A brief but furious struggle ensued before the dog came trotting back, wet and mud-spattered, with the crab between his jaws.

(...)

Their supper in the septry was as strange a meal as Brienne had ever eaten, though not at all unpleasant. The food was plain, but very good; there were loaves of crusty bread still warm from the ovens, crocks of fresh-churned butter, honey from the septry's hives, and a thick stew of crabs, mussels, and at least three different kinds of fish. (AFFC, Brienne VI)

And of course he meets Dick Crabb on his way.

Brienne was created on the model of Parris, love for crabs and freckles, who knows... maybe they have a similar character, but we will probably not find out.

After the crabs we have a mention of homely maid that such girls are the hungriest in bed, and therefore full of passion, just like Cersei was when she was dressed as a wench. Homely maid is of course also a reference to Brienne, which is what Jaime most often calls Brienne:

"Quiet," the wench grumbled, scowling. Scowls suited her broad homely face better than a smile.

(...)

"When I quarrel I do it with a sword, coz. I was speaking to the lady. Tell me, wench, are all the women on Tarth as homely as you?

(...)

Ser Robin and his thrice-damned archers would have a long wet walk back to Riverrun, and he was rid of the big homely wench as well. (ASOS, Jaime I)

"Her name is Brienne," Jaime said. "Brienne, the maid of Tarth. You are still maiden, I hope?"

Her broad homely face turned red. "Yes." (ASOS, Jaime VI)

Brienne's homely face twisted in fury.

(...)

There's a bay mare in the stables, as homely as you are but somewhat better trained. (ASOS, Jaime IX)

Unfortunately, homely wives are not very beautiful:

The next day he departed with his squire and men-at-arms, plus Beardless Jon Bettley, who had decided that hunting outlaws was preferable to returning to his famously homely wife. Supposedly she had the beard that Bettley lacked. (AFFC, Jaime VII)

But they are the best wives:

"A pity. Gella's not. Homely women make the best wives. There's three kinds of crabs in there. Red crabs and spider crabs and conquerors. I won't eat spider crab, except in sister's stew. Makes me feel half a cannibal." His lordship gestured at the banner hanging above the cold black hearth. A spider crab was embroidered there, white on a grey-green field. "We heard tales that Stannis burned his Hand."

And above, the phrase about homely women comes before the mention of crabs.

We also have a mention of Stannis leaving his homely wife for Melisandre who is the real queen, the opposite is what Jaime does, he leaves the queen for the homely woman:

Lady Melisandre wore no crown, but every man there knew that she was Stannis Baratheon's real queen, not the homely woman he had left to shiver at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. (ADWD, Jon III)

Besides, we have a mention:

“Don’t be so certain, m’lady. She’s half mule herself, that one. I think she’d leave us all to starve before she’d put those animals at risk.” He smiled when he said it. He always smiles when he speaks of Mya Stone. Mya was much younger than Ser Lothor, but when her father had been brokering the marriage between Lord Corbray and his merchant’s daughter, he’d told her that young girls were always happiest with older men. “Innocence and experience make for a perfect marriage,” he had said (AFFC, Alayne II)

As I wrote in the previous post, in my opinion Edd and Mya will be together, not Lothor and Mya, but nevertheless, this mention is directed to Jaime and Brienne, Jaime is obviously older than Brienne and more experienced, as Catelyn herself admits:

The very idea of it chilled Catelyn to the bone. What chance would a fifteen-year-old boy have against seasoned battle commanders like Jaime and Tywin Lannister? (AGOT, Catelyn VIII)

Brienne, on the other hand, is younger and innocent, just like all Maid:

She was sitting cross-legged on a pillow beneath the raised dais where the high seats stood, but she rose as they entered, dressed in a clinging gown of pale blue samite with sleeves of Myrish lace that made her look as innocent as the Maid herself. (AFFC, The Captain Of Guards)

"You were innocent." (ACOK, Catelyn V)

"There is a sweet innocence about you, child. (...)” (ACOK, Catelyn VII)

She is such an innocent. (ASOS, Jaime V)

And Jaime likes innocence most of all in women:

"White," she said, "but your hand is solid gold. I like that in a man. And what is it you like in a woman, m'lord?"

"Innocence." (ADWD, Jaime I)

Jaime had previously believed he was a Warrior and Cersei a Maid, but was wrong:

I thought that I was the Warrior and Cersei was the Maid, but all the time she was the Stranger, hiding her true face from my gaze. "Pray for me, if you like," he told his cousin. "I've forgotten all the words." (AFFC, Jaime IV)

Jaime above asks Lancel to pray for him, but when he talks to Lancel much earlier, Jaime is then still a Cersei Warrior (which, as seen above, changes later) and Lancel himself then offers that he would pray for him and for Cersei (as to Jaime's woman) to the Crone:

A flush crept up Lancel's cheeks. "I pray for you, cousin. And for Her Grace the queen. May the Crone lead her to her wisdom and the Warrior defend her." (AFFC, Jaime II)

But this Crone prayer for Cersei should be for Brienne, because she is the one who prays to Crone not to disappoint Jaime:

Kneeling between the bed and wall, she held the blade and said a silent prayer to the Crone, whose golden lamp showed men the way through life. Lead me, she prayed, light the way before me, show me the path that leads to Sansa. She had failed Renly, had failed Lady Catelyn. She must not fail Jaime. He trusted me with his sword. He trusted me with his honor. (AFFFC, Brienne I)

Plus, of course, the mention of Tyrion:

“The song is sung, the wine is spilled, the wench is pregnant." (ACOK, Tyrion III)

There is also a mention of the song above, which as I wrote in the post "Brienne's Song", will be very important, let me add that since they are both headed to Lady Stoneheart, they will probably also meet the Ghost of High Heart, who is Jenny's former friend, the one who foretold The Prince Who Was Promised and the one who misses Jenny who we know had great love with Dunk, laments the tragedy at Summerhall that swallowed Jenny and Dunk:

“(...) I gorged on grief at Summerhall, (...)” (ASOS, Arya VIII)

And she wants a song for her dreams, always a Jenny song:

“My hair comes out in handfuls and no one has kissed me for a thousand years. It is hard to be so old. Well, I will have a song then. A song from Tom o’ Sevens, for my news.”

(...)

And so Lem woke Tom Sevenstrings beneath his furs, and brought him yawning to the fireside with his woodharp in hand. “The same song as before?” he asked.

“Oh, aye. My Jenny’s song. Is there another?” (ASOS, Arya VIII)

Importantly, Dunk rejected his crown to be with Jenny:

The Prince of Dragonflies loved Jenny of Oldstones so much he cast aside a crown, and Westeros paid the bride price in corpses. (ADWD, The Kingbreaker)

In Jon's chapter, however, we have foreshadowing that Jon will be king (there is overwhelming evidence of this) and Jaime will get a wench (Brienne), in my opinion the story will be that Jaime will be king for a while after when he kills Cersei, the circle will be full, he will sit on the throne again, but this time he will not give power to anyone, instead he will keep it until he meets Jon, finds out that he is Rheagar's son, and then he will give him the crown, and he will be himself with Brienne, as well as Dunk and Jenny:

“For a wench, some say. For a crown, others would have it.” (…)” (ACOK, Jon VII)

[agentrouka-blog]

who do you think Tywin preferred of his children? obvs we know he had Jaime as number one, but of Tyrion and Cersei?

Tyrion’s “sin” was being a dwarf, and Cersei’s was being a woman (both things they each had no control over). but which is worse in his eyes, and who was more valuable to him do you reckon?

Hi anon!

Let me put it this way: Cersei was a useful tool for him, just exactly what a daughter was supposed to be (in theory). Beautiful, reasonably accomplished at her required skillset, fertile. She was going to be his ticket into the royal family, if Aerys had played along and married her to Rhaegar. She did become that by marrying Robert. Tywin's grandchild sat on the Iron Throne, annointed ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Having a daughter bought him that at minimal effort. It's the same mechanism that makes Margaery the key to the Tyrell's ambitions. Daughters are assets, to a certain degree, and certainly not a source of public shame. It is only Cersei's "failure" to properly serve Tywin's goals that makes him disapprove of her later on.

Compare:

"Men say that Tywin never smiled, but he smiled when he wed your mother, and when Aerys made him Hand. When Tarbeck Hall came crashing down on Lady Ellyn, that scheming bitch, Tyg claimed he smiled then. And he smiled at your birth, Jaime, I saw that with mine own eyes. You and Cersei, pink and perfect, as alike as two peas in a pod . . . well, except between the legs. What lungs you had!" (AFFC, Jaime V)

And now Tyrion:

“You were small, but far-famed. We were in Oldtown at your birth, and all the city talked of was the monster that had been born to the King’s Hand, and what such an omen might foretell for the realm.”

“Famine, plague, and war, no doubt.” Tyrion gave a sour smile. “It’s always famine, plague, and war. Oh, and winter, and the long night that never ends.”

“All that,” said Prince Oberyn, “and your father’s fall as well. Lord Tywin had made himself greater than King Aerys, I heard one begging brother preach, but only a god is meant to stand above a king. You were his curse, a punishment sent by the gods to teach him that he was no better than any other man.” (ASOS, Tyrion V)

Tyrion was cause for a continent-wide uproar of salacious speculation and derision. That alone would have made Tywin hate him all by itself.

But Tyrion committed a double crime:

His mother had died giving him birth, so the Martells would have found the Rock deep in mourning. His father especially. Lord Tywin seldom spoke of his wife, but Tyrion had heard his uncles talk of the love between them. In those days, his father had been Aerys’s Hand, and many people said that Lord Tywin Lannister ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but Lady Joanna ruled Lord Tywin. “He was not the same man after she died, Imp,” his Uncle Gery told him once. “The best part of him died with her.” (ASOS, Tyrion V)

Even if he had been born "perfectly formed", Tywin would have likely hated him to a certain extent. And indeed, it is the first thing he names, even before his dwarfism:

"You ask that? You, who killed your mother to come into the world? You are an ill-made, devious, disobedient, spiteful little creature full of envy, lust, and low cunning. Men's laws give you the right to bear my name and display my colors, since I cannot prove that you are not mine. To teach me humility, the gods have condemned me to watch you waddle about wearing that proud lion that was my father's sigil and his father's before him. But neither gods nor men shall ever compel me to let you turn Casterly Rock into your whorehouse." (ASOS, Tyrion I)

I think the answer is clear.

[melrosing]

Sansa is very inadequate in terms of leadership, justice and politics throughout the five books. But when we look at Arya, even though she is younger than Sansa, these themes are very prominent in Arya's story.

I don't really think it's fair to argue that Arya or Sansa is stronger on this point? Arya's story certainly contains themes of justice; so does Sansa's. Arya demonstrates smallscale leadership; Sansa maybe exhibits less but I think perhaps that's no surprise given she's been a hostage the entire time - given the opportunity she demonstrates charisma and charm. On politics - I mean Sansa's surrounded by politics from practically the moment Ned's killed. Arya has her own insights, but it seems odd to argue that she vastly excels over Sansa here?

Also, GRRM said that Robb's will is important and will be revealed in the next book.

Probably in relation to Jon? There's always been a bit of a question mark over whether he included Jon here (though I don't believe Jon is destined to rule Winterfell).

Sansa will certainly be better, but her story is not enough to become ruler of the north. She has many more obstacles in front of her than her siblings. The Stark children need their wolves to prove their identity.

What do you think Sansa is destined to do? I think that's kind of absent from a lot of arguments that she won't - some notion of where you believe her arc leads instead?

And I would agree Sansa has obstacles - but would you really say more than Arya? Jeyne Poole is currently believed to be Arya, most everyone fell for it. There are certainly people that could testify to the fact that Arya is Ned's true daughter, but then there are those who could do the same for Sansa - including Arya herself. The wolves are helpful proof in the absence of all else but they're certainly not a required piece of proof - Nymeria never vouched for Jeyne Poole and the Northern lords bought it anyway.

Arya never wanted to travel the world, her goal was always to return home. When she was in KL, after Ned died, after Cat and Robb died. If she could go to Jon, she wouldn't go to Braavos either.

Discussed this in my last reply but I basically just don't think Arya's wants and desires are so static as that. Of course she'd want to go home to where her family are - she only travels in the opposite direction when she believes they aren't there anymore. But that doesn't mean that upon returning, returning out into the world isn't even something she'd consider - she enjoys adventure and learning about new cultures. Sansa, by comparison, probably would be happier in one place - adventure doesn't interest her so much.

Arya's name is more prominent in the north, especially in ADWD. The Northerners fighting for Arya in the book.

Currently it is given recent events, but if Sansa and "Arya" were to trade places in the plot (which they tragically did in the show), it would be the other way round. In any case, it's not Sansa or even really Arya that they're waging war over, so I don't know how relevant this will end up being.

Let's also not forget that he said that the key characters of the series are Jon, Arya, Dany, Bran and Tyrion.

I'm sorry but the notion of 'the key five' means little to nothing to me - the original outline was largely scrapped, so just as I don't imagine Jaime will ascend as the evil king of the 7K in TWOW, I don't put much stock in the insistence on the importance of 'the key five over Sansa. Sansa has a much smaller role in the original outline which sees her joining the villains rather than escaping them, so of course she's not a member of the key five in that version of the plot. Her role is vastly increased in the actual books however, so it seems disingenuous to insist that her story is so much less significant than Arya's.

Also I think it means a lot that the old gods call Arya "Daughter of the North" and that Harwin kneels to Arya where Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon. When I look at things like this, Sansa's story is very inadequate for northern leadership.

Completely agree that there's a lot of emphasis on Arya's Northern qualities, where Sansa's comparably a balance of the North and south. I still don't think that necessarily means that Arya is destined to rule the North specifically? She's more than just a symbol, and identity is a big theme in her story, as she tries to both remember and forget who she is and where she comes from. That's how I read it personally.

I think you were influenced by the show. d&d found Sansa's Vale chapters boring so gave her the story of Fake Arya. GRRM said he had no idea what they were doing to Sansa's story in the show. He stated that he opposed Sansa being given this northern story and that it will be different in the books.

lol yikes. let me put it plainly that I despise Sansa's whole story in the show and am actually very annoyed they dismissed her story in the Vale in favour of that. I'm not remotely interested in how D&D decided to writer her, and I think their efforts to put Sansa on the throne in the North were extremely contrived, I didn't find it convincing at all

If the kingdoms at the end go all independent. Who ends up king in the north? I assume Sansa is queen in the vale with Harold hardying but is bran really ok for king in the north? Will it go to Rickon?

talked about this a little before but basically I don't really see the seven kingdoms each becoming independent: I think whatever becomes of the Targaryen legacy, Aegon's ice & fire dream (or whatever it was called lol) was clear that there was strength in unity and I think that echoes throughout asoiaf generally.

I think it's likely Sansa will govern the North (I agree that her arc in preparing her for that role is incomplete, but at least she has that arc where compared to Rickon). Arya's a charismatic character and a strong leader besides, you could certainly say she'd be as good at governing as Sansa. but I just don't really feel like a governing role resonates in her story regardless, so that does leave Sansa (who I personally really doubt will just marry Harold Hardyng and settle down in the Vale for all of time)

and I fully buy into the Bran as a fisher king theory - I don't think he'll govern exactly but will become a figurehead of westeros, uniting the people and the land. doubt he'll be based in King's Landing as that's likely to be a pile of ash and in any case was always very much part of the political plot, divorced from the supernatural and the struggles of the rest of Westeros. you constantly get a sense of KL as a corrupted seat where the monarchs and their court are entirely removed from the smallfolk on their very doorstep, so I don't see it having a place in Bran's reign, whatever that ends up looking like

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Lost Lord (Jon Connington I) [Chapter 24]

Warning, more fAegon vs. Aegon VI analysis to come.

Had they lost Haldon as they had Tyrion Lannister? Could the Volantenes have taken him? I should have sent Duckfield with him. Haldon alone could not be trusted; he had proved that in Selhorys when he let the dwarf escape.

x

I should have gone myself. After Selhorys, he had found it difficult to put the same trust in Haldon as previously. He let the dwarf beguile him with that glib tongue of his. Let him wander off into a whorehouse alone while he lingered like a mooncalf in the square.

Imagine tanking your own credibility so Tyrion can get laid.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen remained a world away, and Tyrion Lannister … well, he could be most anywhere. If the gods were good, Lannister's severed head was halfway back to King's Landing by now, but more like the dwarf was hale and whole and somewhere close, stinking drunk and plotting some new infamy.

I love Jon Connington?

+.+.+

"Where in the seven hells is Haldon?" Griff complained to Lady Lemore. "How long should it take to buy three horses?"

He starts calling himself Jon Connington after the Golden Company decide to take Westeros.

What's funny about that is if you hop on over to asearchoficeandfire, you'll see he almost exclusively refers to himself as Jon Connington (full name) in his own internal monologue. Who does that? Lol.

+.+.+

Griff had no patience for this quibbling. He was sick of hiding, sick of waiting, sick of caution. I do not have time enough for caution.

Almost like he's terminal or something.

+.+.+

"If Harry Strickland means him ill, hiding him on the Shy Maid will not protect him. Strickland has ten thousand swords at his command. We have Duck. Aegon is all that could be wanted in a prince. They need to see that, Strickland and the rest. These are his own men."

"His because they're bought and paid for. Ten thousand armed strangers, plus hangers-on and camp followers. All it takes is one to bring us all to ruin. If Hugor's head was worth a lord's honors, how much will Cersei Lannister pay for the rightful heir to the Iron Throne? You do not know these men, my lord. It has been a dozen years since you last rode with the Golden Company, and your old friend is dead."

I could be wrong, but if Lemore was a descendent of House Blackfyre, I'm not sure she'd be this concerned over the Golden Company's loyalty.

+.+.+

Whatever their sires or their grandsires might have been back in Westeros before their exile, the men of the Golden Company were sellswords now, and no sellsword could be trusted.

After the last chapter, I desperately want this to be a nod to Daario.

+.+.+

Last night he'd dreamt of Stoney Sept again. Alone, with sword in hand, he ran from house to house, smashing down doors, racing up stairs, leaping from roof to roof, as his ears rang to the sound of distant bells. Deep bronze booms and silver chiming pounded through his skull, a maddening cacophony of noise that grew ever louder until it seemed as if his head would explode.

Seventeen years had come and gone since the Battle of the Bells, yet the sound of bells ringing still tied a knot in his guts.

Imagine how much therapy the survivors of King's Landing will need.

+.+.+

Others might claim that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert's warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stag there in Stoney Sept.

Why is that?

Are Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, Hoster Tully, and Stannis Baratheon going home after Robert dies? The rebellion was not about crowning Robert.

+.+.+

The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince.

I hate Jon Connington.

+.+.+

"Illyrio could not have been expected to know that the girl would choose to remain at Slaver's Bay."

"No more than he knew that the Beggar King would die young, or that Khal Drogo would follow him into the grave. Very little of what the fat man has anticipated has come to pass." Griff slapped the hilt of his longsword with a gloved hand. "I have danced to the fat man's pipes for years, Lemore. What has it availed us? The prince is a man grown. His time is—"

Lots of frustration directed at Illyrio in this chapter. Not sure where it's going.

No more than he knew that the Beggar King would die young, or that Khal Drogo would follow him into the grave.

I don't understand. We'll talk about it later.

+.+.+

He had grown fond of Lemore, but that did not mean he required her approval. Her task had been to instruct the prince in the doctrines of the Faith, and she had done that. No amount of prayer would put him on the Iron Throne, however. That was Griff's task. He had failed Prince Rhaegar once. He would not fail his son, not whilst life remained in his body.

When he says stuff like that, I lean towards Cersei holding King's Landing.

+.+.+

The brothel keeper had insisted that the little man had been carried off at swordpoint, but Griff was still not sure he believed that. The Imp was clever enough to have conspired in his own escape. This drunken captor that the whores spoke of could have been some henchman in his hire. I share the blame. After the dwarf put himself between Aegon and the stone man, I let down my guard. I should have slit his throat the first time I laid eyes on him.

I love Jon Connington?

Jon Connington wishing Tyrion was dead (twice!) is how you know Tyrion Lannister and his queen are going to become a big problem for Jon Connington.

+.+.+

The prince wore sword and dagger, black boots polished to a high sheen, a black cloak lined with blood-red silk. With his hair washed and cut and freshly dyed a deep, dark blue, his eyes looked blue as well. At his throat he wore three huge square-cut rubies on a chain of black iron, a gift from Magister Illyrio. Red and black. Dragon colors. That was good.

That's considered fAegon evidence.

He's wearing a ruby around his throat like glamorized Melisandre. Of course it's also a very Targaryen thing to do.

+.+.+

Griff would be glad to go back to his own true colors too, though his once red hair had gone to grey. 

Unreliable narrator. . . George R. R. Martin?

Though his hair was as blue as his son's, he had red roots and redder eyebrows. - Tyrion III, ADWD

+.+.+

"I like the sound of that. My army." A smile flashed across his face, then vanished. "Are they, though? They're sellswords. Yollo warned me to trust no one."

[...]

"Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary … but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful." King Aerys was one such. By the end, even Rhaegar saw that plain enough. 

+.+.+

They found the Golden Company beside the river as the sun was lowering in the west. It was a camp that even Arthur Dayne might have approved of—compact, orderly, defensible. A deep ditch had been dug around it, with sharpened stakes inside. The tents stood in rows, with broad avenues between them. The latrines had been placed beside the river, so the current would wash away the wastes. The horse lines were to the north, and beyond them, two dozen elephants grazed beside the water, pulling up reeds with their trunks. Griff glanced at the great grey beasts with approval. There is not a warhorse in all of Westeros that will stand against them.

You might be forgetting a special type of horse.

+.+.+

Tall battle standards of cloth-of-gold flapped atop lofty poles along the perimeters of the camp. 

Similar language:

A cloth dragon swayed on poles amidst a cheering crowd. - Daenerys IV, ACOK

Sorry, I'm still convinced it's her own banners.

+.+.+

The men of the Golden Company were outside their tents, dicing, drinking, and swatting away flies. Griff wondered how many of them knew who he was. Few enough. Twelve years is a long time.

That's considered fAegon evidence, but I'm not sure why.

Aegon was likely born in 282, he's currently 18 years old. The Sack of King's Landing was 283.

Aegon's first 5 years after the Sack are unaccounted for, but we can assume he was with Illyrio. That's not terribly suspicious. We already know they spent time together, he knows the kid's favourite candy.

+.+.+

So far as most of them were concerned, Connington had drunk himself to death in Lys after being driven from the company in disgrace for stealing from the war chest. The shame of the lie still stuck in his craw, but Varys had insisted it was necessary. "We want no songs about the gallant exile," the eunuch had tittered, in that mincing voice of his. "Those who die heroic deaths are long remembered, thieves and drunks and cravens soon forgotten."

What does a eunuch know of a man's honor? Griff had gone along with the Spider's scheme for the boy's sake, but that did not mean he liked it any better. Let me live long enough to see the boy sit the Iron Throne, and Varys will pay for that slight and so much more. Then we'll see who's soon forgotten.

Wait, what? Why is he that spiteful towards Varys? Varys is the only reason Aegon could sit the Iron Throne with Jon Connington by his side.

Maybe he blames Varys for Aerys turning on him.

+.+.+

All the skulls were grinning, even Bittersteel's on the tall pike in the center. What does he have to grin about? He died defeated and alone, a broken man in an alien land. On his deathbed, Ser Aegor Rivers had famously commanded his men to boil the flesh from his skull, dip it in gold, and carry it before them when they crossed the sea to retake Westeros. His successors had followed his example.

Better than being a rock.

He's in love with Rhaegar, I'm supposed to make fun of him.

+.+.+

Some of the sellsword captains bore bastard names, as Flowers did: Rivers, Hill, Stone. Others claimed names that had once loomed large in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms; Griff counted two Strongs, three Peakes, a Mudd, a Mandrake, a Lothston, a pair of Coles. Not all were genuine, he knew. In the free companies, a man could call himself whatever he chose. 

That's considered fAegon evidence.

+.+.+

The spymaster was new to Griff, a Lyseni named Lysono Maar, with lilac eyes and white-gold hair and lips that would have been the envy of a whore. 

That's considered fAegon evidence.

+.+.+

Ghosts and liars, Griff thought, as he surveyed their faces. Revenants from forgotten wars, lost causes, failed rebellions, a brotherhood of the failed and the fallen, the disgraced and the disinherited. This is my army. This is our best hope.

He turned to Harry Strickland.

Homeless Harry looked little like a warrior. Portly, with a big round head, mild grey eyes, and thinning hair that he brushed sideways to conceal a bald spot, Strickland sat in a camp chair soaking his feet in a tub of salt water. "You will pardon me if I do not rise," he said by way of greeting. "Our march was wearisome, and my toes are prone to blisters. It is a curse."

It is a mark of weakness. You sound like an old woman. The Stricklands had been part of the Golden Company since its founding, Harry's great-grandsire having lost his lands when he rose with the Black Dragon during the first Blackfyre Rebellion. "Gold for four generations," Harry would boast, as if four generations of exile and defeat were something to take pride in.

[...]

Strickland beckoned to his squire. "Watkyn, wine for our friends."

"Thank you, but no," said Griff. "We will drink water."

This is like being in Stannis Baratheon's head.

+.+.+

Does he know? Griff wondered. How much did Myles tell him? Varys had been adamant about the need for secrecy. The plans that he and Illyrio had made with Blackheart had been known to them alone. The rest of the company had been left ignorant. What they did not know they could not let slip.

That time was done, though. "No man could have asked for a worthier son," Griff said, "but the lad is not of my blood, and his name is not Griff. My lords, I give you Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne … soon, with your help, to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."

Silence greeted his announcement. Someone cleared his throat. One of the Coles refilled his wine cup from the flagon. Gorys Edoryen played with one of his corkscrew ringlets and murmured something in a tongue Griff did not know. Laswell Peake coughed, Mandrake and Lothston exchanged a glance. They know, Griff realized then. They have known all along. He turned to look at Harry Strickland. "When did you tell them?"

The captain-general wriggled his blistered toes in his footbath. "When we reached the river. The company was restless, with good reason. We walked away from an easy campaign in the Disputed Lands, and for what? So we could swelter in this god-awful heat watching our coins melt away and our blades go to rust whilst I turn away rich contracts?"

Well, that was a little underwhelming. Let's hope that's not a sign of things to come.

I'm not sure whether I should be questioning how Harry Strickland knew.

+.+.+

"In Meereen." Strickland beckoned to his squire. "Watkyn, a towel. This water's growing cool, and my toes have wrinkled up like raisins. No, not that towel, the soft one."

[...]

Harry winced as his squire toweled his feet. "Gentle with the toes. Think of them as thin-skinned grapes, lad. You want to dry them without crushing them. Pat, do not scrub. Yes, like that."

I've fallen in love with the diva because he irritates Jon Connington.

+.+.+

We came to raise up a king and queen who would lead us home to Westeros, but this Targaryen girl seems more intent on planting olive trees than in reclaiming her father's throne. 

She's confused. Daario will straighten her out. The trees will burn.

+.+.+

"How much will they avail her when all these armies close about her city like a fist?"

Tristan Rivers drummed his fingers on his knee. "All the more reason that we must reach her quickly, I say. If Daenerys will not come to us, we must go to Daenerys."

People who argue the Golden Company would never support a Targaryen are so weird.

We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. 

They're trying to seat Daenerys upon the throne. Daenerys of House Targaryen. Aegon would be her consort. Hello?

+.+.+

Homeless Harry Strickland paused with his blistered foot in hand. "Let me remind you, it was Myles Toyne who put his seal to this secret pact, not me. I would honor his agreement if I could, but how? It seems plain to me that the Targaryen girl is never coming west. Westeros was her father's kingdom. Meereen is hers. If she can break the Yunkai'i, she'll be Queen of Slaver's Bay. If not, she'll die long before we could hope to reach her."

George is doing everything he can to confuse me right now.

The secret pact was between Myles Toyne, Connington, Illyrio, and Varys. Yes? Yes.

They planned to crown Aegon VI Targaryen. Daenerys was never part of this pact. Yes? Yes.

+.+.+

And then Prince Aegon spoke. "Then put your hopes on me," he said. "Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar's sister, but I am Rhaegar's son. I am the only dragon that you need."

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon's shoulder. "Spoken boldly," he said, "but think what you are saying."

"I have," the lad insisted. "Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros."

Tyrion's words.

'Good morrow to you, Auntie. I am your nephew, Aegon, returned from the dead. I've been hiding on a poleboat all my life, but now I've washed the blue dye from my hair and I'd like a dragon, please … and oh, did I mention, my claim to the Iron Throne is stronger than your own?' - Tyrion VI, ADWD

Basically everything that's going to happen is Tyrion's fault.

+.+.+

The captain-general looked as if someone had slapped his face. "Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had."

Let the debates begin!

I think I know what Daenerys will believe.

+.+.+

"By now the lion surely has the dragon's scent," said one of the Coles, "but Cersei's attentions will be fixed upon Meereen and this other queen. She knows nothing of our prince. Once we land and raise our banners, many and more will flock to join us."

lmfao.

Not entirely sure of the timeline, but I'm going to pretend she's preoccupied with Bronn at the moment.

+.+.+

"The first Aegon took Westeros without eunuchs," said Lysono Maar. "Why shouldn't the sixth Aegon do the same?"

"The plan—"

"Which plan?" said Tristan Rivers. "The fat man's plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver's Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

Okay, let's talk about this. This was the plan?

Illyrio brokers a marriage between Daenerys and Khal Drogo, so Viserys can unite the Dothraki and Golden Company? And then what? Viserys steps aside, and lets Aegon be king? You can't be serious.

Illyrio's actions in AGOT don't make a ton of sense once you know Aegon is alive (No judgment, he was still figuring out the story), but there were better ways of fixing it I think.

+.+.+

Griff had heard enough of the captain-general's cowardice. "We will not be alone. Dorne will join us, must join us. Prince Aegon is Elia's son as well as Rhaegar's."

"That's so," the boy said, "and who is there left in Westeros to oppose us? A woman."

Oops.

Rest in peace, Aegon VI Targaryen. Opposed by a woman.

+.+.+

"A Lannister woman," insisted the captain-general. "The bitch will have the Kingslayer at her side, count on that, and they will have all the wealth of Casterly Rock behind them. And Illyrio says this boy king is betrothed to the Tyrell girl, which means we must face the power of Highgarden as well."

The bitch will have the Kingslayer at her side. They've hit a rough patch.

They will have all the wealth of Casterly Rock behind them. How much is that?

And Illyrio says this boy king is betrothed to the Tyrell girl, which means we must face the power of Highgarden as well. Yeah, about that.

+.+.+

Laswell Peake rapped his knuckles on the table. "Even after a century, some of us still have friends in the Reach. The power of Highgarden may not be what Mace Tyrell imagines."

I'm not currently prepared to tell you who the friends will be.

All I know is Randyll Tarly is getting his ass lit up, and Mathis Rowan is tired of lions.

+.+.+

Rivers was smiling in approval. Others traded thoughtful looks. Then Peake said, "I would sooner die in Westeros than on the demon road," and Marq Mandrake chuckled and responded, "Me, I'd sooner live, win lands and some great castle," and Franklyn Flowers slapped his sword hilt and said, "So long as I can kill some Fossoways, I'm for it."

Perhaps let's exclude House Fossoway from the friends list.

+.+.+

This is a side of Aegon I never saw before. It was not the prudent course, but he was tired of prudence, sick of secrets, weary of waiting. 

Almost like he's terminal or something.

+.+.+

Win or lose, he would see Griffin's Roost again before he died, and be buried in the tomb beside his father's.

Would you settle for being ash in the wind?

+.+.+

The road ahead was full of perils, he knew, but what of it? All men must die. All he asked was time. He had waited so long, surely the gods would grant him a few more years, enough time to see the boy he'd called a son seated on the Iron Throne. To reclaim his lands, his name, his honor. To still the bells that rang so loudly in his dreams whenever he closed his eyes to sleep.

"surely the gods" = it's not going to happen.

+.+.+

Alone in the tent, as the gold and scarlet rays of the setting sun shone through the open flap, Jon Connington shrugged off his wolfskin cloak, slipped his mail shirt off over his head, settled on a camp stool, and peeled the glove from his right hand. The nail on his middle finger had turned as black as jet, he saw, and the grey had crept up almost to the first knuckle. The tip of his ring finger had begun to darken too, and when he touched it with the point of his dagger, he felt nothing.

Death, he knew, but slow. I still have time. A year. Two years. Five. Some stone men live for ten. Time enough to cross the sea, to see Griffin's Roost again. To end the Usurper's line for good and all, and put Rhaegar's son upon the Iron Throne.

Then Lord Jon Connington could die content.

I know it's his sword hand, but it's not like stone fingers will serve him any better. Chop, chop.

To end the Usurper's line for good and all

I'm sorry, is that Jon Connington daydreaming about killing children? Tsk, tsk.

Lord Jon Connington will not die content.

Final thoughts:

It's like having Jorah Mormont's POV, only he's in love with Rhaegar.

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