#jon canter | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lillianawayne99 · 3 years ago

Text

Fireborn Chapter One

Pairing: Jon Snow & Oberyn Martell X OC

Genre: NSFW AU

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: smut, violence, fluff, blood, mixes the books and show, spoilers for seasons 6-8

Synopsis: Valaena Fireborn of House Targaryen has reached Westeros after spending her life in exile. While learning about her homeland and preparing for the war ahead, she meets two men who would change her life forever and learns of a threat to all humanity.

Previous Chapter // Fireborn // Masterlist

“The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. This dragon queen who wears her name is a true Targaryen.”

The following morning, we saddled our horses and exited White Harbor through the North Gate. There wasn’t an official road connecting White Harbor and the Kingsroad, but we made do with the well trodden trails. The Kingsroad may not be the most direct route to Winterfell, but it was the smoothest and would make the ride faster than if we didn’t use it. It should have taken us two days to reach Cerwyn, but Dothraki horses were strong and fast animals.

We left White Harbor at dawn shortly after breaking our fast and rode without stopping until well into the night. We considered stopping to sleep at twilight, but decided against it because we were so close to the next town. We didn’t get much sleep that night. The moon was reaching its zenith when we found an inn, and we left at dawn so we could reach Winterfell sooner.

“Khaleesi, want to make a bet?” Kovarro pulled his horse closer to mine.

“Depends, what’s the bet?” I let my lips curl into a smirk at the idea of winning a bet against my closest dothrakhoyi.

“Whoever can’t stay standing in their saddle longer owes the other a favor.” He winked slyly at me. He was clearly expecting to win.

“I accept.” We nodded at each other then carefully stood up in our saddles.

Holding onto the pommel and reins, I lifted my feet from the stirrups to rest on my midnight’s back one behind the other. Once I had my footing, I let go of the pommel and straightened my back, still holding the reins so I could direct my mare. Glancing over at Kovarro, I saw him in the same position as I. Both feet facing forward, legs close together, hips facing the side, chest facing forward, and the reins in one of his hands.

I turned my gaze back to the road before me and leaned onto my front foot slightly, telling my midnight to speed up. We had done this before, I'd trained her to know what I wanted her to do simply by how I adjusted my weight on her back. She listened and sped into a trot, then a canter, and finally a gallop before I evened my weight between both feet so she knew to maintain her pace.

I rode standing for several minutes before turning to look behind me. Kovarro was still standing as well, but he lost his footing and fell back into his saddle when his stallion avoided something on the road. My loud laugh broke through the air as I watched him stumble and sit back down out of fear of falling from the saddle. I let out a triumphant cheer similar to a Dothraki war cry and turned back to face the stretch of road ahead of me.

My weight shifted to my back foot and my midnight slowed to a walk so Kovarro could catch up. Moments before he caught up to me, my midnight stumbled over a branch and I lost my footing on the saddle. Spreading my legs, I let my feet fall down beside her flanks and slide back into the stirrups while my rear hit my horse’s back. With Winterfell finally in sight, I decided to continue our game.

“Want to race to the castle gates?” I turned to my loyal companion with a warm smile.

“Is this another bet?” He sounded wary of losing again.

“No bet, just honest fun.” I wasn’t interested in getting another favor from him or owing him one, I simply wanted to reach the castle as soon as possible and have a bit of fun while we were at it.

“Alright, first to the gates wins.” He returned my smile with one of his own.

“Ready, set, hyah!” I squeezed my thighs around my midnights ribs and kicked my heels into her side, pushing her into a gallop before Kovarro had time to realize I was already out in front of him.

I knew I played dirty, but what’s the fun in playing nice? The goal was to win, and if that meant cheating, so be it. I could hear Kovarro shouting at me to slow down or how I wasn’t playing fair, but his cries only made me urge my midnight more. It wasn’t long before I tugged on the reins and had my mare slow to a stop in front of the guards standing inside Winterfell’s gates.

Gently pulling the reins towards my right hip, my midnight turned around to face Kovarro still racing towards me. The frustrated look on his face made me laugh again and gently push my heels into my horse’s sides to meet Kovarro a little ways away from the castle.

“You cheated, Khaleesi.” His voice was thick with annoyance and airy while his chest rose and fell while he caught his breath.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, zhey qoy qoyi.” I just chuckled and led our horses up to the guards.

“State your business.” The shorter and stouter guard sounded bored.

“We’re here to visit Winterfell. That is where we are, is it not?” I knew he was just doing his job, but why would anyone be here unless to visit or come home?

“Who are you? You don’t look like Northerners to me.” The thinner guard spoke this time.

“I am Allyria Martell. This is my companion and escort, Kovarro.” I used my sister-in-law’s family name because I looked similar enough to the Martells and there shouldn’t be any Southerners here who would know I was using a false name.

“What’s a Dornishwoman and her escort doing up here?” The guard didn’t believe me simply because of the name I’d given, but he would’ve believed me less if I used my true name.

“I told you already, we’re here to visit the castle.” I leaned down slightly, resting my forearm on my thigh.

“I don’t believe you.” The fat and short man in front of me turned to the other guard. “Go get the King to figure out what to do with her.”

I hid my confusion while the two men bickered until one of them went to go get this king I had no knowledge of. As far as I knew, Tommen was still king of the Seven Kingdoms. Was he here in Winterfell? No, he’s too young for his advisors to let him travel the country as King without an entourage. Even if he was here, the guards would have summoned the Lord of Winterfell, Roose Bolton. So, who is this King? Was Roose Bolton crowned King of the North while I was at sea?

I sat up straighter in the saddle when I saw one of the guards leading a man to the gates. The man looked too young to be Roose Bolton and he was wearing Stark colors. All the Stark men and boys were dead. Who was this man? Why was he King and what happened to the Bolton’s?

The man’s dark brown eyes lifted their piercing gaze to my face. His dark hair was pulled back away from his face. He carried himself like a warrior and a leader, the scars on his face were proof he had seen battle. His beard accentuated his face, especially his full lips and sharp jawline. The women must claw each other’s eyes out for a chance to lie in his bed.

“Why exactly did you bring me over here?” The King’s voice was deep and almost sensual despite the evident frustration.

“She says she’s a Martell, but what’s a Martell doing all the way up here?” The guards seemed taken aback by the man’s hostile tone.

“What does that matter? Let her in. I told you only to stop people who seem suspicious, she’s clearly a Lady.” The man’s frustration only grew at the sound of the guard’s reasoning.

While the men talked, Kovarro and I dismounted. I wanted to meet this King. I wanted to learn more about him, but most importantly I wanted to make an ally of him. If the Northerners had crowned a King, he would be the best ally I could make in this country even if he was in open rebellion of the crown. Except, he was in open rebellion against Cersei, not me. He didn’t know me. Hells, he didn’t even know I’m an option.

“I’m sorry about this, My Lady. Your presence is welcome in Winterfell.” Those piercing brown eyes turned back to me and he stretched a gloved hand out towards me. “I’m Jon Snow, the King of the North.”

“Allyria Martell, Your Grace.” I gave him the false Dornish name and took his outstretched hand. Expecting us to shake, he surprised me by raising my hand and gently pressing his lips to the back of it. A true gentleman who remembered his manners. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well, Lady Martell.” Jon - King Jon? King Snow? - reluctantly let go of my hand and led me into the castle. “If I may ask, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see the North with my own eyes.” It was the truth, but not the whole truth. What I told the King of the North was a practiced half truth I had recited numerous times while crossing the Narrow Sea.

“Have you ever been this far north, My Lady?” King Jon Snow sounded genuinely interested, which I had not expected.

“No, Your Grace. I’ve been to Essos a few times, but never traveled north.” Another practiced half truth that sounded believable.

“How do you like it so far?” He stopped when we reached the stables and turned to face me.

“It’s beautiful. Cold, but beautiful.” My midnight gently nudged my shoulder with her head when we stopped, causing me to reach up and stroke her neck with the hand not holding the reins.

“What’s your horse’s name? If you don’t mind my asking.” It seemed to me that Jon wanted to extend the conversation as long as possible.

“Midnight, she was a gift several years ago.” I hesitated at first before answering him. Dothraki don’t name their horses and she was a wedding gift from my husband. I didn’t really name her, I only referred to her as my midnight. It felt strange to officially name her in the Westerosi fashion.

“She’s beautiful.” A small smile tugged at his lips as he looked up at my black mare, presumably thinking about how her name fit her coloring.

“Thank you.” I couldn’t help but return his smile, it was infectious.

“After you put your horses in the stable, I’d like to find you two a room in the castle. It’s the least I can do. A Lady and her companion shouldn’t stay at an inn.” If only he knew I’d stayed in places much worse than inns.

“I would appreciate that. Thank you, Your Grace.” With that, I took my leave of the considerate King with the piercing brown eyes that had seen death.

Next Chapter

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

37 notes · View notes

a-secret-bolton-vampire · 3 years ago

Text

Been wanting to do this one for a long while. Thinking a lot about Fire and Blood because House of the Dragon is coming up, and there are quite a lot of parallels between the Dance of the Dragons and the main ASOIAF series. More below...

The Dance of the Dragons happened, in part, because the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's children was in question. Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey (how fitting, two bastard children named Joffrey) had brown hair instead of the typical silver-blonde hair of Targaryen and Velaryon children, and their father was not Laenor Velaryon, but rather Harwin Strong. Because of this, Rhaenyra's claim to the Iron Throne was contested, since her heirs would be bastards.

Not too dissimilar to the beginning of the War of the Five Kings, where Cersei, the beautiful queen of King Robert, fathered three bastard children in secret with her brother Jaime, all of them with the golden blond hair of the Lannisters. Then when Robert died, Joffrey ascended the throne, and Ned backed Stannis, who was in truth the rightful heir to the throne... we all know how that went of course. Also, while Rhaenyra's Joffrey was the youngest of the three, Cersei's Joffrey was the oldest of the three.

Rhaenyra and Cersei are very strong parallels. Rhaenyra was secretly involved in an affair with a family member (her uncle Daemon) whilst Cersei was involved in a secret affair with her own family member (brother Jaime). The difference, of course, being that Rhaenyra ended up marrying Daemon because Targs do Targ things, and Cersei just kept her affair with Jaime secret because they weren't Targs. In addition, Rhaenyra ended up losing all three of her children, becoming more and more bitter and distraught, becoming prone to paranoia.

Meanwhile, Cersei has thus far only lost Joffrey, but the valonqar prophecy states she will lose all three of her children. Like Rhaenyra, though, after the death of Joffrey, she does become more prone to paranoia and is increasingly bitter. Rhaenyra was eventually fed to Sunfyre by her half-brother Aegon. If Jaime is truly the valonqar, then Cersei might end up being killed by her brother as well. Eventually, Rhaenyra did end up becoming estranged from Daemon, and currently Cersei is estranged from Jaime.

However, a better Dance parallel with Cersei and Jaime is Rhaenyra and Criston Cole. They were lovers, a future queen with a member of the Kingsguard. They later suffered some sort of estrangement (the nature of which is a source of conflict in terms of what is real) that led to Criston eventually siding with the greens over the blacks during the Dance. Criston also was made Hand of the King, while Cersei presses for Jaime to be made Hand, but he refuses the position.

However, Rhaenyra isn't the only Cersei parallel. Alicent Hightower is another. Like Cersei, she supports her eldest son in claiming the throne against its lawful heir, and is the dowager queen of the former king... And she is the daughter of the Hand of the King, who is a member of one of the richest, most powerful families in the kingdoms. However, Rh

But the parallels run even deeper than that. It shocked me to see how far these go. The story of Aegon III and Viserys II as children is not too dissimilar to both the story of Daenerys and Viserys after Robert's Rebellion and some of the Stark children. Like Dany and Viserys, Viserys II ended up spending a lot of time in the Free Cities, specifically Lys, although he was captured in battle and returned as a hostage, whereas Dany and Viserys spent time in Illyrio's mansion as guests. Arya also went to Braavos, a Free City, but that's about where the similarities end so that isn't very intentional, I think.

Nonetheless, both Aegon and Viserys spent the majority of the war separated from each other and only reunited after it ended. Likewise, the Stark children were separated from each other for the majority of the war as well, and seem poised to reunite after the initial War of the Five Kings is over. And speaking of Starks, Aegon III does have a slight parallel with Bran.

As confirmed by George, Bran will be the King of Westeros by the end of the books, and there is a moniker given to him in the show that actually does appear in the books, of Bran the Broken. Meanwhile, at the end of the Dance, Aegon is now the King, and he is known as the Broken King, because of his extreme PTSD and depression from his traumatic experiences during the war.

Doesn't even end there. Now we get into some of, in my opinion, the biggest parallels with the Dance and ASOIAF proper. We all know about R+L=J, and the Dance has not one, but two big nods to this. First is the story told by Mushroom of when Jacaerys visited Winterfell. Supposedly, he fell in love with Cregan's bastard half-sister Sara Snow, and the two secretly wed before the Winterfell heart tree. Regardless of the validity of the story, Cregan and Jace did end up agreeing to what was called the Pact of Ice and Fire, wherein Jace's firstborn daughter would marry Cregan's son Rickon... son of a Targaryen king marrying the daughter of Lord Stark? Hmmm....

However, the other one is a lot more significant, to me anyways, and that would be the relationship between Crown Prince Aemond One-Eye and Alys Rivers. During the Dance, when Aemond took over Harrenhal, he took Alys Rivers as his paramour. The mysterious Alys was said to be a witch who was a bastard of House Strong, a House that has strong ties to the First Men. So, Valyrian crown prince and a First Man woman in love... but don't worry, it gets extremely apparent afterwards.

Aemond impregnates Alys and leaves her in a tower to go fight Daemon, during which Aemond is killed, leaving Alys all alone. Rhaegar impregnates Lyanna and leaves her in a tower to go fight Robert, during which Rhaegar is killed and leaves Alys all alone... then, years later, during winter, the Hand of the King Tyland Lannister tries to get together a force to retake Harrenhal, as it is held by brigands and thieves and broken men, only to find Alys there... with a young child she calls her and Aemond's trueborn son, and the rightful King of Westeros.

If that isn't enough for you, there is a very distinct similarity in the armour of Rhaegar and Aemond. Rhaegar's armour is mentioned to have been;

Seventeen and new to knighthood, Rhaegar Targaryen had worn black plate over golden ringmail when he cantered onto the lists.

And:

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate.

Compare this to Aemond's own armour.

Vhagar had come at last, and on her back rode the one-eyed Prince Aemond Targaryen, clad in nightblack armor chased with gold.

It seems clear to me that George is trying to tell us something. I think Aemond and Alys are a sort of dark mirror to Rhaegar and Lyanna. Rhaegar was considered a very noble, chivalrous prince who was well loved by the smallfolk, and Lyanna had a strong sense of Stark justice (as seen in the Knight of the Laughing Tree story). Meanwhile, Aemond was a narcissistic, psychopathic mass murderer who seems almost Ramsay-esque in his demeanour. And Alys seems more power hungry and eventually took over Harrenhal as its witch queen. But the fact they have what Alys claims to be their trueborn child and true king of Westeros does strongly suggest Rhaegar and Lyanna did eventually marry and Jon is their trueborn son, not a bastard.

I hoped I would be done by now, but there is still even more parallels. Cregan Stark and Eddard Stark are parallels and foils. Ned becomes Hand of the King and travels south to uncover who poisoned the previous Hand of the King, before the War of the Five Kings starts. Meanwhile, Cregan travels south and arrives at King's Landing after the Dance was over, then becomes Hand of the King to uncover who poisoned the previous king (Aegon II). However, while Ned was cautious and not really a big player of the game of thrones, Cregan was ambitious and knew what he was doing, even if his actions weren't always the best (attacking Storm's End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock after the war was essentially over? Not a good idea, Stark).

The Regency of Aegon III in and of itself is a metacommentary to the writing process of ASOIAF. Originally, after GRRM finished ASOS, he decided to do a 5-year gap between that and what was to be ADWD. However, that ended up not working out, so he scrapped it all together. During that time, Tommen would've remained king, and his reign would be under a regency. So thus, Aegon III having a 5-year regency (from 131 to 136 AC) during that time alludes to that.

And then you get to Unwin Peake, my least favourite character in Fire and Blood. He appears to be a combination of Mace Tyrell and Randyll Tarly. Personality wise, he is very much like Randyll. He is a very outspoken misogynist, a very proud man, and a noted warrior wielding a Valyrian steel blade (that he likely stole from Tumbleton since Orphan-Maker was from House Roxton originally). He also changed out Aegon III's master-at-arms to be Gareth Long, who was a very harsh taskmaster, who routinely engaged in abusive tactics with the boys he trained when they didn't meet his expectations, including days without sleep, doused in tubs of ice water, being beat, and having their heads shaved, which is very reminiscent of Randyll's abuse of Sam as a child.

Unwin and Randyll also dealt with lawful punishment in very harsh ways, as seen by Randyll's treatment of those who break the law at Maidenpool, and Unwin's clearing the Red Keep cells during the Feast of Our Father Above. However, Unwin has a lot of similarities with Mace Tyrell as well. Mace is on the small council, and has routinely tried to engage in nepotism by implanting allies and family members of his into positions at the council and at King's Landing, including marrying Margaery to the king, becoming Hand of the King, having Paxter Redwyne be the lord admiral and Randyll Tarly the lord justiciar, try to bring his uncle Garth to become the new master of coin, and Garth's bastard sons to join the gold cloaks, not to mention the Conclave nearly sending his uncle Gormon to become the new Grand Maester (something Mace will surely approve of), Mace having his son Loras join the Kingsguard, and even try to betroth his heir Willas to Myrcella.

Meanwhile, Unwin engaged in much more rampant and unchecked nepotism. He was Hand of the King and Lord Regent, had Ser Gareth as master-at-arms at the Red Keep, since he was master-at-arms at Starpike, while his widowed aunt Clarice Osgrey was put in charge of Queen Jaehaera's household, Lord George Graceford (a member of the Caltrops that Peake himself was involved in) was appointed as the Lord Confessor, and Ser Victor Risley, the other surviving member of the Caltrops, was appointed to the position of the King's Justice.

He even dismissed Septon Eustace and replaced him with Septon Bernard, another relative of his. He also had his nephew Amaury and his bastard half-brother Ser Mervyn Flowers put onto the Kingsguard, while his uncle Gedmund was made the master of ships. Not to mention his attempted marriage between his daughter Myrielle and Aegon III. So basically the Peakes are the Tyrells of their day, trying to take control of the Seven Kingdoms and the Iron Throne.

And that is all that I can remember! I'm sure there is a lot more, but it's striking to see just how many parallels there are between the Dance and ASOIAF itself.

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #dance of the dragons #fire and blood #war of the five kings #asoiaf parallels

37 notes · View notes

comparativetarot · 3 years ago

Photo

Knight of Wands. Art by Jon Sacha, from Goblins & Gardens.

The Gloom Meet has transformed dramatically since the Masters have left. What once was a terrifying and unwelcoming affair of the lower planes has now become a loving jubilee with an open invitation to all! The only thing that hasn’t changed is the heralding of the event by the Nightmares. Flaming hooves leave trails of fire that now dissipate and give way to ash and ultimately wildflowers! Like a planar red carpet rolled out across the known realms the Nightmares’ bouquet beckons any travelers to come and celebrate.

Strike the match, light your torch, and press on! Our collective celebration of the passing oppression unites all in a progressive march forward. Be careful though because anything you leave behind will turn to ash in the wake of your steady canter.

#Jon Sacha #Goblins & Gardens #Knight of Wands #Knight #Wands #Minor Arcana #Tarot #Gloom Meet

3 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Ride With Me (part sixteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part sixteen: The wranglers return and Jo can’t wait to hear about Y/N’s adventures, until a disturbing call comes in. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Opening scene: ‘River Crossing’ - Carter Burwell. Dean & Ellen scene: ‘She Is The Fire’ - Gareth Dunlop. Check out ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: It’s about damn time, ain’t it? Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish and @winchest09 for helping me. You girls are awesome betas and friends.

Ride With Me Masterlist

“They’re here!” With two long ranch ropes hanging from her shoulders, Jo walks up to the fence and hangs the bundles by the loops on a post. All the preparations have been made. Garth and her moved the trail horses to the pastures further to the left, creating space for the youngsters. The hay feeders are stacked, water troughs filled. All that’s left now is to get the horses in the right fields, which sounds easy enough, but has proven to be a struggle many times before. Getting a group of young feril stallions into a certain space is like herding cats. Both excited and in suspense, she rests her bare forearms on the wooden rail, the sleeves of her plaid shirt rolled up. Jo hopes everything went alright and that everyone, humans and horses, are in good health. The blonde rancher peers at the orange haze up ahead, the wind carrying the veils of dust further east. The sun is slowly setting, catching the clouds rising up from the earth and setting them on fire.

She and Garth have one task: take the pack horses out of their hands so they can round up the horses and secure the gates. She looks over her shoulder, whipping her blond braid as she turns her head. Garth joins her, a big smile on his kind face, clearly just as excited. Behind him, in the tall doorway, Bobby and Ellen watch the approaching herd, several guests doing the same from the terrace at the outdoor arena. When she hears Benny’s classic ‘grito’ shout above the intensifying sounds of hoofbeats, she knows it’s time for action. Macy and Jon come down the trail that carves through the property, both with a pack horse by their side. They only slow down when they turn the last corner. After handing over Cash and Aerosmith, the tourists thank them briefly and spin around, pushing the animals into a canter; their job is far from done.

As they speed back to the group again over the trail path outside the fenced pasture, Benny is the first to come through the first gate and from then on, it’s chaos. Most of the juvenile stallions follow him, but two hit the brakes when they notice the bottle neck, demanding quick responses from both Dean and Brad. A few others spread out before Benny has lured them through the second gate. Joplin bolts towards the stragglers once Y/N moves the reins towards her horse’s ears. Like she has been doing so all her life, Y/N cuts of the two youngsters, following the movements of the speedy mare. Dean is with her in a split second, ready to back her up if necessary, but Y/N doesn’t need saving. Jo smiles at the sight, proud of her friend, who is proving herself to be one hell of a ranch hand. She might be State Champion in the arena, but out there, working the fields, she rules the world.

Shouts and whistles rise above the dust. Horses neigh, the ground trembles. Hooves dig deep into the ground, their beats pounding against the earth. It takes some maneuvering, but within ten minutes, the herd is on the right side of the fence, the animals cantering through the field and clinging together like a flock of birds. Once Macy has pulled the gate shut, the spectators on the terrace cheer, the ranch owners clap as well. Jo lets out an excited ‘woo-hoo!’ as well, Garth joining her in the howl.

Y/N turns in the saddle, her attention drawn by the applause coming from the ranch, and she smiles when realizing they have an audience. Ted is waiting for his next cue patiently, catching his breath after the intense ride, while his rider pulls his neckerchief down, using the other end of it to wipe his face. It doesn’t help much, the fabric just smudges the dirt and Y/N chuckles at the sight of the handsome cowboy, covered in dust. “What?” He rubs his nose with the back of his hand. “Nothing,” she laughs. “You just need a bath, that’s all.” “Something about a pot and a kettle.” He leans over, dragging the pad of his thumb across her cheek, showing her the dark smear on his finger. She laughs in surprise, only now tasting the earth on her lips. Playfully she glances at him from under her lashes, locking onto his green eyes, which stand out even brighter on his dirty face. God, she wouldn’t mind sharing a tub with him.

Dean redirects his attention to the group when the other wranglers join them. Content, he allows his eyes to pass the riders and their horses, all worn, covered in sweat and dust. The six of them turned out to be a solid group, because they absolutely nailed it. “Alright, y’all,” he starts, resting his wrist on the horn of his saddle, absently tracing the dressing of his bandaged hand. “Awesome job, that was some impressive teamwork. I know it wasn’t always easy, but we brought them home.” “Thanks for having us,” Macy returns, smiling genuine. “We would’ve gone in circles if it wasn’t for you.” “Hey, now! What about lil’ ol’ me? Y’all would have starved to death if it wasn’t for my phenomenal stew,” Benny recalls, fishing for a compliment. The riders laugh, Brad patting the Southerner on the back and thanking him for the fine dining. They turn the horses to the trail along the fenced pastures, heading towards the stables.

Jo watches the company of six approach from under her hat, which shields the setting sun from blinding her. It’s an epic sight, the silhouets of the wranglers and their horses, illuminated with an edge of gold, dust clouds in their wake catching the light. Benny is right up front, accepting the small applause from the other guests with a ‘thank you, you’re too kind’. He looks like he just crawled out of a coal mine, his distinctive blue eyes standing out from the dirt. She sighs with relief when she notices the three tourists, excitedly sharing conversation with each other about their epic Wild West adventure. They are all unharmed and clearly had a good time, which means they will pay the invoice they will receive once they check out in a couple of days. Maybe they’ll even throw in a tip; God knows the ranch needs it.

Behind them, the last wranglers follow. Dean and Y/N ride stirrup by stirrup, exchanging a look that has the blonde cowgirl frowning. What’s going on with those two? The moment passes when Macy gets off her horse, Jo’s cue to help her tack down, while Garth assists Jonathan and Brad. She loosens Jimmi’s singe and glances over the horse’s back. Dean has allowed Y/N to pass through the fence first, turning Ted around to close the last gate from his saddle. Joplin speedwalks onto the square as enthusiastic as the morning she left, not a trace of fatigue with the feisty little horse. As the mare and her rider pass by, Y/N makes eye contact with the ranch owner’s daughter, who follows her with her gaze, confused. The suppressed smile creates dimples in the intern’s cheeks, her lips pulled together in a thin line, as if she’s trying to contain herself. Almost like she has done something bad, something Jo told her not to do. Underneath she’s glowing, her eyes giving the sheer happiness away. Y/N averts her eyes again and steers Joplin to a free spot on the tack up area and only then Dean moves into Jo’s peripheral vision. His expression has similarities to Y/N’s, yet isn’t quite the same. For one, he’s way worse at hiding the sly smirk that reaches from ear to ear, not to mention the mischievous sparkle in his emerald greens.

Jo does a double-take, bouncing her eyes from the head wrangler to the intern and back. Then it clicks. “You despicable dickwad,” she hisses. Her piercing glare bores into Dean, who has aided Ted to halt next to the horse Jo is tacking down. Playing innocent, he raises his eyebrows at the insult as he dismounts. “What did I do now?” Jo narrows her eyes at her cousin. “Oh, you know damn well what you did.” She lifts the tack from Jimmi’s back, pulling the damp saddle pad from underneath, after which she barges off, muttering to herself. Three days. I left those idiots alone for three days!

She enters the tack room, the heavy saddle on her hip. Still shaking her head disapproving, she hoists it over the high beam and hangs the wet blanket on the drying frame. When the door opens behind her, she spins on her heels and faces Y/N, who’s holding Joplin’s saddle, bridle hanging from her shoulder. Guilty, she tips her chin down, looking back at Jo while she bites her lip. The ranch owner’s daughter sighs, deciding to cut her some slack. “You better hurry up hosing down your horse, ‘cause you have some explainin’ to do,” Jo tells her. “And hose down yourself while you’re at it. You look like you crawled up a chimney.” Y/N chuckles, putting the tack away. “Oh, how I missed your honest judgement.” “Missed you too, sis,” Jo returns, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. “Now get goin’, I need a drink and I need to get you drunk, because I wanna know everything. Meet me at the saloon in thirty.”

A half an hour later, Y/N has taken a seat at one of the small round tables in the corner of the saloon, tapping her fingertips on the dark varnished wood. She’s freshly showered, her hair still damp, held together in a French braid. It’s nice to feel so clean again, no sticky sweat on her back, no sand in her bra, no dirt up her nose. Jo didn’t lie when she mocked her friend for looking like a chimney sweep; Y/N was shocked when she saw herself in the bathroom mirror. Dust as makeup foundation isn’t really the look she is aspiring for.

Funnily enough, Y/N has grown fond of this new version of herself, the one that isn’t so fussy over the details. After her shower, she didn’t even bother with her usual makeup and hair routine, a little bit of mascara was all she put on. Old her would have been self-conscious, especially knowing she’ll most likely meet the man she wants to impress. Old her would have ironed her shirt and polished her boots. Old her would have sighed at her reflection, nervous and disappointed, never pretty enough. But for three days straight, Dean looked at her as if she was the only girl in the world, no matter how dirty, dusty or sweaty she was. He even told her she was beautiful, with or without makeup.

The way he said it, the way he meant it, quieted that dreadful voice in her head and beckoned the small suppressed girl to step forward, into the light. That little girl’s voice grows louder when she accomplishes something. When she’s accepted, successful, appreciated… loved. But as it goes in business, one bad review might destroy what all the good accomplished. Her confidence is fragile, made of glass. She’s aware that when it falls, it will shatter. Maybe that’s the exact reason why she seeks confirmation. Glueing all the pieces together has proven to be difficult before. Some pieces go missing, others don’t fit together perfectly anymore. Cracks remain visible. And every time that brittle heart is stepped on, it’s harder to put it back together.

“So!” Jo sits down opposite of her, roughly pulling her off the train of thought. “You better start talkin’.” She shoves a large margarita glass towards her friend, keeping her delicate fingers around the neck of her beer bottle. “I want details. Well, not all the details. He’s my cousin after all, I have no desire to know that much,” she corrects herself, thirstily gulping down her IPA when she pauses, keeping the beer in her mouth for a second before she swallows. “Hmm, so let’s start with… what the hell were you thinking and why didn’t you take my advice?” “I couldn’t have stopped myself if I wanted to, Jo,” Y/N confesses, taking a sip from her beverage. The blonde cowgirl sighs. “At least tell me it was a moment of weakness? One isolated incident?”

Another sip, this one a little slower, hoping her friend can’t detect the blush. “Oh, come on, Y/N,” Jo utters. “He ain’t a bad guy, but you know how he treats women. Remember Casey? Because I bet Dean doesn’t.” “I don’t think this is like that,” she ponders, shaking her head. “The way he was with me... it’s different.” Jo leans back in her seat, taking a swig from her drink, looking at her friend even when she tilts her head back and allows the golden brew to slip down her throat. She’s not judging her friend over her decisions, not really. She just wishes this fling with Dean won’t hurt her feelings, despite years of observation that say otherwise. “Honey,” she starts empathetic. “I hate to break it to ya, but that’s how he’s been with every girl he had sex with. He makes them feel special and then he--” “- I didn’t have sex with him,” Y/N corrects. “Wait, what?” Jo cocks her head back, somewhat confused. “You didn’t?” Y/N chuckles, shaking her head. “No. We kissed, we got a little handsy, but we didn’t have sex.” Dumbfounded, her friend blinks, needing to process that information first before she responds. Then she nods impressed. “I knew you were smarter than that,” she grins. Y/N smiles, amused about how wrong Jo’s assumptions are. “It wasn’t me.” “What wasn’t?” “It wasn’t me who suggested taking it slow.” “Then who--” the first words have fallen from Jo’s lips already before Y/N’s message sinks in and she realizes what that means. Eyes full of shock stare at her. “What?! Dean?!”

Y/N laughs now, covering her mouth with her hand to keep the noise down. Oh, this is priceless. “Dean wants to take it easy?” Jo double checks. “We’re talking about the same Dean, right? Dean Winchester? Cowboy Ken Doll with the cocky attitude?” The tequila mixed with lime juice almost resurfaces through Y/N’s nose and they both laugh when she spills some. “The one and only,” she giggles, wiping the spilled drink away with her sleeve, not bothered by the stain. “Hold up. Let’s take it back,” Jo leans in, making sure no one can listen in. “You’re telling me that he had the opportunity to hit a homerun, but didn’t take it?” “He had several opportunities, actually,” Y/N admits casually. Perplexed Jo averts her gaze, focusing on nothing in particular, unable to grasp what is going on. “Did he say anything?” she carefully checks, her frown marred with worry. Jo assumed Dean was into the intern, but now that he passed up, she’s starting to doubt it. That is so unlike him. The thought crosses her mind that Y/N will most likely get hurt, just not in the way she was trying to prevent. What if the attraction isn’t mutual, but her dear friend hasn’t picked up on it yet? “Yeah, he did,” she starts off. “We had a pretty deep conversation last night. Just the two of us.” Jo raises her eyebrows. Another surprising fact; Dean having deep conversations. Have the stars aligned? Is she in a different universe? “What’d he say?”

Y/N becomes a little more guarded, unsure if it’s her place to discuss the matter with Jo. The small bit of information Dean shared with her about his past feels top secret, and she doesn’t want to break his trust when this circles back to him. She decides on keeping it plain. “We talked about us, how to proceed from there. He said…” she smiles at the memory, remembering the sincerity in his voice and in his eyes. “He said he really cares about me, and that because of that, he doesn’t want to rush into it.” Jo can’t believe her ears. “He said that?” Y/N nods. “He also said he wants to be with me, Jo. Like really be with me. He just needs a little more time. I think he wants to make sure this lasts.” “Well, I’ll be damned,” Jo huffs. “How about that?”

The double saloon doors behind them are pushed open with a shriek, a few guests coming through. Y/N’s heart skips a beat when Dean enters as well. He looked good on the trail ride, in his long stockman coat, his leather fringed chaps, covered in dust and sweat. But my God, he looks even finer now. Dean also showered and changed his dirty jeans for a pair of clean dark ones, a navy blue button up hugging his strong back, shoulders, and arms. He trimmed the stubble that was transitioning into a beard, the shorter facial hair allowing the sharp line of his jaw to come through. Still standing on the doormat, he takes off his hat while scanning the saloon. Is he looking for her? When the cowboy finally spots her, he instantly smiles, the expression reaching his eyes. He holds her gaze when she smiles back happily, shooting her a wink, before heading for the bar.

“Ha...” Jo scoffs, amazed by the exchange she just witnessed. “Maybe there is hope for him after all.” Y/N chuckles, clinking her glass to Jo’s raised bottle, the sound clear as a bell. Beaming, she steals another glance at the handsome cowboy by the bar, who has trouble keeping focus on the conversation with Bobby and Benny, looking over at her briefly every now and then. Taunting him, she takes the remaining beverage before her in one swig, licking the salt from her lips. When she checks on the head wrangler again, his eyes are glued on her, the sight of her downing her drink in one shot clearly having an effect on him. Jo observes the interaction like she’s watching a tennis match and scoffs.

“Judging by the look he just gave ya, he’s not gonna be able to ‘take it slow’ much longer, because I’m positive you and your margarita just gave him a boner.” She gets up from her chair. “Want another one?” Y/N nods, chuckling at her comment; Jo has so much faith in her cousin. She can’t really blame her, though, with Dean’s track record, but Y/N knows that this time it will be different.

She’s halfway through her second drink when she starts to feel the influence of the alcohol on her system. The music seems a little louder, the candle-shaped lights on the wagon wheels hanging from the ceiling sway slightly. She tells Jo about her adventure off the grid, about singing songs by the campfire at Willow Creek, about swimming with the horses at Eagle’s Nest, about her night ride with Dean. And of course about her moments with the wrangler. Jo stops her when the intern shares a little too much information about the heated kiss in the water, the ranch owner’s daughter putting her fingers in her ears and singing ‘lalala!’ to overrule the juicy details.

Dean can’t tell what the girls are talking about, but he has a hunch. He smiles content with a beer in his hand, watching them giggle and clearly having a good time. Y/N taunts him every now and then, and he can’t help but smirk when she sips from her cocktail again. She’s gonna be the death of me, he thinks to himself.

The saloon is pretty busy, guests lingering after the arrival of the herd, having a few drinks to celebrate. He takes a second to absorb the ambiance. Cheerful conversations, laughter, eight-balls colliding on the pool table, country tunes playing. It’s much like the evening right before the new intern arrived. He had no idea how his life was going to change, but it did. His gaze lingers on her again, her wide smile and sparking eyes lighting up the room. God, she’s breathtaking. His chest grows a little tighter, but he has grown accustomed to the sensation. It terrified him at first, but now it feels comforting and warm. Dean knows what it means, he understands it, and although he’s still intimidated by what lays ahead, he is excited. This could be the beginning of a new chapter, hell, a whole damn book.

“So, you and Y/N, huh?” Staggered, Dean snaps out of it and turns his head to the person on the other side of the bar. It’s Ellen, who apparently noticed her nephew’s longing looks. She’s restocking the fridge under the counter, a dish towel draped over her shoulder and an amused expression on her face. The arched eyebrow surfaces frown lines, her knowing smile reaching her light brown eyes. For a second Dean considers denial, but stops himself, very much aware she will see right through it. Instead he stays quiet, a blush on his cheeks which his freckles can’t hide. “Please don’t tell Uncle Bobby,” he pleads, keeping his voice down. “You don’t have to whisper, he’s deaf as a doorknob.” She sets four bottles of IPA down on the counter, flipping the caps off swiftly. “And I personally think he wouldn’t mind.” Dean scoffs. “Oh, he would. He told me not to get involved with her.” “Well, he told me I wasn’t allowed to buy Jo a horse for her sixteenth birthday, and look what happened,” Ellen reminds him, the memory of the surprise gift with four legs still vivid, causing them both to chuckle. Bobby was grumpy at first, but Jo was ecstatic. One glimpse of his happy daughter took the old man’s bitterness away in an instant. “He won’t make a fuss, honey. Believe me.”

“What makes you think that?” he wonders, nursing his beer. “Because I’ve never before seen you look at a girl like you look at her,” she returns, hinting at Y/N. The corner of Dean’s mouth curls up a little as he drops his gaze; she knows. He’s not surprised that Ellen is able to read him like an open book, she always had her way of deciphering what was going on in his head. He exchanges a look with his aunt, before she walks away with a tray of beer, the unspoken understanding saying enough.

Just like on that evening when Y/N walked into his life, the phone rings. Not Bobby’s cellphone this time, but the landline. Ellen whips her hair over her shoulders while serving out the drinks, her hands still full. “Can you get that, Dean?” In response, the wrangler stands up from his stool and circles to the other side of the bar. Before he picks up the phone, he glances at the display, frowning when he notices the area code. 207; isn’t that up North? “Gold Canyon Ranch.” “Yes, hello. Is Y/N nearby? I’ve tried to call her cell, but I can’t reach her.” Dean looks over his shoulder at the intern. She didn’t bring her phone on the trail, she wouldn’t have had reception up in the mountains anyway. The man’s tone on the other end of the line sounds serious. “Yeah, she’s here,” he returns. “Can I ask who’s calling?” “Her father.”

Dean freezes, staring at the liquor stash on the shelves in front of him. Fuck. It’s her father. Her father! The wrangler has exactly 0.2 seconds to collect himself, but several thoughts already chase each other in his mind. Holy shit, and I’m messing with his daughter. And I was worried about Bobby?! “Uh, I - I’ll get her,” he stammers, leaving the phone next to the machine. Before Dean turns around, he takes a breath. Why would her father call? Just to check up on her? It seemed urgent, and he tried to reach her before. What if something has happened at home? Dean closes his eyes as he feels his stomach constrict. What if she has to go back?

The cowboy swallows thickly and makes his way to the table in the far corner. He can see her expression fall when she notices the concern on his face, instantly reading in his body language that something is wrong. When he reaches her and Jo, he leans on the table, his knuckles white on the surface. “Your father’s on the phone,” he notifies. “What?” she returns, staggered. “My dad?” Dean nods. “Yeah, he said he tried to call you.” She quickly reaches for her back pocket, where she usually carries her Iphone. She got so used to not having the device on her, that she didn’t even miss it. “Did he say what it’s about?” she asks, confused, as she gets up from her seat. “He didn’t,” he says, trying to keep his tone unchanged, not wanting to worry her more than necessary. “You can take the phone in the kitchen, you’ll have some more privacy.”

She nods a little bit dazed, takes a beat and then heads to the kitchen. Jo and Dean walk with her, staying behind the bar, offering her space. Through the round windows in the doors, they can see Y/N pick up the phone, but her voice is shut out, the saloon too noisy. “I wonder what’s going on,” Jo says out loud. The head wrangler doesn’t say anything, but grinds his teeth, his jaw set. His heart is beating faster than it should, drumming in his ears. Trying to distract himself, he grabs a beer from the cooler and flips the cap off with an opener, but he can’t stop his head from over-analyzing. Shit, what if this is it? What if her father wants her to come home? They were just beginning to grow closer, he was finally allowing himself to feel something. What if it blows up in his face?

“Dean.” Jo calls him back from his spiraling thoughts and he turns to peer through the small window. What he sees might just confirm his fear; Y/N has her hand clasped over her mouth. She’s facing away from them, but whatever her dad told her, it clearly impacts her, the pale fluorescent light harshly illuminating what seems to be a tragic scene. Dean’s hand is on the door handle before he can think twice, but his cousin grabs his arm. “Give her a moment,” she insists. Reluctantly, he waits, keeping a close eye on her. After another minute, she hangs up, but remains where she is, still processing the news. Now Dean does push the door open, stepping into the kitchen, cautiously. “Y/N? You okay?” The young woman who has him worried turns around, as if for a second she forgot he and Jo were waiting for her. Her eyes are glazed over, emotion evident, but Dean can’t quite guess which. As if she’s unable to believe what she just heard, she scoffs. “I’m - I’m going to ride at Congress,” she stammers. Her best friend’s jaw drops, staring at her stunned. “Congress?” Jo checks. “As in the All American Quarter Horse Congress?! The biggest show of the year?!” Y/N nods, still not sure if this is real. “I sent in an application in March after I won the State Championships. I wasn’t sure if I had enough points to qualify, and when I didn’t hear back, I just figured...” she pauses, chuckling. “They sent the invitation to the university campus. Mom and Dad only received it last week.”

Her eyes meet Dean, who stares back surprised. He has heard of Congress. It’s the most important Western riding event in the country, the event every equestrian owning a Quarter horse dreams to be a part of. It’s the biggest single-breed horse show in the world, the competition where the best face the best. Earning a spot on the starting list is a mission in itself, entering the massive arena is an honor. But right now, he couldn’t care less about statistics. He huffs a laugh, his shoulders relaxing in relief; Y/N isn’t going anywhere. Even better, her wish is about to come true, and witnessing her happiness right now, is all he could wish for himself. “Holy shit...” he stammers, grinning wide. “You’re going to Congress!” Jo exclaims. The blonde cowgirl can’t contain her excitement any longer and jumps into Y/N’s arms. Knowing exactly how much this means to her friend, Jo hugs her tight. Absolutely glowing, she returns the embrace, the kitchen filling with their laughter, while Dean watches with a wide smile on his face. “Well, if this ain’t a reason to raise our glasses, I don’t know what is,” he comments. “Yes! I’ll get the tequila!” Jo announces, dashing back to the bar to gather the liquor. “Wait! I have to train Meadow, I can’t waste another day. Congress is in three weeks!” Y/N protests, when her friend grabs her wrist to drag her out of the kitchen. Jo snorts. “You had two margaritas, hon. You’re not getting on that poor horse.” “But I should at least lunge her, and my freestyle needs work…” Y/N protests.

Before they move through the double doors, she pleadingly glances over her shoulder at Dean, but for once the cowboy agrees with his cousin. “You can train first thing in the morning, Yankee,” he assures. “See? Now let’s celebrate!” Jo has already turned the music down, catching the attention of the ranch workers and the guests. “Y’all! Guess who qualified for the All American Quarter Horse Congress?!” she exclaims, pointing at her friend, proudly. “Well, slap my head and call me silly,” Benny responds surprised. Garth grins wide, too. “I knew our Yankee could ride, but dang it! That’s impressive.” Ellen, who was wiping down a table, leaves the cloth on the counter and dries her hands on her jeans, before opening her arm for Y/N as she closes the distance between them. “Sweety, that’s amazing. Congratulations,” she says warmly, hugging the intern who is becoming a part of the family. Bobby comes over to congratulate her as well, same as the other ranch workers, and even the tourists she spent the past couple of days with. In the mix of receiving all the praise, her eyes meet Dean’s, who watches her from behind the bar, a content smile playing on his lips. She mirrors his expression and in that little moment they share, time stops. As if for a second it’s just the two of them in the saloon. They don’t need words, he doesn’t have to wish her best of luck, she doesn’t have to hear him say it. The subtle wink he sends her way, combined with the warmth in his eyes is enough; he’s happy for her.

“I don’t know about y’all, but I think we should drink to this,” Benny - of course - proposes. “Free round on me!” Y/N promises, earning a loud cheer. Chuckling, Dean takes the first pint glass in hand and pulls the lever of the beer tap towards him, letting the golden brew swirl into the shaker. He has a feeling this will not be the last round, and Y/N, for once, is indulging in the fun too. She’s always so focussed, eye on the prize. He appreciates how committed she is to achieving her dreams, how passionate she is, but sometimes she forgets to stop and enjoy how far she’s come. He replaces a full glass for an empty one without wasting beer and starts to hand them out. Today they will drink on recent victories, tomorrow they will work on the ones that will follow.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part seventeen here

218 notes · View notes

agentrouka-blog · 4 years ago

Text

ASOIAF - Food symbolism: apples and Jon “You have to choose.”

Inspired by this amazing post by @thoughtsandgrumbles I felt compelled to look at apples a little.

Apples are a deeply symbolic fruit on a good day, but I’m not going to go too deeply into the general use, because who has time for that? I’m looking at the text itself. This post will be all about apples in Jon’s chapters, once I get the preliminary rambles out of the way.

Warning: LONG. Many quotes.

Just a few things:

Popularly associated with temptation and the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in the garden of eden, the realization of being nekkid, the Expulsion of Adam and Eve from paradise as a result. (That would botanically not have been an apple, though.)

The apple “to the fairest” handed out by Eris, godess of discord, for Paris to choose among the three godesses Hera, Athena and Aphrodite, ultimately leading to the Trojan War, which GRRM heavily draws from.

Snow White and the poison apple

Sansa is the name of a variety of apple that was developed in the 1970s, an early ripening mix of Gala and Akane.

Just by the general use, we get a theme of choice and destruction. Also Sansa is an apple. But - spoiler alert - that is NOT very central in Jon’s chapters. YET.

Also, some boring numbers, because this is not as easy a fruit as the persimmon to parse for the sheer amount of them:

Apples in general have 155 mentions in all searchable publications, 135 in the novels directly, 22 in Jon chapters. Only 9 of all the novel-mentions concern House Fossoway, 11 in the other literature.

Top chapter uses:

AFFC, Prologue - 14: Oldtown, Quill and Tankard inn backyard. Alleras shoots them with bow and arrow while the acolyte nerd squad discusses Dany and her dragon rumors. "Where's Rosey? Our rightful queen deserves another round of cider, wouldn't you say?" The apples are withered and wormy, the cider is fearsomely strong. Pate agonizes over his betrayal and theft for his creepy, obsessive love. His choice is “love”. Then he is killed. Complex.

ADWD, Jon V - 11: Jon passes out food and asks the wildlings at Mole’s Town to choose if they want to fight for the NW or not. Apples and onions, you have to choose. The apples are withered.

ADWD, Davos II - 7: Getting information about Manderly from an apple seller in White Harbor. Bad apple, good information. Theme in WH: who are you truly loyal to? The apple is dry and mealy, “bad”. Apples and onions, again.

ASOS, Bran III - 5, and ASOS, Jon V - 3: (8 combined) Rotten apples carpet the ground near an abandoned Queenscrown inn. They provide the background for Jon’s break with the Wildling Undercover Operation and flight back to the Watch. Theme: the abandonment of the Gift, the decline of the Watch, the Dream of Spring and Jon really doesn’t even really pretend to want a future with Ygritte. He chooses. The apples are rotten.

POV uses: Jon 22, Arya 18, Prologue AFFC 14, Sansa 13, Davos 8, Jaime 8, Bran 8, Tyrion 8, Brienne 6, Catelyn 6, Dany 5, Eddard 5, Cersei 3, Theon 3, Samwell 2 JonCon 1, Asha 1, Quentyn 1, Arianne 1, Areo Hotah 1, Prologue ADWD: 1.

Jon is not only the single top POV character to feature the apple, he also has two of the top-use chapters that give the apple significance in setting the background. The apple is very closely tied to Jon.

A short note on the red apple Fossoways (Cider Hall) and the green apple Fossoways (New Barrel):

The branches split at the trial of seven at the Tourney at Ashford (of the Ashford Theory), where the red apple fought for the bad guys (Aerion Targaryen) and the green apple for Ser Duncan the Tall.

Both had the red apple of the Fossoways painted on their shields, but the younger man's was soon hacked and chipped to pieces. "Here's an apple that's not ripe yet," the older said as he slammed the other's helm. (…)

"Ser Raymun, if you please." He cantered up, a grim smile lighting his face beneath his plumed helm. "My pardons, ser. I needed to make a small change to my sigil, lest I be mistaken for my dishonorable cousin." He showed them all his shield. The polished golden field remained the same, and the Fossoway apple, but this apple was green instead of red. "I fear I am still not ripe . . . but better green than wormy, eh?"

(The Hedge Knight)

Again with the split of loyalty, with the following your moral code, with the choices.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So how do apples feature for Jon himself?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Apples are connected to Jon’s struggle of loyalty to the Night’s Watch, and with his inner struggle in general. Every time they show up, he is confronted with a choice of who to stay loyal to, what values to follow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First apple: AGOT, Jon IX.

Jon’s final chapter in the book. Big Drama!

Jon eats a brown, withered apple when he tries to flee the NW the first time. He is heading South because his father has been killed and he wants to join Robb. He is plagued by self-doubt and fear. Then he takes a break to eat.

In his saddlebag, he found a biscuit, a piece of cheese, and a small withered brown apple. (...) He kept the apple for last. It had gone a little soft, but the flesh was still tart and juicy. He was down to the core when he heard the sounds: horses, and from the north.

Straight after, he is caught and prodded back in an incredibly moving, nonviolent confrontation by his new Brothers reciting the NW vows.

"… and all the nights to come," finished Pyp. He reached over for Jon's reins. "So here are your choices. Kill me, or come back with me."

Jon lifted his sword … and lowered it, helpless. "Damn you," he said. "Damn you all."

In his mind, Jon is determined to try and escape again, but the next day, Mormont lets him know they knew what happened.

Jon’s throat was dry. “You know?” “Know,” the raven echoed from Mormont’s shoulder. “Know.” The Old Bear snorted. “Do you think they chose me Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch because I’m dumb as a stump, Snow? Aemon told me you’d go. I told him you’d be back. I know my men … and my boys too. Honor set you on the kingsroad … and honor brought you back.” “My friends brought me back,” Jon said. “Did I say it was your honor?” Mormont inspected his plate.

Jon thinks he’ll be executed. Instead, he will be taken along to the great ranging beyond the Wall.

“So I will have an answer from you, Lord Snow, and I will have it now. Are you a brother of the Night’s Watch … or only a bastard boy who wants to play at war?” Jon Snow straightened himself and took a long deep breath. Forgive me, Father. Robb, Arya, Bran … forgive me, I cannot help you. He has the truth of it. This is my place. “I am … yours, my lord. Your man. I swear it. I will not run again.” The Old Bear snorted. “Good. Now go put on your sword.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. Because the war against the Others is more important.

Apple Quality: Brown and whithered. But still tart and juicy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second apple: ACOK, Jon I

A former green apple (the valiantly knightly Fossoway kind) is to be dispatched from the Wall to garner support from a Baratheon king...

"Renly is not like to heed a quaking fat boy. I'll send Ser Arnell. He's a deal steadier, and his mother was one of the green-apple Fossoways."

"If it please my lord, what would you have of King Renly?"

The conversation turns toward maester Aemon, his repeated refusal to become king and the incredibly foreshadowy information about the ending of the dragon line.

It made him feel odd. “My lord, why have you told me this, about Maester Aemon?” “Must I have a reason?” Mormont shifted in his seat, frowning. “Your brother Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A king for a brother.” “And this too,” said Jon. “A vow.” (…)

Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring. “And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?” “What will you do?” Mormont asked. “Bastard as you are?” “Be troubled,” said Jon, “and keep my vows.”

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture is more important.

Apple Quality: green and unripe. (But honorable.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third apple: ACOK, Jon VII

Jon and the Qhorin Halfhand crew are on the losing side of a game of cat and mouse with the warg-powered wildlings. Squire Dalbridge is about to sacrifice his life by going to shoot the Wildlings that are stalking them.

The squire bowed his head. "Leave me as many arrows as you can spare, brothers." He stroked his longbow. "And see my garron has an apple when you're home. He's earned it, poor beastie."

He's staying to die, Jon realized.

And that’s almost right at the end of the chapter. This is the only apple chapter where Jon is NOT immediately confronted with a moral dilemma of loyalty or the making of choices. And Dalbridge’s self-sacrifice, his off-page death, all of that means it’s a more long-term projection of the dilemma.

The next, final chapter, Jon and Qhorin Halfhand are captured and he is compelled to kill Qhorin to prove himself a turncloak to the Wildlings, in order to start his Undercover Operation.

The flames were burning low by then, the warmth fading. “The fire will soon go out,” Qhorin said, “but if the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out.” There was nothing Jon could say to that. He nodded. “We may escape them yet,” the ranger said. “Or not.” “I’m not afraid to die.” It was only half a lie. “It may not be so easy as that, Jon.” He did not understand. “What do you mean?”

(…)

Rattleshirt’s bone armor clattered loudly as he laughed. “Then kill the Halfhand, bastard.” “As if he could,” said Qhorin. “Turn, Snow, and die.” And then Qhorin’s sword was coming at him and somehow Longclaw leapt upward to block. The force of impact almost knocked the bastard blade from Jon’s hand, and sent him staggering backward. You must not balk, whatever is asked of you.

(…)

He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me. He thought of Samwell Tarly then, of Grenn and Dolorous Edd, of Pyp and Toad back at Castle Black. Had he lost them all, as he had lost Bran and Rickon and Robb? Who was he now? What was he?

“Get him up.” Rough hands dragged him to his feet. Jon did not resist. “Do you have a name?” Ygritte answered for him. “His name is Jon Snow. He is Eddard Stark’s blood, of Winterfell.”

(ACOK, Jon VIII)

Ouch. From this point on, Jon will have to make his own choices, no longer guided by other people’s rules, other people’s honor. The choices will be harder, lonelier. They will be contradictory, they will involve even more tangible loss. They will involve dishonor. The reward is as distant as home. Sacrifice. Death.

But one day, the poor beastie will get an apple, he will have earned it.

Apple = choice. The choice is the Watch. The bigger picture.

Apple quality: unknown.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fourth apple: ASOS, Jon I

As inconspicuously as above, the apple features in a memory of home, featuring not-yet-deserter Mance Rayder at Winterfell, meeting Robb and Jon up to shennanigans:

“I remember,” said Jon with a startled laugh. A young black brother on the wallwalk, yes … “You swore not to tell.”

"And kept my vow. That one, at least."

"We dumped the snow on Fat Tom. He was Father's slowest guardsman." Tom had chased them around the yard afterward, until all three were red as autumn apples. "But you said you saw me twice. When was the other time?"

"When King Robert came to Winterfell to make your father Hand," the King-beyond-the-Wall said lightly. (ASOS, Jon I)

A neat connection between desertion, vow-keeping and the events that led Jon to take his own path to the Wall. Before Meeting Mance, Ygritte has been praising the values of being “free” like the good Little Wildling Propagandist that she is. But Jon isn’t biting yet.

The following conversation gives the backstory of Mance Rayder’s desertion from the Wall. It was over a cloak, mended by a Wildling woman who tended to him while he was injured.

“And she sewed up the rents in my cloak as well, with some scarlet silk from Asshai that her grandmother had pulled from the wreck of a cog washed up on the Frozen Shore. It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me.” He swept the cloak back over his shoulders. “But at the Shadow Tower, I was given a new wool cloak from stores, black and black, and trimmed with black, to go with my black breeches and black boots, my black doublet and black mail. The new cloak had no frays nor rips nor tears … and most of all, no red. The men of the Night’s Watch dressed in black, Ser Denys Mallister reminded me sternly, as if I had forgotten. My old cloak was fit for burning now, he said. “I left the next morning … for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose.” He closed the clasp and sat back down again. “And you, Jon Snow?”

Jon uses Mance’s story of visiting Winterfell to spin his own lie:

“And did you see where I was seated, Mance?” He leaned forward. “Did you see where they put the bastard?” Mance Rayder looked at Jon’s face for a long moment. “I think we had best find you a new cloak,” the king said, holding out his hand.

What will the bastard do? Be troubled and keep his vows. So far, so true. But he did kill Qhorin Halfhand, he is pretending to be a deserter. Lines are a lot more blurry than they used to be.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Night’s Watch. Shifting more and more toward simply the bigger picture.

Apple quality: red autumn apple.

Red silk patches. Conflicting values. Women. There is uncertainty on the horizon.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifth apple. ASOS Jon V. BIG apple chapter.

His final confrontation as an Undercover Wildling.

This confrontation takes place at the abandoned tower and village of Queenscrown, which gets a closer description in the accompanying Bran chapter:

No one had lived in the village for long years, Bran could see. All the houses were falling down. Even the inn. It had never been much of an inn, to look at it, but now all that remained was a stone chimney and two cracked walls, set amongst a dozen apple trees. One was growing up through the common room, where a layer of wet brown leaves and rotting apples carpeted the floor. The air was thick with the smell of them, a cloying cidery scent that was almost overwhelming. Meera stabbed a few apples with her frog spear, trying to find some still good enough to eat, but they were all too brown and wormy.

(ASOS, Bran III)

The abandonment of Brandon’s Gift is a subject of conflict between Jon and Ygritte. A carpet of rotting apples. It opens the very next Jon chapter, as they are on the way to Queenscrown. Ygritte mocks the farmers who left the Gift as fools. Jon doesn’t take the bait yet. He briefly indulges in a fantasy of introducing Ygritte to Winterfell before being overcome with guilt and shame again. Ygritte is super great at reading his mood:

“Might be after we could come back here, and live in that tower,” she said. “Would you want that, Jon Snow? After?”

He doesn’t think about it, doesn’t answer for a while, it rather reminds him of Ned’s Dream of Spring, the plan to resettle the Gift. The Starks and the Watch.

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father’s name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. “This land belongs to the Watch,” Jon said. Her nostrils flared. “No one lives here.”

Jon isn’t even tempted. Like, no, Jon, Bambi, you did not love this person, no matter what your telling yourself later. He doesn’t even really contemplate it.

Instead of bonding them closer together, Ygritte’s invitation to make long-term plans has the opposite effect. It fans the flames of what divides them. They argue about raiding and rape. Ygritte spouts nonsense.

“You know nothing, Jon Snow. Daughters are taken, not wives. You’re the ones who steal. You took the whole world, and built the Wall t’ keep the free folk out.”

Ygritte, no, that is not why the Wall was built. You think they built a gargantuan magic ice structure to keep out Styr, Magnar of Thenn, or what? Really? Jon is also sceptical of this version of history:

“Did we?” Sometimes Jon forgot how wild she was, and then she would remind him. “How did that happen?”

"The gods made the earth for all men t' share. Only when the kings come with their crowns and steel swords, they claimed it was all theirs. My trees, they said, you can't eat them apples. My stream, you can't fish here. My wood, you're not t' hunt. My earth, my water, my castle, my daughter, keep your hands away or I'll chop 'em off, but maybe if you kneel t' me I'll let you have a sniff. You call us thieves, but at least a thief has t' be brave and clever and quick. A kneeler only has t' kneel."

Ygritte is basically a bland political extremist. I could sympathize with her criticism of feudal culture if it didn’t come hand in hand with her passionate defense of violent theft and rape culture. Like, you paragon of intelligence, not everyone resides at the fair top of the food chain like you do in your peak fitness status within your warrior culture. But of course, rape is fun! Just bring a knife!

"Harma and the Bag of Bones don't come raiding for fish and apples. They steal swords and axes. Spices, silks, and furs. They grab every coin and ring and jeweled cup they can find, casks of wine in summer and casks of beef in winter, and they take women in any season and carry them off beyond the Wall."

Apples in a breath with women. People should not be “stolen”. But Ygritte thinks men who successfully abduct and rape women are sexy. She’s like Dany that way. There are some cultural divides that cannot be pretended away, and their entire conversation circles around it. Jon is plagued by terrible guilt, he tries to warn Ygritte that their plan is doomed, she (rightfully) suspects his loyalty to the Wildlings and Jon believes himself in love but he never wavers in his actual allegiance to the NW.

She grinned at that, showing Jon the crooked teeth that he had somehow come to love. Wildling to the bone, he thought again, with a sick sad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He flexed the fingers of his sword hand, and wondered what Ygritte would do if she knew his heart. Would she betray him if he sat her down and told her that he was still Ned Stark’s son and a man of the Night’s Watch? He hoped not, but he dare not take that risk.

GRRM is going out of his way to undermine the supposed romance by constantly referring to the conflict between them and the apples-of-choice are just all over.

Anyway, Jon is thoroughly eaten by guilt over having to betray these human beings who are a vicious and brutal threat to the place and people he loves and swore to protect. His true identity is hinted at:

Jon wondered where Ghost was now. Had he gone to Castle Black, or was he was running with some wolfpack in the woods? He had no sense of the direwolf, not even in his dreams. It made him feel as if part of himself had been cut off. Even with Ygritte sleeping beside him, he felt alone. He did not want to die alone.

Ghost. Not Ygritte. Not the wildlings. Not the Watch, even. Ghost. Wolf.

They arrive at the Queenscrown inn and an old man is captured.

Jon walked away. A rotten apple squished beneath his heel. Styr will kill him. The Magnar had said as much at Greyguard; any kneelers they met were to be put to death at once, to make certain they could not raise the alarm. Ride with them, eat with them, fight with them. Did that mean he must stand mute and helpless while they slit an old man's throat?

The apples are rotten. Jon spends one last moment with Ygritte contemplating Queenscrown and then the “kill the old man” business starts. He struggles but ultimately refuses. Bran’s wolf Summer disrupts the tension with a bloody attack and Jon doesn’t hesitate to Escape. Like when they met, Jon didn’t slit Ygritte’s throat, but she slit the old man’s. He will not shoot arrows at her, but she did at him. Love.

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black. The throb of pain in his thigh muscle made him wince as he put his heels into the old man’s horse. I am going home, he told himself. But if that was true, why did he feel so hollow?

Apple = choice. The choice is… NOT Ygritte. NOT the Wildlings. Time and again. But it also isn’t the Watch. Not as it had been before. Jon followed his instincts, his inner values, but it had a cost, it is hard. Jon is lost.

Apple Quality: rotten.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixth apple: ASOS, Jon VII

The Battle at Castle Black They await the attack, Jon and Satin share a meal. And they get a nod to Renly’s peach quote:

"Eat," Jon told him. "There's no knowing when you'll have another chance." He took two buns himself. The nuts were pine nuts, and besides the raisins there were bits of dried apple. (ASOS, Jon VII)

Compare to Renly, which also took place before a nightly sneak attack.

"A man should never refuse to taste a peach," Renly said as he tossed the stone away. "He may never get the chance again. Life is short, Stannis. Remember what the Starks say. Winter is coming." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. (ACOK, Catelyn III)

Peaches have an air of incest and hedonism about them, nostalgia and summer, Baratheons and Arya and Asha. The apple is different. It’s about choice, about conflicted loyalty and personal values, about identity and the bigger picture. (And again and again, they connect to women.)

Jon commands part of the fight, it’s grim. He recognizes some of the wildlings as they pepper them with arrows but cannot shoot at who he thinks is Ygritte. Wildlings die, his brothers die. The battle is brutal, Jon’s POV is distant. Satin remains by his side all throughout, grounding him. Jon remembers advice from Theon, from Ned. They eventually beat the wildling attackers with a horrifying fire trap on the stairs, they win. Immediately after, Jon goes looking for Ygritte, Satin still by his side.

The ice crystals had settled over her face, and in the moonlight it looked as though she wore a glittering silver mask. The arrow was black, Jon saw, but it was fletched with white duck feathers. Not mine, he told himself, not one of mine. But he felt as if it were.

We get a Dany-Val nod…

The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."

"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold." (ADWD, Jon VIII)

...and a lovely double-layered “not mine, not one of mine”. Not his arrows, but he feels guilty. She is not his pack, but he feels guilty.

She just smiled at that. “D’you remember that cave? We should have stayed in that cave. I told you so.” “We’ll go back to the cave,” he said. “You’re not going to die, Ygritte. You’re not.” “Oh.” Ygritte cupped his cheek with her hand. “You know nothing, Jon Snow,” she sighed, dying.

Jon struggles to let go of the fantasy. He is loyal to the cause of the Watch, if not the letter of the vows, but he knows now that his souls want more. He indulges Ygritte’s fantasy of returning because it’s the only thing he has, the only thing he can offer.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the Watch. But painfully. Numbly. No passion. Duty.

Apple quality: dried.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventh apple: ASOS, Jon X

Tormund’s daughter Munda.

After vicious attacking Janos Slynt for insulting Ned Stark during a hiostile interrogation in the previous chapter, Jon is sent to kill Mance Rayder under the pretense of parley to prove his loyalty. He is resigned and shame-filled, contemplating his future, where he will be remembered in honorless infamy. Much bitterness, plenty of woe. His reception by Tormund is surprisingly jovial. They drink mead to honor their fallen Donal Noye and Ygritte, with surprisingly little bitterness. It helps Jon return some of his cheer.

"You bloody crows." Tormund's tone was gruff, yet strangely gentle. "That Longspear stole me daughter. Munda, me little autumn apple. Took her right out o' my tent with all four o' her brothers about.” Toregg slept through it, the great lout, and Torwynd … well, Torwynd the Tame, that says all that needs saying, don’t it? The young ones gave the lad a fight, though.”

“And Munda?” asked Jon. “She’s my own blood,” said Tormund proudly. “She broke his lip for him and bit one ear half off, and I hear he’s got so many scratches on his back he can’t wear a cloak. She likes him well enough, though. And why not? He don’t fight with no spear, you know. Never has. So where do you think he got that name? Har!” Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here.

Autumn apple. Stolen women. Cloak.

Stealing women was a hot topic with Ygritte and Jon is immediately concerned, but is reassured. The tenor of the conversation is conciliatory, while he is revealed to be loyal to the Watch, there is mutual respect. In Jon’s thoughts, Ygritte becomes a mentor voice, drifting away from the romantic woe of before.

Easy for you to say, he thought back. You died brave in battle, storming the castle of a foe. I’m going to die a turncloak and a killer. Nor would his death be quick, unless it came on the end of Mance’s sword.

Similarly to Dany later, Jon is arguing with dead beloved abusers in his head, like she will do in ADWD with Viserys. Ygritte is less obviously horrific, but the “voices in my head” aspect and the sheer idealising that both of them engage in feels disconcerting. Never the less, we see Jon’s current identity status on Facebook is “turncloak”. Not Night’s Watch.

The rest of Mance’s “court” is less welcoming, but Mance draws him in for a private conference. The Horn of Winter is revealed, the mutual cause of the Wildlings and the Night’s Watch is identified.

“If I sound the Horn of Winter, the Wall will fall. Or so the songs would have me believe. There are those among my people who want nothing more …” “But once the Wall is fallen,” Dalla said, “what will stop the Others?”

(Dalla has the brains that Ygritte lacked. Why can SHE not be Jon’s mentor?)

Mance offers to hand over the Horn of Joramun if they let the Wildlings pass through the Wall, or he will destroy the Wall in three days. Jon hesitates because he fears they will ransack the place, but he also has no negotiating credit with Thorne and Slynt. He contemplates just smashing the Horn, when suddenly Stannis attacks. The Wildlings are smashed, a helpless Jon enters the tent with Val to attend Dalla.

He is just... disillusioned.

Apple = choice. The choice is… the bigger picture. The Watch is headed by irrational scum, the Wildlings are no less dangerous to the North than they were before and Jon has no hope of saving his ruined reputation either way. He was about to murder Mance, then about to smash his bargaining chip, yet he has no ill will toward them. Only a depressed, numb resignation to preventing the worst of all outcomes.

Apple Quality: autumn apple.

Again with the autumn apple. There are only 3 “autumn apples” in the books, all in ASOS. Jon I (above with Mance), Samwell II, and Jon X here.

In Jon I it connected Mance’s disloyalty to the Watch to the red-and-black cloak given to him by a woman. Also Bael the Bard, deception and stealing. Jon consults his inner values, and chooses pragmatism. His break with “blind” honor will leave him flailing a bit.

In Jon X it specifically refers to a young woman being stolen. Jon consults his inner values, he chooses the bigger picture, but he’s frayed and his choice is interrupted. Stannis will offer him Winterfell. Ghost will remind him of who he is. Ultimately, he will become Lord Commander and his struggle with loyalty will cease for a long time.

What’s Sam’s autumn apple about? They are listed with many foodstuffs that the angry NW brother’s at Craster’s after the fight at the Fist of the First Men expect to receive. Mormont just remembered the true purpose of the Watch. Gilly has just given birth to her son. Sam offers to take the boy, Craster gets mad. they bury a dead brother and the mood is mutinous.

“Apples,” said Garth of Greenaway. “Barrels and barrels of crisp autumn apples. There are apple trees out there, I saw ’em.”

A confrontation breaks out and they kill Craster and stab Mormont. Sam’s friends flee, the others raid and rape, Sam cradles a dying Mormont. Some wives approach and order Sam to take Gilly to safety.

Gilly was crying. “Me and the babe. Please. I’ll be your wife, like I was Craster’s. Please, ser crow. He’s a boy, just like Nella said he’d be. If you don’t take him, they will.” “They?” said Sam, and the raven cocked its black head and echoed, “They. They. They.” “The boy’s brothers,” said the old woman on the left. “Craster’s sons. The white cold’s rising out there, crow. I can feel it in my bones. These poor old bones don’t lie. They’ll be here soon, the sons.”

The massive abundance of apples suggests a link to the abundance of women, to the connection to inner values over formal loyalty, to the “stealing” of Gilly to save her. To the massive bigger picture. With Jon it translates to his trademark quick-thinking pragmatism, with Sam it translates to compassion and identifying valuable information.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

8th and final apple: ADWD, Jon V - The Grand Appling.

ADWD Jon V is another big apple chapter: you have to choose!

Much time has passed since the last apples were mentioned. Jon is Lord Commander and has sent away Sam, Gilly and maester Aemon. The Wildlings are south of the Wall. Food is a constant worry. Bowen Marsh is upset with Jon, Jon is super-diplomatic. Not. It’s time to bring provisions to the Wildlings at Mole’s Town. A Mirror to Dany in ADWD, Daenerys VI, bringing food to the Astapori refugees. The Wildlings are grumpy. Jon struggles to balance the culture clash between free folk, Stannis’ men and Wildlings.

Pig ignorance, Jon thought. The free folk were no different than the men of the Night’s Watch; some were clean, some dirty, but most were clean at times and dirty at other times.

Jon is much removed from his earlier woeful struggles or idealism. A weary pragmatism guides his every action. Grey.

Apples ensue:

"You can have an onion or an apple," Jon heard Hairy Hal tell one woman, "but not both. You got to pick."

The woman did not seem to understand. "I need two of each. One o' each for me, t'others for my boy. He's sick, but an apple will set him right."

Hal shook his head. "He has to come get his own apple. Or his onion. Not both. Same as you. Now, is it an apple or an onion? Be quick about it, now, there's more behind you."

"An apple," she said, and he gave her one, an old dried thing, small and withered.

"Move along, woman," shouted a man three places back. "It's cold out here."

The woman paid the shout no mind. "Another apple," she said to Hairy Hal. "For my son. Please. This one is so little."

Hal looked to Jon. Jon shook his head. They would be out of apples soon enough. If they started giving two to everyone who wanted two, the latecomers would get none.

"Out of the way," a girl behind the woman said. Then she shoved her in the back. The woman staggered, lost her apple, and fell. The other foodstuffs in her arms went flying. Beans scattered, a turnip rolled into a mud puddle, a sack of flour split and spilled its precious contents in the snow.

Apples are once again almost aggressively connected to choices. Apples or onions. Not both. You have to pick.

Barring another meta, I can’t really say what the onion is supposed to represent. Some things that echoe Jon’s apple themes:

His sons were good fighters and better sailors, but they did not know how to talk to lords. They were lowborn, even as I was, but they do not like to recall that. When they look at our banner, all they see is a tall black ship flying on the wind. They close their eyes to the onion. (ACOK, Davos I)

Denial.

Dany nibbled at an onion and reflected ruefully on the faithlessness of men. (ACOK, Daenerys III)

Faithlessness.

The feast was a meager enough thing, a succession of fish stews, black bread, and spiceless goat. The tastiest thing Theon found to eat was an onion pie. Ale and wine continued to flow well after the last of the courses had been cleared away. (ACOK, Theon II)

Theon about to be ordered to attack Winterfell. Betrayal.

The last time it was life I brought to Storm's End, shaped to look like onions. This time it is death, in the shape of Melisandre of Asshai. (ACOK, Davos II)

Life and death brought by the same person.

Melisandre’s manichean world view vs. Davos’ more encompassing one:

"What if I am? It seems to me that most men are grey."

"If half of an onion is black with rot, it is a rotten onion. A man is good, or he is evil." (ACOK, Davos II)

Bless you Sam.

Hungry as he was, Sam knew he would retch if he so much as tried a bite. How could they eat the poor faithful garrons who had carried them so far? When Craster's wives brought onions, he seized one eagerly. One side was black with rot, but he cut that part off with his dagger and ate the good half raw. (ASOS, Samwell II)

Considering apples represent the choice you make to serve an ethical bigger picture (not necessarily loyalty to an order), onions seem to show a contrasting duality of bad and good, a refusal to position oneself honestly, dirty compromises, the darkness in human beings.

Davos’ entire arc circles around being a very decent human being who none the less supports a whole lot of questionable crap. Our resident kraken Theon is torn inside unable to choose between Greyjoy and Stark identity and becomes monstrous.

Melisandre downright denies the existence of grey. The presence of bad cancels out all good. Samwell, on the other hand, embraces the good while disregarding the bad.

Ygritte smelled of onion. Dany eats wild onion on her dragon grassland chapter, Jorah eats onion. Brienne has onion soup on her way to Lady Stoneheart. Jon offers the Wildlings onion soup after they burn their god’s for Melisandre in echange for safety. Dark compromises.

So the choice between apples and onions is the choice to MAKE a choice. Stop hedging your bets or practicing denial, position yourself, one way or the other.

The woman who refuses to choose, loses her apple, loses the fruit that will set her sick son right, loses her cance at following her inner moral compass and doing the right thing.

There is a tussle, Jon tries to rally them with a speech. They are in a Mutiny at Craster’s Keep kind of mood.

“You want more food?” asked Jon. “The food’s for fighters. Help us hold the Wall, and you’ll eat as well as any crow.” Or as poorly, when the food runs short. (…)

“Fight for you?” This voice was thickly accented. Sigorn, the young Magnar of Thenn, spoke the Common Tongue haltingly at best. “Not fight for you. Kill you better. Kill all you.” The raven flapped its wings. “Kill, kill.” Sigorn’s father, the old Magnar, had been crushed beneath the falling stair during his attack on Castle Black. I would feel the same if someone asked me to make common cause with the Lannisters, Jon told himself. “Your father tried to kill us all,” he reminded Sigorn. “The Magnar was a brave man, yet he failed. And if he had succeeded … who would hold the Wall?”

Jon believes in the greyness of men, but he also believes in choices. You don’t have to be perfect to do the right thing. But you have to do the right thing. Or a thing, anyway. You have to choose.

There is more commotion. Jon decides to make it simpler.

"Hal, what was it that you told this woman?"

Hal looked confused. "About the food, you mean? An apple or an onion? That's all I said. They got to pick."

"You have to pick," Jon Snow repeated. "All of you. No one is asking you to take our vows, and I do not care what gods you worship. My own gods are the old gods, the gods of the North, but you can keep the red god, or the Seven, or any other god who hears your prayers. It's spears we need. Bows. Eyes along the Wall. (…)

He recruits, actively.

“The choice is yours,” Jon Snow told them. “Those who want to help us hold the Wall, return to Castle Black with me and I’ll see you armed and fed. The rest of you, get your turnips and your onions and crawl back inside your holes.”

Apples yay, onions nay. Dany killed the slavers of Astapor, and left alive only children under the age of 12. Jon recruit ages 12 and up for the Watch, girls and boys. Dany killed 163 random slavers. Jon recruits 63 Wildlings.

By the time the last withered apple had been handed out, the wagons were crowded with wildlings, and they were sixty-three stronger than when the column had set out from Castle Black that morning.

The apples win out. No more mention of onions in this chapter.

The chapter ends on a grey note, uncertain but hopeful.

Marsh was unconvinced. “You’ve added sixty-three more mouths, my lord … but how many are fighters, and whose side will they fight on? If it’s the Others at the gates, most like they’ll stand with us, I grant you … but if it’s Tormund Giantsbane or the Weeping Man come calling with ten thousand howling killers, what then?” “Then we’ll know. So let us hope it never comes to that.”

Hilariously, it is not the treachery of the apple-choosing wildlings Jon will have to worry about.

The abundance of onions and apples in this chapter sets up the struggle Jon faces in later ADWD chapters. The bigger picture v. Arya. Apples are done, for now, the onions stalk him. He tries to strikes a balance. He hesitates, he sends Mance, he struggles. In the end, the Pink Letter sends him over the edge.

Apples v. onions. Jon has chosen.

Apples = choice. The choices is… NOT the Watch. Arya. The North. The bigger picture. House Stark.

Apple Quality: withered. Like the very first apple.

Jon stood tall. He told himself that he would die well; that much he could do, at the least. “I know the penalty for desertion, my lord. I’m not afraid to die.” “Die!” the raven cried. “Nor live, I hope,” Mormont said, cutting his ham with a dagger and feeding a bite to the bird. (AGOT, Jon IX)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In conclusion:

Apples signal the necessity for Jon make a moral choice according to his own personal values.

Jon always has his eyes on the bigger picture.

His choices becomes increasingly divorced from the concept of loyalty to the Watch.

There is a pronounced conflict between apple and onion, between moral choice and refusal to choose. Jon tries to walk the line between the letter of his vows and his values. He ends up choosing his values. It goes badly.

The quality of the apples has a relationship with the ease of choosing.

whithered apples are fairly clean choices,

rotten apples are traumatic choices,

autumn apples relate to choices influenced by the wisdom of women, the stealing of women.

There is a future apple promised to “the beastie” as a reward.

If we want to draw a connection to the show, Jon will clearly face another apples v. onions conflict and the need to choose will feature heavily. It will go badly. But there is the promise of home and reward.

#asoiaf #fruit symbolism #apples #jon snow #you have to choose #my posts

68 notes · View notes

blogdeepbelieverbouquetworld · 4 years ago

Photo

Released On: 02 Oct 2020

Available for 29 days

Richard Wilson returns with another series of not quite true revelations about his life. Jon Canter’s comedic writing is as sharp as ever as he delves into themes such as celebrity, brand awareness and death.

As usual Richard has many friends from whom he seeks advice. Starring Ian McKellen as Head of Gay, Peter Capaldi and David Tennant as the Two Doctors, and Antony Sher as The Man Addicted To Waitrose along with an excellent supporting cast.

It’s a mockumentary and spoof autobiography rolled into one.

CAST: Richard Wilson Sir Ian McKellen John Hollingworth - Kenneth Rebekah Staton - Camille David Tennant Peter Capaldi

Audio

#davidtennant #believe it

25 notes · View notes

dresupi · 4 years ago

Text

Winter wedding - Geralt/Sansa

for @pertinentvampire 610 words Rated T

~~~~~~~~~~

Sansa sighed and gazed off into the distance. Her wedding was to begin at sundown and she couldn’t be less enthused. Her husband-to-be wasn’t dominating her thoughts.

No, those belonged only to Geralt.

The last time she’d seen him, he’d looked hurt. And while she could have told him before she had, she’d known about her impending nuptials for at least a year, but it wouldn’t have changed anything to tell him. And he might have stopped coming to see her.

A lump rose in her throat because she knew that wasn’t true. Geralt had always said he’d never stop coming for her until she told him not to.

And she hadn’t told him not to.

But she was soon to be wed. To Dickon Tarly.

It was King Bran’s idea. With Sam inheriting after all following the Tarly patriarch’s untimely demise, Dickon was a very eligible bachelor. And very nice looking. He was a knight. He’d fought in the war. He was everything Sansa’s father had promised her.

So why was she mooning after another man? A man who she couldn’t ever have? At least, not fully?

Sansa sighed, her sob settling in the back of her throat as a painful lump that just wouldn’t go away.

Dickon was nice enough. She was just sick of being married because someone other than herself had decided she should be.

Tears fell on the quilted front of her gown and she watched them darken the fabric and spread only slightly.

When the time came, she left her chambers on her own. Jon was standing in to give her away, so he was waiting at the bottom of the stairs to escort her the rest of the way to the Godswood.

Upon arriving outdoors, she couldn’t help but look longingly at the horizon as the sunset and wish she was anywhere else.

There was a flurry of movement at the horizon’s edge. A man on a horse as he galloped ever closer. Her heart fluttered and she could scarcely hold back her smile.

Jon swore under his breath as the horse approached them. Geralt was on the back, holding Roach’s reins and pulling him around. “My lady,” he said, dipping his head. “And Snow.”

“Witcher,” Jon said, dipping his head, his voice wary as he turned to Sansa, a quizzical look on his face.

“A word with the lady, Snow?”

“She’s supposed to be wed in the wood at sundown.”

“We’ll see,” Geralt said and Sansa’s belly swooped in delight.

Jon sighed and looked at her, patting her hand before unwinding it from the crook of his elbow. “I’ll tell them you were gone before I came for you,” he said quietly. He hadn’t approved of the match any more than she had, but she was surprised at his compliance.

Sansa smiled. “Thank you, Jon.”

“Be gone quietly,” he told them before meandering slowly towards the Godswood.

“Would you care to join me, my lady?” Geralt asked, face unreadable to most, but Sansa saw the glint in his dark eyes.

“We can’t keep this up,” she said with a smirk. “You’ll have to bring me back.”

“This is true, but I can ruin you so no one will want to wed you. How’s that?”

“Being ruined sounds lovely,” she sighed happily, grinning as he helped her up onto Roach. “How long does that take?”

“No more than fifteen minutes in some cases, but I feel we’ll have to make sure you’re good and ruined. We’ll give it two days?”

She smiled and hung on tightly as Roach sprang into a canter and then a gallop, taking her far away from the Godswood.

#Geransa #Geralt of Rivia #Sansa Stark #Geralt x Sansa #Sansa x Geralt #Geralt/Sansa #Sansa/Geralt #Winter Prompts 2020 #my writing #orange #pertinentvampire

13 notes · View notes

brokenbuttonsmusic · 4 years ago

Text

Eleni Mandell: L.A. Singer-Songwriter with Smoky Chrissie Hynde Vocals and a flair for Tom Waits’ Influenced Experimentation

This post is a near- transcript of the Broken Buttons: Buried Treasure Music podcast (episode 5, side A). Here you’ll find the narration from the segment featuring the L.A. singer-songwriter, Eleni Mandell, along with links, videos, photos and references for the episode.

Listen to the full episode on Spotify, Apple, Anchor or Mixcloud.

Have you ever bought the wrong record? Like, you intended to buy something that sounded like one thing and you accidentally grab something that sounds very different.

I don’t know if this happens anymore, but I believe it was quite common years ago. Imagine hearing an artist on the radio and being blown away. You go to the record store, find the plastic divider with the name of whom you’re looking for, but you can’t remember the name of the album, or even the song. Remember, you don’t have a tiny computer in your pocket. You’re too nervous to ask the store clerk for fear of looking stupid. So you roll the dice.

“I know it was someone called Neil Young, but there are a thousand Neil Young records here.”

“Hey, this pink one looks cool.”

That exact scenario didn’t happen to me, but that album, Neil Young’s Everybody’s Rockin’, happened to be the most played Neil Young album in my house growing up, so for years I thought Neil Young was a rockabilly revival act. In reality, that was one of several oddball records Young released during a tumultuous period with his record label to fulfill his contract demands. I still love that record.

Eleni Mandell did live out the scenario of buying the wrong record though. She shared the story during a segment of the show Bullseye with Jessie Thorn, where she describes seeing Tom Waits on MTV late at night—back when MTV still cared about music. It was either 120 minutes or IRS’ The Cutting Edge. This would have been around 1984 or 1985, so right around the time of Wait’s masterpiece Rain Dogs. When she went to the record store though, she picked up the 1976 Tom Waits’ Asylum release, Small Change instead. Now Small Change is still a great Tom Waits album, but it sounds nothing like the drastically reimagined sound and musical approach he had begun to employ starting with 1983’s Swordfishtrombones. Something Tom Waits called his “junkyard orchestral deviation.” The spare, off-kilter percussion. Moaning trombones and muted trumpets. Marimba. Plenty of marimba. Experimental instruments mixed in everywhere. Megaphones and CB radios. Trash can lids.

This is the sound Eleni was looking for.

Instead she got lush strings. Delicate piano. Cinematic swells and a melancholy wail.

She got this.

Still awesome, but not the same. She credits the experience with changing her life. She grew to love both sides of the Tom Waits coin. The jazzy piano man in the smoky, whiskey-drenched nightclub and the eclectic, experimental carnival barker that she had her first encounter with on late night MTV.

You can hear that deep appreciation and influence for the full Tom Waits spectrum injected and swirling through Eleni Mandell’s own spectacular catalog that spans more than 20 years now.

She’s got plenty of experimental Waits, especially in her early catalog.

And quite a bit of the jazzy nightclub vibe.

There’s also plenty of folk-y Eleni mixed in, and even some country.

You’ll notice that Eleni’s voice doesn’t sound like Tom Waits though. Did you notice that? It’s less of a deep, gravelly howl and more of rich Chrissie Hynde croon. Spin compared her to Chrissie Hynde and PJ Harvey. Rolling Stone compared her captivating melodies and witty lyricism to early Elvis Costello.

While she doesn’t have the Tom Waits’ wail, she does specialize in his particular brand of character song-study. Like this first song we’re going to hear. The first track off of Eleni Mandell’s second album Thrill. Released in the year 2000. This is Pauline.

youtube

Pauline, from Eleni Mandell’s second record, Thrill. So how did this remarkably unique singer-songwriter get her start and pull together so many interesting influences to create the sound we just heard.

Eleni grew up in the Sherman Oaks region of the San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles. She started playing music when she was just 5, beginning with the violin and then piano. Eleni didn’t love playing either, but continued to take lessons until she was thirteen. She remembers wanting to learn to write songs early on, but didn’t have the first idea of how to approach it, especially on violin. She jumped from violin and piano to guitar as a teenager. Her parents exposed her to a variety of musical styles. Her mom would take her to musicals and her dad, a serious record collector, played her Hoagy Carmichael and plenty of jazz standards. She loved the Beatles and remembers Diana Ross making an early impression.

Another early life changing moment came when she discovered the Los Angeles punk band X.

X were huge in LA, and their first album (called Los Angeles) was the first record Eleni ever owned. Or maybe the first she asked to own. The first record she was ever given was Shaun Cassidy’s greatest hits for her 4th birthday. The first she ever purchased with her own money was X’s third release, Under the Big Black Sun. She tells a story of when she was out record shopping at a place called Aron’s Records, located on Melrose, and to her utter befuddlement came face to face with John Doe, lead singer of X. He was shopping for records too. She quickly snapped up a copy of the band’s third album and asked John to sign it. He did. She still has the signed album, which reads “Yours” complete with a big X “-John Doe.” That was the last autograph she ever asked for. It was not, however, the last time her path would cross with that of the band X.

When she was a little bit older, she met Chuck E. Weiss, songwriter, rock n’ roller, beat poet and peculiar Tom Waits associate. Also the subject of the song, Chuck E.’s in Love.

Yes, that Chuck E. Weiss. Waits was in a relationship with Rickie Lee Jones. Waits, Jones and Weiss all lived at the seedy Tropicana Motel in Los Angeles. One day Weiss up and left out of nowhere. Some time later Chuck E. called the apartment where Jones and Waits were living. He explained to Waits that he had moved to Denver because he had fallen in love with a cousin there. Waits hung up the phone and announced to Jones, “Check E.’s in love. Rickie Lee Jones liked that so much that she it turned it into the song we just heard.

Who is this episode about again? Oh, right. Eleni Mandell. Anyway, Eleni Mandell met THAT Chuck E. Weiss when she was not yet 21. Still, she had a friend who was able to get her into The Central, a Sunset Strip club that would later become The Viper Room. This would’ve been around 1990. Weiss was playing there every Monday.

Here’s how the write up on Eleni’s original website describes her first encounter with Weiss.

“The first time she ever saw Chuck E. Weiss perform, he walked right up to her and smiled like a cross between The Cheshire Cat and an escaped mental patient. She met him a month later at Musso and Frank’s.”

Eleni says she was at the famous Hollywood restaurant and recognized Weiss. She worked up the courage to approach him and told him how much she loved his show. He asked if she wanted to accompany him to meet up with a friend at Canter’s Deli. She agreed. When they settled into one of the landmark eaterys iconic red, vinyl booths in walked her hero. Tom Waits. What a night. Tom asked Chuck how he and Eleni had met.

“Hebrew school,” he declared.

Here’s a tune from Eleni’s debut album, Wishbone, released in 1999. This is Sylvia.

youtube

From Eleni Mandell’s first album, Wishbone, that was Sylvia.

Under Chuck E. Weiss’ mentorship, produced by Jon Brion and self-financed by Mandell, Wishbone, as well as her next several records, received strong reviews and drew comparisons to Waits and PJ Harvey in style.

Before Weiss mentored Mandell, he hired her as a door person at his club. She said he would test her to see how tough a door person she was by trying to grab money out of her hand. Weiss would continue to mentor Eleni over the years and they’re still friends to this day.

For her fourth album, Mandell shook things up by diving into traditional country. A mix of covers and originals, 2003’s Country For True Lovers is an exciting update to her sound. And one of her life changing moments came full circle. Weiss introduced her to former X guitarist Tony Gilkyson, who produced the project. She also stacked the sessions with all star players, including Nels Cline from Wilco, and another X hero, drummer D.J. Bonebreak.

Eleni continued to mix and mesh genres on her next release, 2004’s Afternoon.

From the No Depression review of that album:

“Last years Country For True Lovers found Los Angeles chanteuse Eleni Mandell turning her sights on twang rather than her previous more PJ Harvey-oriented material, and she received plenty of critical acclaim in the process, sharing the LA Weekly 2003 songwriter of the year award with the late Elliot Smith.”

“On Afternoon, her fifth album, Mandell combines her love of various genres, including country, pop, jazz and rock, to stunning effect. Produced by Joshua Grange, who also lends his considerable talents on guitar, pedal steel, Hammond organ and piano, Afternoon mostly takes the slow and sexy approach. I’ve Been Fooled and Can’t You See Im Soulful give Mandell the chance to show off her breathy but passionate alto, which can devastate in a heartbeat.”

“Mandell does rock out from time to time, as on Easy On Your Way Out, which has a grungy Elvis Costello-gets-on-with-Liz Phair feel to it. I wanna be your afternoon/I want you coming back for more, Mandell sings on the sorta fun/sorta sad title song.”

She can also write catchy singles. Like this song from Afternoon, “Let’s Drive Away.”

youtube

That was Let’s Drive Away from Eleni Mandell’s fifth album, Afternoon, released in 2004. That song was also featured on the TV show, Weeds.

And here comes the challenging part of covering an artist like Eleni Mandell, who’s put out consistently solid albums for over two decades. There’s not enough time to feature all the good stuff she’s produced, but trust me, over her eleven albums, she always delivers. From the diverse shifting sounds of Artificial Fire [play clip] to the smooth and breezy Dark Lights Up [play clip], Eleni whirls a magical combination of jazz, folk, pop, country and rock, with just enough experimental twists to keep everything fresh.

She’s also branched out from her solo artist gig to release two albums with her band The Grabs. The Grabs allows her to exercise more of her pop side and features Eleni on vocals, Blondie bassist Nigel Harrison, and Silversun Pickups’ drummer Elvira Gonzalez.

And, she’s also released records with the Andrews Sisters inspired supergroup, The Living Sisters, with Inara George, Alex Lilly and Becky Stark.

youtube

I’d recommend checking out all of this.

So now that we’ve established that the Eleni Mandell road is paved with the goods, let’s skip ahead to focus on her most recent album: 2019’s Wake Up Again.

Here’s what Eleni and her website have to say about the latest release:

“For two years or thereabouts,” Mandell says, “I taught songwriting at two colleges and a women’s prison.”

The prison gig came about via Jail Guitar Doors, the organization founded by Wayne Kramer, guitarist of the vaunted Detroit band MC5, in partnership with English musician Billy Bragg. “I don’t know why exactly I was drawn to that work,” Mandell says. “But I had a family member who had been in prison in the 1940s. He wasn’t around when I was growing up, but that sort of fascinated me and I was always curious about what kind of person disappears and what kind of person commits crimes — what are they thinking?”

Working with the inmates also provided many epiphanies for her as a person, and proved fertile for her as an artist, as captured in the 11 songs on this album, her 11th studio release. In many ways it’s the culmination and fulfillment of all the strengths as a writer and performer going back to her start under the tutelage of Chuck E. Weiss, Tom Waits and other top chroniclers of people in the shadows.

“I really enjoyed it,” she says. “I was inspired by the stories, and surprised by the laughter I heard there. And I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was, by how many different kinds of people were there: teachers, lawyers, nurses, and also people who grew up in poverty.”

Here’s a song about one of the woman she met during those songwriting classes she taught. This is Evelyn.

youtube

Evelyn from Eleni Mandell’s most recent album, Wake Up Again. Another great addition to her expansive, impressive catalog. The album is filled with rich character studies and deeply personal self-examinations.

Her early Tom Waits inspiration continues to ignite and propel her, even after 11 albums. Only now she can call Tom a longtime friend.

And she went from obsessive punk rock X fan to counting a member of X as a member of her own band. What a cool, thrilling ride she’s had so far. Eleni Mandell.

References and other stuff:

Eleni interview with Luxury Wagers

Eleni interview with Mr. Bonzai

Eleni interview with Tyler Pollard on Timeline

The bio from Eleni’s current website has a great write up on her most recent album and I quote from it in the episode.

No Depression review of Afternoon that I quote in the episode

Here is the original bio from Eleni’s old website that is now archived. I also quote from this

Eleni has been featured on NPR segments over the years. I did not use anything directly from these, but they are good and informative

Pop Matter review of Dark Lights Up

Good L.A. Times article about Eleni teaching songwriting to female inmates and her latest album

1 note · View note

callmegwynbleidd · 5 years ago

Text

So, I thought it would be fun to make a bit of a... For lack of a better term study on a few scenes from different movies and series involving celebrities in the saddle. Naturally I'll be using Henry's riding skills in The Witcher and The Tudors as a more positive example. Then a photo of Kit Harington from Game of Thrones, along with a clip of Benedict Cumberbatch and Tom Hiddleston from War Horse as a negative example. Please understand I'm not faulting these actors on their performances or lack of effort, I'm simply pointing out the errors in their riding that brings discomfort to the horse. This is not the actor's fault, it's simply lack of horse oriented education. Unfortunately countless people think that you simply jump on a horse and go. But this couldn't be more wrong.

Positive example one: Henry's canter.

First off, he's got good form. His heels are down and he's holding the reins correctly. His hands are down and quiet, meaning he isn't moving his hands around much, and he isn't lifting them to high. His hips are loose, so he's moving with the horse's stride. He's also pushing his weight down into the stirrups and making himself an easy load for the horse to carry. You can also see him kick three times to keep the the horse in the canter before tightening his hold on the reins and bringing his steed to a halt. All in all, well ridden. Shout out to Joey for hanging on like a pro!

Negative example one: The war horse's charge.

First off, bad form. High, harsh reins, toes down, flailing legs and hard, heavy bouncing in the saddle. You can also clearly see Joey (the light bay or light brown horse) lift his head sharply because of how his mouth is getting hucked by his rider. The horses are trying so hard to obey their riders with the mixed signals they're getting. Tight hands and yanking at the bit says slow down, but hard kicking legs with spurs says speed up. Both of the horses are terribly uncomfortable, and Joey is clearly pained. All in all, poorly ridden.

Positive example two: A lost stirrup.

Unfortunately I couldn't find a clip where you can clearly see this lost stirrup I speak of, but I did find a photo.

See that? He's lost the left stirrup. But he keeps his heels down and rides smoothly through the canter. His hands are still nice and low, I'll be it a tad more busy as he shortens his reins. His hips are still loose and he still moves well with the horse despite being a bit off balance. Henry's riding has definitely improved over the years, but he still rode well back in the days of The Tudors! All in all, well ridden.

Negative example two: You know nothing of riding, Jon Snow.

First off, bad form. Slouched posture, high hands, far too forward legs, and toes pointed down. It just looks wrong. You can see in the clip below that Jon is pulling harshly on the reins to slow down his steed, but at the same times he's applying what I think is accidental pressure with his legs which the horse understands as a cue to speed up. He's also leaning towards the inside far too much in the turn. That darling horse is trying his best to adjust to his rider's ever shifting weight and mixed aids. All in all, poorly ridden.

I hope this somewhat educational post sheds some light onto the subject of poor on screen horsemanship. Yet again, this is NOT intended to be any form of hate towards these actors. In my opinion, any actor, hell, any person who plans on riding a horse should learn the basic technique of riding and practice. It will make the whole experience far more enjoyable for both the riders and their steeds. Plus, good riding looks far better on screen.

Bonus: A photo of my mare, Mags. Who would be far less forgiving towards those not so horse savvy actors and more than likely throw them clean off her back.

She does come with a friendly setting.

#horse riding #the witcher #henry cavill #equestrian

30 notes · View notes

7deadlycinderellas · 4 years ago

Text

No more math and history, ch5

AO3 link

Second session is on.

Second session is often sold as being for “adventure campers”, which works out to most of the campers being a bit older. Arya and Ygritte end up letting some of the riders at the stable canter and gallop instead of just trot, and there are trail rides into the forest every single Sunday. Ygritte’s even been mumbling about getting out the jumps.

The first weekend of session, Shireen’s new cabin goes on the ride with them. Arya is pleased, because Ygritte has been acting very withdrawn in the past few days, and she can’t figure out why.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Arya tells Shireen, as they bring up the rear of the group while Ygritte leads, pointing out interesting things along the path. “She never shuts up normally, she’s got an even bigger mouth than I do.”

“You’ve known each other a while?”

Arya nods, patting her roan mare on the rump so she would keep up.

“She started going out with my cousin Jon- sort of- five years ago. The next year was the summer my dad died. We hadn’t thought they were that serious, I mean, it was a summer camp romance. But after we left early, at the end of session she hopped off the bus at White Harbour and hitched a ride to Winterfell to come and check on all of us before she took the train north. She’s been a fixture ever since, holidays and summers both, even the ones she didn’t come here.”

She doesn’t mention the absolute minefield the grounds of Winterfell had become to wander if Ygritte was around. It had just been annoying at first, but about two years ago, when her and Jon had first begun having sex, it had become downright hazardous. Every Stark child had gotten an eyeful at some point, and some things just could not be unseen.

“I’m sort of jealous,” Shireen admits, “Getting to see the same people here every year. It makes me sad I started coming so late.”

Arya shrugs. She missed out on four years, but coming back to camp still felt like slipping on her favorite pair of pajamas.

“If you want to start making some of those great camp memories,” Arya starts off, “You should start hanging out at the docks after campfire, since that seems to be where we have all our heartfelt talks lately.”

The first night of second session, instead of Bran, the dock ended up being taken by Sansa, who was having a late night breakdown over what Mother would have thought for her plans for senior year.

Arya was happy enough to help her sister out, but she was rather glad that Gendry and she had found an alternative make out spot.

Shireen doesn’t get a chance to respond when they have to all stop, because one of the ten year old campers slips from her saddle and tumbles upon the ground. She’s more scared than hurt, but Arya gets to show off for the others why they always carry the first aid kit.

It’s the fifth day of second session when the worst sound Arya can imagine at camp comes over the loudspeaker.

The siren, wavering in and out, announcing a lost bather drill.

Arya remembers the procedure no problem. All campers, CITs and uncertified staff file to the mess hall to be counted.

And all red clipped staff head to the lake, strip to their underwear, and dive in. They suck in breaths and dive down as deep as they can, sweeping their hands against the bottom, before rising again. Then they repeat, until the all clear is blown.

Arya knows what they’re doing. They’re looking for a body. After hearing about Pyp last summer, she imagines Brienne and Beric must be making sure all their staff know exactly what needs to be done in an emergency.

And aside from that potential horror, there’s always the lingering embarrassment when everyone emerges from the water, soaking wet, shivering and half dressed.

As the lifeguard on duty, Gendry blows his whistle to declare the search over. He also, thankfully, has a pile of towels by his stand to pass out so they can dry off.

Arya rushes forward to grab one for Sansa, who’s trying to cover herself. Arya smothers a laugh, Sansa’s always been more modest than her, she used to be uncomfortable even wearing a bikini in public.

Sansa smiles in gratitude when she’s able to cover herself as she dries off. She doesn’t have to fear attention, because all the hooting at pointing this time is off to the left side of the group. The subject of the topic is Margaery Tyrell, who appears to have forgotten since orientations that these were a possibility on any day at all, and is wearing nothing more than a few scraps of purple lace.

To her credit, Margaery pays the hollars no mind as she redresses, even as her bending over to pick up her jeans gives the rest of the lakeside crowd a prime view of her entire bum.

Even Sansa can’t seem to take her eyes off her, her nose and cheeks lit up red. Arya doesn’t even get a chance to mock her lusty gaze, when she admits,

“I wish I had that kind of confidence.”

Arya rolls her eyes, but is distracted by Ygritte coming up to the group, already re-dressed.

“At least this means no one will remember the last one last summer, I was the one being hooted at then.”

Sansa regards her curiously.

“What are you on about Ygritte, don’t you usually wear men’s boxers?”

Ygritte runs a hand through her hair as she responds.

“Yeah, but it was also a day that I had decided not to wear a bra, and forgot that I’d decided.”

Arya is surprised when Gendry tosses a towel over her shoulders, she’d been so distracted by the others.

“My hero,” she says with a grin. She notices Gendry’s eyes still trailing her up and down.

She’s not wearing anything special, a black sports bra and ordinary striped cotton knickers. So she knows he’s not just looking, he’s looking at her.

“Nice to have an actual gentlemen in the guard’s chair,” Ygritte quips as Arya pulls her jeans and shirt back on and shakes off her hair, “You can bet Anguy wasn’t waiting here with a stack of towels after drills, he just laughed and catcalled while we shivered.”

Later that night, when Arya is pressed back against the equipment shack again, Gendry’s lips plundering hers, he pulls back for a moment.

“Sorry,” he says, with a grin that tells Arya he’s entirely un-sorry, “All I can picture is those stripes across your bum.”

Arya leans forward to briefly suck on his pulse point, which she has learned makes him emit a high-pitched whine.

“What’s wrong with stripes?”

Gendry retaliates by kissing her again while rubbing the back of her neck under her ponytail.

“Not a damn thing.”

Carefully, his hands move down her back and land on her backside, with a gentle pat.

“Well,” Arya says, “At least we know that if I ever take off my clothes for recreational purposes around you, you won’t expect me to be wearing a lacy push up bra and matching thong. Even if I owned anything like that, I wouldn’t wear it to camp.”

Gendry snickers in her ear.

“I would expect no different from you.”

His gentle pat turns into a playful squeeze.

“I still don’t think it’s fair for you to possess my mind like that hours later.”

Arya huffs.

“You don’t realize it do you? Men take off their shirts all the time, and no one thinks anything of it.”

She runs her hand down the side of his neck.

“You don’t realize it at all...you’re so-” she grunts in frustration, her hand moving back a moment to sort of gestures at his chest, “I still can’t believe you don’t have girls all over you.”

“I don’t want girls all over me though,” Gendry replies. “Hell, I don’t even understand the desire to date more than one at a time. How would you even remember anything about each of them?”

Well at least that’s something.

“But still, we’ll go out to the climbing wall and you’ll get all sweaty and take off your shirt, without even caring what it will do to me…”

Gendry snorts, rubbing his nose against the skin of her cheek.

“Is that your way of saying you want to go out to the climbing wall tomorrow since you’re off?”

It sort of is, but her words stand. Half the time she goes down to the lakefront, he’s got his shirt off and he’s all wet and she has to practically stop her stomach from growling.

The climbing wall had been brand new just the last summer the Starks were there. Conquering it had become Arya’s goal that summer. She had just barely made it before they had received the call about Ned’s death.

She’s surprised to find that it’s far easier than she recalls. Maybe she’s just gotten that much taller.

“That was amazing!” Shireen squeals, watching her as she returns down to the ground.

Arya grins. It’s not a hard course, but she’s glad for any appreciation. Gendry got caught up talking to Grey Worm and Loras while they demonstrate some of the others the safety equipment and rules. He’s stubbornly kept his shirt on, though the sweat is making it stick to him in very excellent ways.

“Well I used to do gymnastics…”

Shireen looks interested, so Arya goes on.

“There’s a story as to why I stopped. If you join Gendry and I at the dock tonight, I can tell it to you both.”

Because it’s a Saturday, Gendry’s even managed to obtain a bag of broken cookies from Hot Pie for them to munch on.

“So,” Arya starts, “Do you ever watch the Olympics, Shireen?”

“Sure,” Shireen says. She’s on her back, staring up at the moon, which is nearly full again. “I like watching the figure skating in winter.”

Arya smiles. She was immune to skating dreams mostly because of the dumb sparkly dresses for costumes.

“When I was eight, the summer games came around, that was the year the Northern gymnasts swept the medals and all I wanted was to be up on the winners podium with them.”

“I remember that,” Gendry comments, “It was on the telly the whole season.”

“Well, I begged to be able to take lessons, and Mum and Dad found a gym really close to Winterfell, a couple of the Northern team had even trained there. I think they were both hoping that the classes would burn off all the extra energy I used to use misbehaving.”

“That’s a laugh,” Gendry interjects.

“I loved it.” Arya admits, her knees pulled up to her chest. She misses it terribly, even now. “I’m actually planning to go back to the gym and work this school year as an assistant, now that it’s reopened.”

Gendry looks at her oddly at this point. As long as he’s known her, the Starks have always been well off, and it never really occurred to him that any of them would have to work. Arya’s said a thing or two about the company not being quite so stable, but he’s never really taken it in before now.

“I still love gymnastics, but I would never be involved with anyone aiming for the Olympics again. I saw girls there who had dropped out of school to train eight hours a day.”

Shireen’s eyes go wide. Arya has gathered from her stories that Shireen values education greatly.

“And there was this one coach- Coach Hagar, everyone called him Jaqen- who was...I hate to say it, but he seemed sort of like a cult leader. He was from Braavos and kind of a legend there. He hand-picked girls for his elite team, they were the real gold medal hopefuls. Everyone wanted to be one of them, including me. But he demanded absolute obedience. He discouraged any kind of outside activities, dating, even doing other sports. If he told you to do something to improve, you did it, no questions asked.”

Arya meets Gendry’s eye and the pair share a wink.

“I was never any good at that, so I was never going to end up there.”

Arya rolls flat on her back between the two of them.

“After I came home from camp, there were two deaths on Jaqen’s team, one after another. One died of an eating disorder. That was awful, but that’s a known among athletic circles. Then, less than a month later, one of her teammates slammed her head into the balance beam, trying a mount she wasn’t ready for. Broke her neck, she died less than a week later. If she’d lived, she would have been a quad.”

Arya bites her lip before continuing.

“But the nail in his coffin came when one of his team accused him of- of having, well, groomed her for several years.”

Shireen’s eyes go wide and Gendry rolls over so she can’t see his face.

“Her parents apparently didn’t believe her, but me and several others did, and we reported it. It made the news, he got fired, and the whole gym ended up closing during the scandal.”

Arya stares off at the moon.

“It’s strange. I was so sad, so down about Dad dying...that I don’t think I could have resisted the urge to join. Jaqen always seemed to want his gymnasts to think of absolutely nothing else, like he wanted them to forget who they were. At first, that was all I wanted was to disappear, to forget so it wouldn’t hurt anymore. That didn’t last, and I think the scandal helped. It pulled off the mask and made me realize I could never do that, I could never stop being me.”

“Was your Mum disappointed?” Gendry asks. Arya smiles, she knows she went on for so long about being scared her mother was always going to be disappointed in her.

“A little, I think she was mostly proud that I hadn’t let myself be dragged in too deeply. And after Dad passed, suddenly having one less expense every month was a good thing.”

Leaning to one side, Arya notices Shireen has an odd look on her face. There’s a pinch in her stomach and something nagging at the back of her mind,

“It is pretty late,” Gendry cuts in looking to Shireen, “Want us to walk you back to your cabin?”

Shireen swallows roughly, and shakes her head.

“It’s OK, the moon’s bright, I can make it fine.”

And with that, she stands and returns to camp.

“Did I say something wrong?” Arya asks, uncertain.

Gendry exhales slowly.

“No. It’s not what you said, sometimes things you don’t expect drag things up when you least expect it.”

He pauses before asking.

“You really think you could have lost yourself to training like that?”

Arya nods.

“It would have been easy. Dad always used to go on about how I could join the team during secondary school and get scholarship money. That seemed much more sensible, but the allure of the Olympics is hard to pass up for practical plans like that. I’m glad something stopped me.”

The two of them are silent for a bit. It’s such a serious spot to end the conversation, that she desperately looks for a way to change the subject. Arya pulls herself up to a sitting position, she raises an eyebrow at Gendry.

“So you, uhh, want to take this elsewhere?”

Arya’s actually really glad Gendry had admitted to not having much more experience than her, because this is uncharted territory. Not the kissing, she could figure that out just fine, but the process of getting to the kissing.

He turns a bit pink, but stands, and offers his hand.

Like this, how on earth are you supposed to ask someone if they want to go make out behind the equipment shed? Arya supposes she could ask Sansa, but there was still a chance she might roll her eyes. Like it was something she was just supposed to magically understand.

They’re sitting on the grass this time, Arya kind of half leaning over his lap while they kiss. Gendry raises his left hand and it lands between her shoulder blades, and she thinks he’s trying to pull her closer, but his hand presses, and then he kind of freezes against her mouth.

“Erm-” he starts. Arya can see him blushing even in the moonlight, she’s so close she could count his freckles, “How come you aren’t wearing a bra?”

Arya furrows her brow in confusion. The last several days had been unusually hot, even for the Stormlands in the summer, and she had changed out of her jeans almost as soon as she could. She’s in the same jersey and shorts she always wore to bed.

“Because I’m in my pajamas- I never- wait, Gendry, you do realize most women don’t sleep in their bras right?”

Gendry’s face is straight up glowing now.

“Never really thought about it.”

Arya snickers. At least she’s not the only one a little clueless sometimes. He looks like he doesn’t know what to do, so in a fit of impulsiveness, she grabs his right hand and guides it to her breast.

“And since we are actually friends,” she starts, while he squeezes experimentally, “maybe you could explain to me what exactly it is that straight men see in boobs.”

Gendry shrugs, his cheeks still aflame. She is almost sitting in his lap now, her knees bracketing one of his thighs. In a single movement, he turns her around so she is sitting full in his lap, but facing away from him. He squeezes her waist in one hand, and returns his other to keep touching her breasts through her jersey. He kisses the side of her neck.

“I just think they’re nice is all.”

Arya can’t restrain her snort.

“You know, that’s actually pretty much what Sansa told me when I asked her.”

As happy as Sansa had been that when she came out, Arya had accepted her no question. She had been less pleased by the cavalcade of inappropriate questions that she followed up with.

Arya cranes her neck so she can keep kissing him. The angle is weird, so she mostly contents herself with kissing his chin and throat instead. His hands feel good on her, and her mind starts wandering about all the other places he could be touching, places on him she could be touching.

“Hmm,” she says after several minutes, “We should probably go back. Don’t want to be too tired tomorrow morning.”

It’s a few more minutes before either of them disentangle and stand.

When she straightens her clothes, Arya is suddenly seized by an idea.

“Gendry,” she says, quietly.

When he raises his head to look at her, Arya grabs the bottom of her jersey and quickly lifts it up to her chin.

The stupid grin that appears on his face warms Arya to the core. She drops her shirt and giggles, unusually girlishly.

“Seven hells,” she whispers breathlessly, “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

Arya spins on one heel and leaves Gendry, still stunned, in the dust.

She returns to the cabin, still somehow feeling lighter than air.

She’s so lost in her own head that she doesn’t notice Ygritte, still awake in her bunk, staring silently at a letter.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #fic #summer camp au

7 notes · View notes