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nyxshadowhawk · 1 month ago

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I Read The Silmarillion So You Don't Have To, Part Ten

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Chapter 21: Of Túrin Turambar, Part 2 In which our angsty tragic hero tries to outrun his curse, kills people he shouldn’t, sleeps with people he shouldn’t, and fights a dragon.

Picking up right where we left off…

It’s been four hundred and ninety-five years since the first rising of the Sun over Middle-earth. Two Elves arrive at Nargothrond from the south, Arminas and Gwindor’s brother Gelmir. (Gelmir, as in Volcano Manor? I see you, George R.R. Martin and FromSoft, with your giant glowing tree, and your “Numen,” and “Morgott,” and your volcano named after a completely random Tolkien character!) These two Elves have been living with Círdan, and they bring news of a prophecy from Ulmo, the Vala of Water himself!

Here’s the message: Because Morgoth controls the River Sirion, Ulmo is losing his power in the north of Beleriand. He foretells that doom is coming to Nargothrond. His advice is that the Nargothrond Elves swallow their pride, lock the doors, and hunker down.

King Orodreth listens to the warning, but Túrin is too proud and too stubborn to heed the words of a literal god. He’s used to getting his way, and isn’t about to hide away in a hole again just because two randos claim to speak for a Vala. He stays out in the open, and doesn’t bother to destroy the great bridge he built across the river that leads straight to Nargothrond’s gate. That’s basically rolling out the welcome mat for Morgoth. Meanwhile, Morgoth creeps southwards, defiling the magic spring of Ivrin and heading straight for Nargothrond.

When Morgoth’s army arrives, the Elves ride into battle, with Túrin beside the king. Morgoth brought a trump card, Glaurung the Dragon — the Elves don’t stand a chance. Orodreth dies, and Gwindor is mortally wounded. Túrin rushes to carry him to a safer place.

As he dies, Gwindor tells Túrin that he both loves and hates him, and that he regrets the day he rescued him from the Orcs. Who can blame him? Túrin basically ruined his life. It’s entirely Túrin’s fault that Nargothrond is doomed. Gwindor’s final wish is that Túrin protect Finduilas.

Yes, a powerful and ancient Elven kingdom fell because of the stubbornness of one Man who isn’t even from there. Is anyone surprised?

Túrin Turambar and the Fall of Nargothrond by breath-art

Túrin rushes off to find that the city is being pillaged and destroyed by Morgoth’s forces. He tries to find Finduilas, but runs straight into Glaurung. Unexpectedly, the dragon speaks, greeting Túrin. Glaurung mocks him for all the bad things that he’s caused, directly or indirectly: “Thankless fostering, outlaw, slayer of thy friend, thief of love, usurper of Nargothrond, captain foolhardy, and deserter of thy kin.” (Can’t you just hear that in Benedict Cumberbatch’s voice?) As a final twist of the knife, Glaurung brings up Túrin’s mother and sister, who are poor and miserable, dressed in rags while Túrin lives like a prince. (This is a complete lie; they��re in Doriath, and they’re fine, but Túrin has no way to know that.)

Petrified by the dragon’s gaze, Túrin is horrified by his own behavior (which isn’t the worst thing? My dude needs some self-awareness). While he’s literally frozen in a mental health spiral, the Orcs finish sacking Nargothrond. They drag Finduilas away with them. Glaurung twists the knife again, pointing out how useless Túrin is to either his family or Finduilas.

The Sack of Nargothrond by Donato Arts

Túrin can finally move, and lashes at Glaurung’s eye, but misses. Glaurung spares him, letting him live with his guilt, but leaves him with the sadistic Gwen Stacy choice: He can either save Finduilas, or his family, but not both. Túrin immediately runs off to save one of them. Glaurung crawls inside what’s left of Nargothrond, makes a pile of all its treasure, and lies down on it as his dragon hoard.

Following the sack of Nargothrond is a winter so bad, it’s known as the Fell Winter. Túrin goes to his birthplace of Dor-lómin to rescue his mother and sister, only to find an empty, ruined house. He asks around to find out where they’ve gone (and by “asks around,” I mean “threatens people at swordpoint”). Once he learns the truth, he starts killing people out of sheer rage.

The only silver lining is that it was his own actions as “The Black Sword of Nargothrond” that gave his mother and sister a window to escape. That means he actually did something good for someone! By accident! Túrin decides it’s best not to follow them to Doriath. He muses that he destroys everything he touches, and he doesn’t want to subject them to that. After what happened in Nargothrond, he doesn’t want to risk the same thing happening to Doriath, for everyone’s sake.

So, Túrin goes off after Finduilas, but it’s already too late for her. He hears from one of the Men of the Forest of Brethil that the Orcs killed Finduilas by pinning her to a tree with a spear. Her last words were to ask the Men to tell “the Black Sword” where she died. The Men lead Túrin to where they buried her. Distraught, Túrin throws himself on the mound. Realizing who he is, the Men of Brethil pity him, and take him in until spring. Túrin renames himself Turambar, “Master of Doom,” thinking that he finally outran his curse. That’s very hubristic, but of all Túrin’s many epithets, this is the one that stuck.

The last refugees from Nargothrond find their way to Doriath. They reveal who Mormegil the Black Sword was, and assume that he’s either dead, or still frozen in place by the dragon. Morwen rides out into the wilderness alone, desperate to find out what actually happened to her son. Thingol sends his captain Mablung after her to guard her, and her daughter Nienor sneaks out after them. (The narration pauses to inform us that this is a choice point, and if Nienor hadn’t left, a lot of suffering could have been avoided.)

Morwen and co. make their way to Nargothrond, but Glaurung is still there, and eager for some more destruction. Some of Thingol’s Elves are killed, and Morwen goes missing. Mablung boldly sneaks inside the ruins of Nargothrond while the dragon is absent. Nienor gets caught in the dragon’s gaze, and he makes her forget who she is and why she’s there. When Mablung finds her, she can’t see, hear, or speak. Mablung tries to bring her back to Doriath, but they don’t get far before she runs off into the wilderness in terror.

Nienor makes her way to the Forest of Brethil, living like an animal in the wilderness. One night, during a storm, she throws herself on Finduilas’ mound. The Men of Brethil and Túrin find her there, and nurse her back to health. Because she doesn’t know her name, Túrin calls her Níniel, “Tear-maiden.” In the next couple months, Nienor learns to live and speak like a person again, but she still doesn’t remember anything from her former life.

You can probably tell where this is going, can’t you? Nienor has amnesia and can’t recognize her brother, and Túrin has never seen his sister before. They slowly fall in love, and get married in the summer. Túrin thinks that he might finally have some happiness! You’re just braced for the impending trainwreck.

In the intervening years, Glaurung hears that the Black Sword is alive, and goes to Brethil to kill him just for shits and giggles. Túrin goes to fight him, saying a tearful goodbye to his wife. Nienor makes the same mistake she made last time, and goes after him.

Túrin comes up with a strategy to sneak up under Glaurung from a narrow gorge, catching him by surprise. He successfully makes it across the gorge, and stabs Glaurung in the belly with the meteorite sword. Glaurung screams and writhes, throwing the enormous bulk of his body across the gorge, breathing fire as he dies. All the forest around the gorge is burned to a crisp, but Glaurung the Dragon is finally dead…!

The End of Glaurung by Coliandre

Túrin crosses the gorge again to recover his sword, and mocks Glaurung in an ironic echo of the dragon’s words to him in Nargothrond. As he wrenches the black sword out of Glaurung’s body, a spurt of black blood covers his hand, burning it with venom. Then Glaurung’s eyes open — he’s not dead yet! He smashes Túrin, and Túrin passes out from a combination of the blow and the venom.

The Men see the burning forest, and assume that Glaurung must have won the fight. They turn to flee, except for Nienor, who insists on seeing her husband again.

She finds Túrin lying, seemingly dead, beside the dragon, and cries over his body. Glaurung, who still isn’t dead, puts two and two together and laughs in Nienor’s face. He reveals her true identity as a daughter of Húrin, and that her husband is actually her brother. He also lists off all of Túrin’s other crimes for good measure. Then he dies. Finally.

The Death of Glaurung by Elena Kukanova

When Glaurung dies, his evil spell breaks, and Nienor finally remembers everything. Horrified, she says her farewell to Túrin, and throws herself over the gorge. That spot becomes known as Cabed Naeramarth, the Point of Dreadful Doom — no plants grow on it, and all people and animals avoid it.

The leader of the Men of Brethil, Brandir, returns to his people, and fills them in on what happened with the requisite tragic Messenger Speech: Glaurung is dead, Túrin is dead, Níniel is dead, and also Túrin and Níniel were siblings the whole time. As the people mourn, Túrin himself shows up — he wasn’t actually dead, just in a faint. Brandir tells him the terrible news, and Túrin blames Brandir for Nienor’s death, assuming that “you’re actually siblings” is just another one of Glaurung’s lies. Túrin does his usual thing and kills Brandir in a fit of rage.

Túrin escapes into the woods, finding Finduilas’ grave. He prays to her for advice about what to do next. Clearly, he couldn’t outrun his fate. His only options are to go to Doriath and risk more destruction and sorrow, or to go die in battle. As he cries there on the grave, Mablung just happens to show up. Túrin tells Mablung that he killed Glaurung, and Mablung is very impressed that Túrin could kill Glaurung when generations of Elves failed.

Túrin asks after his family, and Mablung tells him the bad news — Morwen is missing, Nienor is a delirious amnesiac, and neither of them have been heard from in years. That’s when Túrin realizes that his wife really was his sister. On top of that, he just murdered a man in cold blood for telling the truth! In fact, he just murdered the leader of a tribe that was kind enough to take him in! Túrin laughs like a madman, curses Mablung, curses Doriath, curses everything, and runs away into the night (again).

He goes to the gorge where his sister died, and takes out Gurthang, the black meteorite sword. He asks the blade if it will kill him, and the sword speaks with a cold voice: “Yea, I will drink thy blood gladly, so that I may forget the blood of Beleg my master, and the blood of Brandir slain unjustly. I will slay thee swiftly.” Ahhhh, that’s so creepy! The black sword was sentient the whole time!

Túrin stabs himself with the blade, and dies at the same point where his sister did. Mablung and his Elves find Túrin’s body, and Mablung blames himself for Túrin’s death, because he told Túrin the truth about his sister. Mablung, the Elves, and the Men of Brethil bury Túrin on that point, alongside the shards of the black sword, which snapped in half. They mark his tombstone with both his name and Nienor’s.

The Death of Túrin by _yidany_

Wow, what a classic tragedy! You know, some people hold up A Song of Ice and Fire as the anti-LotR — Game of Thrones is high fantasy story that’s dark and gritty and more cynical than idealistic, with realistic effects of war, a massive amount of character death, and lots of gore and incest. What those people don’t realize is that Tolkien already wrote that story, and here it is! You think Tolkien is an idealistic kindly grandpa who only writes about cute hobbits, pretty elves, and dark lords getting defeated? Try this on for size!

Honestly, it shouldn’t be surprising to anyone who knows anything about Tolkien’s source material. This is what mythology is like. I applaud Tolkien for his authenticity. He combined parts of the Volsung Saga, parts of Oedipus Tyrannus, and maybe a bit of Beowulf with his own lore to create a brutal uber-tragedy. And, bonus, he also gave us our requisite angsty pathetic man as a protagonist.

Túrin by Līga Kļaviņa ***

Chapter 22: Of the Ruin of Doriath In which Húrin is finally released, and Thingol makes the most colossally stupid decision of his career.

Well, we all knew that Doriath was too good to last. Looks like its time is up.

But first, we need to know what happened to Húrin. Húrin is Túrin’s father, and he’s been imprisoned on a mountaintop this whole time, tied to a chair and forced to watch the tragedy of his son’s life. Morgoth finally lets him go. Morgoth claims that he’s acting out of pity, but that’s obviously a lie — he knows that if he lets Húrin go, it’ll start a domino effect of bad stuff that will make everyone’s lives worse.

Húrin tries to go home to Hithlum, but he’s unrecognizable after almost thirty years in Angband. His own people think he’s one of Morgoth’s goons, and shun him. Feeling resentful, and having nowhere else to go, Húrin tries to find Gondolin again. All he finds is a forbidding wall of sheer rock. The eagles notice him, though, and Thorondor, the king of the eagles himself, goes straight to King Turgon to tell him that Húrin is at his door. Turgon doesn’t believe this, assuming that Morgoth is up to his old tricks again. Thorondor snaps back with, ‘if the divine eagles made mistakes, Gondolin wouldn’t have lasted this long.’ After thinking about it for a bit, Turgon agrees to let Húrin in. But when the eagles go to look for him, he’s already gone. That’s what Turgon gets for taking his sweet time.

As the sun sets, Húrin screams in despair in the direction of Gondolin, imploring Turgon to remember their friendship. But Morgoth’s spies have been on him since he left. Now Morgoth knows where Gondolin is! He still can’t do anything because of the eagles’ protection, but the clock is ticking.

Húrin dreams of his wife Morwen. In his dream, she’s crying somewhere in the Forest of Brethil. So, he heads in that direction. The men of Brethil think he’s the ghost of a warrior, that’s how terrible he looks. He finds Túrin and Nienor’s gravestone, but doesn’t look at it; he already knows what it is, from having seen the whole story play out with Morgoth’s supernatural vision. In front of the stone, an old woman with tattered clothes is mourning. She looks up into Húrin’s eyes, and he recognizes her as his wife, Morwen. They reunite briefly, and sit together in silence in front of their children’s grave. When the sun sets, Morwen dies.

Húrin and Morwen at the grave of their children by steamey

Húrin sits there, numb, until his grief is replaced by anger and a desire for vengeance. Because if you’re a man whose wife and kids are dead, what else is there to do besides revenge? He adds Morwen’s name to the tombstone, then goes on his way.

As for the tombstone, according to a bard, nothing will ever topple it. Not even Morgoth. Not even when Beleriand sinks into the sea, and nothing else is left of it (which the narration reminds us will happen in the near future). The stone still rises up out of the sea, far off the coast of Middle-earth.

Húrin goes to see what’s left of Nargothrond, and finds Mîm, that dwarf whom Túrin had lived with for a time after killing his son. Mîm moved in after Glaurung left, and took all the treasure for himself. None of the Elves challenged him, because they’re all afraid that the dragon is still there. Mîm believes he has a rightful claim to Nargothrond, because the Petty-Dwarves lived in those caves first. He’s got a point there, but Húrin still declares that he will take back the caves, as payback for Mîm having betrayed Túrin that one time. Mîm begs for his life, but Húrin ruthlessly kills him.

Húrin lives in the ruined cave palace for some time, but it’s pretty dismal. When he leaves, he only takes one piece of treasure with him: the Nauglamir.

Remember the Nauglamír? You probably don’t, so here’s a refresher: It’s a necklace that the Dwarves made for Finrod, as a thank-you for giving them treasure from Valinor. The Nauglamír is as light as spider silk, and it’s set with the Valinor gems. I’m almost certain that Tolkien based it on the Brisingamen, a necklace belonging to the goddess Freya. There is a myth in which Loki steals it, and Heimdall fights him over the necklace (according to Snorri, they were in the shape of seals), but most of that story is lost. Despite the lack of surviving information about it, we know that the Brisingamen was a common folkloric trope in Germanic mythology, because it’s referenced briefly in Beowulf and a few other sources.

Húrin travels east towards Doriath, and is captured by Elven scouts. They bring him to King Thingol. Húrin resents Thingol and Melian for having failed to protect his wife and kids. He blames them for everything bad that happened, instead of blaming Morgoth, who literally cursed his family to his face! This is because Morgoth made sure to paint Thingol and Melian in an especially unflattering light. Thingol and Melian are some of the only people in Middle-earth who stand a genuine chance against Morgoth, so from Morgoth’s perspective, the sooner they’re out of the picture, the better.

Húrin throws the Nauglamír at Thingol’s feet, declaring it his payment for having done such a great job at keeping Túrin, Morwen, and Nienor safe. Thingol feels genuinely bad for Húrin, and doesn’t say anything. After Húrin vents a little, Melian speaks up to say that Húrin’s perspective has been skewed by Morgoth. Seeing through Morgoth’s eyes is always going to twist the truth a little. She and Thingol loved Túrin, and Morwen and Nienor. It wasn’t their fault that Húrin’s family all left Doriath and went to their respective dooms.

The magic of Melian’s wall helps protect Doriath from Morgoth’s magic, so Húrin finally sees that she’s telling the truth. Ashamed, he picks up the necklace and gives it to Thingol as a sincere gift.

Then he leaves. No one knows where he goes, but it’s assumed that he throws himself into the sea in shame and despair. He did Morgoth’s bidding, without even knowing it. It’s a pathetic end for the greatest warrior of all Men.

After Húrin leaves, Thingol stares at the necklace for a long time. Then he has the bright idea to have it reforged, and to set the Silmaril in the middle. If sending Beren to get a Silmaril in the first place was a dumb idea, this is the dumbest possible idea. Remember, just having a Silmaril puts a target on Thingol’s back, because the sons of Fëanor are all magically bound to repossess it. But setting it into a Dwarven artefact is going to piss the Dwarves off, too!

Thingol almost can’t be blamed. The Silmaril is like the Ring in that it exerts an influence over the mind of whoever possesses it. Thingol no longer wants to keep it confined to his treasury, he wants to wear it and show it off, like Fëanor once did.

Elwe Singollo and the Nauglamír by K.Mendou

He summons the Dwarven blacksmiths who work in his court, and tells them that he wants to set the Silmaril in the necklace. The Dwarves are immediately struck with the same desire to have the Silmaril for themselves, but they put it out of their minds and do the job. It’s a long and difficult process, and Thingol personally goes down to the forge to look over their shoulders as they’re working. When the necklace is finished, the Dwarves present it to Thingol.

As Thingol goes to take it and put it around his neck, the Dwarves suddenly take it back from him. They demand to know why Thingol thinks he has a right to it, since it was made by Dwarves. The only Elf who had a right to it was Finrod Felegund, who’s dead. Húrin stole it from Nargothrond, so, Thingol doesn’t have true ownership of it.

Thingol sees that what they really want is the Silmaril. Without thinking, he insults them (paraphrased): “How dare you of the uncouth race demand anything of me, Elu Thingol, Lord of Beleriand! I’ve been here since the dawn of creation, long before the stunted people!” (Note that he proclaims himself the lord of not just Doriath, but all of Beleriand.)

You can imagine how well the Dwarves take that. They straight-up murder him, on the spot! And that’s how Elwë Graymantle, king of the oldest Elven kingdom of Middle-earth, the only person to have married one of the Ainur, and the only Sinda to have seen the Two Trees of Valinor, dies. Racism and sheer hubris.

Nauglamír by breath-art

As the Dwarves escape with the Nauglamír, Thingol’s warriors chase after them. They get almost as far as the river at the edge of Doriath when the Elves kill all but two of them. The remaining two Dwarves make it all the way to their home in the Blue Mountains, and tell the Dwarves there what happened. Or rather, they lie about what happened. They say that Thingol ordered their comrades killed for no reason, and that he cheated them out of their rightful reward. The Dwarves mourn for their lost craftsmen, and plan to wage war on Doriath.

The Elves bring the Nauglamír back to Queen Melian, who grieves for her husband. I can only imagine how sad and frustrated she must be. She warned Thingol this would happen, but couldn’t do anything until it was already too late. She sits beside Thingol’s body and cries, thinking about their first meeting in the forest under the stars. In her grief, the magic wall that she maintained for centuries dissolves. Melian tells Mablung to tell the resurrected Beren and Lúthien about the Silmaril. Then she disappears out of Middle-earth. In her true divine form, she returns to the garden of Lórien in Valinor, where she can cry in the company of other spirits. And that’s it, that’s the end of her story.

Without the magic wall, there’s nothing protecting Doriath from the Dwarves. They march straight into the Thousand Caves and slaughter as many Elves as they can find. Mablung dies in the battle. The Dwarves ransack the place, and steal the Silmaril.

Now you know why Elves and Dwarves hate each other!

I didn’t expect Beren and Lúthien to be part of this story again, but here they are. They hear about the terrible battle, and Beren leaves with his son Dior and a bunch of eastern forest Elves to ambush the Dwarves. When the Dwarf army comes back east, Beren and co. rain arrows down on them. Then ents, of all things, show up and drive the remaining Dwarves away.

Beren steals back the necklace from the Dwarf lord, and kills him. The Dwarf lord curses all the treasure as he dies. Beren just stares at the Silmaril, the jewel of Fëanor that he himself had stolen from Morgoth. He washes the blood off of it in the river, and the rest of the (now cursed) treasure is thrown in the water. Beren gives the Nauglamír to Lúthien, making her the most beautiful thing this side of Valinor. And that’s not subjective: Lúthien wearing the Silmaril produces such good magic that, for a while, Ossiriand becomes almost like another Valinor.

Dior, the half-human, half-elf son of Beren and Lúthien, is Thingol’s grandson and the rightful heir to the kingdom of Doriath. So, he leaves his parents to take his grandfather’s throne in Menegroth. The Sindar don’t have any problem being ruled by a half-elf. They’re just happy to have gotten a new king so fast, and to finally have something to celebrate.

One night, an Elf from Ossiriand knocks on the door of Menegroth, and gives Dior a chest with the Nauglamír in it. When Dior sees it, he knows that his parents have finally died naturally. He stares at the Silmaril and thinks about how his parents retrieved it from Morgoth. It’s said that they died so soon because the light of the Silmaril around Lúthien’s neck wasn’t meant for mortal eyes, but Dior clasps the necklace around his own neck. At that point, he’s the most beautiful person in the whole world, because he’s descended from Elves and Men and Maiar.

Dior Eluchîl by @vinyatar

But wait! Remember the baggage that comes attached to the Silmaril wherever it goes? That’s right — the sons of Fëanor! Lúthien was so magical that no one dared to attack her, but Dior has no such luck. Once the sons of Fëanor hear that he’s wearing a Silmaril, they come after him. Dior could have just given the Fëanorians the Silmaril, and avoided a violent conflict, but of course it doesn’t work like that. The seven brothers sneak into Doriath in the middle of winter, and attack. What follows is called the “Second Kinslaying,” because it’s only the second time the Elves have fought each other.

Celegorm, Curufin, and Caranthir all die, reducing the sons of Fëanor down to four. Dior and his wife Nimloth also die. Celegorm’s servants kidnap their two sons and leave them to freeze to death in the forest, which is especially cruel. That was a step too far for Maedhros, who looks for the boys in the woods for as long as he could, but he doesn’t find them. No one knows what happened to them.

The Second Kinslaying by Jenny Dolfen

And that’s the end of Doriath. Thingol’s kingdom lasted a good long time. Now Gondolin is the only safe place left…

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oleworm · 6 months ago

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🔥 aegon ii

I'm going to talk about the show version only because I tried to read Fire and Blood and I didn't much care for it. I'm going to speculate that George published it because of pressure to get the last two ASOIAF books out and that's why it reads like the notes you write before the actual story. Moving on.

Surprisingly I have a lot to say about Aegon II, especially comparing what he actually does and how it is presented by the narrative vs. what Rhaenyra does and how it is presented by the narrative. I am aware that TGC was fighting to develop Aegon's character beyond being a rapist and a drunkard, so that already shows a bias by the writers. I don't know if you agree, but when I watched the series I thought that the audience is meant to find him foolish and ineffectual. He supports measures that alleviate the burden on the smallfolk and that's seen as bad--we can't do that, Aegon, we've got a war going on, they're going to have to get used to austerity. Let's ignore that, geographically, the blockade doesn't make sense because they should be able to bring in supplies by land, ha. OK! Maybe he doesn't have all the logistical details, but the principle was correct, if he is to govern these people he is also responsible for them--only, this is considered to be too naïve of a view. But I don't know, it could be giving the writers too much credit to assume they were trying to make a contrast between the ideal of a king, that is, the fiction that is sold to the people so that they accept his authority, vs. what a king actually does, which is funnel state resources to cement his political power and that of his kin-group.

Then he goes out on his dragon and gets burned to a crisp--we're supposed to think that he's emotional and stupid, but he sets Sunfyre on Meleys when he sees that she's burning the soldiers and no one on their side is doing anything about it. If anything, Criston and Aemond's plan was to let Rhaenys think it would be easy, let her kill a bunch of people before they bring out Vhagar. It was an impulsive decision to come in the first place, but it cannot be denied that he risks his own life in trying to protect them. It was significant to me that when Sunfyre was wounded it flapped its wings as to not to crush the soldiers that were running away in fear, and later Vhagar tramples them to death like they're nothing, the same way that Daemon and Caraxes did in earlier episodes.

I don't know what the show is trying to say in writing them the way they do. It is very inconsistent. Here you have Aegon, who threw in his lot with his people and exposed himself to many of the same dangers, even if it wasn't the most effective way, but that is supposed to be a bad thing because he is a ridiculous person? And you have Rhaenyra, who is queen because she said so, who starves her people and sends weapons of war while sitting comfortably in Dragonstone. In real life it would not be like that, we have different laws, but in their world outside of Dorne there is no precedent for a daughter passing over a legitimate son. It's like, in-universe Rhaenyra has the odds stacked against her for being a woman, but in real life we are supposed to root for her for that very same reason, and it has very little to do with either of their actions.

I read your reply to my ask and I agree that they should have kept that part about him abusing women that have no recourse, it adds complexity to his character that a lot of people don't like!

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paradoxcase · 11 days ago

Text

The Traitor Baru Cormorant, Chapter 5

So I was actually having an interesting conversation on reddit about how when Trump is in power and his supporters start feeling the negative effects of his policies they never blame Trump for this, and are instead like "all of the evil Democrats in Congress are to blame for this, surely if I mention Trump on twitter when I complain about it, he will come and save me from them!" and it turns out that this same exact thing happens in every autocratic government, there are Russians in Russian internet circles going "man, someone underneath Putin has enacted all these regressive policies, we should alert Putin to this so he can fix everything", apparently even during the American revolution there were some guys writing letters like "Please King George, underlings in your government are denying us representation in Parliament, can you please fix this, monarchy forever, xoxo" and this also happened in ancient China and etc. So now here we have Cattlson being like "Parliament keeps asking me to repress people, can you please get Cairdine Farrier to fix this" or at least, I assume this is what he is trying to get her to do here

I like that we are meant to suspect this, and also that this theory seems to be disproven in this chapter. I'm glad it's going to be more complicated than that

I literally just reblogged that post of statistics showing that 2 out of 3 is actually a pretty damn good survivability rate prior to modern medicine. So do we have modern medicine in Falcrest here in Fantasy Colonial Era? We do seem to have vaccines. The Masquerade is obsessed with hygiene, so maybe they figured out germ theory early and got a head start on modern medicine? They still don't seem to have figured out how genetics works, but to be fair, neither did we until the 19th century

I definitely don't think Taranoke has figured out modern medicine, or was somehow 100% free of diseases before the Masquerade arrived, and I'm guessing from its assumed latitude that it would have been hit by at least the occasional hurricane. I don't think these are problems that can actually be solved with polyamory and communal child raising

It's not clear if this is only just now occurring to her or if it was something she's thought about before. Like the first part sounds like she's just now thinking that this might be a possibility, but then she's like, oh, I already spent so much time thinking about it. Which is it?

I don't think I've seen the word "ykari" before, I wonder what that means. Based on the spelling trends so far, maybe an Iolynic word?

So this is like, basically also what Tain Hu said to her earlier, that she interpreted as a threat but I thought might not be, so now I am wondering if the Governor actually perceived this as a threat and is saying that she is quickly learning how to blackmail people, or maybe he is just lamenting that she is (apparently) too loyal to the Masquerade or too brainwashed to be willing to help him out. He does not seem particularly skilled at intrigue, since he clearly didn't bother to feel her out before saying all this to her, or even doing much research into the Masquerade's conquest of Taranoke, since if he had, I think her saying "Everything the Masquerade brought to Taranoke helped us" earlier in this conversation would have then clued him in that she was either too brainwashed or too afraid of being accused of treachery to help him. So he may not be thinking about this in a very politically-minded way

So, getting a whole bunch of marines to accompany her to the audit doesn't seem like a brilliant solution to the problems she was talking about earlier? I dunno

This is funny and accurate until you realize that she's never seen an actual full deer, just their heads. For all she knows right now, they could be the size of a golden retriever and have digitigrade paws. Although, I guess IRL Native people did originally call horses things like "big dog", so maybe that difference is kind of relative

This name has a th in it, but she seems to be saying he is from Falcrest? So maybe it has nothing to do with the mysterious Bethyc language

I see, so all of the people she hurts in this rise to power are just going to be Metaphorically Diline so that she feels awesome and great about delivering retributive justice that they probably deserve for something, who knows

That's interesting. Previously people have been saying that the Duke of Lachta is a figurehead who doesn't have any power and is just here because someone needs to be the Duke of Lachta. But the main, really only, duty of a figurehead is to be present, and like, politically visible. if it's completely fine if he just disappears one day, is he actually a figurehead? I wonder if it's actually the other way around, and he's off doing something important, while the rest of them all go, yeah, Duke of Lachta doesn't matter anymore, don't worry, pay no attention to the man behind the curtain

He says here that the Emperor is replaced when he dies, but like half a page later he says it's automatic after every five years. I guess since they are turning him into a vegetable anyway, they must just kill him after the five years are up? Or is the whole five years thing also a lie?

This seems very in-line with the direction this story is going in

In an alternate universe this was a dystopian YA novel: 16-year-old hero has been chosen to become the next Faceless Emperor and rule the Masquerade completely justly with the power of the amnesia potion for five years! It is a great honor! Except - oh no! There is no potion and they actually just give you brain damage. Our hero escapes, but now must hide from the secret police while stirring up a rebellion against the evil government!

Ok, my first thought was that he was just doing a Palpatine and saying "I AM the Senate"

But if what he is saying about the Faceless Emperor is true, that means there has to be some small set of people who know about this process so that they can disable new Faceless Emperors (possibly kill old ones). One of those people is Cairdine Farrier, obviously, and he's decided that Baru gets to be another one. Cattlson seems to know who Cairdine Farrier actually is, and didn't mention the Faceless Emperor directly when talking with Baru, so probably he already knows this also. So how many people are there total who know this? Do they just let in anyone who they think would continue to be loyal even if they didn't think there was a real Faceless Emperor? Only people of a certain rank? It can't be just the people who perform the operation if Baru and Cattlson are allowed into the club. And I guess Cairdine Farrier is the actual president of this shadow council in some capacity

God Bless the Nook app's text search feature:

So this guy is like, Chief Eugenics Officer or something. Or maybe Cairdine Farrier himself is actually Hesychast and is playing a very funny word game here

This is exactly what she has been suspecting this whole time, which makes me kind of suspicious that he is just saying this to hide something from her, honestly

I'm guessing they mean "conjugation" as in sex and are not actually mad that she failed Latin class

Morphologically, "misconjugation" would seem to mean "having sex badly" but it seems to be being used to mean "having the wrong kind of sex" instead. Earlier they spent a lot of time talking about specifically "sodomy" and "tribidism" but was that just because they were on Taranoke where gay marriages were common and they actually just file all unapproved sex under "misconjugation"? "Being found responsible for hereditary X" is also very strange - how could you be "responsible" for supposedly hereditary characteristics? Like all of the narrative around Taranokis and the people with the melanoma has been like, oh, it's not their fault they have inferior genes

Conversion therapy and rape isn't exactly funny, but it is kind of ironic that the cure for "wife is fucking other people" is actually "having some more other people fuck your wife, but they work for the government so it's cool"

So is that what the crotch-stabbing was about?

Ok, because we previously learned that for men this apparently involves a hot iron and now they are saying that it's to make sex "joyless", I have now been reminded of one of the main characters of the Baroque Cycle, whose name was Half-Cocked Jack because he accidentally burned half his dick off with a hot iron during a homebrew attempt at curing syphilis, and he did actually manage to have enjoyable sex at one point during that story (safe sex, he didn't give someone else syphilis). Like for how obsessed they seem with sodomy, they sure do not know anything about prostates, do they?

So it's looking more and more likely that Salm is alive somewhere and was subjected to some kind of conversion therapy. But that sort of raises the question of why they only did that to him, and not Solit or any of the other Taranoki adults. Pinion should also be guilty of "misconjugation" in their eyes, since she was married to two people

Very curious about these names, they have not appeared in the book yet

Right, so:

So I guess this just means loon/lunatic here, since "pickpocket" is obsolete

The next question is, is he talking about Su Olonori, or Ffare Tanifel? Supposedly, Su Olonori was killed in his home, and Ffare Tanifel was executed by Xate Yawa, neither of those match up to "stabbed by someone on the street". Or maybe that was just something that happened, and not how that person actually died?

The last question is whether this guy was the actual driver who did that, or if he just drove the Accountant on some other occasion and some other driver did that. I think Baru is thinking he did it himself when she says

I'm guessing he means that Xate Yawa will find out that Baru takes carriages places without knowing the driver and might use this knowledge to try to abduct Baru if she thinks it's necessary

In some alternate universe there was a top news headline: CEO of UnitedHealth disappears without a trace after getting into an Uber

I guess this will motivate Baru to learn how to ride a horse so that she has her own mode of transportation

This guy has been given a name, so he will probably show up again later. I am picturing him being like the Mambo Taxi guy from Mujeres al Borde de un Ataque de Nervios

#baru cormorant #the traitor baru cormorant

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paradiscake · 7 months ago

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"Love is the bane of honor, the death of duty." - George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

"...when love and duty are one, then grace is in you and you will enjoy a happiness which passes all understanding." - W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil

When Sparda started growing a heart and compassionate toward humanity, he knew he was going against his duties toward his king and kin. He knew he was disloyal. But then came the realization that this is his duty. To stand for the weak and those he loves.

Love became the death of the false duty and birthed the true duty. Love lighted his way. Love made Sparda powerful enough to become a one-man army.

That's why Sparda describes his action as a "Rebellion" and not a betrayal. Betrayal would've been standing aside and doing nothing as humanity is subjected to Mundus's cruelty.

#devil may cry #dmc sparda #sparda #mundus #dmc mundus #a song of ice and fire #the painted veil #aemon targaryen #george rr martin #w somerset maugham

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boleynqueenes · 9 months ago

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"Anne discovers the betrayal only by watching them dance.

They are both skilled dancers, so it is not that— only that there is a recognizable tell within their dual insteps, a manner so in sync that it cannot be replicated, a manner only to be found in partners intimately familiar with the bodies of each other, a manner she can recognize by way of experience with her husband, that last edge they achieved after crossing that Rubicon which pushed their mutual languid grace to a harmony which caused the most careful royal watchers to report the change.

She is surprised it does not hit her as brutally as she judges it should, for Madge is like the living portrait of the youth which feels long past Anne now—whyever not? Could it be that this is the second, not the first? Could it be that Madge is, at least, unlike the other one, who was her antithesis in temperament and colouring?

Perhaps that is it, Anne considers, cocking her head to the side as she heavily imbibes, perhaps it is that at least Madge has her likeness, more her twin than her cousin, in the figure like a blade, the turn of slim hips, the slip of dark hair cascading as she spins, the wide mouth smiling merrily and revealing dimples nestled beneath high cheekbones.

The envoy does not find the matter so amusing, his brow knotting as she laughs.

"Does she not look very like our own self, sir?" Anne enquires, pointing to the pair.

Her husband seems to sense he has been observed, casting a look of admonishment her way over his shoulder as he turns.

"She is Your Majesty's kin, yes? This is not so unusual."

"No, we suppose not."

Anne laughs again, lost…how far gone is she to find consolation in the manner of his choice? Yet her mind spins with this.

"Have I said something to warrant your amusement at our expense?"

"No, monsieur, we laughed because…do you see the King, over there? We fear he is deep in his cups."

Chabot's glance brushes the rim of her own goblet, refilled thrice this past half-hour, with a cold smile.

"For, he has introduced your secretary to my pretty little cousin, when he promised to do so to us, first. And now he is dancing with our pretty little cousin, as if she is his wife. So…we must forgive him his confusion, in our generosity."

She lets out another cackle, which must be the final straw for a man of such dignity, since he leaves the table without a word for the dance-floor.

George comes to the absented seat with the command of the King on his lips, that he cannot have her 'bored', that he is to entertain and dance the next galliard with the Queen.

He consoles her by murmur, in the only beat the dance affords: 'it is only that he misses you.'

It could be true, she imagines, pretending merriment well enough through every step, or… as easily, invention crafted to better comfort his sister: maybe he does miss her, but cannot admit this, maybe this is the only way he can find relief from missing her, because he is too cowardly to tell her himself and risk her rejection of his affection, as she has done before when hurt, when angry….

And then, as she claps, she chastises herself for making excuses for him, for making any attempt to cast the whole ghastly situation in any sort of rosy hue, even in the privacy of her own mind.

Maybe, after all, Anne is very like any other woman in England: telling herself tales to console herself in the face of her husband's adultery.

She is the most powerful woman in England, yet here she is, without even the spirit or presence of mind to weep…

Perhaps she should tell them all this, the women of England, shout it from the gables. Perhaps, then, they would hate her a little bit less.

#NT preview #upcoming chapter (not the next but like the one after the next?)#is series of anne's reactions to henry's mistresses over the years #wrote this scene from my outline while listening to labour... feeling craaaazy rn

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holycatsandrabbits · 10 months ago

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So excited to get my author copy of Anna Karenina Isn't Dead!

The anthology

Welcome to the rewritten lives of thirty-two literary legends

From Russia’s Anna Karenina to Vietnam’s Lady Trieu, from Cio-Cio-San to Frankenstein's second creature, suffering, madness, or death is the fate of far too many women in classic literature. Anna Karenina Isn’t Dead undoes that.

In this anthology of literary women, these women live. Do they have a happily ever after? You’ll see. Do they have a happy-right-now? Oh yes.

These are the reimagined tales of the famous, the infamous, the barely mentioned women in myths, poems, and legends. These are the stories of the Lady in Black, Wendy Darling, Dido, and many more, each getting a better journey than the one she originally got.

Here Anna Karenina and her literary kin are not dead. Very far from it.

Edited by @atlinmerrick ; Cover artwork by Claudia Caranfa

My story

My mother and I loved the poem “The Highwayman” by Alfred Noyes, and I jumped at the chance to write Bess a better ending. In my story “Love Knot,” I gave her five minutes’ notice of the soldiers’ arrival, and she did the rest.

King George’s men saw Samuel only as a highwayman, a rogue, a thief. They knew his rich clothes, but not how they smelled of sun and sweat and the cold road. They knew the weapons beneath his coat, but not how he liked to use his rapier to cut apples from a tree, how he would flash his shiny pistols at the children who gathered to hear his stories of daring battles for yellow gold. They knew he’d given a confession of love to Bess. They didn’t know what it had sounded like in the earnest voice of a boy who was then only eight years old.

Order here

AO3 ~ DannyeChase.com ~ Linktree ~ Weird Wednesday writing prompts blog ~ Resources for Writers

#Dannye writes #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writeblr community #writing #improbable press #anna karenina #author copy #anthology

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koko-heads · 10 months ago

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bluth family headcanons bcs why not

(these will mainly be like sexuality/gender/prns/nd stuff like that + i cherry pick what i want to be canon bc i know the show better than mitch hurwitz eg michael and lindsay are BIOLOGICAL TWINS)

the man himself,,, michael bluth [bisexual, trans, he/him, nellie is his deadname, audhd bcs i'm audhd and i'm the no.1 michael kin]

lindsay bluth fünke [bisexual male-leaning, trans, she/her, development arrested did u so dirty i'm sorry]

gob bluth [gay, he/him, i will die on the hill of him being gay and not bi]

buster bluth [token straight, he/they, anxiety duh, also audhd bcs i kin him lawl]

george-michael bluth [acespec pansexual, genderfluid, he/she/they, audhd and anxiety bc kin, no one gets her like i do she's literally my daughter i know her better than the show creators genderfluid gm is very gorgeous to me !]

maeby fünke [oh shes SO sapphic, she/her, not rlly much to say i'll be honest! love her tho]

tobias fünke [let's not kid ourselves he's pansexual, he/she, adhd king]

[i feel like george sr and lucille r both straight but george is maybe fluid? ik in either s4 or s5 he begins transitioning but that storyline is dropped so i'm gnna say guyfluid]

#needed the audience to know my objectively correct headcanons !#u can pry genderfluid gm and bi michael from my cold dead hands btw #arrested development #arrdev #michael bluth #lindsay bluth #gob bluth #buster bluth #george michael bluth #maeby funke #tobias funke #george bluth sr #lucille bluth #lgbt #lgbtq #lgbtqia #lgbtqia+

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gotham-at-nightfall · 2 years ago

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Daemon receives Blackfyre

"King Aegon knighted Daemon in his twelfth year when he won a squire's tourney (thereby making him the youngest knight ever made in the time of the Targaryens, surpassing Maegor 1) and shocked his court, kin and council by bestowing upon him the sword of Aegon the Conqueror, Blackfyre, as well as lands and other honors. Daemon took the name Blackfyre thereafter."

- The World of Ice and Fire, George R.R. Martin

By Jota Saraiva

#a song of ice and fire #aegon iv targaryen #daemon i blackfyre #daeron ii targaryen #naerys targaryen #aemon (son of viserys ii) targaryen #fanart

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msmorningstaarr · 1 year ago

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Holy and Heathen - Chapter 3 (A true lamb.)

Pairing: young!Oberyn MartellxF!Original Hightower Character

Word count: 8.7k

Chapter warning: sex; religious guilt; depressed oberyn; descriptions of poisoning and stabbing;

ao3 | masterlist

SUMMARY: Lady Melara Hightower is the youngest daughter of Lord Leyton Hightower and has a distinct, serious and pious personality. She is sent to serve the Faith as a Septa, but her destiny suddenly changes once she becomes betrothed to the heir of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Martell. She sees herself living in a land far from hers with distinct habits, dealing with many divergences and a husband far more wild than she could ever expect. Would she be capable of lighting the way of her mind and heart?

(Except for Melara Hightower, all characters do not belong to me but to George RR Martin, author of the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' book series.)

Oberyn

Moments rolled Oberyn’s head like a kaleidoscope of memories. Elia was his sweet spot, his strength, his weakness. His emotions were intense, it was only logical that his jealousy and sorrow would be no different.

He was the proudest of the Martells, that day, he wished he were a Targaryen. Elia was gone for good. Her life would be now in King’s Landing, being her husband’s princess and bearing the children he undeniably wished to father. He could not understand where all that feeling came from, knowing how wrong it was to fall in love with your own kin, all he knew was that he felt something else for her and she felt the same way. Feeling Elia so close to him and not being able to touch her was excruciating. He wondered if her lips tasted as sweet as honey and if her slender body would squirm while he licked her cunt until she shed tears of joy while came for him as many times as he wished. He never did such things with her, but liked to do it with other women, imagining that it could be far better with Elia. The warmth inside a woman’s walls was something exquisite, close to a spiritual experience for him. Having a man’s arse to bury his cock inside was also quite interesting, a desire he discovered in the early days of his youth. He had no sides when it comes to lust, he could bury his head between a woman's legs with pleasure while feeling a man sucking his cock with ease, driving him to a high level of bliss. His only condition was to be his way or no way would be done.

On the Street of Silk, Oberyn walked confidently. After that eventful moment between him and his betrothed, he grew bored of lady Melara and jealous of seeing Rhaegar around his sister, being sad once she left to bed him for the first time, but at least got satisfied that she was spared from the bedding ceremony, something he found to be crass and demeaning. Wine had poisoned his head with ill thoughts and a desire to take someone who would not be afraid of some kind of Holy Punishment for a sinful behaviour, so he walked towards the nearest and finest brothel he could find.

The establishment smelled like fresh roses and the walls were filled with moans and laughs from the whores and customers. So far, he was not really excited with his options.

“Too pale.” he spread his legs while sitting at a chair, looking at the manager of the place, who was presenting him with some options. The girl blushed at Oberyn's words, but he did not seem to care. “Reminds me of my betrothed.”

“They like them like this in the capital, my lord. To show that they don’t work on the field.” the man said and Oberyn pouted, drinking another sip of his wine. He wondered if Rhaegar would be pleasing Elia that night at least, someone had to be pleased that night, he thought.

“Show me others,” he commanded, plainly. Another sip on his wine. The liquor burned his throat but he did not care. The smell and taste of grapes only made him reiterate that the wine of that city tasted like piss, but he kept drinking and looking at someone to fuck his sadness away.

A girl, extremely shy, showed up. A virgin, probably. Too young and Oberyn immediately shut her down. He liked them his age and no less. “Too young,” he replied, noticing the fear in the girl’s eyes. Oberyn was no older than twenty years and the girl seemed to be in her four and ten years of age, he wasn’t quite the fan of taking girls that looked like children. The man seemed to get impatient with Oberyn's picky manners. “Don’t like them shy.”

And finally, a feral, wild whore for him to fuck. Beautiful figure, slender and tall with brown skin and long, curly hair. Sitting on another man’s lap dressed with a thin white silk cloth, only covering her teats, ass and cunt. She caught Oberyn’s attention.

“I want her.” he pointed at the brown skinned girl, not caring at all if she was already taken. The manager of the establishment got slightly concerned.

“My lord…” he tried to speak.

“My prince,” Oberyn corrected. The man got confused at his words. “You don’t know

me? I am prince Oberyn of House Martell, the heir of Dorne.” he said, with a cocky grin. “And I demand that girl.”

He ignored all the other girls, walking down the hall in the girl’s direction. The manager followed the prince, worried about his future actions. “I beg your pardon, my prince. That girl is already taken, but I am sure I can…”

“Leave.” Oberyn replied, sternly turning his gaze at the man that held the whore he wanted. Then, he turned his eyes to the girl and she faced him. More closely, he could see a bit of Elia in her. “You come with me.” he said, extending his hand for her. The man holding the girl got outraged by the arrogance coming from Oberyn and laughed in mockery.

“You leave, you dornish pig.” and spat on the floor, close to the prince’s feet. Oberyn raised his eyebrows with a bitter laugh, already annoyed by the man’s taunting gestures.

“I believe you are not understanding that she is to be mine now. You may leave now alive or in pieces in some minutes.” he threatened. The man, appearing to be a trader, touched his sword and prepared to attack, but Oberyn quickly got his dagger and stabbed his left hand, attaching the member to the table.

“AH!” The man screamed in pain

“A dornish pig knows better than you that in a small distance a sword is a bad choice.”

“Fucking cunt!” he screamed while groaning in pain. The whores looked in absolute horror at the scene and Oberyn twisted the weapon that crossed through his hand, increasing his pain while the other men bled and yelled in pain.

“Prince Oberyn.” a man spoke softly, making Oberyn turn his back while holding the dagger that pierced the man’s hand. The dornish prince narrowed his eyes, trying to recognise who called him.

“Who addresses me?” he asked, holding firmly his weapon.

“I imagined you did not know me, my Prince. Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, slowly approaching Oberyn. “I am Benji, the owner of this establishment.”

Oberyn did not let go of the dagger, still pressuring it on the coarse man who screamed in pain like a pig about to get butchered. He took some enjoyment of making a man he considered to be stupid suffer, though. The prince looked at Benji and raised his eyebrows at the man.

“Let go of the dagger, my prince. I am sure nothing will happen to either of you.” The man tried to reason with Oberyn, calmly. In the room was only Oberyn, Benji, the whore and the bleeding man who was already losing his strength to feel his pain by now.

“If I take this dagger from his hand, he shall bleed to death and it will spill on my attire. It is so beautiful, I made it just for my sister’s wedding, Princess Elia.” he said, with a fake proud tone of voice. Wine had drunk his head truly, for he was lying about the happiness of giving his beloved sister to a melancholic silver prince, something he was not fond of doing. “I don’t want to get covered in this dying pig’s blood, so my dagger remains here for now.”

“Come with me, I am sure I can manage for you to have the best treatment. It’s not every day we are in the company of a prince, brother to our future Queen,” the man said, courteously. “Val, prepare our best room for Our Highness and get ready yourself. Pour our prince some Dornish Red so he can feel at home.” Benji commanded and the girl obeyed, leaving after bowing at Oberyn

“That was the whore I paid for!” the man exclaimed. Oberyn twisted the dagger a bit more deeper and opened even more his wound, making him scream once more.

“I am sure I shall find another one worthy of your company. A curtsy of the house, my lord.” Benji negotiated.

The reputation that followed Oberyn was quite ruthless. After some time having scholars from Essos teaching him the arts of poisoning, he used it for his own benefit while fighting, creating a dreadful narrative around him. Even though not many in King’s Landing have seen him in person, the words spoke for themselves. His name had reached The Seven Kingdoms and beyond. Speaking ill or praising the man, he was Prince Oberyn of House Martell, inspiring fear and respect, with no cares to give about other people’s opinions. He knew that people knew his name and the things he did, this prospect made him feel quite comfortable.

“Scream once more and my dagger will cut your throat.” Oberyn menaced. The man was outraged but he was shitting his pants afraid of dying and in terrible pain. He would die anyway due to the poison he spread all over the blade, but Oberyn didn’t give too much importance to this fact at point of telling him this. “You,” he turned his gaze at the owner of the pleasure house. “Take this screaming pig out of my face. And bring me the lustiest of men you have here.” Finally, the salty prince would take his dagger off the man’s hand, making him groan in relief and pain. Blood sprayed everywhere, even on Oberyn’s face and the orange garments he had on. Some minutes passed, and the man died on that chair as he predicted.

“Your wish is my command, my prince. Come with me and I shall lead you personally to the chambers prepared for you.” Benji responded with a soft smile, while Oberyn cleaned his dagger on his own robe, leaving another big mark of blood on the cloth. He looked at the injured man for a last time and smirked at him, a way to ensure to himself that power was power. The prince walked towards Benji and left the dead man behind, moving to a beautiful chamber, with a large bed, orange walls and pieces of silk giving a sultry climate to the ambient, lightened by the moon from the window. The beautiful girl awaited him, sitting at the edge of the bed fully naked with a mischievous smile.

“I shall leave you two. There is dornish wine, fruits and the best meal, fit for a prince.” The owner said, politely.

“I am hungry for other things.” Oberyn replied, brushing his own lips and looking intensely at the lady.

Before he could leave, Oberyn held his arm, not letting him go. “Bring me the manager as well.” The enticing prince commanded. The owner swallowed his own spit.

“Of course. I shall prepare him for you, my prince.” Benji obeyed and smiled, leaving him with the whore alone.

The dornishmen walked towards a small table, surrounding the girl as if she was a prey and he was a hunter, furtively looking at her. He served himself some wine and finally tasted some good wine. “I heard your name is Val,” he said, emphasising his accent. The whore stood up and approached him graciously.

“Yes, my prince.” she replied, eagerly. He smiled and handed her a cup of wine, which she drank with pleasure. Oberyn was extremely charming even under the influence, with deep brown eyes and a widowed look, mischievous and arrogant, he burned desire for the girl. In his mind, she had to be one of the goods, because since he laid his glances on her, no thought of Elia or Melara came to his mind.

“Then answer me a question, Val,” His hand cupped her breast, pinching her nipple. She closed her eyes and sighed in pleasure. Her nipples easily hardened, giving signs of indulgence. His lips reached her ear. “Have you ever fucked a prince?”

“Can’t say I have. We have so few princes in this city.” Val replied, shuddering with his closeness and giggling.

“This is what makes us royals so rare, Val.” Oberyn said, reaching her waist and drinking a sip of her wine, his gaze never leaving hers. “It is not usual to see us among the commoners. But mind you that you live in a city that disposes of a high count of princes, compared to the other five kingdoms.” He coos, kissing her neck, squeezing her breast while placing the cup at the table. His arms involved Val and squeezed her rear, smirking all the time. Val gave him a kiss on his neck this time, making his body grow hot and his cock twitch inside his trousers. Her soft hands reached his hands and led him to the bed, grinning and lustfully facing him.

“Lay in bed and spread your legs for your prince.” he commanded and so Val did, eagerly. He kissed her foot while her legs spread open for him very carefully, like a viper involving its prey. With the tip of his middle finger, he slowly rubbed her clit, making the girl squirm in the bed. “Look at you… who was about to get fucked by a pink pig with a tiny cock who could barely appreciate that beautiful cunt of yours, having your night saved by me, who wants to make you reach your peak so much it’ll make you cry.”

With two fingers inside of her, Val moaned loudly while he pleased her. Oberyn questioned himself if Melara could ever like to be fucked with his fingers, something he would be very tempted to try. “Then I feel ready to be filled up… m-my prince…” She said, faintly.

“Seems like I arrived at the perfect time.” A blonde man said entering the room. “Or perhaps I am late and missed all the fun.” Oberyn and Val look at the manager, who slowly walks in the direction of the bed and lays in the mattress on Oberyn’s side, kissing Val’s thigh briefly and then coming closer to Oberyn, rubbing noses.

“Nonsense, for the fun has just begun.” Oberyn replied, pulling the boy for a kiss.

********

The Seven must have cast a curse upon Oberyn. His head felt like it exploded and was shattered in pieces. The amount of wine he drank the day before was a true record indeed, and now he was paying the price for the consequences of his actions. He woke up alone in the large bed of the brothel. Val and the manager, who he did not bother to ask his name, probably left the bed the moment he fell asleep. Although being covered in blood, his attire was perfectly folded over a chair close to the mattress, waiting for him. There were new fruits, breads, bacon, honey and more wine for him to break his fast. He wanted nothing of that, since he needed to be for a last time with Elia before he would leave with his mother and betrothed.

“Good morning, my prince.” said Val, standing at the door. Now, she wore a simple dress made of pink silk but yet revealing and Oberyn smirked at her.

“Good morning to you, Val.” he replied, covering his eyes from clarity.

He had not given too much thought to lady Melara. All he could remember about her was that she was beautiful. Her skin was soft and creamy, but her hands callused. The prince found it to be odd at first, since she was a highborn lady, coming from a very wealthy family having hard working hands, but he remembered that she served the Faith. While other men would find displeasing the fact that Melara had an abnormal silence and lack of interest for socialisation, somehow he could have some sort of empathy for her. Although always knowing what to reply, she seemed oblivious to the arts of curtsying a man. Beautiful face and body, undeniably, however, something about her turned her presence… tough.

“Does the sunlight burn your eyes, my prince? Perhaps I should ease your morning uneasiness.” she said, walking mischievously towards his bed and sitting at the edge of the mattress.

Oberyn looked at her with a grin on his face and got silent for a few seconds before speaking. “As much as I would be delighted to fuck you once more, I need to go back to the Red Keep. I am going back home to Dorne today.”

Val caressed his chin with a charming smile. “That is a shame, my Prince.”

He stretched and yawned. “I should take you with me to Dorne. Perhaps to teach one or two things for my future bride.” he mocked, smirking at her while she put a berry inside his mouth.

“And how do you know that she doesn’t know about such things? You took your bride’s maidenhood before the marriage, salty prince?” she teased and Oberyn laughed.

“Not yet . But I am afraid she is not very keen on the sensual arts.” he teased back and licked the honey left on her fingers after having a bite of strawberry covered in the sweet liquid.

Every man likes a shy woman, well behaved and extremely feminine, with a secret sexual appetite that would only be discovered by them. Anyhow, Melara was a dreadfully quiet person. Even when she experienced a heated kiss, all she could release was guilt, uneasiness. He expected to discover a secret and more loose part of Melara the moment they were alone, however, her responses were short and objective, not engaged in conversation and no smile rose from her face, atitudes worthy of a Septa.

He was not excited to have her as his wife either, but his mother caught him on a web of duty and his destiny was attached to hers, so he wanted her to feel good around his company, perhaps even grow love for her in his way, at least.

“Such a droll tragedy, my prince.” the girl replied, serving him a cup of wine and giving it to his mouth. “Perhaps you should have a last breath of freedom, then.” Val mounted Oberyn eagerly, lifting her dress and slowly rubbing the wetness between her thighs on Oberyn’s cock, which quickly got hard for the whore. A large smile rose on his face while he prepared to undo his trousers.

“A last breath of freedom shall you give me, then.” he replied, revealing his cock out of his pants.

Swiftly, Oberyn grabbed her by her thin waist and turned her body, throwing Val on the mattress and staying on top of her. Her lips went straight to his neck, where she would leave a big, purple mark. Oberyn groaned and easily took off the rest of her dress, revealing her bare body. He crooked his head on her shoulder and left his own mark there, before slapping the side of her ass and squeezing it strongly. Her hands reached his cock and stroked it, but Oberyn stopped her, blocking her hand to keep doing its moves.

“So eager… let me taste you first.” She laughed and he strongly held her fists biting, licking and sucking her upper body. Slowly, he let go off her arms to spread Val’s legs, hungrily kissing her inner thighs and edging her.

“Please, my prince…” She panted and giggled.

“Please what?” He teased, inserting two fingers inside of her, resulting in a loud moan.

“I need your lips…”

“Where?” He asked, spreading the transparent lubrification on her clit with his thumb while the other two fingers fucked her.

“My cunt, please…” She begged, moaning.

“Ask nicely.” He demanded

“Please, my prince…” She begged once more, loudly screaming.

“Your wish will be granted.” And he proceeded to swallow her clit, taking some tears of joy from the whore. His tongue invaded her slit with full desire, hands squeezing her thighs while desperate sounds let go her lips.

A loud noise came from the door. The door was broken down and the noise of heavy metal garments took care of the room, replacing the singing of Val’s sweet moans. Annoyed, Oberyn stopped sucking her sensitive bound of nerves and looked behind, already putting his hand on his dagger.

Two tall knights stood still behind him, the whore sat on the bed and closed her legs, shrinking her body to cover her nudity to the white cloak men. Another salty dornishmen looked at Oberyn sternly. Oberyn let down his guard once he noticed that one of them was his uncle, Prince Lewyn Martell. The knight had figures very similar to Oberyn’s traits. The other man, however, was not recognised by the younger prince.

“Your mother has been searching for you since last night,” He said sternly.

Oberyn giggled and, noticing that his intimacy was on display to the knights of the Kingsguard after the other man scoffed, Oberyn set his trousers back on.

“My apologies, uncle,” Oberyn said, effortless. “My sister’s wedding was rather dull, and so was my betrothed.”

“You watch your mouth, boy,” the other man said, walking slowly with a plain expression. “This is my niece you are talking about.” The other man in question was Ser Gerold Hightower, his uncle's companion. Also known as White Bull, being tall, grey, and although being quite the old man, was still full active and was a legend on the battlefield, making justice to his title of Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“My apologies, Ser…?” Oberyn asked, finishing to dress himself.

“Ser Gerold Hightower.” he replied, trying to hold his annoyance.

“Ah!” He exclaimed, with a wide smile. “How could I ever forget? I believe your nephew, my future father by marriage, introduced me to you at my sister’s wedding. That makes it a family reunion!” he laughed, making fun of the situation. The prince served himself a glass of wine and kept looking at the knights. “Do you want some wine?” He asked. “This is Dornish Red, much better than that piss you drink in the Red Keep.”

Lewyn and Gerold remained serious, both outraged with Oberyn’s lack of care he was giving to his reputation and to his bride to be’s honour. “The Queen requests for you to return home, Prince Oberyn.” Gerold said, ignoring his last statements.

“And if I say I have no desire to leave now? As you saw, I was in the middle of a very important deal with my dear Val.”

The girl was quiet the whole time, scared something would happen to her. “Your Queen commands you to return.” Lewyn replied, still serious.

“Then you should have said it before,” He said, his cup over the small table after finishing his drink. “I could never deny my Queen’s commands. I am so sorry, sweetling.” Oberyn turned his gaze at Val, who didn’t dare to open her mouth in the company of the knights. He left some gold dragons over the table. “I hope it pays for everything.” The dornish prince put his dagger on his bayonet and left besides Lewyn and Gerold.

Leaving the brothel, Oberyn was escorted by the two guards and the trio left the place in silence. No one would dare to speak to the Kingsguard or the prince. Oberyn was preparing himself to listen to berating and complaining about his ‘out of line’ behaviour at court. It didn’t matter for him if in the end he could get to spend one last moment with Elia, longing to touch her, embrace her and look into her eyes. His mind recollected Lady Hightower. He broke her honour and as much as he could not care less about it, the little lady had no fault in anything that was happening. Nevertheless, she was nothing like Elia. Elia was cunning, endearing, delightful. Oberyn was deeply attached to his sister, he could not bear the idea of staying away from her and that made his heart ache. Now that the wine was gone, his mind tortured him, making him contemplate that Elia belonged to Rhaegar, she would smile to him and she could be carrying his child, a bright babe-dragon.

“Stop.” Oberyn ordered once they made their way to the Street of Steel. He saw a jewellery merchant at a small place, yet beautiful, worthy of royalty. “I want to take a gift for Lady Melara.” The prince looked at Gerold and beamed. The knights agreed to it and Oberyn moved forward to see the gems. There were rubies, emeralds, sapphires, amethysts and many other precious stones. The blacksmith looked at Oberyn suspiciously, due to his clothes covered in blood and accompanied by two white cloaks.

“How can I help you?” The man asked.

“I want to buy some gifts for my lady bride.” Oberyn said and the smith examined the prince from head to toes, noticing the remarkable blue and bruises the whore left on his neck.

“Are you sure you can afford it?” The man replied and Oberyn tried to pull his dagger to intimidate the man, but Lewyn prevented his nephew quickly.

“This is a prince of Dorne and you shall address him with respect.” The knight said and the jewel maker quickly stopped his job and bowed to the prince.

“My apologies, Your Highness. I had no idea I…”

Oberyn cut his words. “I don’t care.” He rolled his eyes and the man eagerly started to put on display some of his works.

“I have many pieces ready to be selled, my Prince. These are forged in Valyrian steel with rubies carved in it.” He showed the rare set to the prince, who was instantly in awe with the necklace and earrings.

“That is rare.” Oberyn replied, lingering his eyes with scrutiny at the set.

“Indeed, my prince. It was very hard to find the steel to do it.” He replied, with sympathy.

“He makes the jewellery of the Royal Family.” Once Gerold spoke that sentence, his eyes lit up and an idea came to his mind.

“How long does it take for you to make those pieces?” The Prince asked.

“For you, it can be done within a day.” The smith replies.

“I will take the set made of Valyrian steel for my betrothed, but I also want a set of jewellery for my sister, Princess Elia. She loves diamonds and gold and I want you to make a necklace for her with the largest diamonds you have to be carved in the brightest gold. When you deliver it, tell her it was a gift from her beloved brother. Is that understood?” He said, placing a small bag of gold on the counter that separated the blacksmith from Oberyn, Lewyn and Gerold.

The man accepted the payment and smiled, putting the present involved in a cloth and lace. “Once more, my apologies…”

“No need for apologies.” Oberyn cut the man’s words once more and left with the Kingsguard back to the castle.

The three men arrived in the Red Keep and were led to the Queen’s garden, where his family, the Queen, Prince Rhaegar and the Hightowers were waiting for him. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen. Melara looked apprehensive, anxious. Her eyes narrowed and she appeared to be flabbergasted once she saw Oberyn covered in blood. The Hightowers and Queen Rhaella seemed to be extremely worried about his whereabouts and Ysilla was fuming with his absence. Elia was the only one who was truly calm, for she was the only one who trusted her brother’s instinct of adventure.

“Thank Gods!” Queen Rhaella said, relieved.

“Brother!” Elia ran into his arms and embraced him, calmly and more discreet than she is used to. A very quick hug as well. “Where have you been? Why are you covered in blood?”

“I was having fun, sister.” Oberyn replied and kissed his sister’s forehead. “My Queen.” And bowed at Rhaella, as a sign of respect for His Grace. “I insist on apologising for my sudden departure from the feast.”

“No need to apologise. We were worried about your absence, Prince Oberyn. But the Gods are good and you are safe and well… I hope.” She replied, noticing the blood all over his robe. “It is only a shame you lost our eventful morning here. You would be delighted to spend the morning with us.”

He darted his eyes on the sad Queen and smiled. “I am sure I would be amused to be in my family’s company.” Ysilla approached him and cupped his face, disguising her rage in front of the others with a polite smile and a false sensation of relief, but Oberyn knew too well that his mother wanted to cut him to pieces for doing what he did.

“You almost killed me with worry!” She exclaimed, noticing the marks on his neck and trying to cover it. Gently, Oberyn took her hands off his neck and kissed her hands.

“I am fine, mother. No reason for all of this fuss.” The prince tried to argue, but he saw how exasperated his mother’s gaze was.

“As much as we would like to celebrate your return, I believe the prince should rest. He must be tired.” A sweet, low voice spoke. Lady Melara was quiet, watching the whole scene until she chose to defend him, an attitude that made Oberyn get surprised with her in a positive way.

“Wise words, sister .” Elia replied with a smile on her face. He could see now with clarity her features. Her face was nearly ethereal. Pink, small lips, blue sharped eyes and a perfect nose. Her hair was all hidden in a lilac veil and her dress left a lot to imagination. With long sleeves and no cleavage, all he could see clearly was her face and a small necklace with sapphires carved in it. But her facial expression was indecipherable.

“I can assure you all I am in no need to rest. Where I was, I had plenty of time to rest.” Oberyn smirked and Ysilla pouted her lips cautiously. Melara narrowed her eyes and the air tensed, but the dornish prince was unbothered with his words.

“That is true, daughter. I imagine how thrilled you must be to leave with your future husband, but I believe that now we should give the Martells some space, perhaps.” Leyton said, trying to ease the tension.

“Lord Leyton speaks truthfully. I must insist that you extend your stay in King’s Landing for a day, Princess Ysilla. You too, Lord and Lady Hightower, I would be most glad to have you a day longer.” Rhaella said, gently squeezing her friend’s hands with a soft smile. Ysilla was hesitant, but accepted the invitation the Queen made.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Your Grace.” Oberyn replied, bowing once more and faced his betrothed.

“We also thank you for giving us a last opportunity to say our goodbyes to our girl, Your Grace.” Lady Rhea replied, curling her lips on a smile and lady Melara just nodded her head. Something about her made Oberyn not like lady Rhea too much. He felt that Melara was uncomfortable around her family and he ruminated if that was a reason for her to be so closed. He wanted to give her the gift he bought for her but that moment just felt inappropriate.

“No need to thank, my lords,” Queen Rhaella said in curtsy. “Now that everything is in order, I need to excuse myself, farewell, my lords, my ladies,” She said with a gentle smile, leaving as the Septas had arrived to escort her. Oberyn found queer the fact she would be always escorted by them and noticed the eminent melancholy in her eyes. Everyone bowed at her before she would leave and Rhaegar, Elia, the Hightowers and his mother remained at that garden. Rhaegar watched everything as quiet as Melara, he seemed to be an observer, just as his bride-to-be was.

“Prince Oberyn.” Rhaegar finally said.

“Prince Rhaegar.” He replied.

“I am glad you are back to the Red Keep safely. Thanks to our Kingsguard,” That triggered something inside of Oberyn, noticing some petulancy in Rhaegar’s voice tone.

“I am afraid I can survive quite well without a Kingsguard, my Prince.” Oberyn replied.

“Of course you can,” He replied, making it obvious. “But for now, I believe I must entertain my beloved wife.” Rhaegar emphasised the fact Elia was his now, marking his territory.

“Take good care of my sister.” He said, cautiously caressing his dagger while looking at the silver prince. Elia approached him once more and hugged him, not caring about his smell or dirty clothes.

“I wish we could spend more time together.” Elia said, giving a reassuring look to her sibling. “I wish it too. But now you must go with your husband and enjoy your time. Perhaps keep trying for your heir” He whispered the last part and the two Martells laughed together. “Go, sister.” He pleaded with a strange anxiety and sadness of watching her leave with her husband after paying her farewells to the rest of the people in that garden. Oberyn could only stick with what was left for him now.

Oberyn walked towards his betrothed and bowed in front of her. “My lady,” And he kissed her hands gently. Any woman in her instead would be melting to the warmth of his lips brushing against the skin of her hands, she endured calm and expressionless.

“My prince.” Melara replied, plainly.

“You and your family deserve my apologies.” He started. “I dishonoured you, I am aware of it. But I want to make amends, so allow me to have a moment with you, just you and I having supper tonight. I have a surprise for you.”

He thought Melara would express any happy face. Instead, he received a worried expression and a clumsy lip biting. “Of course, my prince. I shall have supper with you. Your well being makes me happy.” She replied, apathetically. Her lack of emotions was a huge bothersome to Oberyn.

Oberyn smiled and caressed her face gently and soon after faced Leyton and Rhea. “My lord, my lady, I truly hope you apologise for my behaviour.”

“We trust your honour, Your Highness. A wedding was promised, and a wedding we shall receive.” Leyton said, solemnly. Oberyn’s lips pouted.

“I never break an oath, Lord Leyton. Especially when it comes to wed a lady who is to be my princess and not run away from it.” The prince would not let them get away with it, not even when it was Oberyn who put the ideas of running away on Lady Lynesse’s mind. Ysilla narrowed her eyes from afar.

Leyton and Rhea approached Oberyn. “We were concerned with you, Prince Oberyn. But we trusted your bravery and we are in full joy that you are safe.” Rhea replied. “Melara will be more than happy to have supper with you.” Leyton looked at his daughter, who only agreed in silence and lowered her head. Her passivity was extremely uncomfortable, Oberyn could see clearly that lady Melara was displeased with all the situation.

“You are right, lady Rhea,” Ysilla said. “Oberyn is a fierce man, but he is willing to be devoted to your lady daughter. I know my son more than well.” She defended him. Ysilla could have all the struggle to tame Oberyn, but he knew that no one would dare to try insulting him or her house, by extent. That was one of the traits Oberyn loved the most about his mother: she was the bravest and smartest of the women. Growing up, watching her and Father ruling was his favourite moment, his most endearing memories of childhood.

“It is a shame we barely had time to spend time here. Everything happened so quickly!” Rhea exclaimed, gracefully joining her hands and smiling. Suddenly, the subject changed and the two women started talking joyfully. He glanced at Melara, quietly heard everything the two older women had to say, paid his goodbyes and left for his chambers. Ysilla looked at her son discreetly and winked at him, with a smirk before they could leave.

**********

Oberyn took a long bath after the maids prepared it for him. His clothes were properly changed, now wearing an ivory and grey attire with golden suns embroidered. He wanted to see Elia, to spend time with her before supper with Melara, but she was with Rhaegar and he needed to give his sister space to bond with her husband. In nearly a month he would be married. He would be lying if he did not say he would be scared. However, fear was like wildfire consuming and exploding all the right triggers inside of him to discover new things and face whatever was destined to his future. His mind was convinced that Melara was a wolf in a lamb skin, hiding her game under the cloak of her innocence, enticing and teasing his mind with the thoughts of undressing her, bedding her, taking her maidenhood - if existent. His head denied the idea of someone so absent of feelings of pleasure at a breaking point of taking a vow of poverty, especially being this someone as rich as their overlords, who grew up covered in gold, expensive dresses and the most sophisticated of food.

Someone knocked on his door. “Prince Oberyn.” It was her. Oberyn decided he would not let his sadness consume him, he would leave it for the days Elia would no longer be around in Dorne, because once he turned sad, he grew angry and Melara deserved no rage from him so far. He opened the door and saw her, fidgeting her fingers and looking intensely into his eyes after slightly curving her upper body in curtsy. Oberyn found her to be celestially beautiful in that dress. Its fabric consisted mostly of a yellow velvet with no volume on its skirt, a golden vest with an orange pattern made of silk, so tight her breasts were almost on display, extending to the long and loose sleeves also made of it and a golden belt on her waist. Oberyn’s lips examined her body and smiled in awe. Lady Lynesse could be far more interesting than her lady sister, but in terms of beauty, Oberyn found Melara to be ethereal, there was no denial in it. When he looked at Elia, he looked at the beauty he saw in himself, he saw her as his equal, his true love. Melara was new, mysterious and although tough, it was a challenge he gladly accepted.

The prince caressed her thick, golden curls and passed his fingertips over the soft skin of her jawline. “Lady Melara. I must say you look beautiful in this colour.”

“Thank you, my prince.” Oberyn noticed she carried a book in her hands and he looked intrigued at it.

“Please, come inside.” He invited, and Melara got into his room, carefully carrying the book whilst walking alongside him. “I see you carry a book with you.”

Melara stopped in front of him and showed the book cover. It was old, but well cared. “It is a gift,” She started, quietly. “The history of your ancestor, Princess Nymeria. It comes from the Citadel and it is a relic, I want you to have it.”

Oberyn looked stunned at the book he held. The book was very antique, yellowed pages due to the time it was published and certainly something rare, since it was probably hidden in the Citadel. A true treasure.

“I have no words to thank you, Lady Melara. I must admit that my present compared to yours seems to be dull, simple and unworthy.” He replied, getting the small velvet bag, showing her the set of jewellery.

“Valyrian steel.” She said, caressing the necklace slowly. “Thank you, my prince.”

“I see you have a good eye for it.” He said, with a small grin. “Turn around,” He commanded gently and so she did, allowing him to come closer and lean his breath close to her neck, which made her skin go goose. He involved her throat in the icy metal, bringing another element to her beauty. A piece of him encrusted on her. Oberyn also put the earrings on her ears, even if it went invisible in the immensity of her golden cascades of hair.

“I will cherish this gift for life, Prince Oberyn.” She replied, turning around and facing him once more. The prince caressed her chin and slightly caressed the skin of her collarbones, making her eyes close for a while. That filled his heart with the possibility of tasting her maidenhood a bit earlier than expected.

“And I will cherish mine. It will be in our private chambers and I will expect to read it as soon as possible with you. Is that acceptable?” Melara nodded her head and turned her gaze to the table in silence.

Oberyn walked towards the table and served two cups of wine, delivering one for her and one for him. “Drink with me.” Melara nodded and took the cup to drink the liquid slowly. A silence reigned between them, but Oberyn already realised he would have to make the effort to make her speak.

“Do you drink wine regularly?” He asked and Melara shook her head.

“My father only allows me and my sisters to drink one cup in festivities. My step mother says it is unladylike to drink too much wine.” She replied, walking with him to the table.

“You belong to me now, you can have as much wine as you desire.” He replied, expecting at least a smile. Nothing happened, she just nodded and accepted while the maids served their dinner. Oberyn felt a grieving energy surrounding her, perhaps for the life she lost and the new prospects she received. He questioned himself if the youngest Hightower actually wanted to stay serving as a Septa, since she seemed so sad around him. Silence reigned around them once more and it was discomforting, suffocating for Oberyn.

“Do I displease you?” He asked, bluntly. Her eyes lit up to face him and confusion was placed on her face while she looked for the right words.

“You do not.” She replied, after swallowing a piece of her food.

“I told you once, and I will repeat myself. Do not lie to me.” He replied, sternly. Oberyn expected her to at least be scared of him, but she did not hide her face and kept staring at him.

“I speak the truth.” Melara replied.

“Then why do you do so little to show interest in this marriage?”

Melara lowered her head and had no response. “Tell me the truth, my lady. Do you even wish to be here? Do you have a lover you had to leave behind once you were to wed me?”

“Just as you said to me, we are tied to each other, my prince. I understand how… displeasing I can be with my odd behaviour, but I wish to be submissive and try my best to be a fit lady for your household.” Oberyn furrowed his brows, curious about the ‘submissive’ deal.

“So you agree on the supposed role a woman has in a household?” He asked and she agreed in silence. “Use your words.” He demanded.

“Yes.” He wanted to push her to the edge. It was impossible for him for someone to be so shaped to serve and conform with anything.

“So if I take a paramour, will you accept it?”

She lowered her head and accepted. “Yes.”

“You know I have two daughters, I imagine. I hope you raise them alongside me and our children.” No reaction came from her face, except for a nodding while both ate their foods.

“If this is what you wish, then I shall raise them. But not amongst our trueborn.” His eyebrows raised.

“Do you see any difference between trueborns and bastards?” Oberyn asked, looking for a way to access any other emotion on Melara.

“You see no difference in them?” She asked back, exposing the obvious truth in her statement.

“Bastards are born from passion, trueborn from duty.”

“Duty is what keeps us in line.” Oberyn noticed how eloquent she was with her words.

“You have a fair point, my lady.” And with a small line, Melara let Oberyn with no words to reply back. He had to admit it was impressive for a lady said to be a socially abnormal woman. They ate in silence until their meal and dessert was finished. Oberyn noticed how her chest was swollen in that dress and he stared at them for two or three times, imagining how they would look like with nothing to cover them. Her short responses made her even more attractive, mysterious. He couldn’t take it anymore.

His hand reached hers over the table.“You have no idea of how much I have been yearning to touch you since you arrived in my bedchambers.” Melara blushed and tried to take her hand off his, but he held faster. “You look so beautiful in this dress,” He stood up and gently took her by the hand, making her stand up as well.

“Thank you, my prince.” She said, lowering her eyes, but he quickly raised it by her chin.

“Look at me,” Oberyn demanded, looking deeply at her in a dangerous distance. His grip went straight to her waist, bringing her closer and she nervously faced him. “You smell like fresh roses.” He coos, she sighed heavily. “Do you wish to kiss me again?” He teased the lady. He finally was taking her to the edge.

Their noses rubbed against each other. Silently, their lips brushed and a kiss began. Her hands involved his neck and his arms were around her waist, squeezing her delicately. Once the kiss was broken apart, he smirked once more, facing her anxious expression.

“You taste so sweetly.” Oberyn kissed her cheek, gently. She closed her eyes, feeling the sensation of his body so close to hers. His hands reached her breasts over the thick fabric of the velvet and he could hear the sigh she released once he touched her more intimately.

“Do you feel aroused, my future princess?” He asked, trying to tease her. Her eyes were burning desire, no matter how hard she tried to hide. “Use your words. Just say yes or no.”

“Y-yes.” Melara muttered, which made his smile grow largely playful.

He sat back on the chair. “Sit here.” Oberyn commanded, tapping his lap for her to sit. Melara swallowed her own spit. “Don’t fret, I just want to ease your tension.” The salty prince pulled her to his lap, making her arse rub against his groin. “I am not a religious man, but I know for a fact that the Gods have a blind spot for a girl’s maidenhood.”

Naively, Melara looked at him. “What is it?” Over her dress, Oberyn’s hand reached between her thighs, which made her moan softly. That sweet sound went straight to his cock, already hard inside his trousers.

“Open your legs for me.” He asked, whispering in her ear. She obeyed and the prince lifted her dress, touching her intimacy over the thin fabric of her underwear. Her ashamed moans whilst he made circular moves over her clit were driving him crazy. “Has anyone touched you this way, my lady?”

Melara shook her head. “N-never.” Oberyn kissed her neck and with his free hand, he put his cock out of his pants, displaying how hard it was. The Hightower seemed anxious and aroused, so Oberyn led her hand to touch it, guiding her on what she should do. His own hand kept moving on her clit over her under trousers, making her body squirm on his lap and low groans leave her mouth, while she kept touching him.

“You are so wet, my lady. I can feel it over the cloth.” His words made her blush even more and Melara tried to close her legs, but Oberyn opened it again. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, my lady.” He quickly said. “Tell me how it feels, my lady.”

“I feel it t-tingling.” She replied, bouncing her hips to feel more of his moves.

“Is it a good feeling?”

“Y-yes.” Melara was ashamed, but the arousal was bigger than any other sensation at the moment.

“Good.” He replied, also groaning while her hands massaged his cock.

Oberyn grabbed her by the waist and flipped her body so she could face him, making her sit with her cunt press against his thigh. A loud moan came from her lips, but she covered it immediately. “Do not hide those moans from me.” He ordered, controlling the moves she was doing on her thigh, riding him eagerly.

Her hand stroking his cock increased its pace, making Oberyn pant while she looked in his eyes. Her breathing got irregular and he felt her legs quivering. “W-what I… what is happening?” she asked, confused and Oberyn laughed with her innocence.

“We are close.” He replied simply, panting. Melara’s face turned confused.

She could not understand why she couldn’t breathe properly and the pleasure increased in a ridiculous amount. That made her whole body shake and her upper body arch back, making her release a scream out of her final pleasure, provoking Oberyn to release his seed on her hand. She was shaking and numb on his lap, leaning her head on his shoulder and Oberyn breathed heavily, smiling and patting her back.

“We climaxed, my lady.” He murmured and her face was burning red, unease and angst came back to her face once more. Melara saw the white liquid all over her face and took her hands off his cock and stood up, fixing her dress quickly. She could not bear looking into his eyes with embarrassment.

Oberyn stood up and looked at her, cupping her face. "You did nothing wrong, my lady. The Gods are merciful and as you heard from their septons and faith, marriage is supposed to bring happiness to each of the partners."

“But we are not married yet.” Melara replied, trying to step away from him.

“But we will.” Oberyn replied, brushing her hair.

“This is why the Gods will punish me! I should not enjoy this kind of thing you did to me!” Melara looked exasperated and Oberyn took a deep breath, fixing his trousers and standing up, handing her a handkerchief to clean her hands.

"Why would the Gods create a body that can feel pleasure and not meant to enjoy it?" Oberyn tried to argue with his bride-to-be, watching her cleaning her hand.

“This is wrong, this is wrong…” Melara walked impatiently from one side to the other. Oberyn felt bad to put her over this turmoil and tried to approach her.

“Look at me.” He said, making her stop walking. “You are still a maiden, remember? What we did was to ease your tension my lady. You will not be punished, do you understand?” Oberyn cupped her face once more and looked into her eyes. Melara nodded her head and shed some tears and strangely, Oberyn felt some sort of proud for taking any other reaction from her besides apathy.

“Good.” He replied, smiling. His hands gently caressed her hips. “A secret that not even the Gods will know.”

“Not even the Gods will know.” She replied, muttering at Oberyn.

Oberyn kissed her lips once more and embraced his betrothed, while she silently cried with guilt. Her mask fell, but no wolf howled at his face, a true lamb she was. Her reaction was odd and a bit annoying, but he did not want her to feel more guilty for something he provoked on her. Still, it felt like it was a small victory with Melara. The wedding prospect was showing to be much more challenging than it seemed to be, but a light on his head made him feel eager to take all her innocence during this marriage.

#asoiaf fanfiction #fanfic asoiaf #ao3 #game of thrones fanfiction #martell #a song of ice and fire #house hightower #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell #oberyn martell x ofc #holy and heathen #house martell #elia martell #dorne #prince oberyn

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yanderefarm · 26 days ago

Note

I know no one gets stoned in VeggieTales. John Craigie claims theres a lot of stoning to death in the book and he read it as a kid so I believe him(I've seen him live like 3 times).I did know about the whole murder wife theft story and the veggietales one(I have it on vhs) and they really did thinly veil the real version. Also, We are brothers for a reason.

-🪼

there is a lot of stoning to death it was a rather common form of execution for a long time y'know. just like the cross. imagine if they'd stoned jesus instead we'd have bdsm crosses that stand up straight.

its so funny like. why would they do that... surely there is a better way to teach kids to not steal other kids toys. a way that does not grossly downplay the horrible things king david did. but again... i love my duck is such a banger i can't be mad.

emil is king george kin

#replies #🪼 anon

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charlotte-of-wales · 2 years ago

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Roles to be performed at the Coronation Service at Westminster Abbey

Buckingham Palace is pleased to announce further details on the Ceremonial roles to be performed by individuals in the Coronation Service at Westminster Abbey.

The Ceremonial roles include bearing the Regalia in the Procession and presenting the items to Their Majesties. Those undertaking these historic roles in the Service have been chosen to recognise, thank and represent the Nation due to their significant service, and include representatives from Orders of Chivalry, the military and wider public life.

The first processions into Westminster Abbey will be made up of Faith Leaders and Faith Representatives followed shortly afterwards by representatives from His Majesty’s Realms. Flags of each Realm will be carried by national representatives accompanied by the Governors General and Prime Ministers. Bearing the Flag of the United Kingdom ahead of Prime Minister Rishi Sunak and Mrs Akshata Murty will be Cadet Warrant Officer Elliott Tyson-Lee, who said: “It is a great and incredible honour to be a part of Their Majesties’ Coronation Service as a representative of the Royal Air Force Air Cadets."

This will be followed by The Procession of The King and The Queen which will be led by the Marquess of Anglesey, the Duke of Westminster, the Earl of Caledon and the Earl of Dundee who will carry the Standards of the Quarterings of the Royal Arms and Standard of the Principality of Wales. Francis Dymoke will carry The Royal Standard.

Mr Dymoke’s claim to undertake a historic role in the Coronation was upheld by the Coronation Claims Office. The title of King or Queen’s Champion has been held by the Dymoke family since the Middle Ages. The King’s Champion would previously ride on horseback into the Coronation Banquet and challenge any who doubted the right of The King or Queen to the throne. There has not been a Coronation Banquet since that held by King George IV in 1821 so the Champion has instead undertaken a different role since, usually bearing a flag or Standard.

Also taking part in the procession will be Admiral Sir Tony Radakin, Chief of the Defence Staff, acting as Lord High Constable of England, an office held for the day only. Traditionally the Lord High Constable is a Great Officer of State and has historically been connected to the military. He will take part alongside the Earl Marshal, the Duke of Norfolk.

The Earl of Erroll will act as Lord High Constable of Scotland. Similar to that of Lord High Constable of England, this role has historically been connected to the military and the Earldom of Erroll through a Coronation claim. The Earl of Crawford and Balcarres will act as Deputy to the Great Steward of Scotland, HRH The Prince of Wales.

The following will then process to the altar carrying Her Majesty’s Regalia:

Baroness (Helena) Kennedy of The Shaws – Carrying The Queen Consort's Rod

General Sir Patrick Sanders – Carrying The Queen Consort's Sceptre

The Duke of Wellington – Carrying Queen Mary’s Crown

The Rt. Reverend and Rt. Hon the Lord Chartres– Carrying The Queen Consort's Ring

Lord Chartres said: “The ceremonies of the Coronation are ancient but they have been freshly interpreted for our contemporary world.”

The following will then process to the altar carrying His Majesty’s Regalia:

General Sir Gordon Messenger, the Governor of HM Tower of London – Carrying St Edward’s Crown as Lord High Steward of England

Baroness (Elizabeth) Manningham-Buller LG – Carrying St Edward's Staff

The Duke of Buccleuch and Queensberry KT – Carrying the Sceptre with Cross

Baroness (Floella) Benjamin OM – Carrying the Sceptre with the Dove

Dame Elizabeth Anionwu OM – Carrying the Orb

The Keeper of the Jewel House, Brigadier Andrew Jackson – Carrying The Sovereign’s Ring

Petty Officer Amy Taylor – Carrying the Sword of Offering

Lord Hastings and The Earl of Loudoun – Carrying the Spurs

Lord President of the Council, Penny Mordaunt – Carrying the Sword of State in The King’s Procession

Air Chief Marshal the Lord Peach – Carrying the Sword of Mercy (The Curtana)

General the Lord Richards of Herstmonceux – Carrying the Sword of Spiritual Justice

General the Lord Houghton of Richmond – Carrying the Sword of Temporal Justice

General Sir Gordon Messenger, the Lord High Steward of England, (also an office held for the day only) is the most senior Great Officer of State for the Coronation, in order to bear the St Edward’s Crown into the Abbey, the most significant item of Regalia. On carrying St Edward’s Crown, General Sir Gordon Messenger said: “It is a huge and unique honour to be appointed Lord High Steward for His Majesty’s Coronation. To be playing a key role on such an important and historic occasion is a source of great pride to me, my family, the Royal Marines, and the Tower of London community.”

Petty Officer Amy Taylor will be the first woman to bear the Jewelled Sword of Offering into the Abbey. She has been selected to represent Service men and women, as a Royal Navy Petty Officer, a tribute to His Majesty’s military career. She said: "Having served most of my senior career as an Aircraft Engineer on 845 Naval Air Squadron at RNAS Yeovilton where His Majesty originally trained and served as a pilot, I am deeply honoured and humbled to play my part in this historic event. Coming from a farming family His Majesty has always been such a great advocate for our community and someone I have admired growing up."

Baroness Benjamin and Dame Elizabeth Anionwu are amongst recent appointees to the Order of Merit, the final members to be chosen for the Order by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II. Baroness Benjamin said: “I feel honoured and privileged to be part of the historic Coronation ceremony. To be selected to carry the Sovereign’s Sceptre with Dove, which represents spirituality, equity and mercy, is for me very symbolic as it’s everything I stand for and sends out a clear message that diversity and inclusion is being embraced."

Participating in the act of Recognition of His Majesty whereby His Majesty will be presented to the Congregation at the start of the Service will be:

The Archbishop of Canterbury, Baroness (Valerie) Amos LG, Lady Elish Angiolini LT, and Christopher Finney GC, Chair of the Victoria Cross and George Cross Association.

During the Coronation Service the Regalia will be presented to Their Majesties. Those presenting have been chosen on the advice of Government. Those presenting Regalia to His Majesty will be:

The Lord Carrington, Lord Great Chamberlain – Presenting the Spurs

The Lord (Syed) Kamall – Presenting the Armills

Baroness (Gillian) Merron – Presenting the Robe Royal

The Most Reverend John McDowell, the Church of Ireland Archbishop of Armagh – Presenting the Orb

Lord (Narendra) Patel KT – Presenting the Ring

Lord (Indarjit) Singh of Wimbledon – Presenting the Coronation Glove

The Most Reverend Mark Strange, Bishop of Moray, Ross and Caithness, and Episcopal Primus of Scotland – Presenting the Sceptre with Cross

The Most Reverend Andrew John, the Archbishop of Wales – Presenting the Sceptre with Dove

The Archbishop of Canterbury – Performing the crowning with St Edward’s Crown

Those presenting Regalia to Her Majesty will be:

The Rt. Reverend Rose Hudson-Wilkin CD, The Bishop of Dover – Presenting The Queen Consort's Rod

The Rt. Reverend and Rt Hon. Lord Chartres – Presenting The Queen Consort's Sceptre with Cross

Brigadier Andrew Jackson, The Keeper of the Jewel House at HM Tower of London – Presenting The Queen Consort's Ring

The Archbishop of Canterbury – Performing the crowning with Queen Mary’s Crown

On presenting Regalia to Her Majesty, The Bishop of Dover said: “I am surprised, excited and honoured to have been asked to play a part in this historic once in a lifetime occasion. As I make my presentation, both Their Majesties will remain in my prayers as they seek to serve the nation and the Commonwealth.”

#kciii coronation

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kinslayer-sapphire · 1 year ago

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Why Tywin didn’t plot with the Tyrells to kill Joffrey!

Some people assume that Tywin plotted with Olenna and the Tyrells to kill Joffrey, make Tommen king, and scapegoat Tyrion.

Granted, it sounds like a smart plan and one with many benefits to Tywin such getting a puppet king and having his loathed dwarf son killed as a “obvious” offender.

However, just because it’s obvious doesn’t necessarily imply that it’s true. In fact George R.R. Martin loves the unexpected and challenging expectations but not in the Dumb and Dumber way…

As much as Tywin thought of Joffrey as a foolish brat without the knowledge or aptitude for being King of Westeros. He did try to help Joffrey govern and learn as King. He even gave Joffrey lessons on how sometimes mercy against your enemies is beneficial.

Whether or not that Tywin like having Joffrey as king; he is still his grandson and son of Cersei . . . and Jaime as well. There is NO WAY Tywin would commit kingslaying and kinslaying against his OWN grandson when he refused to king-slay Aerys Targaryen, who molested and insulted his wife and refused to kin-slay Tyrion during his childhood who caused his wife death in childbirth.

Tywin might not have been the most faithful man to the Faith of the Seven but kingslaying and kinslaying is a massive taboo and crime against the faith and gods that Tywin would NEVER commit against his close family members such as his children or grandchildren directly.

For all of Tywin faults, the man loves his legacy and family. It one of main reasons he didn’t assassinate Tytos and Tyrion despite his hatred of them for being lighthearted fools and manwhores that weaken his family name. Despite Tywin hatred of Tyrion he refused to let Lysa, Vale, and Riverlands get away with imprisoning Tyrion. I’m inclined to believe Tywin would be the same regarding Joffrey. Joffrey is his grandson, Cersei’s son, Jaime’s son and a pure-blooded Lannister. I can’t see Tywin being cool with the Tyrells poisoning his first-born grandson and first Lannister King in centuries because of his cruelties.

Tywin is a cruel man that massacred and genocided the Tarbecks and Reynes of Castamere for refusing to paid their debts to their Lord Paramount of the Westerlands and Head of House Lannister; his father. While Joffrey executing Lord Eddard was a ruthless, brutal, and brash decision. I believe Tywin could understand Joffrey’s fury and rage at Ned for trying to steal his “birthright” away for Stannis, a man that probably wants Cersei, Jaime, Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen heads on spikes for treason against the Crown and House Baratheon.

I believe that with time, experience, and tutelage. Tywin believes he could mold Joffrey’s cruelty and brutality into an effective sword rather than a brutish hammer for House Lannister. Considering that unlike Jaime he has a penchant for Power and Authority and not the physicals of being a dwarf like Tyrion or a female like Cersei. The difference between Tywin thoughts and treatment of Tyrion and Joffrey is that Tywin truly LOATHES Tyrion on a personal level over Joanna’s death in childbirth along with being a lustful drunkard dwarf that hinders Tywin’s and House Lannister image in bigoted Westerosi society. Tywin has no personal animosity toward his grandson and can handle Joffrey’s cruelty and ruthlessnesss just as he had previously with Aerys II and his own daughter Cersei. Seven Hells, Tywin is ruthless and cruel himself. He brutally murdered Reynes & Tarbecks along with Elia Martell and baby Aegon & toddler Rhaenys Targaryen. Tywin doesn’t want Joffrey to be a kind king but an effective and efficient king. Joffrey just need Tywin’s guidance and training just like Tommen did as well.

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istumpysk · 2 years ago

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Jon XII (Chapter 58)

That night he dreamt of wildlings howling from the woods, advancing to the moan of warhorns and the roll of drums. Boom DOOM boom DOOM boom DOOM came the sound, a thousand hearts with a single beat. Some had spears and some had bows and some had axes. Others rode on chariots made of bones, drawn by teams of dogs as big as ponies. Giants lumbered amongst them, forty feet tall, with mauls the size of oak trees.

I don't think it's anything, but massive dogs carrying chariots come up again later in the chapter, and it's weird.

+.+.+

"Stand fast," Jon Snow called. "Throw them back." He stood atop the Wall, alone. "Flame," he cried, "feed them flame," but there was no one to pay heed.

They are all gone. They have abandoned me.

If my memory serves me, I believe you sent them all away.

+.+.+

Burning shafts hissed upward, trailing tongues of fire. Scarecrow brothers tumbled down, black cloaks ablaze. "Snow," an eagle cried, as foemen scuttled up the ice like spiders. Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again. He slew a greybeard and a beardless boy, a giant, a gaunt man with filed teeth, a girl with thick red hair. Too late he recognized Ygritte. She was gone as quick as she'd appeared.

During my research of this chapter, I did not find a single person who pieced together that Daenerys is the opposition.

That night she dreamt that she was Rhaegar, riding to the Trident. But she was mounted on a dragon, not a horse. When she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river they were armored all in ice, but she bathed them in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent. - Daenerys III, ASOS

+.+.+

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist.

George is such a troll.

Jon is not Azor Ahai.

+.+.+

The world dissolved into a red mist. Jon stabbed and slashed and cut. He hacked down Donal Noye and gutted Deaf Dick Follard. Qhorin Halfhand stumbled to his knees, trying in vain to staunch the flow of blood from his neck. "I am the Lord of Winterfell," Jon screamed. It was Robb before him now, his hair wet with melting snow. Longclaw took his head off. Then a gnarled hand seized Jon roughly by the shoulder. He whirled …

Hm.

Bran? Trees are often described as gnarled.

Arya? You know, that whole hand thing.

"I am the Lord of Winterfell," Jon screamed.

I believe you mean king.

+.+.+

… and woke with a raven pecking at his chest. "Snow," the bird cried. Jon swatted at it. The raven shrieked its displeasure and flapped up to a bedpost to glare down balefully at him through the predawn gloom.

[...]

He rose and dressed in darkness, as Mormont's raven muttered across the room. "Corn," the bird said, and, "King," and, "Snow, Jon Snow, Jon Snow." That was queer. The bird had never said his full name before, as best Jon could recall.

See? King.

That's a Bran raven, not a blood raven.

The night was windless, the snow drifting straight down out of a cold black sky, yet the leaves of the heart tree were rustling his name. "Theon," they seemed to whisper, "Theon." - A Ghost in Winterfell, ADWD

+.+.+

"Remember," Jon said, "Tormund's people are hungry, cold, and fearful. Some of them hate us as much as some of you hate them. We are dancing on rotten ice here, them and us. One crack, and we all drown.

Like a Frey!

+.+.+

"How do you [Dolorous Edd] find serving under Iron Emmett?" Jon asked.

"Mostly it's Black Maris serving under him, m'lord. Me, I have the mules. Nettles claims we're kin. It's true we have the same long face, but I'm not near as stubborn. Anyway I never knew their mothers, on my honor."

No reaction.

Did Jon fully grasp that? Lol.

+.+.+

Out in the yard, the eastern sky had just begun to lighten. There was not a wisp of cloud in sight. "We have a good day for this, it would seem," Jon said. "A bright day, warm and sunny."

It's time for weather symbolism.

+.+.+

Satin had his horse saddled and bridled and waiting for him, a fiery grey courser with a mane as black and shiny as maester's ink. He was not the sort of mount that Jon would have chosen for a ranging, but on this morning all that mattered was that he look impressive, and for that the stallion was a perfect choice.

Look who's doing a Waymar Royce again.

Ser Waymar Royce came next, his great black destrier snorting impatiently. The warhorse was the wrong mount for ranging, but try and tell that to the lordling. - Prologue, AGOT

Thank you, @astradrifting!

+.+.+

"You brought more men than I did."

"So I did. Come here by me, lad. I want my folk to see you. I got thousands ne'er saw a lord commander, grown men who were told as boys that your rangers would eat them if they didn't behave. They need to see you plain, a long-faced lad in an old black cloak. They need to learn that the Night's Watch is naught t'be feared."

That is a lesson I would sooner they never learned. Jon peeled the glove off his burned hand, put two fingers in his mouth, and whistled. Ghost came racing from the gate. Tormund's horse shied so hard that the wildling almost lost his saddle. "Naught to be feared?" Jon said. "Ghost, stay."

He may not enjoy the trappings of power, but the boy is never shy about playing the wolf card.

+.+.+

"You are a black-hearted bastard, Lord Crow." Tormund Horn-Blower lifted his own warhorn to his lips. The sound of it echoed off the ice like rolling thunder, and the first of the free folk began to stream toward the gate.

Strange.

+.+.+

Of special note were the sons of men of renown. Tormund took care to point them out as they went by.

"The boy there is the son of Soren Shieldbreaker," he said of one tall lad. "Him with the red hair, he's Gerrick Kingsblood's get. Comes o' the line o' Raymun Redbeard, to hear him tell it. The line o' Redbeard's little brother, you want it true." Two boys looked enough alike to be twins, but Tormund insisted they were cousins, born a year apart. "One was sired by Harle the Huntsman, t'other by Harle the Handsome, both on the same woman. Fathers hate each other. I was you, I'd send one to Eastwatch and t'other to your Shadow Tower."

It's possible that's a super subtle reference to Jon and Arya, given what's coming.

I might be forgetting a more obvious parallel.

+.+.+

Three hostages were sons of Alfyn Crowkiller, an infamous raider slain by Qhorin Halfhand. Or so Tormund insisted. "They do not look like brothers," Jon observed.

"Half-brothers, born o' different mothers. Alfyn's member was a wee thing, even smaller than yours, but he was never shy with where he stuck it. Had a son in every village, that one."

+.+.+

Two of the boys were girls in disguise. When Jon saw them, he dispatched Rory and Big Liddle to bring them to him. One came meekly enough, the other kicking and biting. This could end badly.

[...]

"I'll need two boys to take their places."

"How's that?" Tormund scratched his beard. "A hostage is a hostage, seems to me. That big sharp sword o' yours can snick a girl's head off as easy as a boy's. A father loves his daughters too. Well, most fathers."

It is not their fathers who concern me. "Did Mance ever sing of Brave Danny Flint?"

"Not as I recall. Who was he?"

"A girl who dressed up like a boy to take the black. Her song is sad and pretty. What happened to her wasn't." In some versions of the song, her ghost still walked the Nightfort. "I'll send the girls to Long Barrow."

Why is this happening? Why is this here?

Not clear whether Mance knows the tune.

"Give us 'The Night That Ended,' singer," he bellowed. "The bride will like that one, I know. Or sing to us of brave young Danny Flint and make us weep." To look at him, you would have thought that he was the one newly wed. - The Prince of Winterfell, ADWD

I don't have much to say about this, but I thought I should include it, because I continue to find it deeply unsettling.

+.+.+

Red-bearded Gerrick Kingsblood brought three daughters. "They will make fine wives, and give their husbands strong sons of royal blood," he boasted. "Like their father, they are descended from Raymun Redbeard, who was King-Beyond-the-Wall."

Blood meant little and less amongst the free folk, Jon knew. Ygritte had taught him that. Gerrick's daughters shared her same flame-red hair, though hers had been a tangle of curls and theirs hung long and straight. Kissed by fire. "Three princesses, each lovelier than the last," he told their father. "I will see that they are presented to the queen." Selyse Baratheon would take to these three better than she had to Val, he suspected; they were younger and considerably more cowed. Sweet enough to look at them, though their father seems a fool.

+.+.+

He saw tall boys and short boys, brown-haired boys and black-haired boys, honey blonds and strawberry blonds and redheads kissed by fire, like Ygritte.

There were spearwives with them, long hair streaming. Jon could not look at them without remembering Ygritte: the gleam of fire in her hair, the look on her face when she'd disrobed for him in the grotto, the sound of her voice. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she'd told him a hundred times.

Gerrick's daughters shared her same flame-red hair, though hers had been a tangle of curls and theirs hung long and straight. Kissed by fire.

Lots of red hair right before the final Jon chapter.

+.+.+

The warrior witch Morna removed her weirwood mask just long enough to kiss his gloved hand and swear to be his man or his woman, whichever he preferred.

Lol.

What's a weirwood mask?

+.+.+

The dogs that drew the chariots were fearsome beasts, as big as direwolves.

There they are.

+.+.+

Within was a mead so potent it made Jon's eyes water and sent tendrils of fire snaking through his chest. He drank deep. "You're a good man, Tormund Giantsbabe. For a wildling."

One of the funnier errors to make it past the editor.

+.+.+

"Too bloody slow this way. Like sucking the Milkwater through a reed. Har. Would that I had the Horn of Joramun. I'd give it a nice toot and we'd climb through the rubble."

"Melisandre burned the Horn of Joramun."

"Did she?" Tormund slapped his thigh and hooted. "She burned that fine big horn, aye. A bloody sin, I call it. A thousand years old, that was. We found it in a giant's grave, and no man o' us had ever seen a horn so big. That must have been why Mance got the notion to tell you it were Joramun's. He wanted you crows to think he had it in his power to blow your bloody Wall down about your knees. But we never found the true horn, not for all our digging. If we had, every kneeler in your Seven Kingdoms would have chunks o' ice to cool his wine all summer."

Jon turned in his saddle, frowning. And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter and woke giants from the earth. That huge horn with its bands of old gold, incised with ancient runes … had Mance Rayder lied to him, or was Tormund lying now? If Mance's horn was just a feint, where is the true horn?

Is it in the crypts beneath Winterfell? Is it sitting in the Citadel with Sam? Does it even matter?

Tune in next time to find out.

+.+.+

By afternoon the sun had gone, and the day turned grey and gusty. "A snow sky," Tormund announced grimly.

Others had seen the same omen in those flat white clouds. It seemed to spur them on to haste. Tempers began to fray. One man was stabbed when he tried to slip in ahead of others who had been hours in the column. Toregg wrenched the knife away from his attacker, dragged both men from the press, and sent them back to the wildling camp to start again.

Weather's shifting.

+.+.+

"Did they trouble you on your way south?"

"They never came in force, if that's your meaning, but they were with us all the same, nibbling at our edges. We lost more outriders than I care to think about, and it was worth your life to fall behind or wander off. Every nightfall we'd ring our camps with fire. They don't like fire much, and no mistake. When the snows came, though … snow and sleet and freezing rain, it's bloody hard to find dry wood or get your kindling lit, and the cold … some nights our fires just seemed to shrivel up and die. Nights like that, you always find some dead come the morning. 'Less they find you first. The night that Torwynd … my boy, he …' Tormund turned his face away.

The author baiting you to believe a dragon must be the answer.

+.+.+

"I know," said Jon Snow.

Tormund turned back. "You know nothing. You killed a dead man, aye, I heard. Mance killed a hundred. A man can fight the dead, but when their masters come, when the white mists rise up … how do you fight a mist, crow? Shadows with teeth … air so cold it hurts to breathe, like a knife inside your chest … you do not know, you cannot know … can your sword cut cold?"

Well.

+.+.+

We will see, Jon thought, remembering the things that Sam had told him, the things he'd found in his old books. Longclaw had been forged in the fires of old Valyria, forged in dragonflame and set with spells. Dragonsteel, Sam called it. Stronger than any common steel, lighter, harder, sharper … But words in a book were one thing. The true test came in battle.

Don't forget what Samwell said about those books!

The oldest histories we have were written after the Andals came to Westeros. The First Men only left us runes on rocks, so everything we think we know about the Age of Heroes and the Dawn Age and the Long Night comes from accounts set down by septons thousands of years later. There are archmaesters at the Citadel who question all of it. - Samwell I, AFFC

Jon is not Azor Ahai. Longclaw is not Lightbringer.

The first Long Night predated the invention of Valyrian steel by thousands of years. The swords are a red herring.

A sword or final battle will never be the resolution.

One existential threat (fire) defeating the other existential threat (ice) is not the fucking climax of the series.

It's Bran's assignment. This is not a Targaryen-centric issue.

+.+.+

On and on the wildlings came. The day grew darker, just as Tormund said. Clouds covered the sky from horizon to horizon, and warmth fled. There was more shoving at the gate, as men and goats and bullocks jostled each other out of the way. It is more than impatience, Jon realized. They are afraid. Warriors, spearwives, raiders, they are frightened of those woods, of shadows moving through the trees. They want to put the Wall between them before the night descends.

A snowflake danced upon the air. Then another. Dance with me, Jon Snow, he thought. You'll dance with me anon.

Hey, that's not what she said, ya goof. Why are you changing it up?

"You could dance with me, you know. It would be only courteous. You danced with me anon." - Jon X, ADWD

Also, more Waymar!

Ser Waymar met him bravely. "Dance with me then." - Prologue, AGOT

+.+.+

"Your best men."

"Or my worst. Every man o' them has killed a crow."

Amongst the riders came one man afoot, with some big beast trotting at his heels. A boar, Jon saw. A monstrous boar. Twice the size of Ghost, the creature was covered with coarse black hair, with tusks as long as a man's arm. Jon had never seen a boar so huge or ugly. The man beside him was no beauty either; hulking, black-browed, he had a flat nose, heavy jowls dark with stubble, small black close-set eyes.

"Borroq." Tormund turned his head and spat.

"A skinchanger." It was not a question. Somehow he knew.

One skinchanger can always sense another. - Prologue, ADWD

Twice the size of Ghost? Ghost is suicidal.

+.+.+

Ghost turned his head. The falling snow had masked the boar's scent, but now the white wolf had the smell. He padded out in front of Jon, his teeth bared in a silent snarl.

"No!" Jon snapped. "Ghost, down. Stay. Stay!"

"Boars and wolves," said Tormund. "Best keep that beast o' yours locked up tonight. I'll see that Borroq does the same with his pig." He glanced up at the darkening sky.

Yeah, definitely make it a priority to separate them at all times.

+.+.+

The skinchanger stopped ten yards away. His monster pawed at the mud, snuffling. A light powdering of snow covered the boar's humped black back. He gave a snort and lowered his head, and for half a heartbeat Jon thought he was about to charge. To either side of him, his men lowered their spears.

"Brother," Borroq said.

"You'd best go on. We are about to close the gate."

"You do that," Borroq said. "You close it good and tight. They're coming, crow." He smiled as ugly a smile as Jon had ever seen and made his way to the gate. The boar stalked after him. The falling snow covered up their tracks behind them.

Calling him brother is creepy.

Barroq is getting painted as pretty sketch, watch him be a good guy.

+.+.+

"That's done, then," Rory said when they were gone.

No, thought Jon Snow, it has only just begun.

Haven't done one of these in awhile.

"And now it begins," said Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. He unsheathed Dawn and held it with both hands. The blade was pale as milkglass, alive with light.

"No," Ned said with sadness in his voice. "Now it ends." - Eddard X, AGOT

"Is it over, Mother?" the Lord of the Eyrie asked.

No, Catelyn wanted to tell him, it's only now beginning. - Catelyn VII, AGOT

+.+.+

Bowen Marsh was waiting for him south of the Wall, with a tablet full of numbers. "Three thousand one hundred and nineteen wildlings passed through the gate today," the Lord Steward told him. "Sixty of your hostages were sent off to Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower after they'd been fed. Edd Tollett took six wagons of women back to Long Barrow. The rest remain with us."

"Not for long," Jon promised him. "Tormund means to lead his own folk to Oakenshield within a day or two. The rest will follow, as soon as we sort where to put them."

"As you say, Lord Snow." The words were stiff. The tone suggested that Bowen Marsh knew where he would put them.

Didn't Mance march with one hundred thousand wildlings? Yikes.

Still boggles the mind he hasn't mentioned the loan.

+.+.+

Strange voices echoed down the yards, and free folk were coming and going along icy paths that had only known the black boots of crows for years. Outside the old Flint Barracks, he came across a dozen men pelting one another with snow. Playing, Jon thought in astonishment, grown men playing like children, throwing snowballs the way Bran and Arya once did, and Robb and me before them.

Oopsie daisy, one of them has forgotten a sibling again. Lol

+.+.+

Clydas entered pink and blinking, the parchment clutched in one soft hand. "Beg pardon, Lord Commander. I know you must be weary, but I thought you would want to see this at once."

"You did well." Jon read:

At Hardhome, with six ships. Wild seas. Blackbird lost with all hands, two Lyseni ships driven aground on Skane, Talon taking water. Very bad here. Wildlings eating their own dead. Dead things in the woods. Braavosi captains will only take women, children on their ships. Witch women call us slavers. Attempt to take Storm Crow defeated, six crew dead, many wildlings. Eight ravens left. Dead things in the water. Send help by land, seas wracked by storms. From Talon, by hand of Maester Harmune.

Cotter Pyke had made his angry mark below.

"Is it grievous, my lord?" asked Clydas.

"Grievous enough." Dead things in the wood. Dead things in the water. Six ships left, of the eleven that set sail. Jon Snow rolled up the parchment, frowning. Night falls, he thought, and now my war begins.

If you ever meet a fan who hates the later seasons because they're not book-accurate, ask them what their favourite episode is.

At least 50% of the time they'll say Hardhome.

Final thoughts:

Ser Waymar Royce was the youngest son of an ancient house with too many heirs.

[...]

He was a handsome youth of eighteen, grey-eyed and graceful and slender as a knife.

[...]

Royce's body lay facedown in the snow, one arm out-flung. The thick sable cloak had been slashed in a dozen places. Lying dead like that, you saw how young he was. A boy.

[...]

Will rose. Ser Waymar Royce stood over him.

His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye. - Prologue, AGOT

She had fallen wildly in love with Ser Waymar, she remembered dimly, but that was a lifetime ago, when she was a stupid little girl. - Alayne I, AFFC

PLEASE.

Shows up randomly in the middle of A Feast for Crows for no reason. It will never not be hilarious.

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#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #jon xii

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