#littlefinger can fucking bite me

[biichama]

Reading A Song of Ice and Fire: A Game of Thrones After-Book Report

RIGHT. So I promised both to myself and to the internet that I'd report on my thoughts on the A Game of Thrones POV characters and their storylines before I started A Clash of Kings and this is me making good on that. That said, I don't know if I will have any bold or original thoughts. This is just my feels about things. And since I was thoroughly spoiled for a lot of shit past this book thanks to fandom osmosis and especially fanfic, there's probably going to be those spoilers when talking about POV characters.

Also, I should probably note before we get into things that besides being spoiled by fandom osmosis and fanfic in particular, this is my second attempt at reading A Game of Thrones, with the first attempt taking place in 1997 or so when it was the only ASOIAF book and I myself was in my mid-teens. I ended up noping out after Bran II for Yeeting Reasons and when I found out from @evilmidnightlurker in early 2001 about a Certain Infamous Execution (which is when he decided he wasn't going to read the sequels), I thought I'd had a narrow escape from books that were obviously nothing but nihilism and an author going LOL YOU CARED at the reader. And like, I do know now that that's not how GRRM rolls even if it's how the tv show guys roll but I did not know it then.

(Though like I think at some point around 2003 or so I did read "The Hedge Knight" in the Legends anthology, which I'd checked out from the library so I could read "The Little Sisters of Elluria" because I was totally into the Dark Tower at that point? But I did not retain much memory of it, except for the twist about Egg's identity.)

Flash forward twenty years later when I noticed that a Yuri on Ice fanfic writer I liked had a Pride and Prejudice fusion fic. Now P&P is a favorite of mine and I'm usually willing to read fusions when I only know one canon, so I decided that sure, I'd read this fic. And it was a Jaime/Brienne fic and despite having so little context for J/B outside of what I'd picked up from the cultural zeitgeist of the Game of Thrones tv show existing, I really liked the fic. So I followed the author's bookmarks to other J/B fanfic and read them and also liked them and spent years reading J/B as a pairing without, like, actually reading the canon it came from (because I remembered having to abruptly put down the book back in 1997) and getting more and more spoiled for everything and it became this weird almost special interest of, like, lurking around the edges of the fandom but not actually engaging in the canon.

And then I decided last spring that I would actually engage with the canon or at least read the other two Dunk and Eggs because I'd heard a lot of good things about them and didn't remember minding the first one and so I did and I loved them and my favorite little side character was Bloodraven and I knew from my lurking around the fandom that Bloodraven shows up again in ADWD and so I was all oh fuck, I'm going to have to actually read these books now.

So I did.

And honestly, I was kind of stressed for the first eight chapters, because I remembered being badly affected by the Yeeting (likely because I have a terrible fear of falling), but I pushed through and I'm glad I did because this is really good shit, you guys.

But yeah, okay, I should get ahead with the whole POV report thing. I'll probably make some notes about what little I remember of the 1997 reading here and there, because I definitely am not the same person I was back then and I think it affects how I read things.

Prologue:

Okay, so this was atmospheric as all fuck. I spent the first half being deeply sympathetic with Will and I kind of assumed that Waymar was going to panic and get killed easily when they did run into the Others--I knew going in because of being HELLA SPOILED BY FANFIC and from my dimly remembered recollections from my initial 1997 read that the prologue guys were going to run into Others and someone was going to make it back past the wall to tell people about them, only to get executed by Ned for deserting. I just kind of assumed that person would be Will? But it was NOT, it was Garred who didn't see nearly as much as Will did. And yeah, I was pleasantly surprised that Waymar, who I thought was all talk, really did make a damn good attempt to fight the Other he ran into. I did not expect him to reanimate while Will was poking at him. GOOD JOB JUMP SCARING ME, GEORGE.

Bran:

I love Bran. A lot. Both as a perspective and as a character. I think that's probably why him getting yeeted in his second chapter made me nope out right away back in 1997--well, that and the whole fear of falling thing. And also, the fake-out where Jamie rescues him and then decides he has to yeet him anyway was just so fucking cruel. Anyway, I do like him and I think I had the vague idea back in 1997 that he was the main character (inasmuch as anyone was) which also made the yeeting shocking and YES I do have to keep calling it the yeeting, using a funny name for the incident puts that needed bit of distance in there for me.

(Anyway, I enjoy child characters in books and always have and I think Martin writes some really good child perspectives to be honest--like, striking a good balance between how much kids actually understand about the world and how much they don't. Because kids do understand more than you think, even if you wish they didn't.)

But yeah, I liked reading about Winterfell from Bran's perspective (you can tell how important it is to him) and I loved getting lore from Old Nan and Luwin in his chapters and honestly, they really were good. And his dream with the three-eyed crow was trippy in the best way.

Catelyn:

God, I love this woman. And I almost didn't expect to? Like I went into my 2024 read wanting to like her, given everything I knew about her from fanfiction and lurking around ASOIAF--and also to spite the misogynists who blame her for everything--but I did not expect to love her so hard. I think what I love about Cat is how she fucking commits herself to things. Watching over Bran's sickbed, hauling Tyrion's ass around, etc etc. She doesn't do things by halves. I like that in a character.

I will say that Catelyn VI was one of the worst fucking chapters to read. George is like a really visceral writer and like really good at making me see things on the page, even though I usually have a pretty shoddy mind's eye? And the Eyrie is basically built to freak me out. So yeah, I was never going to like a chapter which was more or less LET'S SEE IF CATELYN WILL FALL TO HER DEATH ON HER WAY TO VISIT LYSA even though I knew she survives until the Red Wedding.

(I hate the very existence of the moon door by the way. Hate it, hate it, hate it.)

Dany:

So yeah. Dany's a baby and I don't think I would have got that if I hadn't noped out of my 1997 read at Bran II. Because I was barely any older than she was and surely I was old enough to enter into a political marriage with some fancy barbarian horse-riding dude a decade older than me, right? Right?

But yeah, AGOT was definitely written in the 90s and you can tell, because there's this sort of... generalized acceptance of teenage girls as objects of desire that was like just part of the culture back then and now it's not. And it's kind of reflected in Dany's chapters, even though it's not what I'd call egregious by my own personal standards? Like I wouldn't call George a dirty old man, but he's definitely a writer of his time. But also I cut my teeth on Piers Anthony in middle school (now THAT was a dirty old man) so like I may have a higher tolerance than other people.

Anyway, I enjoyed Dany and her chapters, though she wasn't my favorite perspective. I do definitely agree with Prokopetz about her storyline having that whole Romantic Fantasy vibes going on.

Ned:

I SWEAR TO GOD THAT R+L HAS TO EQUAL J IN THE BOOKS TOO BECAUSE THERE IS NO OTHER WAY TO READ HIS CHAPTERS ONCE YOU KNOW HOLY SHIT IT ALL MAKES SENSE!!!!

Ahem. Yes. I like Ned and I really liked reading his chapters--they're all incredibly well put together--and as I've mentioned in my prior live-blogging, I was simply Not Prepared for how quickly everything goes to shit in King's Landing. Like holy crap. There is very little padding in his storyline whatsoever and I went in expecting that there would be.

I went into every single one of his chapters with a feeling of trepidation and dread and you know what? I was right to.

Jon:

WOW YOU SURE ARE A TEENAGE FANTASY HERO, JON SNOW. In retrospect, I'm not sure why 1997 bii was under the impression that Bran was the Designated Fantasy Protagonist of these books, except that we did meet Bran first and the only other character who'd had a second chapter by Bran II was Catelyn and teenage bii figured it was more likely that the hero was the kid who dreamed of knighthood rather than his mom. Jon was going to be his sidekick, right? A helpful mentor figure that hopefully wouldn't get killed or anything. Like obviously this was a full decade before Gurren Lagann, but if someone had told me in 1997 that Jon was going to be Bran's Kamina figure I'd have gone yeah, that sounds right.

But yeah. Jon (much like Dany to be honest) really is the obvious designated fantasy hero character and I am laughing so much at my 1997 self now. I'm sure if I'd read further than Jon I back then I'd have figured it out pretty quickly--it's really obvious by Jon III if not Jon II--but I noped out at Bran II and this is what I get for it.

I like Jon all right and I like the chapters on the wall all right. He's not a stand-out favorite but he's decent. I had no idea that Master Aemon being a Targaryen was meant to be a big twist. (Thanks fandom osmosis.)

Arya:

I'm pretty sure that 1997 me ate Arya up with a spoon to be quite honest. She was bad at girl stuff just like me and had a contentious relationship with her sister (again just like me) and she was spunky and determined and very, very cool. Like I only got the one chapter of her, but it was a good one.

Her later chapters were really good as well. Again, I think George is better at writing child characters than people give him credit for? Like with the Ned chapters, things went to shit here a lot faster than I thought they would and for some reason I thought Arya would meet Gendry in this book independently of Ned, but she didn't.

Tyrion:

Now we get into characters who I didn't get to read any POV chapters from in my 1997 attempt and I do like Tyrion quite a lot, it turns out. Like his chapters were mostly all good and I appreciated his cleverness and the way he interacted with Jon and the Night's Watch and the younger Starks and how he talked himself in and out of trouble along the way.

That said, Tyrion V was excruciating and painful to read and I fucking hate that the sky cells exist WHY. They're like the moon door, but worse. Why is the Vale like this? Least favorite region of Westeros bar none. Somebody please send WOSHA (Westerosi OSHA) to build some safety rails.

Anyway, I did not expect Bronn to be a sellsword that Catelyn hired at all? Like I had a vague idea that Tyrion had been put on trial at some point in the book and Bronn came into the story related to that, but I think before I sat down and read AGOT I assumed that, like, Bronn was some dude passing through whatever town is attached to the Eyrie and Tyrion grabbed him off the street. Nope.

Another thing I didn't expect: getting the story of Tysha when I did and as briefly as I did. Again, it was something I'd been spoiled for, but I thought it would come out later with Shae. (Who I also didn't expect Tyrion to pick up in this book. I thought it would happen in ACOK.)

Sansa:

I would like to believe that 1997 bii would have had room for Sansa in my teenage heart, despite how much I immediately glommed onto Arya, prepared to take her side in the Glorious War of Sisterly Rivalry. Honestly, I think she probably would have won me over in Sansa II, because it's absolutely delightful to see her afloat in all the magic and romanticism of the tourney--and also to see when the spell fades. I suppose that makes Sansa II kind of a microcosm of her storyline in general?

(The conversation with the Hound on the way back from the tourney was one I'd already read before as an excerpt, but it was good to get the full context.)

Her interactions with Littlefinger are awful, though. Now that's a character I did not expect to hate as much as I did. I wanted to like him, because Cat trusted him and I like Cat, even though I knew because of spoilers that he'd sell Ned out when the going got tough, but I did not expect him to be so goddamn insufferable to deal with. Honestly, even more so in Ned's chapters than Sansa's. Basically in any chapter he shows up in, even Catelyn's.

Maybe George will get me to change my mind on him later, but I'm not holding my breath.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

i just wanted to send in another excerpt from my script, this time from the page on cersei. (this is still rosalie) also this directly follows up with the ask about the purple wedding, season four, sansa, cersei, and rosalie i sent in earlier

Cersei Lannister was like a mother to me. Ever since I had arrived at King’s Landing with King Robert she had liked me and treated me as if I were one of her children. She gave me the best tutors she could find. Instead of getting me an instructor for riding, she taught me herself. Over time, as she did more and more bad things my image of her started to deteriorate. When I was a young girl, I would write things I wished to tell Cersei but didn’t want to say aloud on a scroll, and stick it in a small hole at the top of one of my bedposts. Just before I left with my sister Brienne I wrote one final note. I had not written one in years. It simply said “I will destroy you.” Cersei taught me vengeance, never once did she think that vindictive nature she instilled in me would one day be turned upon her.

Rosalie learning everything, too much even, from Cersei is such a powerhouse move. It almost reminds me of what I’ve been saying about Jacob’s Sibling and R. Like, they’ve really invested a lot in this kid, in the hopes that they will join. Their Cabal is fucked if this doesn’t happen. Same thing goes with Rosalie. Because Cersei could have had someone wonderful in her corner, but because of her crimes, she has an enemy who now knows her better than most people do. It’s just like what happened with Sansa. Really, both Cersei and Littlefinger screw up in this way, but I suppose it only comes back to bite Littlefinger.  

 You know, I always wished that Sansa could be there to witness Cersei’s execution, and echo one of her own lines back to her. I believe Sansa even expresses a similar sentiment. Ah well, at least she got to dispatch Littlefinger in one of the most badass moments of the entire show. Plus she got to kill Ramsay. I was sort of hoping Theon would get to do it, but Sansa had skin in that game, too. It’s amazing how this show can make you genuinely cheer when characters die. Walder Frey, Tywin Lannister...but then again, it’s very much dependent on how they die. I take no pleasure from the death of Roose Bolton, because it only served to make Ramsay more dangerous. I’ve already told you that I saw it coming that Tyrion would be framed, so I couldn’t enjoy Joffrey’s death either. And well, I’m not going to spoil anything (you may already be aware for all I know) but despite how much I wanted Cersei to go down...at the end of it all, I couldn’t cheer at her death. Not with....not with how it happened. And that is all I shall say about that. 

[secretlyatargaryen]

I promised I’d write about this, and I really do think Tyrion/Lemore is an underrated relationship. And usually when people talk about it they only talk about Tyrion being a fuckboy, and he is, but he’s no worse than the way Jaime treats Brienne through much of ASOS. I think a lot of people use this subplot as merely more evidence for Tyrion’s downward spiral, but what’s really interesting about Lemore is the way she challenges Tyrion when he’s in that dark place of self-loathing and dissociation from others, especially with regards to women.

At the beginning of ADWD, Tyrion is in a place where he is incredibly cynical about love, and no longer interested in the idea of sex, even. He purposefully scares Illyrio’s slave because he wants her to hate him, to see him as disgusting, even though he is not interested in having sex with her. This is framed in stark contrast to the illusion he had previously paid for with sex-workers, in which he wanted to avoid, and feared, “the look” that he describes seeing in reaction to his disability. This is, of course, all linked to his trauma over Tysha, not only the fear of rejection but the sexual trauma of being forced to witness and participate in her rape, which also makes Tyrion a victim of sexual abuse and rape. What Tywin did, essentially, was take a consensual loving experience that Tyrion found comfort in and make it something ugly and disgusting. This makes Tyrion both compelled to re-experience what he had with Tysha by seeking out sex-workers and makes him feel that there is no way he could experience real love. When he learns the truth about Tysha, the coping mechanism of seeking out sex-workers becomes no longer satisfying, and the only thing Tyrion is left with is ugliness and self-blame.

I’d also argue that another major sexual trauma leading up to ADWD is his marriage to Sansa. Tyrion has brief fantasies that he can play a chivalrous romantic when he is married to her, but of course he knows that this isn’t possible. This is, in no way, Sansa’s fault, but being forced into a marriage with her is deeply sexually humiliating. Again, not because she rejected him, but because she is in no position to accept him. Tyrion becomes increasingly withdrawn from relationships, which is shown in his interactions with Sansa and even Shae, who he is less and less satisfied with and more insecure around than ever after his marriage. His sexual shame increases to the point where he can’t bear undressing in front of Sansa, the idealized, innocent maiden. Even the scene where he has sex with Shae among the dragon skulls and afterwards spends several uncomfortable moments searching for his clothes in the dark demonstrates Tyrion’s sexual repression and shame, in contrast to the way Shae treats it as a game.

"Shae . . ." He reached, but she spun and slipped free.

"You have to catch me." Her voice came from his left. "M'lord must have played monsters and maidens when he was little."

"Are you calling me a monster?"

"No more than I'm a maiden." She was behind him, her steps soft against the floor. "You need to catch me all the same."

He did, finally, but only because she let herself be caught. By the time she slipped into his arms, he was flushed and out of breath from stumbling into dragon skulls. 

[...]

After, as they lay entwined amongst the dragon skulls, he rested his head against her, inhaling the smooth clean smell of her hair. "We should go back," he said reluctantly. "It must be near dawn. Sansa will be waking."

"You should give her dreamwine," Shae said, "like Lady Tanda does with Lollys. A cup before she goes to sleep, and we could fuck in bed beside her without her waking." She giggled. "Maybe we should, some night. Would m'lord like that?" Her hand found his shoulder, and began to knead the muscles there. "Your neck is hard as stone. What troubles you?"

Tyrion could not see his fingers in front of his face, but he ticked his woes off on them all the same. "My wife. My sister. My nephew. My father. The Tyrells." He had to move to his other hand. "Varys. Pycelle. Littlefinger. The Red Viper of Dorne." He had come to his last finger. "The face that stares back out of the water when I wash."

Shae kissed his maimed scarred nose. "A brave face. A kind and good face. I wish I could see it now."

"Better you than me." Tyrion sat. "We have a long day before us, both of us. You shouldn't have blown out that taper. How are we to find our clothing?"

She laughed. "Maybe we'll have to go naked."

And if we're seen, my lord father will hang you.

Sexual shame is a big part of Tyrion’s narrative, something that has been drilled into him by Tywin. Shae’s carefree nature is put into contrast with the limitations and insecurities Tyrion experiences over his disabled body, both with regard to Sansa and Shae, and his insecurity about being seen naked once the sun comes up.

Interestingly, Tyrion’s insecurity about being seen naked is not present in A Game of Thrones, where he pretty casually walks out of his tent on the Green Fork without putting on clothes and pees outside while having a conversation with Bronn. I used to assume this was because he does not feel sexual shame at Bronn seeing him naked, as he is not sexually attracted to Bronn. Or that it’s just one of those things where Martin had not yet established his characters wholly, and just used this moment to show the casual nudity that is part of the “historical” feel he is going for in his novels. But also it could be that Tyrion’s sexual shame has increased from AGOT to ASOS, due to the events that transpire. By ADWD, Tyrion is afraid to take off his clothes to even bathe, and that’s one of our first introductions to Lemore.

I need to bathe. His boy's clothes stank, and so did he. The others bathed in the river, but thus far he had not joined them. Some of the turtles he'd seen in the shallows looked big enough to bite him in half. Bonesnappers, Duck called them. Besides, he did not want Lemore to see him naked.

Tyrion’s insecurity over his body is centered on Lemore, who he is attracted to, and Lemore is also juxtaposed in contrast to Tyrion’s sexual repression, as she bathes in the river every morning, and does not seem to care who watches her. Indeed, she is aware of Tyrion watching her and openly teases him about it.

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

"A wicked dream, no doubt. You are a wicked man. Will you pray with me and ask forgiveness for your sins?"

Only if we pray in the fashion of the Summer Isles. "No, but do give the Maiden a long, sweet kiss for me."

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning. "Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

The gods must have been drunk when they got to me. The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

Tyrion’s open about lusting after Lemore, and doesn’t try to hide it, and in fact seems to want Lemore to know it.

Tyrion’s being openly lecherous, in the way that echoes his behavior when he is playing up the way people see him, as the depraved dwarf. But it seems to be a performance that hides his own insecurity and trauma. He openly stares at her as she is bathing but won’t join in himself. The way he feels about her reads like he’s dissociating, especially in the observations he doesn’t say aloud. He seems like he’s trying to gross her out the way he does to the slave at Illyrio’s, but her response is to give as good as she gets, something which Tyrion seems not to expect, and he constantly deflects any positive things she says about him.

Like, she’s totally flirting with him, and he seems completely unaware of it, even while he fantasizes about her topping him.

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?”

"I missed the ridgeback." I was watching the naked woman.

"I am sad for you." Lemore slipped her robe over her head. "I know you only rise so early in hopes of seeing turtles."

"I like to watch the sun come up as well." It was like watching a maiden rising naked from her bath. Some might be prettier than others, but every one was full of promise. "The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells."

Septa Lemore laughed. Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

Good lord, y’all. Tyrion’s silently like “when will this milf sit on my face” and Lemore is like “let’s have a sexually charged conversation about turtles” and Tyrion’s like “I have no idea how to deal with this scenario but I think I like it?”

He also says that he doesn’t want to know her, which...feels like when Tyrion always lies to himself. Again, he’s trying to inhabit the role of the sexually deviant dwarf without getting attached, but does he really not want to know her? Tyrion repeatedly says throughout ADWD that he doesn’t want love from anyone anymore, but that’s the biggest lie of all.

"You have a gift for making men smile," Septa Lemore told Tyrion as he was drying off his toes. "You should thank the Father Above. He gives gifts to all his children."

"He does," he agreed pleasantly. And when I die, please let them bury with me a crossbow, so I can thank the Father Above for his gifts the same way I thanked the father below.

Again he deflects when Lemore compliments him, which is...what Tyrion does in all his relationships. But he does admit that he enjoys spending time with her, and spends a good amount of time trying to figure her out, for someone who says he doesn’t want to know her.

His doublet was divided down the middle; the left side was purple velvet with bronze studs; the right, yellow wool embroidered in green floral patterns. His breeches were similarly split; the right leg was solid green, the left leg striped in red and white. One of Illyrio's chests had been packed with a child's clothing, musty but well made. Septa Lemore had slit each garment apart, then sewn them back together, joining half of this to half of that to fashion a crude motley. Griff had even insisted that Tyrion help with the cutting and sewing. No doubt he meant for it to be humbling, but Tyrion enjoyed the needlework. Lemore was always pleasant company, despite her penchant for scolding him whenever he said something rude about the gods. 

And Lemore seems to enjoy Tyrion’s presence, and openly banters with him throughout this section of the book, challenging his nihilism, sexual repression, and self-loathing. She’s also the one who cares for him after he is nearly drowned in the stonemen attack.

He was on the Shy Maid, Tyrion saw, under a scratchy blanket that smelled of vinegar. The Sorrows are behind us. It was just a dream I dreamed as I was drowning. "Why do I stink of vinegar?"

"Lemore has been washing you with it. Some say it helps prevent the greyscale. I am inclined to doubt that, but there was no harm in trying. It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it."

[...]

Lemore emerged on deck with the prince in tow. When she saw Tyrion, she rushed across the deck to hug him. "The Mother is merciful. We have prayed for you, Hugor.

"You did, at least. "I won't hold that against you."

I think it scares Tyrion that Lemore cares about him, because he still deeply believes that he is unlovable, and Lemore directly challenges that. But he contradicts his own declaration that he doesn’t want to know her. In fact, he’s intensely interested in knowing who she really is.

Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa?

In short, Lemore is an older, experienced woman who not only seems to care for Tyrion, she is openly sexual and is able to go toe to toe with him both intellectually and sexually. Also, like, there are so many different kinky possibilities here. I need fic of this like, yesterday.

[sailorshadzter]

a stranger’s eyes that somehow look familiar.

                  I know that when it's you, I'll remember.  So wait for me. 

               I swear I'll find you, climbing every wall that hides you 

Jon Snow is dreaming.

Dreaming of a maiden with ivory skin and fire kissed hair; with eyes so blue they could rival that of any sea, of any sky.

So why is it when he meets Alayne Stone, the dark haired and beautiful bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish, he's instantly captivated? It’s as if he's meeting someone he's known all his life and Jon can’t help but to fall in love.

But the dreams.... The dreams do not stop.

The maiden in his dreams continues to call out to him, her voice like honey, so soft and smooth. Despite his ever growing feelings for Alayne, he can't forget the other.

When Alayne's true identity is revealed, everything in Jon's life changes and suddenly, he is thrust into a world where the only thing that matters to him is her. He will go to any length to ensure the safety of the one he loves.

I’ll protect you, I promise.

The air smells of blue winter roses. 

He's standing at the edge of a garden, but the garden is cold and frozen, a wasteland of ice and snow. And yet... His footsteps proprel him forward, towards its center where surely a fountain once stood, but is nothing now. Something there is calling out to him, a voice, soft... So soft... "Jon..." It's his name in a voice that is sweeter than honey, a voice he longs to hear speak again. "Jon..." 

There she is.

She stands illuminated by the moonlight, the pale light threading through her auburn hair like ribbons. His finger twitches, he wants to touch it, he wants to feel it against his skin. As if attuned to his presence, she's turning, and that's when Jon sees the crown of blue roses held in her hand.

Somewhere, a wolf howls, long and lonely. 

Rosy lips curve with the syllable of his name, blue eyes radiant in the glimmer of moonlight. She's there, just out of his reach as he extends out his arm, fingers grasping at the expanse of air between them. "Find me, please..." She whispers and that's when he notices the tears that gather upon her lashes. He's so close now, he can almost brush the tears from her skin, but just before he can...

He's awake.

Jon sighs, sitting up from the furs on his bed, rubbing his eyes as somewhere in the distance, the morning call sounds. The air is biting cold as he slides out from the heavy blankets, so he tugs on his discarded clothes, his cloak which was draped over the chair nearest the hearth swung on as he stuffs his feet back into his boots. 

It was that dream again.

Not that he's surprised, of course, for it comes and goes so often he sometimes feels strange when he does not have it. He only wishes he knew... Again he sighs, thinking of the beautiful redheaded woman of the dream, who's face he's come to know as well as his own. She's been calling out to him all these years and Jon only wishes he could find her. Somehow, despite it being just a dream, Jon knows she's real. He knows she's out there waiting for him.

"Your grace," he's joined as he stalks from his tent by Tormund, rolling his eyes at the man's greeting. Despite his title as king, Jon does not expect his men to treat him any differently than they once had, though most respect their young king enough that they cannot help but to address him differently. "A raven arrived for you." Tormund hands the letter over to him as they approached the center of their campsite. 

Together they step inside the main tent, where across a long table is a map of the North, chairs haphazardly placed around the space. Jon sinks into one and turns the letter over, the sight of the seal on the back surprising him. "From the Eyrie," Jon comments before breaking said seal, opening the folded up parchment so he can read what words have been written inside. "It would seem we've been invited to the Vale," he says after a moment, glancing up to meet Tormund's clear blue eyes. "The young lord is to be married." 

"Oh, what will I wear?" Tormund scoffs, his turn to roll his eyes as another man steps inside the tent. "You hear that Edd, we've been invited to a young lord's wedding." Edd, a Knight's Watch man, chuckles, thinking it to be a joke at first. When he realizes Tormund is not jesting, he turns a blank stare at his king, who tosses the letter atop the table. 

"What for?" Edd asks as he takes the seat across from Jon, glancing from him to Tormund. It had been nearly two years since the Night's Watch man (and several others) joined his ranks among the Free Folk and Edd had quickly become one of Jon's closest companions. Back then, Jon had met with the Night's Watch in hopes of rebuilding a bond between the North and the wildlings, but their leader, Alliser Thorne, had no intention of peace with the Free Folk. "I don't see what a noble wants with us." That was true. It was not often, if ever, that the Free Folk or their king met with any of the Westeros nobility. 

"I've heard that Lord Baelish is a dangerous man," he gestures at the letter, indicating the man he spoke of was the author, before continuing. "A ruthless, stop at nothing to get what he wants, sort of man." Jon can't think of a reason why this Petyr Baelish would invite him and his men to his ward's wedding, but he is smart enough to know there must be an underlying reason. 

"Then let's find out what he wants." Tormund grins, really not able to pass up a chance to fuck around with the nobility. And their women. 

Jon glances from both men, his two most trusted of comrades, the two men always at his side... And then he nods. 

[ x x x ]

Her quiet life has become anything but quiet. 

The Vale has become a swarm of activity, what with the sudden decision to marry young Sweetrobin to the wealthy Manderly girl, who's father was Warden of White Harbor. She might only be a stupid girl, but she's already begun to understand the motives behind Lord Baelish's decision, she's lived with him long enough now to see through his false smiles and spoken truths. Really, when she thinks about it, she's not certain anything he's ever said has been true.

"Alayne?"

That's my name now, she reminds herself, turning to face the man that has approached her on the stairs. She's been standing at the window there on the landing, overlooking the courtyard that is a frenzy of activity even now, so late into the afternoon. It's Lord Baelish standing there with his sickening smile, his eyes looking her over before resting upon her face. "I have been looking for you, sweetheart." He gestures for her to follow after him and so she does, climbing up the next flight of stairs that lead towards the corridor where her own rooms sit. "I have something for you," he goes on as they step through the door and into her chamber, where sure enough at the center of the room stands several things that had not been there earlier that morning.

It was, to her her delight, several bolts of fabric; one in a beautiful slate gray, another in the softest rose. One in yellow and two in shades of blue. There was even one in a shimmering white. The last was black and even from there, she could tell it was of the highest quality. She turns a wide eyed stare towards Baelish who only smiles, gesturing for her to approach the fabric. "I thought you might like to make a new dress for the wedding," his voice is as soft as the silk she fingers, knelt down on the floor among the fabric. "There will be plenty of options for you," she know he's smiling before she turns back around to face him. "I have invited the most eligible of Northern bachelors to this wedding. All for you." 

Now, she's understanding even more. 

She's known all along that Littlefinger has not rescued her for her own benefit- no, even she wasn't that ignorant. No... She knows what Baelish wants. He wants her name, he wants her home, he wants the North. Though she lives as Alayne now, someday, she will reclaim what was hers, including her name. The ghost of the girl she left behind in King's Landing, she would come back as whole again someday. "Who have you already chosen?" She can play this game, too. 

Baelish smirks; this slip of a girl proves yet again, she is much smarter than he ever took her to be. "Ramsay Bolton, naturally." He answers as she turns back the fabrics, her fingers delicately tracing the detailing of the shimmery white velvet. "He already sits in Winterfell, give him a son and your place is secure once more." That is the easy option and the one that suits him best. He would accept a handsome payment from the Bolton's for her and when the time was right... The bastard born Ramsay would die, leaving Winterfell in her hands once again. Then... It would be his turn in her marriage bed. When the North was his... Well, the rest of his plan came later, when this first stage was completed. "But, there is always the other option..." He trails off, shaking his head, as if he does not mean to continue.

"Which is...?" She's back on her feet, holding steady to his gaze.

He doesn't like this option as much, but it certainly could be fun. And in the end, Petyr knows his limits. "The King-Beyond-the-Wall," he says as if this is answer enough. "He is a man by the name of Jon Snow, the man who wants to unite the wildlings with the North." A bastard born in the heart of the North, not much is known about Jon Snow aside from his renowned sword skills in the heart of the battlefield. Though, there was one thing that Petyr knows about the man, something he thinks many in the world would care to know. 

The truth.

"The king of the wildlings?" She asks, blinking in surprise. "What could a marriage with him possibly provide me?" She has heard the rumors of the Free Folk, wild men with a violent appetite, more beast than man, some even might say. 

"A man with an army five thousand strong, he could storm the walls of Winterfell and reclaim what is yours without fail." He replies, barely able to contain his delight as he watches recognition spread across her face. Perhaps a war for Winterfell would be more fun than he thought. "A man in love will do anything," he goes on, taking a step closer to where she stands. "A beautiful woman is powerful, but a loved woman? It is incomparable." Baelish shakes his head, smirking slightly. "Earn a man's love, Alayne, and he will ride into war or even hellfire to win you back your birthright." 

It could be hers again, not her husband's. And if truly, somewhere out there, Arya and Bran and Rickon lived... Then it could be theirs again as well. They could be a family, a pack. No more lies, no more hiding. She could shed the name Alayne and step back into the name she's always known. 

"Thank you... for the fabric," she says with a small smile of her own. 

She can play this game, too.

[ x x x ]

It takes a fortnight for Jon and his small party to make their way from the deep Northern forest, just inside the wall, to where the Bloody Gate stands. There they were greeted with a guide that led them up the steep pass along the high road, up until they climb the stairs that lead up to the double doors of the Eyrie. 

The castle is formidable, so high in the mountains and with tough terrain surrounding it, there was a reason it was considering impregnable to attack. Jon has never seen such a place and he must pause, if only for a moment, to take in the sight of it. 

As they step inside the doors, they are met with a small group; a young boy stands at the forefront, well dressed in finery of blue. He cannot be more than fourteen, though his is scrawny, sickly almost, and Jon knows this must be the young lord, Robin Arryn, who's wedding he is there to attend. "Your grace, welcome to the Eyrie," it is not the boy who speaks, but rather, a slim, older man that stands at his shoulder. "I am Lord Baelish," he bows, more in greeting than from respect, but Jon inclines his head all the same. "This is Robin Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie, my ward." He gestures towards the boy who has already sulked off towards an older woman Jon assumes is his governess. "And this is my daughter, Alayne." He turns this time towards a young woman that has appeared at his side.

Just like that, Jon's world ceases to spin.

He's stuck in the moment of their eyes first meeting; he's seen those eyes before. Those beautiful blue eyes, like the color of the sky just before a summer rain. Eyes he's dreamed of countless times before. Jon sweeps his gaze across her features- familiar, but the hair... It is not the fire kissed hair he's seen in his dreams, but rather hair like the blackest of coals, a stark contrast to the soft ivory of her skin. "Your grace," she dimples prettily when she smiles, offering him a curtsy as she approaches where he stands. "It is a pleasure to meet you," her voice is soft and slow, a voice he would like to hear more of. 

"The pleasure is mine," he replies a moment later, finally finding his voice. His world is slowly beginning to spin again. He cannot get over the striking similarities between this young woman and the one he's been dreaming of. If not for the hair, he would have thought this to be her... But all the same... Jon cannot help but to feel a pull towards her. Though Lord Baelish engages him with conversation, offering him further into the palace, he cannot help but to be thinking about her. He cannot help but to steal glances at her, sometimes surprised to find she's already looking at him. 

When they part ways and Jon is shown to the rooms that will be his during their stay, he sinks onto the soft bed, already again consumed with thoughts of the young woman. Alayne, he thinks, wondering why it felt as if such a name did not suit her. She had disappeared after supper, Baelish explaining that she was working on a gown for the upcoming wedding, and had not returned down before the rest of the palace retired. He had hoped to see her again, even for a moment. 

[ x x x ]

In her own rooms, she's pacing.

"I don't understand." She's murmuring, shaking her head, her hair swinging with every sharp turn she makes. 

"My lady..." It's Shae, her ever loyal companion, brought with her from King's Landing thanks to Baelish. If she could thank him for anything he's ever done for her, it would be saving Shae. "What is it?" The young woman turns and focuses her eyes upon her, the blue gaze penetrating, eyes that had seen more than any person ever should. As always, her heart aches for her lady, for the girl she's grown to love more than anyone in the world. 

"Jon Snow..." Alayne trails off, sinking onto the edge of her bed, hands clutching to the folds of her white nightgown. "He looks like my father." He was most certainly Stark born, she would know those eyes anywhere. They were her father's eyes, they were Arya's eyes. "He has Stark blood." She whispers, a strange feeling welling up within her. In truth, the moment their eyes had met, she had felt the fire beginning it's burn. It was warm and it was gentle, filling her up with something like comfort, something she might even call safety. She can't remember the last time she felt something like that. 

And she wants to feel it again.

[danwhobrowses]

10 Things that would’ve Improved the Game of Thrones Final Season (For Me)

So it came to my attention that recently it was the First Anniversary of the Final Episode of HBO’s ‘Game of Thrones’. I was taken back to my memory of the BinGOT thing we had at work where we all made predictions of who lived, died and ‘won’ from the last ep (I was in 2nd or 3rd place). And since my mother has started binging it during quarantine I thought in the spirit of that environment I’d discuss a little what I would’ve changed in the final season.

Spoilers for Game of Thrones Season 8 Below, if you haven’t watched it then you’re better off not reading this frankly, if you haven’t been spoiled already at least.

So for starters, the final episode is not the worst tv I’ve ever seen, it just was a sloppy final season in general that really didn’t satisfy the 2 years of hype waiting for it, it’s like with the How I Met Your Mother finale, but that annoyance being more than one episode. But without further ado here are 10 things I would’ve changed about the final season Note: Most will involve the finale. The first 2 episodes were great.

10 - Ten Episodes The Long Night was 1 episode, the LONG NIGHT. A Culmination of the army of living and dead confined into one episode. One of the main problems with the final season was that the pacing was a bit rushed, it made character progression seem unnatural and dropped long-built plot points like water through a sieve. With 10 episodes, which was not a big ask given that this was the usual number and the gravitas of it being the final season would easily allow it to be green lit. D&D immediately backed themselves into a corner by giving a limit they weren’t used to and too much content to put in.

9 - Bite of the Spider Varys’ death was an upsetting start of the penultimate episode, while I would’ve loved him to have survived start to end and potentially ended on top (because he’s never shown to be as cunning or dangerous as he is in the books) there was some sense in him dying. However, Varys was shown sending a letter before his arrest and that never came back up, the finale could’ve used this by revealing to the public Jon’s true heritage, which would’ve immediately undermined Dany’s claim and set up a better conflict. Also we never knew what the voice in the flames said to him...

8 - A More Fitting Long Night While everyone probably popped hard for Arya killing the Night King, myself included, the nature of it was rather abrupt. I don’t think anyone can buy that she sneaked past that entire army. I do feel like the Night King was just a MacGuffin for the Long Night, given that he did so little in the actual fight. This is where a multi-part Long Night would’ve been key as well, going from the Night King being immune to Dragonfire to dying a bit later was not a good pace, and we lacked any conflict with Jon like we teased twice, Arya probably wasn’t the most poetic person to kill him either but GoT seldom did poetic deaths (Joffrey, Cersei, Euron). While the Long Night had exemplary deaths like Theon, Lyanna, Jorah and Beric, the Night King fell among the ranks of Melisandre and Edd in terms of meh deaths. The Long Night should’ve been a bigger bloodbath than it was, half the Dothraki somehow survived remember, we didn’t get to see Ghost fight at all either, no giant spiders, a lot of the tension was lost with the way some fight scenes were filmed; it was too easy to read between the lines and not enough characters had any true ‘oh god this person could die’ scenes.

7 - Resolution for the Characters we didn’t See and Plots unresolved With so much funding and finality in the show, there felt like there could’ve been more stuff that could’ve been resolved; what was the Quaith’s prophecy about? What really happened with the Doom of Valyria? Why does Dragonglass and Valyrian steel kill White Walkers? What is Daario doing after Dany died? Were the Faceless Men really that okay with letting Arya wander around knowing their skillset? Nobody hired them to help in the war either. What happened to the remnants of that warlock dude who stole the baby dragons, they sent one scorpion and that’s it, what happens with the Little Birds now that they’re leaderless? Who was Azor Ahai? What were the spirals about? There are a lot of questions the show kinda just, ignored. 

6 - The Mad Queen So, Dany going from ‘I’ll stop if they surrender’ to ‘Burn them fucking all’ was abrupt for many, the majority of fans were not ready or willing to accept turning on their Kaleesi in just one episode. While I could see the conclusion coming from being jumped, losing another ‘child’ and her closest friend as well as her new boyfriend being her nephew and a legitimate threat to her legitimacy despite already pledging fealty, Dany’s descent could’ve used more time, and less naivety.  While the death of the dragon was a huge shock, the idiocy fell on Dany in thinking that Cersei would play fair and wouldn’t try to occupy Dragonstone while she abandoned it. There also fell inconsistency when the same fleet and rows of Scorpion crossbows suddenly got Stormtrooper aim during ‘The Bells’. Euron is a renowned sailor, he ruined a Dornish fleet in a previous season, he may be an annoying bastard but you have to treat his naval tactics with a bit more respect - and make Dany less stupid with Cersei doing Cersei things. A lot of people definitely needed more time in buying the idea that Dany had lost her cool and that she blamed all of Westeros to justify burning everyone unashamedly.

5 - Proper Redemption We all know who we’re talking about. Jaime, Jaime, Jaime. In the end he just proved Olenna’s point didn’t he? And his turn away from redemption was only to serve as an example point for Tyrion to use to convince Jon to kill Dany. Jaime didn’t have to live, but he didn’t have to die rushing to Cersei’s rescue, or even due to Euron stabbing him. If anything Jaime should’ve died with some Honour, to be the inverse of Ned as he was presented in Season 1.

4 - My Lady does not have to mean M’Lady This is probably the most selfish ones of my 10 but as a shipper at my very heart and soul I wanted one, at least one, ship to survive this entire turmoil and Gendry and Arya were that couple. We almost had it as well, but then for some mad reason D&D decided that Gendry, despite literally saying that “none of it will be worthwhile if you’re not with me”, stayed in Storm’s End. Arya’s character endgame was right in her venturing off not being bound by the fact that she’s a noble, but Gendry spent a lot of time not caring that he was of Kingsblood to basically being his Father’s son. He’ll rule Storm’s End, marry some woman to have kids, but he’ll still have fallen into the same pit as King Robert did. It would’ve been much more satisfying and hopeful if Gendry abandoned the titles and land he never wanted or needed to accompany someone he loves and who loves him back on an adventure into the unknown. She’s not a ‘lady’ if she’s only marrying a blacksmith and love is the death of duty.

3 - Sansa is NOT Smart (and gets what she actually deserves) Right. So I really, really didn’t like Sansa. Like, I get it, she got held hostage by the Lannisters, watched her father get beheaded, got accused of murder, learned that her brother and mother died, watched the guy who fancied her mother and kissed her kill her aunt and then got effectively sold to an abuser in an arranged marriage. But Sansa is not the smartest player in the game, it was annoying that they tried to portray her as one, she had one idea that anyone could’ve told you ‘don’t be stupid against Ramsay Bolton’. She spent all of Season 8 mainly giving side eye like a petty bitch, completely trying to undermine Dany despite the two being very very similar (remember Dany was raped, sold off in an arranged marriage and watched family members get killed too) to the point where she was conspiring for Jon to usurp her. And in reality she took her ball and left, she was so pissy that the leaders didn’t pick her to be Queen of Westeros that she literally pointed out her own brother’s infertility, claimed that the North wouldn’t bow to a monarch, then declared herself Queen.  Hide the ‘Yas Queen’ goggles for a sec, this wasn’t empowering she was throwing her own brother under the bus because she wanted to be queen, and she learned far too much from Littlefinger and Cersei’s playbook to actually be a just one. The North is allowed to be an independent nation, but Sansa’s ‘victory’ was more earned by virtue of a lot of shit happened to her than her actually demonstrating qualities to be queen.

2 - Bran Stark can’t come to the Phone right now... While we’re on the subject of Stark children not being fit rulers, Bran. What a cockamamie decision that was. I was 100% behind the destruction of the Iron Throne, but the chorus of laughter with a democratic rule was a bit of a slap in the face. Of all the choices though, Bran had to be near the bottom, it felt completely unearned that he spent literal seasons disconnecting from the world even to the point where he told Meera and Sam that Bran Stark is no longer here anymore only for Bran Stark to magically resurface when a crown is in waiting. I think it defeats the whole Three Eyed Raven thing too, the guy isn’t really one for the people, which is the problem every other ruler before him failed at. If you can’t pick a just person to lead, then why not a council instead? Just using Bran was a poor and messy decision.

1 - THE MOTHERFUCKING VALONQUAR One of the few expectations across all of Game of Thrones was the wondering over whether Cersei was gonna get what’s coming to her, the Maggy the Frog prophecy was going along quite well up until the Valonquar bit, where the younger sibling that was going to choke the life out of her was: bricks. BRICKS! Of all the long-winded prophecy foreshadowings to drop this one was the worst, Cersei (and Jaime) died in underwhelming, thoughtless fashion, the lack of fanfare on killing off one of the best and most ‘love to hate’ villains in the show only cemented the fact that the finale was not able to live up to the hype. True, most of these are small changes, but it’s worth remembering that there was some good coming out of the final season and it was the lack of those little things and attention to detail that led to the season ending on an underwhelming note.

We did however get a good ton of memes out of it, and at work a long-winded discussion on who should get the ‘winner’ 5-points (compared to the 1 correct points) since we had technically agreed that the 5 points goes to “whoever correctly guesses who sits on the Iron Throne” XD I still can’t believe I was right in Drogon melting the throne though that was one in a million

[zalrb]

Do you have any posts about your opinion on the got main characters?

Hmm, I don’t think I have one where I discuss what I think about the characters in a single post, more like I list favourite characters and favourite scenes and best actors, so here it goes.

Robb Stark

The reason why Robb was my favourite is actually pretty simple, I thought he was a badass – and Richard Madden was really good at radiating a calm intensity which added to that persona — until he ruined it by being basic. I loved his dialogue, I loved his strategy, I understood why the North would rally behind him, he was compelling onscreen, he was great to watch and then Talisa happened and I’m still salty about it,

Cersei Lannister

Besides the fact that Lena Heady is a fucking boss, I like Cersei because she’s honest and the framing of her character is honest, she makes no excuses and no excuses are made for her and that doesn’t mean she isn’t a complex character.

I believe she truly loves her family and will do everything in her power to make sure her family is safe and keeps its status, it just so happens that by doing those things she also destroys her family.

In relation to that I respect that she doesn’t half-ass, she goes big or she goes home and her going big destroys everything.

I have always said that Cersei was [season 1] Sansa before she was Cersei, she was idealistic and naive (which does not suggest that Sansa is now Cersei because Sansa is everything Cersei wasn’t)

and then Robert hated her or didn’t care about her, her father undervalued her and used her as a pawn and  she feltlimited and constrained, that she wasn’t living up to her full potential because no one took her seriously

and she had to sit by and watch these men try to rule the Seven Kingdoms whether it was Robert who didn’t care or Joffery who was tyrannical or Tommen who was gullible

and she just finally takes it for herself. But I also find her to be a truly terrible human being who can be short-sighted and reactionary and just difficult for absolutely no reason.

Sansa Stark

I mean I’ve been doing in-depth breakdowns of her character for weeks so you can find them here:

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184463381555/what-do-you-think-of-sansas-character-overall-and

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184787962300/im-not-tryna-sht-on-sansa-i-just-have-a

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184790549330/agree-with-the-other-anon-sansa-is-being-a-ruler

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184485128465/hey-zal-whats-your-take-on-the-idea-that-sansa

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184795134250/about-sansa-trusting-littlefinger-dd-made-it-so

Jon Snow

To be honest, I didn’t particularly care for Jon until season six after he was resurrected. Prior to that, I just found something slightly annoying about him, I think his earnestness combined with his naivete irked me but having seen where the show took him in season 8, I’m a lot happier with who Jon was in the earlier seasons because at least he had a personality but Jon (like Arya) is definitely a character I like better in relation to other certain characters. For instance, I like seeing Jon interact with Sansa partly because Kit and Sophie make great scene partners but also because I find interesting things happen when they’re together.

In season one I did like seeing Jon interact with Tyrion although we got way too much of that in the finale because who CARES for the same reason.

I essentially like characters who challenge Jon because I find Jon more interesting when he’s met with people who question him or make him question, an exception to that would be his relationship with Sam, which was just pure sweetness.

Theon Greyjoy

I’ve mentioned before that I never particularly cared for Theon, not when he was a little shit, not when he was Reek (I mean I felt bad for him but an objective, damn this is A LOT sympathy) and not when he transformed into a better Theon  but I absolutely loved watching Alfie Allen play Theon. I thought Alfie was brilliant as that character, there was so much nuance to his performance:

I realize it’s because Alfie manages to do (not to the same extent) what I feel like kdrama actors can do, which is show a wealth of emotion in his eyes and expression

He holds the emotion in his body so one of my favourite Theon moments is actually when he kills Ser Rodrik because you can see the adrenaline and the agitation and disbelief at his own actions in Alfie which is why the camera lingers on him instead of doing different cuts or angles, we just watch him in this moment

Or even just before he’s betrayed

He looks ready to die, he’s got a manic gleam, he believes his own speech, he embodies that.

Arya Stark

Like I mentioned above, Arya is a character who I think works best when she’s in the right dynamic. For instance, I liked her relationship with Tywin

and I liked her relationship with Sandor

I think Maisie shines best when she’s with particular scene partners and I also think Arya as a character is more compelling to watch when she has someone to riff of of otherwise, outside of that, I don’t find her to be a particularly compelling character and for the most part I find her obnoxious. She has her moments but I’m rather indifferent to her.

Tyrion

My favourite Tyrion is seasons 1-3 Tyrion, his dialogue was fantastic back then (I’m big on dialogue) and I mean, frankly, it is Tyrion in his prime

we see him clever, we see him play the game with Cersei

(Lena and Peter have FANTASTIC chemistry, I loved their scenes, although that doesn’t change when they finally do get to interact again, one of my favourite scenes between them is in season 7)

and Littlefinger and Pycelle etc. I just found Tyrion a lot more compelling before The Purple Wedding and definitely before Daenerys when he just becomes inept and almost bumbling tbh.

Daenerys Targaryen

I never liked her character and again, I’ve broken down why for the past few weeks so you can find them here:

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184840125235/this-show-destroyed-a-great-female-character

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184904471095/all-im-saying

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184853496740/ngl-i-was-buying-into-the-whole-from-broodmare-to

https://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/184354340265/daenerys-saying-that-shes-fighting-jons-war-and

Jaime Lannister

Jaime is another character I’ve been indifferent to. I’ve mentioned before that I found him more interesting when he was more caustic and sardonic because i felt like he had more interesting things to say with that acidic bite

and also more entertaining to watch

The more the series went on, the less I cared about him although the more I did appreciate Nikolaj’s acting because I mention it in another post but his eyes are expressive and I think he gives insight into what Jaime’s actually thinking/feeling through his eyes and that’s something I noticed later on.

I think that’s all I’ll do for now. If you’re interested in what I thought about Ned and Catelyn and Tywin etc. maybe I’ll do it later, lol.

[biichama]

Reading A Song of Ice and Fire: A Clash of Kings After Book Report

So yeah, I think I liked this one better than AGOT? Not that A Game of Thrones wasn't good--it definitely was--but I think George found a little more of his groove with this one. Also, I didn't have any adolescent reading trauma associations with it the way I did with AGOT, which helped.

Also, zero percent of this book took place in my number one least favorite location in Westeros, the Eyrie, so I have to give George props for that as well. Thank you, George. I know you're going to make me go back later because I'm spoiled from fanfiction, but the reprieve is appreciated.

Anyway, I promised another set of commentary on the POVs, so let's go.

Prologue

MAESTER CRESSEN YOU WILL ALWAYS BE FAMOUS TO ME. But no, like, seriously, I think I mentioned this while I was liveblogging, but I am always impressed with how George can get you to empathize and care about characters over the course of a single chapter. And I do care about everyone on Dragonstone now--I care quite a lot about them. Mostly because Maester Cressen cared. His sad, sullen boy...

(I appreciate that Melisandre gave him the chance to back out, even if he didn't take it.)

But yeah, George did a really good job of making me care about Team Stannis, who I don't think I would have quite so much if he hadn't had Maester Cressen's POV and later Davos', so good job, George.

Arya

So first of all, I love Arya a lot and have since the very beginning. Her chapters are always very solid and she feels like a realistically drawn kid put in horrible, terrible, traumatic circumstances. And she's a really good person to view how much all the warring in the Riverlands is fucking it up for the ordinary people who live there.

I was surprised by a lot of little things in her chapters? Like I knew some of the broad strokes through fandom osmosis: Yoren dies along the way, she ends up in Harrenhall, she makes friends with Gendry, she meets Jaqen H'ghar, she develops a Kill List, Hot Pie is there? But the ways that everything happen surprised me. Weasel soup, especially, surprised me. I had no fucking clue that Arya would instrumental in getting Harrenhall back into Northern hands.

Also I was very surprised that the whole cupbearer thing only lasted a single chapter? I guess that's because I had the impression that she spent half a season as one on the show. Actually, the fact she doesn't get to Harrenhall until Arya VI surprised me too, because I'd had some vague idea that she'd be there almost the entire book.

Sansa

MY POOR TRAPPED GIRL. God, I also love her so, so much. Both Stark sisters are really good and you can't make me choose between them. She's just so clever and nobody notices it, because they haven't realized that she's not the same callow, naive kid that she was before her dad was arrested.

She's also very much still a middle school kid (as is Joffrey in the worst possible way) and it's enough to make some of Dontos' bullshit hella uncomfortable. Stop giving her slobbery cheek kisses, dude. Gross. Combined with the perennial weird vibes between her and Littlefinger and it's like she's just a magnet for older men being gross. Poor kid.

(I do not blame her for not leaving with the Hound, though, because he was drunk as a fucking skunk and like... that whole scene where she finds him in her room had such bad vibes and like normally he's the guy that I feel Sansa's most safe around, because his bark is worse than his bite with her. But not just then. I wouldn't have gone with him either.)

Tyrion

So like I've heard that ACOK is really the book where Tyrion gets his chance to shine as, like, a politician and yeah, I get it. He's very good and very competent at his job and it was delightful to see him be clever and tricksy and competent. He's a very fun perspective to be in, definitely, and I get why he's everyone's favorite character and George's special boy. Like okay I don't think he's my favorite? But that's nothing against Tyrion. I still like him a lot.

We get more Tysha context and it's so goddamn sad and even without the stuff I've been spoiled on, you could tell that she did love him, that it didn't matter how they met, because she did love them during the time they were husband and wife. Also, god, they were babies when it happened.

Speaking of Tyrion's girlfriends, I was really surprised by how, like, monogamous he was with Shae, because that is not the impression you get of this guy in fandom, but it turns out that when he commits to a woman he commits. And Shae's kind of blatantly in it for the money and security, but like you can see her getting charmed by him... but then TYRION X happens and he slaps her and you can almost see her mental gears realigning on him. Something deep inside her went fuck you at him in that moment and it's gonna have repercussions.

(Also, and I hate to say this, but while he's not in love with Cersei the way Jamie is, there's definitely some weird undercurrents in his interactions with her that make me wonder about the Lannisters more.)

Bran

MY BOY. MY DARLING BOY. I love him so much. And because I love him, I love Winterfell and all the people there. Like I've heard that people find his chapters boring and pointless and skip them on rereads and I'm like why??? Because Bran's chapters, where you get to know the people of Winterfell and the other people in the North are what make you care about them when everything goes to shit. They're what makes you want to throw Ramsay Snow down a goddamn fucking well.

So yeah, I liked his chapters. They were good. He is good. I hate Ramsay so much more now that I've met Lady Hornwood and she was a real person who was in love with Ser Rodrick and SHE ATE HER FINGERS BECAUSE OF HIM. GOD I HATE RAMSAY SNOW.

(Also the Reeds are great and I am looking forward to seeing more of them even as I am very much sad to be missing our number one feral child Rickon.)

Jon

So yeah, Jon's storyline remains a very good traditional Hero's Journey and I am enjoying it for what it is. I don't have as much commentary on his stuff not so much because I don't like it, but because it's just very much in genre? His stuff is where this is most like a normal fantasy novel, I guess.

I will say that, like, fandom osmosis fucking fooled me once again. Because I thought he'd be spending at least half the book undercover with the Wildlings and that literally does not happen until his last fucking chapter.

Catelyn

MY GIRL. Catelyn chapters always make me happy to read. (She's like Bran that way.) And starting from Catelyn II, her chapters also have Brienne, who I have been waiting eagerly for ever since I began to read these books, because Brienne of Tarth is half the reason I ended up tumbling headlong into this fandom.

(I went into it a little more in my previous book report, but basically after being somewhat traumatized by Bran II in AGOT when I was a teenager, I refused to read further for the next twenty-five years, until taking a chance on a P&P fusion fic with Jamie/Brienne endeared me to the pairing enough to read more. Eventually I gave in and actually started reading the books themselves, starting with Dunk and Egg to ease me into it.)

But yeah, Cat continues to be great and she also continues to not do shit by half, which is one of the things I like best in a character. Catelyn VII and the conversation with Jaime was a fucking highlight and I keep wondering what it would be like to read these books without being spoilered to hell and back, because the way that chapter ends. It's just good. It's so good.

Davos

There is only one problem with Davos and that it's so goddamn hard for my ex-Whovian ass not to call him Davros. Which would be completely unfair to the guy, since he's a good fucking guy and not the evil genius who created the Daleks.

But no, seriously, I really like and appreciate Davos, who is a decent, normal dude in the middle of this goddamn clownshow. I like his dynamic with Stannis, which is so good, and if you'll allow me to be Homestuck on main for a second... they're moirails, your honor, they're so goddamn pale for each other it's ridiculous.

But yeah, Davos is good and I liked his chapters a lot and that goddamn shadow baby scene will fucking haunt me, like what the fuck.

Theon

I suspect I would have hated Theon a lot more without being spoiled for his eventual fate and the things he did and didn't do. As it is, I read his chapters with the constant urge to facepalm, over and over again, because goddamnit, Theon. Like it's very clear that the dice were loaded from the start against this man and he's in a lot of situations where there's been no good options, but still. God-fucking-damnit, Theon. You made an already precarious situation just that worse. Also you made me have to read scenes with Ramsay in them and I really hate that guy. Go away, Ramsay.

Daenerys

Honestly, these were mostly pretty solid chapters? Like Daenerys III is less interesting than some of the others, but Daenerys IV and the House of the Undying more than makes up for it. Like seriously, that was such a goddamn banger of a chapter. I think it might be tied with Catelyn VII for personal favorites from the book.

Again, I definitely wonder what it would be like to read these books unspoiled, because like while I was extremely happy to see Barristan popping up in Daenerys V as 'Arstan Whitebeard,' I bet I'd have been even more psyched to be blindsided by it whenever it actually comes up in ASOS or ADWD.

That said, I can still appreciate a good reveal even if it's for something I knew about, so I'm not too worried. And being spoilered is like my emotional shield to prevent me from sadquitting over the Red Wedding next book like I did a quarter century ago over the yeeting of Bran. Speaking of which, I'm glad to be finally starting ASOS now, since it took me a couple days to write up this post, hahaha.

[gascon-en-exil]

Joining the Game Late: S7E7 “The Dragon and the Wolf”

Synopsis

Jaime and Bronn debate the logistics of fighting without cocks. As the meeting at the Dragonpit looms, Jon doesn’t understand urban population density and Cersei works out her kill order. Tyrion, Bronn, Brienne, and Podrick have their various reunions before Sandor sets up CleganeBowl and Dany flies in fifteen minutes late (not yet with Starbucks). Everyone there kind of hates each other, most of all Euron, but there’s a wight in a crate to make everyone pay attention. Euron wants to go hide out on his island, and Cersei wants something that Jon won’t give because he doesn’t understand the concept of lying. Dany and Tyrion rightfully let him have it because they are all fucked and know it, and Tyrion’s private conversation with Cersei goes badly but at least he comes out of it alive because something something pregnancy. Littlefinger teaches Sansa how to assume the worst, which comes back to bite him when the Stark siblings conspire to take care of him for good. Theon and Jon discuss Ned, leading to a last bit of foreshadowing and a victory for the cockless as Theon leaves to save his sister. Cersei fails a second time at having one of her brothers killed as Jaime leaves her. Sam’s back in Winterfell, and he and Bran share notes and discover that Jon is secretly a trueborn Targaryen at exactly the time that he’s on a boat having sex with his aunt. Arya and Sansa have an actual bonding moment, and Bran watches Eastwatch fall to the undead who, as mentioned, have an ice dragon now.

Commentary

Let it be said that, for me at least, this finale largely makes up for the stumbling of the past two episodes. Some of that is purely in hindsight, as is the case with the Winterfell plotline and the setup for Littlefinger’s death. While it’s still very obvious that the writers couldn’t think of anything else to do with him and the use of Bran’s flashback powers to “prove” that Littlefinger betrayed Ned is as silly as everything involving Bran is now, the summary exposure of all the conflict and death that have resulted from the man’s actions is satisfying to hear laid bare. His execution is also satisfying and pathetic, cutting short his disturbing attraction to Catelyn and her daughter with the dismissal it properly deserves. Not a great narrative execution prior to this moment with the show duping the audience along with the target, but no point in complaining about that twice.

Other stories still aren’t great in hindsight, namely the wight hunt which still ran purely on stupidity and action movie logic, but their resolution is still sound. There’s a certain irony to the gathering in the Dragonpit; background exposition reveals that it was the Targaryens chaining their dragons in there that led to them growing smaller and weaker, but putting some of the show’s most dynamic and engaging characters and also Jon Snow in there is a recipe for solid writing. Not CleganeBowl because who genuinely cared about that, but Cersei and Dany or Jon being an idiot and everyone having fun calling him an idiot or even the smaller reunions before the big meeting between characters who shared storylines in the middle seasons. This is the first time that Cersei and Tyrion have had scenes together since Season 4, and their private meeting especially is powerful and tense and only slightly mitigated when I wondered if every dialogue scene involving Cersei now is going to end with her referring to her pregnancy. It also comes up in the appropriately parallel scene at the end of the episode with Jaime, where (from what I can tell) she comes closer to having the Mountain kill him than she did with Tyrion which says all manner of interesting things about how she views betrayal. I am less sold on the followup on Theon’s end, save that there’s a punchline in there calling back to the episode’s first scene where Bronn and Jaime wonder what could motivate a man without a cock to fight. But never mind that - Jaime and Cersei are finally separated (consistently established only to be ruined at the last minute redemption arc my ass - the guy dies in, what, five episodes?), Theon’s off to be a hero, the Starks are all together as the White Walkers destroy the Wall and Cersei’s going to sit this one out, and Jon and Dany...well....

Obviously, the incest doesn’t bother me*. Notwithstanding my personal indifference, this is the same show that showed a twin brother and sister having sex in its first episode after all. I even like that Sam’s contribution to the reveal (that Bran didn’t know about because...?) is the real problem here: that Jon is a trueborn Targaryen and thus a threat to Daenerys’s right to claim the Iron Throne. Splicing this revelation with the sex scene between the two leads is delightfully twisted in a very GoT way, which goes a way toward making up for the actors’ lack of chemistry or the by-the-numbers development of their relationship. It does add certain uncomfortable layers to what’s going to become of them and Dany especially in the final season, but I’ll get there soon enough - although maybe not that soon if the episodes continue to be this long. My ultimate plan for this liveblog is to finish by the end of March, which should be manageable even if the episodes for Season 8 each take a little longer to work through than normal. Put it this way about these two though: I’m glad that their approximate equivalents in Fire Emblem: Three Houses were not sexually (or, arguably, romantically) involved prior to the scene where one of them kills the other before a throne, and that the game instead leans harder on the family angle even though ironically Dimitri and Edelgard are not biologically related like the GoT characters that partially influenced them.

*My theory for why some people seemed uncomfortable with this reveal when it happened is that Jon and Dany were developed as protagonists from the start of the show and their interactions this season like standard romantic setup. This would contrast against the Lannister twincest, which we’ve known about since the first episode and that involves two characters who are (mostly) on the villainous side of things.

[7deadlycinderellas]

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch20

Ao3 link

 Winterfell

Perhaps a week or so after the others had returned to Winterfell, Arya awakes, tossing and turning, after only an hour of sleep.

With a glance at her sleeping husband (who is out like a light as usual), she pulls on her cloak and steps into her boots. She leaves in the direction of the kitchens in search of a late night snack.

The kitchen is quiet, and still, even the fire having been put out after the cook had left for the night. Arya spies a plate of wintercakes that was left out, and reaches her hand out to sneak one from the platter.

She feels her skin prickle, and jumps at the movement in the room when she realizes she’s not alone.

“Seven hells Arya, if you’re sneaking around at night, don’t freak out on other people who are too!”

It’s Sansa, sitting at the cook’s table, munching on a wintercake she’s already removed from the platter. She nudges it across the table in Arya’s direction. She sits and takes one.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Sansa admits, “I have to adjust to the noises here. In King’s Landing I could hear guards in the halls all night and people from the streets. Here the snow makes everything quiet.”

Arya munches her cake for a few moments more.

“Sorry about you missing the wedding. It was Mother’s decision to push it, not ours. Only thing it really changed is that we can share a bed and the servants don’t know how to address him.”

“Do they spend all their free time studying your midsection absolutely certain Mother only allowed the two of you to marry because you’re with child?”

“You know it. Jokes on them, we didn’t even start laying together properly until like two moons ago.”

She’s still not quite sure what brought it on. Maybe it was just the right time, maybe it was the candle light making Gendry look extra handsome, but something that night just made her take his arm after supper and say ‘take me to bed.”

He hadn’t even reacted at first, just gone, “It’s still sort of early isn’t it?”

She stops where they were, and squeezes his arm a bit tighter. Her eyes meet his, teasingly, and his go wide.

With care, Gendry glances one direction down the hall, and then the other. Satisfied that they are alone, with one swift movement he wraps both arms around her waist and lifts her into his arms. He definitely needs both arms to do it now.

“Oh,” Arya says in surprise, shivering at the sudden feeling of his lips pressed against that spot behind her ear, “You missed me.”

When they get back to her chambers, it’s a struggle for them to get undressed because they can’t stop touching each other. She’s so glad she hadn’t let him cut his hair this time.

When she moves to unbutton his breeches and climb on top of him, Gendry grabs both of her hands, and kisses each finger.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, we have a bed and all night. We’re not going to die tomorrow. Let’s take our time and enjoy this.”

And though Arya’s a little miffed, she kisses his wrist and melts into him. He’s right, and he’s true to word. She doesn’t think a single part of her, from the tip of her nose to the arches on her feet, and everything in between, goes unkissed. Despite his gentleness, he can’t hide his eagerness. It’s as though they hadn’t spent the last year sleeping in the same bed and fooling around.

And after some time Gendry finally settles between her legs and enters her with a measured, careful, ease. When he’s completely sheathed, he pauses, though it looks like it takes him much effort, and searches her face for signs of pain. Finding instead, a sunny grin, he slowly slides back on his knees, and Arya, puts her hands on his shoulders and pulls herself into his lap.

It’s rather unfair, she thinks, that it���s so hard to kiss when you’re smiling so wide. But when she comes around him for the first (second) time, she’s smiling like a loon. And also the other two times that night.

And Arya really hopes her face doesn’t spill quite all these details. She’s still not quite sure how squeamish Sansa is about these sorts of things now.

Sansa, for her credit, looks confused.

“Why did you wait so long?”

Arya shrugs.

“Some of it is that this whole thing still makes me feel like a tiny babe sometimes...but mostly because I’m really scared of going into the long night with child.”

Sansa still furrows her brow, “Maester Luwin could give you moon tea.”

Arya nods.

“And he did, but I’ve heard enough stories that it doesn’t always work to make me feel uneasy.”

She does take the moment to smirk at her sister conspiratorially.

“Know what he told me? He told me all of the herbs needed have been seeded to grow throughout Winter Town, along footpaths and between buildings. Had nothing to do with it of course, he told me. It wouldn’t do for a maester of the Citadel to be seen encouraging immorality. But he also said he didn’t want to hear about some crofter’s daughter sticking herself in the womb with a fireplace poker trying to bleed it out.”

“S’pose it’s nice for someone to think of them,” Sansa remarks bitterly, with a bite of her cake. There’s a long pause before her next comment.

“Everyone always talks about it hurting.”

Arya looks at her quizzically. Whatever she had been expecting to come out of her sister, that was not it.

“It hurt some, the time before,” she says slowly, “course, I did sort of throw myself in headfirst without much thinking. It didn’t this time. I think those stories are mostly made up to excuse the behavior of clumsy, oafish husbands who likely care very little if they’re wives enjoy it or not. It’s a pretty delicate process, but I certainly don’t think it HAS to hurt.”

“Unless he wants it to.”

The silence returns. Arya has no words whatsoever for what Sansa went through with Ramsey before, could still picture the scars that dotted her sister’s body even though they were long gone.

Mouselike, Sansa restarts her conversation.

“In the south, I spent a lot of my free time learning to play cyvasse with Lord Tyrion and Princess Myrcella. After Myrcella left for Dorne, he still played with me often.”

Arya raises an eyebrow. She knows all this from the letters Sansa managed to send home over the years, and she wonders where it’s going.

“Sometime this last year I became possessed by the idea that maybe when I had married him before, maybe I should have let him take my maidenhead. Even if I had still run afterwards, Ramsey likely wouldn’t have been interested in a bride who wasn’t a virgin. And whatever faults Tyrion may have, real or imagined, he wouldn’t have enjoyed hurting me.”

“Sansa,” Arya interrupts sharply, “You can’t think like that. You were fourteen years old and a prisoner. Even if he wasn’t as brutal as Ramsey, fourteen year old you would have been terrified and still would have considered it a violation. Whatever feelings you’ve developed for Tyrion came later.”

Arya’s voice softens.

“You were always the one going on about love and romance. It shouldn’t be surprising you managed to scrounge it up out of the ashes.”

Sansa laughs.

“You should hear your own life from the outside. If things hadn’t gone the way they did, there would have been songs about you and Gendry. A pair of lost children find each other on the road, and they turn out to be a lost princess and a king’s bastard? And you find each other again and make love before a huge battle that you not only miraculously both survive, but that you, yourself, had a hand in ending?”

Arya rolls her eyes and changes the subject. She doesn’t want to linger on the bits of her life that were out of one of her sister’s dreams.

“Anything actually interesting happening in the south?”

“Interesting it putting it lightly, it’s a fucking mess down there.”

Arya quirks an eyebrow at her sister’s language.

“What? It’s true. Joffrey is king, even if he’s mostly his grandfather’s puppet. Stannis left the crownlands to aid the wall- Ser Davos was nearly inconsolable to hear that three of his sons left home to join him as well. Iron born ships are attacking Storm’s End for no suitably explored reason. I have no idea what on earth Danaerys is going to do with the place once she gets here. Oh, and Littlefinger is clearly still plotting since he sent that sellsword after us on the Kingsroad but still sent us an invitation to him and Aunt Lysa’s wedding.”

“What?”

Wait.

“Neither of us mentioned that did we?”

Arya’s glare is the only response she needs.

“Well, we were going to have to talk about it with Father and Mother in the morning anyhow, so lets just go back to bed.”

Arya gets up without another comment, but stares after Sansa as they separate in the hallway. Can’t believe her sister’s been home this long and didn’t think fit to mention that they’d been attacked.

The next morning turns into a flurry of activity. There’s more ravens at once than there’s been in ages.

“There’s another invitation to Lysa’s wedding,” Catelyn comments, wondering at her sister’s mental state if she’d forgotten they had already sent one.

“Here’s one from Myrcella,” Sansa adds, “She claims some of the sailors in Dorne have claimed to have seen dragons on the water.”

“Oh,” Ned says, reading his, “It appears Queen Margaery is now with child.”

Sansa lets out a sigh. That’s not going to be fun to handle when Danaerys lands in Westeros. She opens the next raven that has arrived. Reading it’s contents, she tucks it in a pocket. At her parents look, she says.

“Something that might end up being important.”

Bran makes a noise of disgust reading his.

“It’s from the wall. Thorne is declaring Jon dead, lost to over the wall.”

That completely ruins the atmosphere for breakfast. Benjen had been declared much the same in the past year. Commander Mormont would have never left a lost comrade go forgotten, but Thorne did not seem to share his sentiment.

Bran grabs his cane and stands up roughly. Meera jumps beside him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m sending Septima over the wall. Enough of the wildlings have fled that I’m not too worried about other wargs. If Jon is still alive over there I’ll find him.”

Meera nods, and stands, grabbing his hand, to accompany him. Ned spares a glance at their joined hands and Sansa has to stifle a giggle.

Sansa returns her attention to Ned and Catelyn.

“What are we going to do about Aunt Lysa?”

“I don’t think I can avoid it without a really good explanation, she is my sister after all. And the trip from White Harbor to Gulltown isn’t too long a journey, though getting to the Eyrie is a bit trying.”

Sansa nods, “I’ll go with you then.”

Catelyn looks concerned for a moment, but then nods.

“I can’t accompany you two,” Ned realizes, “Robb and I need to travel to the Dreadfort to deal with the free folk.”

Arya cuts in,

“Yes, that should be a near top priority. The free folk speak civilly of Robb and the way he has dealt with them, but they don’t know you and won’t respect you if you don’t show them the same treatment. They don’t have any loyalty to names.”

“And Mother and I going to the Vale alone might actually work out better for us.”

At everyone’s confused looks, she elaborates.

“I told you. Littlefinger’s prime objective seems to be to seed enough chaos that things implode around him and he can seize control amongst it. If he believes there might be a rift in your marriage-”

Ned and Cat both look uncomfortable at this cold calculation of their situation. Things had been smoothed a bit since they had returned, but it was still not completely healed.

“Then I feel like he might get cocky and I feel I could take advantage of that.”

Catelyn’s eyes stay on her daughter. She speaks of the other man in such a manner that she wonders what he was to her in her other life. She’s so guarded about it.

Well, it seems they’ll find out eventually.

 Over the Wall

“That sword has a name you know?”

Ygritte glances at the sword in her hand and then back at Jon. They’d been sparring outside the cave when he’d volunteered that bit of information, after she’d told him that she’d taken to calling her axe Wild Thing. She uses the sword well enough, but goes back and forth when they spar, and she says she thinks she prefers the axe.

“Did the tree tell you that?”

Jon nods. Truly, he had been mostly kidding when he’d asked, but then the weirwood showed him .

“It’s called Dark Sister, it was Visenya Targaryan’s.”

“I guess it’s good to keep it in the family again.”

Jon feels his neck flush, but doesn’t respond. Ygritte doesn’t know too much of the baggage that came with the knowledge that he was a Targaryan, and he is grateful she never feels the need to make jokes about him marrying his sisters.

“One of your sister’s liked swords right? Maybe you should give it to her when you see her again.”

Arya. She’d been eleven with the face of twenty when he saw her last. The tiny sword he’d had made for her all those years ago. She’d be seventeen, or close to, now, he thinks, the blade probably long outgrown. He hopes she still uses it.

“Maybe I will, but for now, you keep it. Wild Thing won’t do a thing against a walker.”

She nods, in understanding. Some of the Others have wandered past the cave entrance, alone thankfully, seemingly. They take turns leaving the cover of the wards to pick them off, though more of them always seem to find their way again, seemingly heading for the Land of Always Winter.

Rowan had advised him some moons ago, for him to ask the weirwood to show him how the others came to be. When it was done, Jon had turned to her in horror. She had merely let her head drop in shame, and he found he had no words to rebuke her.

“We should go back inside,” Ygritte interrupts him, “The sun’s getting low.”

When they return to the camp, they are surprised to find the others crowded around the fire, Gilly sitting across from Aemon, with an incredibly bewildered expression on her face.

“Sweetheart,” she starts, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Aemon has been talking for years, in full sentences too. His little voice is clear.

“Why don’t you call me Sam anymore? It was my name.”

“When did this start up?” Jon asks Gilly, when she turns to greet him.

“I found him wandering by the roots of the weirwood earlier,” Gilly admits, “I have before. I find him there a lot actually, pretending to talk to it, like you do.”

Jon feels a queer sensation in his stomach. Rowan seems to have a similar thought.

“I’m not sure he was pretending.”

Jon turns to Rowan in shock.

“How could he- it took you so long to even teach me simple words.”

“Children are far more adept at learning any sort of language than adults are,” Rowan muses, “A child raised in an environment where they constantly hear more than one language picks them both up with ease.”

She reaches and pats Aemon’s hair.

“And perhaps your son is just very clever at picking these things up.”

“But-” Jon’s mind is racing. He can’t understand why the boy would think his name was Sam. The only Sam he can think of even is the fat boy from the watch.

“I think we are discovering more about the nature of a tree’s memory than was known before.”

Jon thinks on it.

“You think the weirwoods still remember the life you had from before.”

“It makes sense truly, the weirwoods know nothing of time, of past or of future. It’s why they can show you so much of the world.”

Ygritte bursts into the conversation.

“I smashed my skull against the dead stump of the one above us,” she recalls, “That’s when I remembered my before life.”

Rowan’s face turns reverent.

“There’s a reason my people treated the weirwoods as gods. They certainly have sight beyond what either of our people could understand.”

Jon has plenty of time to muse on this, as he eats his supper of venison broth with moss.

Later that night, he leans forward and presses a kiss to Ygritte’s shoulder. Satisfied that she’s asleep, he quietly stands and pulls his boots on.

He can get to the roots of the young weirwood without even a light now, but he brings one anyway just to be safe. Sitting beneath it in the night is eerie, but he still wants to do this.

Touching the base of the tree, he asks it of Samwell Tarly, now.

With his first glimpse, Jon laughs. Sam at the Citadel, sent to train to replace Maester Aemon. It made perfect sense, and he supposes Thorne might have been far too pleased to get rid of him. And even if Sam had resisted, hadn’t wanted to leave the wall under siege and one of his only friends lost on the other side, he would have adapted. He would have found himself in his element.

Jon takes a break after, and with a deep breath, he tries now. He asks of Samwell Tarly, before.

He sees some the same, of Sam in Oldstown. But to his shock, he sees Gilly with him, and her child. None of her sister’s are there, but both of them seem quite fond of Sam.

He laughs. Sam was just the type of person who could wander himself into finding a woman and child, and also find himself in not one but two roles that demanded celibacy.

In some of what he sees though, he sees himself, and it’s the strangest thing that’s ever passed through his mind. Jon hasn’t looked at his own face in ages, and has no idea if he resembles this vision at all. He cut his hair and beard when they became cumbersome, but other than that, he has no idea of his own appearance, or his own demeanor.

He’s jolted back from the vision to discover Ygritte has followed behind him.

“You’re a right fool Jon Snow, if you think I can sleep without you grinding on my arse.”

He rewards her with a sheepish smile as she sits beside him.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she starts, “Coming out here, to ask that thing about your last life, since you can’t remember.”

He laughs. He supposes he is not a subtle person.

“I wasn’t actually.”

That takes Ygritte back.

“I thought about it, and I might if I end up feeling like I really need to know something, but...I think I’m better off not remembering. I don’t think I’m the same person I would be from then.”

Ygritte’s face following this is hard to read.

“I’m not sure you are either.”

She bites her lip before her next words.

“I would have said before that I was in love with you, that that was why I ran so furiously into the battle where I died. I would still say I love you, but it’s different now.”

She takes one of his hands and presses it to her chest over her heart.

“Out here, I actually feel like I know you. I watch you with Rowan and the other women and it’s like you’re unburdened. You barely spoke of your family before, now I feel as though I’ve met them. Out here I’m not worried if you’re still a crow, and you’re not worried that I’ll stab you in the back for a lark.”

“Much.”

She snorts. He hasn’t worried about that in ages.

“I may not be able to say I knew you before,” Jon responds, “But out here I can say I trust you to have my back.”

He reaches out, and slowly pulls her onto his lap, one hand winding it’s way through her bright hair.

“And if you want the honest truth,” Ygritte mumbles, her voice muffled, “I can tell being up here is good for you. You don’t brood nearly as much.”

That makes him laugh, and they sit together like that for a while, before stepping gently along the cave to rejoin the group.

That night, Jon dreams of birds and catapults. He can’t even begin to make sense of that one.

[sankta-arya]

Undercover Lovers

Sansa was young and stupid when she followed Joffrey across the Narrow Sea. She fancied herself in love and about to enter a fairtytale. Instead she walked into a nightmare.

Trapped in a foreign country, now she has to trust another man -and even worse, herself- to get home again.

Sansa turns around to pace the length of the room for what must be the fiftieth time in the last twenty minutes.

"Will you please sit down, sweetheart?" Satin sighs, uncrossing and crossing his legs again as he leans back in the recliner next to the small coffee table. "I promised you he'd come. He'll be here in a couple of minutes."

She takes his advice, the pacing isn't helping one bit anyway. How did I end up here?  The answer's simple enough. She used to be a stupid girl with a head full of dreams, and she thought leaving everything behind to follow her boyfriend to a foreign country was incredibly romantic.

It didn't take long for her dream to be shattered, and when she tried to return home, she couldn't even do that, because she didn't have the right documents. She's been trapped in Volantis for six months now, living off her savings, but they're about to run out.

The Westerosi embassy had been closed years ago, but she'd heard of a high end hotel, where shady deals were struck by businessman from her homeland. She'd been told they were the only ones who could provide her with the right documents to cross the Narrow Sea.

She'd found a nice dress and a pair of heels and decided she'd do whatever needed to be done. She'd only been at the bar for ten minutes when a short, slender man with smiling eyes and a pointy beard approached her.

His hair was peppered with grey, but Sansa thought he couldn't be much older than thirty. He ordered her a drink and introduced himself as Petyr. She gave him a false name, just to be safe.

"I haven't seen you before," he said, his eyes travelling over her body, creeping her out. "You're not from around here, are you?"

She reckoned there was no point trying to hide it? "Am I that obvious?" she asked.

"Not necessarily," he indulged her. "But I've always been able to pick out the truly desperate ones."

A distant voice warned her to run at that exact moment, but she ignored it, even if she couldn't really remember why.

Satin walked over to her after a couple more minutes. She couldn't see where he was coming from, but he greeted her with an arm draped over her shoulders and a kiss to the cheek.

"There you are!" he exclaimed cheerfully, turning to Petyr then. "The girl's with me, Baelish," he told him.

He led her away from the bar, and into a dark booth. "Did you drink anything he offered you?"

She shook her head, too dazed to object to his actions.

"Good," he said with a smile. "You really don't want to get involved with Littlefinger."

Realization dawned on her. "You mean he put something in my drink?"

"Positive."

"How can you be so sure?" she asked him, narrowing her eyes.

"I've seen him do it before," he shrugged. "If you'd finished that drink, tomorrow morning, you'd wake up in one of his mansions. And the only way you'd ever leave is as a corpse. Do I have to explain to you what he uses those girls for?"

She shook her head, trying to push down the feeling of nausea that was rising in her stomach. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Now, do you want to get back home?"

She stared at him. "Why are you helping me?"

"It's what I do," he answered with a smile. "I can get you in touch with a guy who can get you back to Westeros."

That was a week ago. Sansa's grateful that he's trying to help her,  but her impatience is making her nervous and suspicious.

There's a knock at the door and Satin rises to his feet to go and unlock it.

He doesn' t look anything like she imagined a member of the Night's Watch to look, but she supposes she should have expected that. He looks inconspicuous, which is probably kind of the point. He's of average height, average build, but on the slender, athletic side.

He's handsome though, she notes, in that dark, brooding way some girls like. He could definitely benefit from smiling once in a while.

"Jon Snow," he introduces himself simply, holding out his hand. Sansa wonders whether that's his real name. She takes his hand, marvelling at the odd smoothness of his palm, that's only disrupted by a couple of harsh ridges near the edge of it.

"Nice to meet you," she answers him. “I am-

"Sara Snow," he finishes for her. "That's the name that matters right now. You should remember that."

"Sara Snow," she repeats, trying out the feel of it on her tongue. "So I am to be...?"

"My wife, aye," he confirms. "A woman travelling alone would be too suspicious. It's better this way, trust me."

She desperately wants to, she really does, even if his gruff ways unsettle her a bit. "Alright."

He takes the last empty seat at the coffee table, bracing his elbows on his splayed thighs. Sansa see the strain of his jeans and shirt over his muscles.

"I know a guy who'll take care of all the paper work," he tells her, giving her an intense look. "But we should work on a story."

She nods, wringing her hands together. "Sure, where should we start?"

"At the beginning probably?" he suggests. "How did we meet?"

She bites her lip as she mulls over his question, narrowing her eyes at him, and smiles, causing his head to tilt curiously as she leans forward.

She's always liked stories, so much even she'd taken up acting a couple of years before she met Joffrey. She'd even starred in a couple of movies, only small parts of course, but he asked her to stop, because he didn't like it, and being the stupid girl she was, she agreed.

"How about this?" she starts.

***

"We'll have to dye your hair," Jon mutters suddenly, staring at her from across the room.

Her mouth falls open. "What?"

"The colour is too conspicuous," he clarifies as he gets up to walk over to where she's sitting on the bed. "Someone might recognize you."

She shakes her head, looking up at him. "No, that's extremely unlikely."

"But not impossible," he points out.

Her bottom lip starts trembling and her hands fly up to clutch a strand of hair.

He flinches. "Are you going to cry?" he sighs, and that's what breaks her. She lets herself fall back onto the bed, flipping onto her stomach, and sobs into the comforter.

After a while, the mattress dips and she feels a hand on the small of her back. She veers up, startled.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"It's alright," she tells him, turning onto her side until she's facing him. She props herself up on her elbow, mirroring him.

"You're my husband, remember?" she jokes. "I should get used to you touching me."

He chuckles and offers her a smile, and she thinks she might understand why he doesn't smile that often. It's quite a dazzling sight, horribly distracting, just like the way he's gazing at her right now.

"Don't worry, princess," he says, and his eyes have never been this soft before. "You'll still be beautiful, even without the pretty red hair," he adds, fingering a lock of her hair.

Perhaps she should be insulted by the fact that he's calling her princess. It's what her sister used to call her when she was mocking her, but she can't help it when she blurts out: "You think I'm beautiful?"

His throat bobs up and down, and suddenly she's aware of their intimate position.

"Objectively speaking," he whispers, as if he can't trust his own voice, and he rolls away from her. "You should try to get some sleep."

She turns onto her back and sighs, closing her eyes. "Goodnight, Jon," she murmurs.

"Goodnight, Sara," he answers.

Sansa, she thinks. My name is Sansa.  

***

Sansa almost has a nervous breakdown on their way to the airport. She grabs Jon's hand and wheezes: "I can't do this."

"You're an actress," he reminds her. "You used to do this for a living."

"That's different," she hisses back.

"No, it's not," he objects, stopping her with a hand on her arm until she turns to face him. His hands come up to cup her cheeks and his grey gaze is intense as he slowly whispers: "This is just another performance. The most fucking important performance of your life, you can do this."

His voice is firm and his eyes are hard, but the way he frames her face in his large hands can only be called gentle, tender almost. It's almost enough to make another kind of tingle chase away the nerves causing such a turmoil in her belly. Suddenly it's difficult to breathe for an entirely different reason. She resists the urge to turn her face and nuzzle into his burnt palm.

"You can do this," he repeats, his eyes softer now, and if she didn't feel like throwing up right now, Sansa is sure she'd melt into his embrace.

She blinks and nods. "I can do this."

***

"Where will you go?" he asks when he drops her off at her hotelroom in King's Landing.

She wrings her hands together. "Home," she sighs. "If they'll still have me."

"I'm sure they will," he says with a perfunctory smile, offering her a nod.

"Jon," she whispers. "Thank you. For everything."

He shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, staying put, as if he's reluctant to leave.

She bites her lip. "I still can't believe it," she tells him, because it's the truth, and because it gives her an excuse to keep him there just a little longer. "I can't believe you got me out of there."

Quite inexplicably, she starts laughing then, relief washing over her and making her giddy, as if she didn't fully realize before, and to her surprise he laughs with her.

She throws her arms around his neck to embrace him, because there's no way she could ever thank him enough, but she wants to let him know how grateful she is.

She glances up and their eyes lock, before his gaze drops to her lips.

"Would you like to come in?" she hears herself asking.

Gently he pushes her back through the door, closing it behind her. "I thought you'd never ask."

***

"Sansa," she whispers against his lips. "My name is Sansa." It suddenly seems important to tell him that.

"That's a pretty name," he compliments her, before capturing her lips again. "Jace," he pants moments later. "But I've been Jon for a very long time."

"Jace, huh?" she manages to ask between kisses that grow hungrier and sloppier.

His lips move from her mouth to her jaw and then up and down her throat. He tongues the soft spot behind her ear and confesses: "My full name is Jacaerys, but only my dad calls me that."

"Please, Jon Jace Jacaerys," she breathes, her hands tangling into his curls as his tongue finds its way down to the valley between her breasts. She doesn't really care about his name right now, only about his hands burning into her skin like a brand, and his mouth closing over her nipple through the fabric of her top.

"Take me to bed," she begs him.

[dingoes8myrp]

Mom and I React to Game of Thrones 6x09

Me: "Battle of the Bastards."

Mom: "Ooooh!"

Me: "Jon vs. Ramsay!"

Mom: "This is gonna be intense."

-

Recap

Mom: (on Sansa) "You stupid bitch. She needed that army from Littlefinger."

Mom: (on Daenerys) "She is, like, wacked."

Me: "Well, she's either abundently kind or abundently cruel, but there's no in between."

-

Meereen

Flaming catapults

Mom: "Oh my godddd."

Tyrion: "Despite appearances, the city is on the rise."

The building gets pelted with debris

Mom: "Yeah, right."

Daenerys says she plans to burn the cities to the ground

Mom: "Oh my God!"

Drogon perches on top of the pyramid

Me: "LOOK HOW BIG HE IS!!!"

Harpys slaughter people

Mom: "What's that noise?"

Me: "The kahlasar."

Mom: "OH!"

Me: "So she's got the air and the ground."

Dragons fly over the ships

Me: "And the sea."

Daenerys: "Dracarys."

Me: "Maybe she don't need Bran."

Grey Worm tells the slaves they can fight for the masters or go home to their families. They drop their spears

Me: "BYE!"

Me: "Now she's not just crazy burning cities. Now they negotiated a peace and they violated it."

-

Winterfell

Jon and Sansa watch the flayed man banners ride up

Me: "Oooooh. Ooooooh."

Mom: "Fuuuuck."

Ramsay: (greets Sansa) "My beautiful bride."

Me: *gag*

Mom: *gag* "Gross."

Ramsay: "Get off your horse and kneel."

Mom: "Fuck. You."

Jon: "Let's end this the old way. You against me."

Me: "AND HE CAN'T FUCKIN' DIE!"

Ramsay says he doesn't know if he'd beat Jon, but he does know his army will beat Jon's

Me: "That's the same shit Robb said to Jamie!"

Jon tries to explain the battle strategy to Tormund

Me: "What?"

Mom: "He doesn't know the battle terms."

Me: "I don't know either."

Mom: "Littlefinger's gotta show up. He owes her. He gave her to that asshole and he's supposedly in love with her."

Me: "I don't think he knew Ramsay was a psychopath."

Mom: "No. He didn't know him at all."

Me: "I think he's going to attack in the night like he did with Stannis."

Mom: "He's not gonna wait until the morning. She said he's sneaky."

Davos says he's not going to sleep, he's going to walk

Mom: "He's gonna see Ramsay attacking."

Mom: "Oh, this is so stressful. It's gonna happen right now."

Davos kicks up wood in the snow

Me: "The fuck is that?"

Mom: "A trap!"

Me: "Oh, the pyre! The thing they burnt the daughter on!"

Mom: "OH! Now he knows they burned her."

-

Meereen

Tyrion: "You were making jokes about my height."

Cut to Theon

Me: "Oh, fuck."

We love Daenerys's banter with Yara, particularly when Yara hit on Daenerys

-

Winterfell

Mom: "Where is this guy? He's not gonna show up. He's sizing them up right now to see how many they have."

Mom: "The fuck is that?"

It's flayed men on crossed racks on fire

Mom: "Oh, fuck, he skins people. I forgot."

Ramsay rides out holding a rope

Mom: "Oh no he's got her brother. And she knows he's gonna die. She has to sacrifice him."

Mom: (to Jon) "Just ride up on your horse, behead the guy, grab the kid."

Mom: "Oh God, he's gonna kill him right there."

Ramsay cuts Rickon's restraints

Mom: "Oh."

Me: "Wait for it."

Mom: "Oh fuck. ZIG-ZAG! ZIG-ZAG!"

Mom: "He's too far away. He can't hit him now."

Me: "He's missing on purpose."

Mom: "What?!"

Me: "So he can shoot him right when Jon gets to him."

Mom: "AHHH!"

Because that's exactly what he did

Me: "Tormund's like 'What the fuck?'"

Mom: "What'd he say?"

Me: "'Don't.' Remember Sansa said 'Don't do what he wants you to do?' Because he was getting Ramsay angry so he'd come at them full tilt. That's the same thing Ramsay just did."

Jon just surrounded by horses hand-to-handing it like a boss for, what, ten or fifteen minutes?

Me: "Oh my god. This is terrible. I'm gonna throw up."

Mom: "This pussy's not moving!"

Me: "Because he doesn't have to."

Mom: "This is insane. This is awful!"

Davos charges

Mom: "That's what he wants!"

Me: "Sansa was right."

Mom: "Littlefinger's gotta show up."

Mom: "He's just gonna sit there in the back the whole time?!"

Me: "Because his army can beat Jon's but he's terrified to go against Jon himself."

Mom: "Oh, God, they're surrounded!"

Me: "With like riot gear! What the fuck?!"

Mom: "Oh my God, they're just gonna squish 'em."

Giant makes a swipe

Me: "They made a hole. He wasn't expecting a giant."

Mom: "Oh God, Jon's getting fucking trampled."

Mom: "Oh dear God."

Horn blows

Mom: "Littlefinger."

Tormund bites a guy's throat out

Mom: "Oh!"

Me: "He just Rick Grimes'd that shit."

Littlefinger's army marches in

Mom: "Yes! He was not expecting that."

Sansa smirks

Ramsay looks worried

Me: "Hah. Hahahaha. Hahahahah!"

Jon sees Ramsay by himself

Me: "'You and me, you fuck.'"

Ramsay turns tail and runs

Me: "See? He's terrified to go up against Jon."

Ramsay: "We have Winterfell."

Giant starts ramming the door

Me: "Same way they breached The Wall."

Giant falls

Me: "No!"

Mom: "He's dying!"

Ramsay kills the giant

Mom: "Of course it was him."

Ramsay starts firing arrows at Jon

Mom: "Arrows only. He can't fight."

Jon beats his ass with his shield and fists

Me: "And all his men are just sitting there."

The banner swap

Mom: "Yesss. We are back."

Davos holds the figurine he made for Shireen

Mom: "He's gonna go for the witch. 'I'm gonna fucking kill you.'"

Ramsay tied up in the kennels

Me: "Oh, he's ALL fucked up."

Mom: "Where is he?"

Me: "The kennels."

Mom: "The dogs haven't eaten in days..."

Ramsay: "You can't kill me. I'm part of you now."

Me: "Ugh. It's like Hannibal Lecter talking to Clarise."

Dogs growl

Mom: "Hahaha."

They go for the face

Me: "Ahh! Gah!"

Mom: "She's so happy he's gone."

Me: "And she beat him with her strategy."

Mom: "He was smart!"

Me: "But fucking evil. That's a bad combo."

[thousandeyesand-one]

Tagged by @naomimakesart

■What are your top 3 favorite houses of Westeros?

HOUSE TARGARYEN. I mean Hello! 👀

HOUSE STARK. The Ice to my favorite fire house!

HOUSE DAYNE. Extremely underrated & unexplored I would love to know more.

■If you could live during one era in GRRM’s universe what era would it be? (Age of Heroes, Valyrian Empire, Conquest of Westeros, Dance of Dragons etc.)

I'd probably be like either a weirwood & live through all of these eras lol or I'd be a child of the forest secretly surviving since dawn age at the isle of faces or something! Coz I can't choose one era 😜

■What is your favorite episode/scene from the Game of Thrones TV series?

Battle of the Bastards, Loot train attack, Tower of Joy, First look at Ser Arthur Dayne 💜 basically every time arya is on screen. But I guess S05E04 holds a special place in my heart that whole episode was about Subtle hints at jon's Parentage/Subtle-mild hints at Jonerys future magical babies/ & had perhaps my most fav scene in the show of dany & Ser Barristan Selmy bonding over Rhaegar! 

"Rhaegar never liked killing, he loved singing."

■What ruler do you think brought about the most change in Westeros, be it good or bad?

Jaehaerys I Targaryen, the Conciliator. Alysanne Targaryen, the Good Queen. I think they were the Obama's of the 7k literally inherited the realm from Maegor who almost crumbled the dynasty & the realm but they rebuilt it to last for two more centuries. While you asked Good & Bad I'd like to mention for 99% of good that Baehaerys did there was 1% of bad done by him too. The Iron Precedent of 101 A.C. that establishes male inheritance over female which single handedly caused DOD, Blackfyre Rebellions & is still a problem! If only Jaehaerys would've listened to Alysanne & made daenerys the heir! Listen to your wives Men! Make it a habit!

■If you could ask GRRM one question what would it be?

In a shitty, patriachial world like Westeros, where it is more than clear that men have build & sustained their kingdoms & legacies through Acts of War or Revenge or Want & Need to secure power. Why are women like Daenerys, Arya & Cersei criticized as would-be Mad or psychotic/Too far gone or Already Mad characters?

■If GRRM could write a short novel/series about one other family or historical time (besides the Targaryens) in his universe what would you want it to be about? (My choice would be Nymeria’s Journey!)

Good choice Naomi!👌

I would like to learn more about The Daynes man House Dayne! They are so peculiar, mysterious & any reader of asoiaf knows theres more to that house that is important for the endgame than what we know! More about this family dating back to the Dawn age & the era of the rule of Kings of Torrentine. More about Ashara Dayne & her eldest brother who is still unnamed what is his name? How did he actually look like if his son has valyrian features? was he a snack just like his younger brother?.. you know.. important questions like those needs to be answered!

■What was your first introduction to ASOIAF/Game of Thrones? Did someone tell you about it, did you see it online or did you come across it at a store/shop?

My cousin told me about the book series but I was busy with my studies at the time so I couldn't pick it up. But then the show happened & he told me about it too so I watched the first season before reading the books. Then I picked up my Jaw from the floor after watching S01 & straight away bought those books. & THAT'S HOW MY LIFE ENDED!

■What’s one thing that bothers you about GRRM’s series?

I think it's the doylism that bothers me. It has always bothered me I am a Tolkien nerd & that man wrote stories beyond human capacity & error. Middle earth is as fantasy as fantasy can be & even though J. R. R Tolkien was inspired to write his stories by the service he did in military during war his story isn't a doylist one, maybe mild references here & there but nothing as serious as asoiaf. I feel like doylism complicates everything in this story! (P.S I also never was much of a history student Biology was Life!)

■What’s one thing you unabashedly love about GRRM’s series?

The impossibly, irrevocably, unattainable & unfair high expectation of men (selective men) that GRRM has created. I mean good luck to myself on getting in a relationship or getting married coz you aint never gonna be Ser Arthur Dayne awesome or Rhaegar Targaryen & Jon Snow Broody, Melancholy sexy!

■What are your feelings about the prequel series in development at HBO right now for the Long Night?

I really really love Bran Stark & how he is connected to the rich 8,000 or longer history of Kings of Winter & the actual nature of this world, all the stuff that predates back to Dawn Age. First Long Night is something I would definitely love to watch, Fingers crossed am sure I'll like it! Also because valyria came into existence right after the First Long Night so this series only gives me hope for a Valyrian Freehold Prequel THAT WHICH I TRULY WANT!

Now tagged by @chillyravenart

Here goes..

■Which Westerosi castle would you like to live in?

Starfall, Dorne. Duh!

■Would you rather be a rich and influential lord, born into wealth and privilege or would you rather be someone who wields power from the sidelines, like Littlefinger?

I'd rather be born rich & influential because I know myself I won't be another cuckoo Lord or lady of the 7k. Plus it seems like anyone like Little Finger or varys who rises from sidelines have to sell their souls to the Satan with zero sense of humanity & everything being a race for power.

■Pick one: platinum hair or purple eyes?

I'll take purple eyes because I have jet black hair & purple eyes just compliment the fuck out of black hairs!

■Based on a tag I made once, based on your physical features, which part of Westeros/which house do you belong to?

In dorne probably House Martell.

■Who do you think will actually defeat the Night King?

I think Bran is the one who is truly going to defeat Night King.

■Three people you think will die in season 8?

Night King, Cersei & Varys. Can I add a fourth? Melisandre too.

■What would you name your dragon/direwolf?

My Dragon would be called Tzarax & my Direwolf would be called Amaris which means Child of the moon. She'd be an albino without red eyes maybe golden eyes!

■How must Ser Pounce be avenged?

Ser Pounce's daughter should train to be a faceless assassin & return all badass with many faces of cats & avenge Ser Pounce roaming around the red keep biting the hell out of anyone because Valar Mewghulis. All Men must be biten.

■Whose POV chapters are your favourite? (If you haven’t read the books... skip this and hang your head in shame lol jk jk jk)

My fav POV chapters are Bran, Dany, Jon, Arya. In that order!

Hang your head in shame lmao👏😂

■Your favourite ASOIAF/GOT antagonist? 

Varys. This dude is going to burn in the seventh hell for all the bs he has unleashed upon just about everyone he has ever come across. I would name LF too but unfortunately it seems Varys outlived him so yeah The Spider & his webs are deadly as they come.

My Questions are:

1. What is that one moment or situation in asoiaf or GOT Tv show that inspires you positively?

2. YOUR ONE TRUE SHIP?

3. What is your favorite, ride or die character? CHOOSE ONE, ONLY ONE!

4. If you were to be the Ruler of Westeros & name Seven fighters to your Kingsguard who would they be? (They can be from the current generation of asoiaf or any fighter from any era, choice is all yours!)

6. Your own House sigil, house color(s) & house words?

5. What are your views about Robert's Rebellion?

7. Which is that one Character you wish had more screen time on the show (or) had a POV in the books?

8. Imagine Red Keep School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, which houses would the sorting hat sort these characters into? { Arya, Jon, Daenerys, Bran, Tyrion, Robb, Jaime, Cersei, Sansa, Rickon, Gendry, Joffery, Margaery, Brienne, Pod, Tormund, Hound, Missandei, Greyworm, Bronn, Sam & Gilly }

9. How do you prefer to watch the Final season? With a partner or spouse / alone by myself with no one to bug me / go to a watch party or bar episode events.

I'm Tagging @chillyravenart @naomimakesart @beautifuloutkasts @drakhus @phoebemaybe @mamadragon-daenerys @blue-roses-and-red-rubbies @northernlights37 @tomakeitbeautifultolive @toaquiprashippar @daenerys1417 @submarinesofpacific @crystalmusezz @ anyone who would like to do this i'd like to know your answers!

10. Nobody knows for sure how this story ends, but what is your ideal end to this story?

[msdoctorwho]

Only One, Chapter 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/13461090/chapters/32567391

Planning and strategy had never belonged to summer Sansa, but it was Winter, now. As the late Littlefinger should have realized: I may be a slow learner, but I do learn .

The next step was getting Brienne on board. She needed witnesses loyal to her above all others, and no one would worry overmuch about Sansa’s brief absence with her sworn sword along.

On the eve of a coming storm, she asked Brienne to walk with her to the godswood, to stretch their legs before the leisurely flurries became a driving snow forcing everyone indoors for the night.

Brienne fidgeted at the slow pace, awkwardly shortening her stride to match her lady’s. The warrior would clearly have preferred spending her last few storm-free hours in the practice yard, but was devoted to her duty nonetheless, sharp eyes continually scanning silent trees for lurking danger. Flakes of white dusted her hair, shoulders, and eyelashes, softening a face careworn by hardship and hard rations, until it was almost lovely.

“Brienne.” Sansa had a theory.

Brienne’s gaze flickered to Sansa’s, a striking blue deep as lazuli. The same veins of gold ran through both. A kinder soul had never looked out of such eyes at Sansa, and she hoped not to be cruel to someone she held dear.

The Lady of Winterfell took a breath, and asked, “Have you ever loved a man, Brienne, because you knew a side of him he showed no one else?”

It was a question, and not a question. Sansa had known Brienne a long time, and her sworn sword’s devotion to Renly ran deep, so deep it cut through the core of her, though the poor man was long dead. The youngest Baratheon must have been kind to a woman who knew little kindness from men, and in general he had not been known for such.

Brienne sucked in a breath, shocked. “My Lady,” she answered, uncertainty. “I--”

The rising blush and alarm in Brienne’s pale face suddenly brought to mind another friend of the lady knight who might fit such criteria. An oathbreaker and Kingslayer, somehow highly respected by the honorable Brienne.

Sansa spoke quickly to spare her friend the choice of dishonor by lying, or confronting a truth she was clearly avoiding. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to pry. You don’t need to answer, it’s just that I feel you might understand my situation.”

Brienne looked away, gathering composure around herself like a cloak. “I’m listening. Please go on.”

Sansa spoke her heart. “I want a man truly known by almost no one. If I declared my intentions openly, no one would approve .” she spat, a little bitterly. “Even you,” she added, without malice.

Sansa’s fists clenched until she felt the seams of her finely stitched gloves biting into her skin. “Yet somehow my marriage to Ramsay met with approval , and I’ll be damned if I let myself be bound again to anyone but whom I choose.”

Brienne looked a bit stunned by the naked violence in her lady’s voice. “Surely Jon--”

“Surely Jon will have no choice but to obey his Queen’s wishes.” Sansa's eyes, and her tone, were ice. The fury of winter.

Brienne could not argue with that, and did not try.

Sansa grabbed Brienne’s gauntleted hand in her own, though the near-frozen metal burned to touch. “You don’t understand,” she pleaded, almost frantic. “I don’t know if I can.. be with anyone, anymore, as a wife should be with a husband. I don’t know!”

Brienne’s face was anguished, still clearly guilt-stricken over her perceived failure to rescue Sansa sooner. For once Sansa did not reassure her.

Sansa took a calming breath. “But I trust this man. I know he will never, never hurt me, and I want to be with him, that way. Or at least, I want to want that. And I know he will wait however long I need.”

“Who is this man, for whom you have such high regard?” asked Brienne, honestly at a loss.

Sansa pinned all her hopes on a breath, and exhaled: “Sandor.”

“Sandor Clegane! ” Brienne could say nothing else for a long moment, thoughts all tangling together and tripping on the way out of her mouth.

Finally, she plucked one from the mess, though possibly not the most relevant. “You do know that I almost killed him?”

“Yes. It pained me to hear you’d injured each other, but I’m glad Arya had two defenders to fight for her.”

Brienne felt reluctantly compelled to argue with her mistress in the interest of truth. “He seems the exact opposite of what you say. The Saltpans--”

“That wasn’t him. As you’d know better than most, he was gravely wounded. By then he was recovering on the Quiet Isle.”

Brienne wanted to believe, for Sansa’s sake, but… “I’ve never known him to say a kind word, or any kind words said about him.”

Sansa looked out at the last of the disappearing sun, wordlessly agreeing with Brienne’s gesture to turn back, retracing their steps home. “He was the closest thing I had to a friend in King’s Landing. One who told harsh truths, but saved my life more than once.”

Sansa swallowed, and continued, “No one else knows this. He offered to save me, to take me away the night of the Blackwater, but I was too much a coward to go. If I had...”

If I had, neither Littlefinger nor Ramsay would have been able to hurt me. But neither would the Lords of the Vale have come to restore Winterfell. No use moaning about what’s done, Sandor would say.

Sansa changed tactics. “You’ve sworn to protect me from harm. Surely you can see that any possibility other than this one will lead to my harm.”

Brienne knew she was being outmaneuvered, but she had no solid counter-argument, and no real desire to stand against what her lady so clearly wanted.

“As you will, my lady.” The lady knight wasn’t going to entirely roll over and show her belly. “But know that should he ever harm you, the next time I will kill him.”

Sansa badly hid a smile. “You and Arya both, I’m certain.”

She stole into his room like a whisper, such that he turned around and nearly jumped out of his smallclothes at the sight of her.

“Seven hells, little bird!” He swore. “The fuck are you doing here?”

Behind her the paneled wall was cracked open, revealing a passage likely known only to the little feet of infuriating creatures raised within its walls. The hem of her dressing gown danced in the draft.

“So this is why you insisted I have a room of my own, instead of bunking with the rest.”

The smile of a devil shone from the face of an angel, gilded by the single candle in her hand. “I wasn’t lying about our gratitude for the way you looked after Arya. It’s certainly not what Jon had in mind when he agreed to it.”

“I’m sure it fucking wasn’t.” The flickering golden light turned auburn hair to living flame, and he retreated to the piles of blankets and furs on the bed to give himself room to breathe.

She waved a hand. “I’m no blushing virgin, with virtue in need of guarding ,” she almost snarled. “For all the men who claimed to protect it, it was freely bargained to a monster, and not by me.”

She stalked over to sit at the foot of his bed, unafraid, utterly unconcerned by the skin revealed by the action, unaware of the blow it dealt him. “I’ll damn well live only by my rules of propriety, now.”

She lapsed into silence and seemed to falter when he made no move to speak.

Finally, he asked, “Why are you here tonight, little bird?”

That brought her back to herself. “I came to tell you that everything is ready. We can be married whenever we want.”

“You’re still on about that?” He asked, still not entirely believing it.

“Of course I am,” she said, somewhat sharply. “I’d have us leave tomorrow.” She wanted to reach for his hand, but both fists were pulled close to his body, an ocean of furs between them.

His voice was emotionless, because allowing any would give all of himself away. “You want me as a shield, between you and the one thing that lady knight can’t save you from.”

She flinched, because it was both true and not true all at once.

She crawled closer, nearly but not quite touching him, and he closed his eyes as her knees on cloth dragged the neckline of her shift lower.

She touched his foot through the blankets, hesitant. “I want you.”

His leg twitched under her hand, but he said nothing, trusted himself to say nothing, wanted to say everything.

She almost pleaded. “What would convince you that my intentions are real? That my feelings are real?”

He couldn’t bring himself to answer out loud, but somehow she read his mind anyway.

“A proper kiss?” she whispered. His eyes cracked open.

Like a boy asking for a sweet, with no real hope of getting one, he nodded slowly.

She moved forward, with a real smile, until it fractured and broke, leaving anxiety behind. “Will you understand, if I ask you not to touch me? Not yet, not until I ask.”

He was well familiar with the lingering, inconvenient terror born of violence done by those who should have been family, in a place that should have been home.

She floundered, miserable. “It’s just, I--”

“I’ll understand,” he interrupted, softly.

He was finally meeting her eyes, finally acknowledging her heart, and she moved to give what he asked before he could doubt her again.

Settling between his knees, she pulled at his arm until he sat up for her, face half in shadows from his hair and the candle on the night table.

Moving slowly, as though not to spook a nervous horse, she raised her hands and gathered his hair away from his face, leaning in when he flinched away, until he stopped, their breath mingling.

The dark strands ate up the light, soft under her caressing fingertips. She moved to his face, both sides at once. He tensed, but did not stop her.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

Slowly, so slowly, she closed the distance between them and touched his lips with her own. It was tentative, almost clumsy at first, for neither of them had ever known a real kiss, of real feeling, before. Her hands came to his shoulders for support, but his remained on the bed, twisting into the sheets.

Time melted away, until kissing him felt like the most natural thing in the world. He pressed for nothing further, not even leaning into her, but made a noise of pure longing that pleased her beyond measure, drove her to want more.

She couldn’t tell which of them trembled. Pulling away, she asked only, “Do you believe me now?”

“Yes,” he said, hoarse. In such close proximity, there was no hiding how affected he was, and while she seemed unbothered, he felt it would soon be awkward. “You should go--”

“Can I touch you?” she asked, hesitant. Her voice was low, husky, sparking fire along his skin with only sound. “I know it’s not fair--”

“If you want.” Just the desire in her words , her tone, had him harder than he’d been in his entire life. Please.

“I do. Want,” she said. For the first time, ever.

He threw his head back when she grasped him, and while she was no stranger to the mechanics, it was a new wonder to find pleasure in his pleasure, in the sounds he made under her hand, the astonished agony on his face.

When he came, she felt an echoing pull, the first taste of a pleasure inconceivable to her until that moment, a sweet but unsatisfied ache.

“Tomorrow?” She asked, still holding him, still hearing him gasp her name.

“Whatever you want,” he sighed, in blissful defeat.

[makerkenzie]

Get up. Go.

I’m going to engage with the question of Jaime Lannister showing up at Winterfell in Season 8.

A little structure for this post: 1. Leaving the “without Lannister army” ish to one side for a moment. 2. Leaving the “news of Cersei’s fuckery” to another side. 3. Putting Jaime’s travel specifics off to another side. Stipulate he shows up no sooner than Brienne and Podrick. 4. Put Dany’s ish aside for the nonce. It’s Winterfell, and winter is dead-ass here, so it’s the Starks’ turf. 5. Jon is included in the Starks. If/when he answers to Aegon, I’ll reconsider. Until then, he’s Jon and he’s of the North and the Starks are his fam.

Right? So, what happens when Ser I-Seldom-Fling-Children-From-Towers-to-Improve-Their-Health shows up at the Winterfell gates and says he wants to join in the fight for the living? How do the surviving Starks respond to him?

The Starks set up a certain framework throughout Season 7. This framework includes, but is not limited to: 1. Jon says the war of the living and the dead is the only war that matters. Ergo: old grievances are deprioritized. 2. Jon lets Theon live another day because he helped Sansa escape from the Boltons. Ergo: your earlier, shitty actions can be balanced against your later, positive actions, and the positive side may win out. 3. Jon says he can’t forgive every shitty thing Theon did to his family, but what he can forgive, he does. 4. Sansa says Tyrion always treated her kindly. Based on her input, Jon goes south and plays ball with Tyrion as Dany’s advisor. Ergo: your trustworthiness is assessed not by your family name, but by your behavior. Also, the Lannisters are not a monolith. 5. Sansa says Ser Jaime always treated Brienne honorably, and she trusts Brienne to have her back. In fact she outright orders Brienne to go south and interact with the Lannisters as House Stark’s representative. Lady Stark already has some sense of Jaime’s positive behavior. 6. Arya Stark, who previously told Brienne to fuck off because she got a fancy sword from Jaime, now wants to train with Brienne because she beat the Hound. They train together and they obviously enjoy it very much. Ergo: Arya’s no longer interested in guilt-by-association. 7. First thing in Season 7, Arya rounded up all the Frey men who participated in the Red Wedding and poisoned them, but she made sure to spare Lord Walder’s young wife. Ergo: you may be punished for following orders, you may be punished for going along with the crowd, you may be punished for doing awful things to save your own skin, but you will not be punished for being part of the wrong family. 8. The conflict between Sansa and Arya over Sansa’s supposedly having enjoyed her time with the Lannisters has already been resolved, and the verdict was that the girls have each other’s backs and Littlefinger had to die. Ergo: figure out what it’ll take to keep the pack alive through the winter, and do that. Also, when Lady Stark needs to know WTF is going on, Bran is her go-to guy. 9. Way back in Season 4: Aunt Lysa tried to shove Sansa out the Moon Door. Ergo: family can betray family. The Starks and their relations are no exception. 10. Whatever Bran doesn’t already know about who did what to whom, he can just commune with a weirwood tree and find out. 11. Best of all, Sansa announced to all of her peeps assembled at Winterfell that Littlefinger and Aunt Lysa conspired to kill Jon Arryn, and to make a long story short, the war that put the Starks through years of hell was Littlefinger’s idea. 12. Jon lets Ned Umber and Alys Karstark make a fresh vow of fealty to House Stark, after their relations died fighting for Ramsay. Ergo: you can dissociate yourself from the decisions of family members. 13. Last conversation we saw between the Stark ladies: the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

Now let’s get back to Jaime showing up in Season 8!

First, this is the guy who tried to kill Bran, left him paraplegic.

The conditions in which he did that no longer apply, so I think the Starks are assured he’s not at risk of flinging another child from a tower, but he’s already done it once and the damage can’t be undone.

Do the rest of the Starks know Jaime’s the one who did that to Bran, though? Let’s assume they do. If they don’t already know, they’ll find out pretty soon after he arrives at the gates.

It’s not only that. There was also that time when he ambushed Ned out behind the brothel, and he killed Jory Cassel and left Ned with a busted-up leg. And then he fought at Whispering Wood. And he killed his cousin and a Karstark guy in an escape attempt from his captivity.

Yeah, so, what happens when this guy, with a history of behaving antagonistically to House Stark, shows up at Winterfell and says he wants to join the fight for the living?

They know what he’s done in the Stark-Lannister conflict. Sansa probably knows, between Tyrion and Brienne, of how much harm Jaime suffered in the same conflict. She probably knows something about his positive actions since he left his captivity. For example, that time when he saved Brienne from a bear. Which is how Brienne lived long enough to rescue Sansa and Theon from the Boltons and escort her up to Castle Black. To say nothing of Jaime’s giving Brienne a sword, armor, horse and squire and asking her very nicely to go and protect the Stark girls from his sister’s goons.

Without Sansa reuniting with Jon, the Boltons would still have Winterfell. Both Sansa and Jon either know already or will find out soon enough, that Jaime made a positive, necessary contribution to the sequence of events that led to the Starks getting back to their home and each other. He actually wasn’t involved in most of the horrible things that have either directly harmed their family or put them in harm’s way. Robert Baratheon’s death? Ned’s execution? Sansa’s captivity at Red Keep? Red Wedding? Anything involving Ramsay fucking Bolton? Jaime had no part in it.

What does he have to offer them now? He’s hardly a fighter anymore, but he has plenty of command experience, and that doesn’t hurt. He has a Valyrian steel sword, and Jon knows that’s a good thing. He brings the news that his sister is plotting with Euron Greyjoy to employ the Golden Company to pull the realm out from under everyone else while they’re busy saving humanity. That’s not good news, but they’d much rather hear it earlier, from him, than find out the hard way later on. That he’s willing to flip a giant left-handed bird at his vicious sister, and by doing so risk his own life, so he can keep his promises and join up with the Starks, says a lot about his priorities. It’s the sort of thing that makes a good impression. 

I think Sansa and Jon will agree that Jaime has already paid dearly for his acting antagonistically toward their family, he’s ultimately done them more good than harm, and what harm he did was mostly in the category of what Sansa would call “getting jerked around by Littlefinger’s lies.” He’s more of an asset than a liability in heading off the Snow Zombie Apocalypse.

(I’ve seen the occasional speculation of Dany being peeved at him for that time when he charged at her with a spear. I think Dany should understand that was totally normal and ethical behavior for a soldier in battle, especially reasonable compared to her roasting his soldiers like marshmallows wrapped in tinfoil, and if she doesn’t get that? Tyrion will set her straight if Jon doesn’t. Dany has no leg to stand on.)

That still leaves the harm he did to Bran, though.

Just like Jon can’t tell Theon everything’s forgiven because the harm wasn’t done to Jon? Nobody else can offer Jaime absolution for his injuring Bran. Nobody can forgive him except for Bran, and nobody can condemn him except for Bran. The last question is, if Jaime offered him an apology, how would Bran respond?

As I mentioned earlier in this post, Jaime isn’t about to re-offend. The twincest affair has been exposed, all the kids are dead, and now his relationship with his sister has imploded, so, history isn’t repeating itself any time soon, and horrible shit happened anyway. Including that he lost the hand he used to toss Bran out the window.

Seems karma’s already taken a brutal bite out of Jaime’s life, but as I also mentioned earlier, the damage to Bran can’t be undone. No amount of harm done to Jaime requires Bran to forgive him.

So we look at Bran during Season 7, and I ask: does this seem like a kid who’s determined not to accept an apology? Does he seem interested in prioritizing shit done to him years ago over dealing with the Snow Zombie Apocalypse? Does he seem like he’d look at Jaime, showing up with a Valyrian steel sword, vital information about his vicious sister, and military expertise, and say to his siblings, “But we can’t have him on our side, because he’s the reason I can’t walk”? Nah, I think Bran’s attitude will be Jaime’s of more use to them as an ally than a scapegoat.

The very worst-case reaction would be more like: “Why are you in here apologizing to me when you could be having a strategy meeting with Jon, right now? Get up. Go. If you can’t find Jon, Lady Brienne will show you the way.”

On balance, I think the wolves will be happy to bring a lion into the pack.

[mon-blanchetts]

Thieves Among Us (Part 4)

Let Jon have his armies and his devoted wildlings and the love of their people, she thinks. Let him have his dragon queen. She’s in possession of a secret, tragic as it may be, but at least it’s entirely her own. For Sansa, that’s more than enough. It has to be. Rated M; inspired by content from S7. Previous chapters can be found here.

A huge thanks to @alittlestardustcaught for beta reading this chapter!

We used to play in the godswood together when we were children, me and you and Robb and Theon. You remember that, don’t you?

Jon stared at the ancient face carved into the heart tree. That was what Sansa had asked him when they had been in the broken tower, when the tension in that small room had been thick enough to taste on his tongue. There she was, looking out towards the godswood with her back facing him, her body a tense line, her voice soft and wistful. It wasn’t enough to fool him—Jon knew that she was barely holding herself together, but he couldn’t undo what had been done. Worse, he didn’t what she was referring to—not then, not now. It rang true, was the thing, authentic, and yet for the life of him he couldn’t conjure any memory whatsoever to fit with her words. All those moons ago, Jon had assumed that he’d been too wrapped up in his intentions to think about anything else other than what he had to do, what he had to end, but lately his perceptions had altered. More and more, he realized that there were other things he couldn’t remember, a dark space in his consciousness where something ought to have been, but no longer was. It left him feeling unsettled and out-of-touch, but he had yet to mention it to anybody. Jon wanted to change that.

The winds were biting this afternoon, moving all around him in a way he thought somewhat uninviting. Despite all the layers he wore beneath his cloak, Jon never felt warm, whether he was inside or out. It wasn’t a bad thing to lament over—at least it kept him alert, sharp. Warmth lulled him to sleep, wrapped him with a false sense of hope and security. Not a soul on either continent was in a place to think that, him least of all.

 “Still praying to the old gods, are you now?”

 Beric Dondarrion’s voice was smooth like marble, a calming sound that seemed fitting for the place they stood in. Jon turned his back on the heart tree, taking in the man approaching him. “No more than I pray to all the other gods,” he replied.

 “Don’t believe in any of them, you mean?” Lord Beric smirked. “Not even the Lord of Light, who brought you back to life? Who chose you to be the Prince that was Promised?”

 Jon huffed in response. That damned prophecy, not to mention that damned title—why did he have to be part of it all? He was a survivor, first and foremost; all he could hope for was to see the world he knew make it through whatever was coming for all of them, but Jon knew he wasn’t the only one who believed that. The Red Witch was entirely at fault for this, and for that he was even more exasperated with her. Where she had disappeared to after she’d been given a private audience with Dany remained a mystery, but there was not a doubt in his mind she would find ways to stir up trouble wherever she was.

 “Maybe I don’t know what I believe in anymore,” he said, turning to the heart tree again. He tried to ignore the way his stomach throbbed to life again, just as it had when he woke this morn. “What I do know is that I’m here—I’m alive, and now there’s an undead army of thousands, maybe more, marching towards us…yet here I am, trying to convince myself and everyone around me that we can defeat them.” Jon knew it was the worst thing to say, but doing so had been strangely comforting. Remedial, almost, seeing as he’d wanted to let it out for ages.

 Behind him, Beric Dondarrion said nothing. Strange to think that this was likely the first instance they were making conversation, despite the fact that they had journeyed beyond the Wall together in order to gather proof of the Night King’s army of the Dead. A white walker had dealt him a near-fatal blow to his stomach when that horde of wights had ambushed his party, a stab wound that had gone deep. Even now, Jon could remember with vivid clarity how it felt, as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice while the enemy’s spear was lodged in his flesh—but there was something else to it as well, something that he didn’t have the chance to reflect on until he’d reached the safety of the Wall. Jon couldn’t explain it, but in that moment he felt as if he had lost a part of him, as if the white walker had ripped something vital out of him when it had pulled its spear back.

 Jon glanced over his shoulder. Lord Beric was studying the red leaves above him with his exposed eye, one gloved hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He had seen the man fight and drink and laugh, all the things that the living did, but there was always a haunted look in his eye that never went away, an emptiness that came through his voice no matter what he was saying. A shell of a man. That was what Beric Dondarrion was.

 “When was the last time you set foot in the godswood, Lord Beric?”

 The man snorted. “Barely even went to my own, back before everything went to shit.” He looked around, as if he was expecting someone else to be with them. “The people at the castle like to talk quite a bit. A fellow died here, no? That’s a travesty, in a sanctuary like this.”

 Jon nodded. “So the story goes. They found the corpse lying about, but there isn’t anyone who can explain what happened, not even the maesters.”

 “Was the man someone of importance?”

 “That depends who you ask,” he said, unable to hide the smirk that formed on his mouth. He turned his gaze down at the snowy ground beneath his feet. Jon tried to imagined the corpse lying before him, facedown in the snow just like Maester Payton and others had described. The body had been given to the flames shortly after the discovery, just like he’d ordered of every corpse in their midst. Sansa had seen to that.

 Beric Dondarrion cocked his head. “From the sound of it, you weren’t too taken by him. Am I right?”

 “Petyr Baelish was Lady Sansa’s guest, not mine,” he said, his voice hard, unforgiving. “I’ve a feeling there aren’t a great many who miss him, but I could be wrong.” Sansa’s face flashed through his mind and his wound throbbed with more fervor than before. She had written to him personally about the whole thing, a detached, sterile piece that arrived at Dragonstone by raven. Littlefinger is dead, his body found in the godswood, but nobody knows how he got there or what happened to him. We’ve burned the body. Squabbles have begun over his legacy. If she had experienced any grief of loss, it was completely missing in her letter.

 “One less corpse for the Night King to get his fucking hands on, that’s how I see it,” Lord Beric mused. He looked Jon straight in the eye. “Why did you ask for me, Your Grace?”

 It was a last resort, but Jon felt that someone who’d been through the same experience might understand. Was his predicament truly his own?

 “There are things I can’t remember,” he said, his eyes still focused on the face of the heart tree. “It’s just…at first, I thought it was only things that happened a long, long time ago, but now I’m realizing that there are more gaps in my memory, things that people discuss of recent that I can’t recall at all.” He let out a sigh, his breath floating before him.

 When Jon glanced at Lord Beric, his expression was unreadable. His stomach knotted inside him. Jon didn’t know what the man was thinking, wasn’t sure if he understood. Suddenly he felt foolish about the whole thing, angry at himself for requesting his presence here, a man he didn’t really know about.

 “You don’t get to come back the same,” Lord Beric said, upending the silence between them. “You forget things that happened in your life, and there’s no picking and choosing the memories that disappear. Those lost memories, though—you’ll never know how meaningful they were, anyway. You could say it’s a small mercy.”

 “That’s no mercy,” Jon protested. He wasn’t sure why, but he was oddly affronted by the man’s comment. He felt swindled, incomplete.

 Lord Beric lifted an eyebrow. “Isn’t it? Those memories you say you can’t remember—they could have all been bad ones, something sad or tragic. That’s not a terrible thing to have away with.”

 Jon scoffed. “I doubt the Lord of Light is benevolent enough to allow something as convenient as that.” He thought about what Sansa had made mention of in the broken tower. She had shrugged it off as soon as she realized that he didn’t know what she was talking about—she’d shrugged him off shortly after, but that hadn’t been a surprise at all—but her disappointment was discernible in that small chamber built high above the keep. Why had she brought up something that happened so long ago? Was it all to fill that ugly silence that pressed down on them while she came to terms with what he was doing, or was there more significance to it?

 “I thought you weren’t keen to believe in the Lord of Light,” his companion pointed out, tilting his head to the side to scratch beneath his chin. Jon said nothing.

 “Look at it the way a scale works. The Lord of Light puts you on one side, but there’s nothing else to put on the other side to make it balance. A life is owed, yours, but something has to give for you to come back. So a compromise is made. You get to come back, I get to come back, but we’re not the same people we used to be. Every course of action has a consequence.”

 Jon tried to swallow what Lord Beric had said “How much have you forgotten?”

 His companion shrugged. “I couldn’t tell you. Sometimes I do things I find myself questioning afterwards and wonder if it’s because it’s to do with who I was before. Besides,” he reached forward to touch the heart tree, almost reverently, “how do you know what’s lost to you if you didn’t have any knowledge about it in the first place?”

 An image of Sansa, splayed out beneath him, naked, her auburn hair spread over the pillow, her head tilted back in ecstasy to expose her beautiful throat. A better man wouldn’t have done what he did with her, despite Littlefinger’s own beliefs. It’s easy to fall in love with her, your sister, but even easier to fall in lust with. Any man able to withstand charms like hers might not be much of a man at all. Jon hadn’t been out to satisfy his lust, not while he’d been inside Sansa. He just wanted to help her forget, just like she had asked. Give me back a piece of home I’ve lost, Jon. Give me something to get lost in. A part of him knew that they were doing something wrong, filthy, but it had been too easy to push that away, too easy to forget the sanctity of their blood relations. And yet, Jon had taken Sansa to bed because he loved her. Perhaps it was that love that had become twisted when he had been brought back. Telling her he regretted it all when he didn’t had been a means to protect both of them, but it had ended up destroying what precious bond that they had forged, a bond that he realized could never be replicated or mended.

 He thought of all the people he placed his confidence in, Sam and Ser Davos and Tormund. Jon thought about Dany and the ironies that the gods enjoyed heaping on him. He had known her for such a short period of time, and yet the history they shared was probably enough to span an entire lifetime. War had the ability to make time stretch when it saw fit; it was no wonder that one experience felt like it happened ages ago. He had questioned his connection with Sansa based off what he thought he knew—he had questioned his connection with Dany because of what he didn’t. Were all of his follies also the work of the same god?

 “What goes through your mind, Your Grace?”

 Jon blinked once, twice. He looked at Lord Beric. “Nothing worth voicing out loud,” he said, offering the man a tight smile. The leaves rustled above their heads while the wind wailed, a sorrowful sound that seemed to go straight to his heart.

 “I’ll stay here then, if you’re finished with me,” his companion said, glancing at his surroundings. “Not a bad place after all, this.”

 Jon left Lord Beric on his own. His wound was throbbing again, but he ignored it. A small worry had been accounted for, but it hadn’t been lifted, not really. His sporadic bouts of amnesia still weighed him down along with the rest of his troubles, but it was a small comfort knowing that he wasn’t suffering alone. He didn’t think he agreed with Lord Beric’s philosophies, but he had none to offer, either.

 Every course of action has a consequence. That part was certainly true. There would have been consequences, severe ones, if he and Sansa hadn’t ended what it was they had, despite his own desires, despite hers. Littlefinger had veered too close to the truth, and Jon wasn’t sure how far the man would’ve gone with his suspicions, who else he would have passed them to. What if his lords had got wind of what he’d been doing with Sansa? His stomach twisted almost painfully from the thought. The King in the North, fucking his own sister. That’s how they would’ve all viewed it. Neither of them would have been able to hide behind the Stark name then. They would have been as corrupt as the Lannisters, as mad as the Targaryens, not a bit different than their enemies. What defense could either of them stand on, had their transgressions come to light? Would Sansa have wanted him then, knowing that he’d been an accomplice in her downfall?

 He almost didn’t notice the entrance of the crypts, nearly passing it entirely, but he stopped in his tracks. The last time he had been there, he’d looked to Ned Stark’s effigy for guidance and strength; Jon had merely glanced at the statue of Lyanna Stark without giving it any thought whatsoever. There wasn’t a reason to pause and reflect, nothing to linger on. Lyanna Stark had been a tragic figure, no doubt, but her presence had been muted in favor of the battles and victories he and his brothers were more interested in. If only he’d known differently. If only Ned had said something. He had promised though, hadn’t he? His uncle had promised to discuss more about it when he came back from King’s Landing, but how much would he have let on?

 Again and again, he dreamt of her. It was the same thing every time; always she would appear before him as a child, dressed in Stark gray, her eyes full of wisdom that wasn’t natural for her age. They both partook in that same game of hide-and-seek, that which he always lost because then Sansa would appear, always Sansa, completely oblivious to their presence, pulling out that casket from underneath her bed, its design so simple and nondescript that he couldn’t even begin to figure out what lay inside. It eluded him each time, its contents, despite the fact that he was always trying to see, always waiting for her to lift open the lid while Lyanna giggled behind the drawn curtains. Whenever he got close to finally satisfying his curiosity, darkness took hold of him and he found himself back in his own bed, frustrated and confused. Of all the things to grow mad about, it was being thwarted by his desires in a dream.

 A raven squawked somewhere behind him, shaking him out of his contemplations. He looked up, but only overcast skies looked back at him. Gray, like the colour of his mother’s dress when he dreamt of her, like the colour of his eyes. The colour of Sansa’s gowns.

 Something dawned on him. He hated looking back on their last conversation, considering the way he had ruined what could have well been his best chance at reconciliation, but he couldn’t ignore it any further. Sansa was hiding something. He had his suspicious even before that, but for the first time, Jon realized that she was keeping something from him. It was in the way she avoided him, the closed-off way she spoke with him when they happened to be alone. Jon thought her behaviour was in response to everything he had done wrong in her eyes, but something still didn’t sit right with him.

His wound was throbbing more strongly now, making it hurt when his stomach rose while he inhaled, and he wondered if it was going to re-open again, like it usually did. Sam would be as furious as he would be perplexed, but Jon couldn’t blame him for his reactions. Something wasn’t right about this injury; it was disquieting, to say the least, but not as disquieting as the thought that Sansa was hiding something from him. What was she hiding?

 Jon walked on, leaving the crypts behind him. As badly as he wanted to know, how would he ever find out? Not from Sansa, unfortunately. His heart constricted when he remembered how she stared at him coldly at the feast held the night before he had traveled to the Gift, together with Dany. Sansa didn’t attend the banquet that had been held after the feast; his eyes had been searching her out the whole time, until an observant attendant informed him that Lady Sansa had chosen to retire instead. No, Sansa wouldn’t tell him anything, even if he demanded it of her. If he really wanted to know what she was keeping from him, he’d have to find out through other means.

He didn’t mean to be here, not alone. Not without Sansa’s permission. Her bedchamber was her private sanctuary and he knew he was intruding upon it, but the moment he’d made the decision to slip through the space left by the open door, Jon knew that there was no going back on his intentions.

 Nothing had changed since he was last here; all of the furniture was still arranged in the same spot, tilted at the same angles. Everything looked as it should be. So why couldn’t he shake off the feeling that a great change had taken place? Why did something feel wrong in the air?

 Jon always remembered how warm it was in her bedchamber, even when there wasn’t a fire blazing inside the hearth; but he was always cold now, even here. He hadn’t come back beyond the Wall right, he realized more often than not. The fact that he felt no warmth, not to mention that damned wound on his abdomen that refused to heal properly, were the most obvious signs. He was afraid to learn what else might be wrong with him, what other thing might wear his resolve down just a little more.

 But, gods, he used to feel so warm in here. Jon was always warm when he had clung to Sansa like she was air—her hot, bare skin pressed tightly against his while he moved inside her to a rhythm that was exclusively theirs. And Sansa, achingly sweet and achingly beautiful, would match him with every thrust, chanting his name over and over and over again, an erotic hymn that brought about the most divine moment he had ever experienced. Jon screwed his eyes shut and drew in a shuddering breath, hoping to disarm the images that were shoving themselves to the forefront of his mind, but that only made things worse. More images flashed by with startling clarity: the curve of Sansa’s hips beneath his fingers, gripped so tightly for purchase that there would no doubt be a patch of bruises the next day—the little gasp that always came from her swollen lips just before her crisis washed over as reverently as his own did just a few beats later.

 Jon knew that his mind was playing games with him, no longer a faculty he had as much faith in these days, but he could’ve sworn that he could smell vestiges of their sexual transgressions, thick and heady, so potent that it made his head swim. But there was something else lingering in the air, too; even though everything looked fine, he was positive that he could grasp the metallic tang of blood. The realization served to remind him again why he had chosen to come here in the first place. He’d been dreaming that same dream night after night—dreaming of Sansa so often, of that casket she always pulled from beneath her bed—that he began to wonder if there was any truth behind it. The idea was ridiculous; the chances that Sansa actually had a casket that she hid in her bedchamber seemed slim to none, but Jon could never extinguish the possibility completely.  

 He could feel his heart hammering against his chest; Jon reached out towards one of the bedposts to steady himself, confused by the sudden terror that gripped him. What was there to be so scared about? So what if he did find something beneath Sansa’s bed—what if he did find the casket he had seen in his dream? What would she possible have in there that was worth mulling over to this extent? Jon didn’t have the right to be here; he didn’t have the right to any information that Sansa decided she wanted to keep to herself. Should that include the things that he might be involved with?

 What are you hiding from me, Sansa?

 The silence in the room rang in his ears in a way he didn’t think possible; he felt as if his heart was trying to escape from his chest. Desperate to quell the panic that was growing, Jon walked to the side of the bed that Sansa always stood in his dream before he sank to his hands and knees, the cold floor against his palms sending a jolt through his body.

 He ducked his head beneath the bed frame. Everything was just a dream. Only a dream, and nothing more.

 There was nothing.

AN: If you got this far, I just want to say thank you for sticking it out with me. I don’t know how interesting this story is now that Season 7 has aired, but it’s where I’m getting all the inspiration to write, and I’m going to ride that high until it wears out, which I hope isn’t soon, because I do want to finish this story, bloody hard as it is. I also want everyone to know that the light is coming, but it time was needed. Again, thank you so much for reading; your feedback and comments are the absolute best a writer can hope for!

[elenatria]

Tormund’s Wedding XV

http://archiveofourown.org/works/10614180/chapters/26854533

“Wake up, bitch.”

Brienne had barely opened her eyes when she felt a boot poking her ribs. She could have easily grabbed the man by the foot and thrown him to the ground; the only thing stopping her was the steely shine of Finbarre’s blade hanging inches from her nose. He wouldn’t kill her, no; he would maim her, probably attack the parts she wouldn’t need in battle – or in rape; teeth, nose, ears, fingers, a whole arm maybe if they made sure she didn’t bleed to death. Just enough to make her look pitiful and ridiculous.

She forced herself up.

“Walk,” she heard the man say, “They will soon be here.” She looked around; Tormund was already outside his cell, two men holding him by each arm, a knife pressed against the back of his neck.

“Who will be here?” she demanded.

“Don’t be curious,” the bald man spat. “You will soon find out.”

The guards pushed her and Tormund towards the staircase. When they finally reached the surface the sunlight hurt their eyes. Lord Glover was already there, waiting for them with Sansa on his side and two men guarding her.

“Where is Lord Royce, Aedan?” he asked the bald man.

“He’s with the boy, your lordship,” he croaked.

“What do you mean he’s with the boy?” Glover said impatiently.

“Pardon me, m’lord, he refused to leave his bedside during the night.”

Sansa’s pale lips trembled but she didn’t utter a word.

“He’d better join us soon,” Glover snarled. “Our guests could be here any minute now.”

Brienne sneaked a glance at Sansa who looked back at her; she had sickly black circles under her blue eyes.

“Open the gates!” someone barked from the other side of the Dreadfort’s walls. Two men rode into the yard, two northern lords. Their cloaks had furs and they had four silver chains drawn on their chestplates. Brienne couldn’t recognize the sigils but she could tell the men were related, they were both tall with strong jaws, pale cold eyes and long black hair. The older one took a look around before greeting Lord Glover, and then his tiny eyes settled on Tormund. He turned to the man on his side who seemed younger but had the same resentful look on his face.

“Look at that, Leecan,” he said with a jerk of his bearded chin. “That him, you think?

Leecan didn’t answer. He dismounted keeping his eyes fixed on the person his brother showed him.

“My lords,” Glover rushed to greet them. “I hope you had a safe journey. We need to finish this as soon as we can, before word gets out.”

“What, you plan on sending crows, Glover?” the bearded man quipped. “Or are you going to keep the women alive to spread the news?”

“No, Lord Ven. Lady Sansa will be sent to the Queen for killing king Joffrey, her beloved son. I don’t think she’ll have the chance to contact the King in the North ever again. As for Lady Brienne, that’s for you to decide what to do with her, my lords.”

“I’m sure their cocks can decide what to do with her,” Ven chuckled as he nodded towards Finbarre, Aedan and the rest of Littlefinger’s men. Finbarre smirked.

“We’re not here for pleasantries, brother,” Leecan snapped and crossed the yard hastily towards the group of men standing next to Brienne and her captors.

“You’re right,” Ven agreed. “But first let’s thank Lord Glover before the festivities begin, after all he was the one to message us about this great find. Your letter was most unexpected and most elevating, dear Robett, and we thank you for letting us know of his whereabouts,” he bowed to Glover.

“We’re lucky this fool followed Lady Sansa’s party cutting himself off Jon Snow’s protective entourage. I don’t know what he was thinking but all the better for us, don’t you agree?”

“Absolutely,” the bearded man nodded and walked to his brother who was already glaring at Lord Glover’s “find”. “So we meet at last,” Ven said resting his hands on his belt. “Tormund. Is that right? The infamous Tormund Giantsbane.” He tilted his head back in fake admiration. “The bear fucker. The leader of the wildlings. Or should I call you Lord Karstark now?”

Tormund frowned. These men looked horribly familiar but he just couldn’t put names to faces. The squinty eyes, the square jaws, the narrow noses, the cold stare. He had never seen those faces before, yet they seemed to know him. And he certainly knew them.

“It must feel good to be one of us now, eh?” Ven sniggered. “Look at your clothes, look at you.” He pulled at Tormund’s collar. “I imagine the lands you and your people will now feast upon like locusts, the warm walls to keep you safe from the coming winter, those same walls our ancestors built with their blood.” He placed his hand on Tormund’s shoulder squeezing hard and brought his face closer. “And of course little Alys’ sweet cunt,” he whispered dropping his head on the side. “The biggest prize of them all for serving the bastard so loyally. Was she sweet like butter when you split her pussy open? She must be real progress for you considering you only had bears to fuck beyond the Wall.” He hit Tormund’s shoulder mockingly. “Come on, what was she like? You can tell us.”

Tormund winced and gnashed his teeth. He tried to escape but Glover’s men were holding him by both arms.

“I’m sure you wasted no time tasting that minge and it felt good, eh wildling? I’m sure you fucked her good before she could even get out of her wedding dress, fucked her till she bled. Poor girl.  Isn’t that how you goat fuckers do it, you steal and fuck little girls in the ass, don’t you? But her cunt is too good for the likes of you, you dog. I mean, can you believe it? The women, the lands, the castles, the riches, all yours for the taking. But you know, Lord Karstark, we still own the north...”

Tormund froze; he had heard those words before. He had seen eyes like them before. He now recognized them despite the thick streams of blood that were running down his face choking him, blinding him, his own blood as well as that of the enemy. The enemy whose throat he had just ripped out with a wild triumphant howl.

Finally he knew who they were…

“You really thought we wouldn’t get to you in the end?” Leecan hissed pulling Tormund’s hair and making him grunt in pain, their eyes locked in a hateful stare. “You really thought that marriage of yours would protect you and we wouldn’t hunt you down after you slaughtered our brother?”

Brienne held her breath, her mouth hanging open.

It was them.

The remaining Umbers.

Seven help us.

She knew what Tormund had done to Smalljon Umber during the battle against the Boltons. “Always believe the stories about me, always,” he had told her the night before. Apparently those stories couldn’t be confined within the ranks of Jon Snow’s men. Bad news travelled fast, gruesome stories of hated blood thirsty enemies even faster.

“We knew you wildlings are animals who eat human flesh but you chose the wrong man to chew on, you smelly fucker,” Ven Umber spat. “You must be really proud of those strong teeth of yours, aren’t you?” he gloated pushing Tormund’s mouth open and shoving his thumb into his throat while he grabbed him by his messy ginger hair with the other hand to stop him from struggling. Tormund tried to bite down but Leecan swiftly pulled out his dagger and poked his throat, forcing him to stand still. “Your rich clothes won’t save you,” Ven continued. “That silver sun on your chest won’t save you. That jest of a marriage won’t save you. We’ll take our time pulling those wretched teeth one by one, the teeth that savaged our poor brother. And then we’ll ass-fuck you with them like you ass-fucked the Karstark girl. We’ll sit back to watch you shit blood and teeth, bastard.”

Once again at the mere mention of his wife Tormund struggled furiously, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by Brienne, but Ven’s strong thumb in his throat kept holding him down and so did Leecan’s dagger. Glover’s men tightened their grip on Tormund’s arms not letting him move one inch against his enemies.

“But we’re at the Dreadfort, and no festivity is complete without some flaying,” Ven Umber kept taunting him and looked around. “It’s traditional and we northerners respect our customs, right, boys? Who knows, taking part in this age-old tradition of house Bolton might make a northerner out of you yet, Giantsbane! We all look the same under our skin after all.”

“Take my dagger, brother,” Leecan exhaled eagerly.

“I’m not so sure I want to start with the flaying, Lee,” Ven Umber said and took a step back pulling his thumb out of Tormund’s throat letting him breathe and cough at the same time. “I want him alive. Let him ponder a little longer on the thought of being flayed, I’d love to see the fear in his eyes. And who knows, by the time we get to use your dagger he might even beg us to kill him.”

Finbarre scoffed. “Have you ever done that, wildling? Have you ever begged?”

“No,” Tormund growled hoarsely, his glaring eyes dark and menacing like those of a caged wolf. “But you will.”

Ven Umber guffawed and turned to Glover. “Did you hear that, Robett? The filthy animal hasn’t learned manners yet, and he wants to be a northern lord.”

“Gag him,” Glover said and threw a piece of dirty cloth for Umber to catch. “Maybe you should start by chopping off an arm, or a foot, immobilize him first. He’s dangerous.”

“I might just do that,” Ven said and began to draw his sword as his brother gagged Tormund with the cloth.

“No, use that one,” Glover said and held up a big sword with a lion on its pommel. “It belonged to her but I don’t think she will be needing it anymore,” he said looking at Brienne. “It’s only fitting.”

“Don’t you dare…” Brienne growled through gritted teeth.

“What was that?” Glover began but the fearful glimpse in her eyes made him stop in his tracks. He saw the worry and the desperation. He saw everything. The feelings she had be trying to hide all this time were now plain as day.

“Oh. Ooooh,” he smiled as the realization hit him. “I understand now. I understand why the wildling left his newlywed wife to follow them into the wilderness. He followed her.” He pointed at Brienne who was now covered in cold sweat. “Lord Umber, it seems we hit two birds with one stone here. Torture one and you’re torturing both. She doesn’t want us to use her precious sword on her precious wilding. Do you, Lady Brienne?”

“Glover, you traitorous sadistic bastard…” Brienne hissed as she tried to escape the men holding her.

“Stay put and you might spend a little more time with your loved one before Finbarre and the rest take care of you too.”

Finbarre jolted joyously at the mention of his name; this is what he’d been waiting for since he saw her the previous night lying face down on the floor of her cell helpless and unconscious, her long legs spread open, the lower part of her gambeson folded up on her back and revealing her delicious behind to him. Soon there would be nothing between him and her ass, and it was about time he and his companions got paid for all their efforts.

“Are you getting wet, bitch?” Finbarre jeered. “I’ll get you wet I promise. I sure am getting hard for you right now.” He grabbed his crotch and rubbed it up and down causing the rest of the men to burst in laughter.

That was the straw that broke the horse’s back. No gag could silence Tormund’s wrath now, no dagger in his throat could keep him down. With a fearful roar he pulled his arm trying to get rid of one of his captors but he only managed to drag the man in front of him. Ven Umber immediately punched Tormund in the stomach making him fall on his knees.

“Not so fast, lovebird.”

Tormund gasped desperately for air, blood dripping from his lips. Ven had hit him so hard that Tormund barely felt or heard the ripping of his clothes as Leecan tore the back of his tattered tunic with the dagger.

“Time to see if you’re just like us under that thick skin of yours, wildling,” Lord Glover said. “Time to see if… Royce. Finally you’re here. What’s wrong?”

The grizzly man had just appeared in the courtyard, pale as a ghost, lips trembling.

“You’re shaking, my lord, what’s happening?” Glover insisted.

“Dead…” Lord Royce whispered. “He’s… he’s dead…”

“Who is dead?”

“Lord Arryn... Robin… Robin’s dead. My sweet sweet boy.”

Nobody spoke. Sansa was hardly breathing. The Umbers were too busy kicking Tormund and ripping the remains of his tunic. For a moment there the men’s grip on Brienne felt loose; it was now or never, she would escape them while they were distracted, but Sansa was far from her and standing too close to Glover. Brienne might not get a chance to grab a weapon before Glover used Oathkeeper to threaten Catelyn Stark’s daughter.

Tears were running down Yohn Royce’s cheeks.

“He was mine to protect after Lady Lysa died and I… I couldn’t save him.  I couldn’t save Lord Arryn. That arrow… it must have been poisoned. The Vale… the Vale is doomed.”

He was stuttering now, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

“Pull yourself together, man!” Glover urged him grabbing his shoulder and trying to steady him with one hand, the other still holding on to Oathkeeper. “Nothing’s lost. Lord Baelish will be the lord of the Eyrie now, calm down!”

“Lord Baelish…!” Royce lifted his head in a moment of clarity, tears still welling up in his eyes.

Robett Glover let go of Royce’s shoulder taking a step back. It was too late now, he had to speak. His eyes were cold as ice.

“You didn’t expect Lord Baelish to let the boy live, did you?” he said in a low dark voice. “He would never let a weakling stand in his way to become lord of the Vale.”

“You… knew?!... And you let it happen?”

Glover blinked.

“I didn’t let it happen. I ordered it.”

Lord Royce was too dumbfounded to utter a single word. Sansa was shedding silent tears. Even the Umbers stopped beating Tormund and lifted him up grabbing him by both arms as they watched the exchange between the two lords. Tormund was coughing out blood, his brow split open, his face and naked torso badly bruised. He was too weak to resist them anymore.

Brienne felt her heart miss a beat.

She had failed the lady she had sworn to protect.

She had failed the man she loved.

“You… ordered it…!” Royce muttered.

“It had to be done. Ever since those wildling bastards invaded our lands nothing was the same. I'm glad we'll get rid of them at last and I can only thank Lord Baelish for that. It was his idea to capture Tormund after he sent Robin and Sansa to the Eyrie for their supposed marriage. Littlefinger would never give up the Eyrie to a retarded little boy.”

“That little boy was my lord! He could have let him live!” Royce barked.

“No he couldn’t, you know it as well as I. That was the price we had to pay to get rid of the wildling leader, my lord. It was a fair trade. He didn’t tell you because he knew you would back down, but he told me. I instructed his men to use the poisoned arrow. It’s all for the best, now calm down!”

A dark crazy laughter filled the air, a chilling barking sound. Everyone turned to Tormund. His face was a bloody bruised mess but he could still laugh. The Umbers held him tight but they didn’t dare stop him. He was cackling uncontrollably and spitting blood at the same time.

“You fucking kneelers,” he roared trying not to choke on his own blood. “You fucking stupid kneelers. Finding new lords and kings to kneel to every single time. How does it feel now, Royce? How does it feel to bend the knee to Littlepecker of all people? He tricked you well, didn’t he?”

Royce stopped weeping. His eyes were fixed on Tormund.

“You’ll be fine serving that smirking little weasel now. You deserve each other, you know,” Tormund nodded. “Come to think of it, it could be an improvement from that dim-witted runt you had for a lord. I wonder if he would ever manage to wield a sword or hit a target with an arrow. I doubt it but I’m sure you’d urge him to try, if he ever let go of his feeding bottle that is. But I guess we’ll never know, will we? I’m sure he couldn’t even take a piss without you.”

Royce’s eyes widened as all rational thought left him.

“Songs will be written about you, old man, wait and see,” Tormund giggled. “The Wet Nurse and the Halfwit. I’m sure you’d even breastfeed him if you could, that does sound like something you-“

Not a second passed and Oathkeeper was no longer in Glover’s hand. It was in Royce’s furious grip as he pushed back Glover stealing the sword from him, marching frantically towards Tormund. Brienne yanked at her captors instinctively, tightening her right fist but grabbing nothing but air, as if trying to control Oathkeeper from a distance. What was this madman thinking? Was this his ultimate attempt at a petty triumph over his tormentors, his final insult? What a fool, what a STUPID fool!

“You shut your mouth, you filthy-“ Royce hissed.

“Or what?” Tormund mocked him with a mad desperate grin on his face. “Will you help me piss as well, Royce? Will you hold my pecker for me? You’ll need both hands, old man, it’s quite heavy…”

With a horrible cry Royce lifted Oathkeeper over Tormund’s head but Tormund was quicker; and stronger. At the very last minute he pulled his left arm in front of him with a beastly growl dragging Leecan between him and Royce’s sword, shielding himself against the aged knight’s rage. Oathkeeper landed on Leecan’s neck half-beheading him, blood squirting everywhere. As soon as his left arm was released Tormund turned the other way and clobbered Ven Umber’s face until it was a mass of blood and broken bones. Before Royce could pull Oathkeeper out of Leecan’s neck Tormund grabbed Ven’s sword and chopped off Royce’s hand. Oathkeeper fell on the ground with a clang. The aged lord was screaming.

Tormund’s distraction was enough; for a split second Brienne felt her captors’ grip loosen up. Now was the time. She head-butted one of them and pushed the other to the ground, kicking him until he was unconscious. She then took his sword and pierced his chest through and through before finishing off the other man as well.

As soon as they saw what was happening, Finbarre, Aedan and the others grabbed their swords and circled the pair. Brienne was quick enough to grab Sansa, drag her away from Glover and place her behind her. She had her back turned on Tormund and couldn’t see his watchful eyes, his tense muscles or his head crouching like a predator, and as the adrenaline set her pulse racing with deafening violence she could hardly hear his quick breathing.  But for the first time in her life she had the weirdest feeling: she felt as if she was in two places at once. Their hearts beat as one, their breathing was synchronized. And even with her back turned on him it was like she was looking in a mirror.

That moment they were one. And they had only one thing in their minds: escape.

Tormund didn’t wait for Littlefinger’s men, he attacked first. They thought they had him at a disadvantage but the beating he took from the Umber brothers did nothing to soothe his rage. In a matter of minutes he eliminated all his opponents. Except one.

Finbarre was crawling on the ground trying to escape Tormund but his leg was broken. He was sniveling like a baby as he turned on his back, raising his hands in a hopeless attempt to protect himself from the wild monster with the flaming hair.

“Don’t… Don’t kill me!” he begged. “Please…”

“What did you say to my woman?” Tormund growled.

“Please! Oh please don’t..!”

“What. Did you say. To my woman.”

Tormund grabbed him by the hair and Finbarre cried in pain. “Are you wet enough for me, blondie?” he whispered. “Are you? Oh I forgot, you don’t have a pussy. Well, let me carve one for you.”

He raised Oathkeeper and shoved it into Finbarre’s groin. The young man squealed like a pig. Tormund stabbed him again and again until his crotch was covered by a glistening pool of blood.

The half-naked madman smiled coldly as drops of Finbarre’s blood were running down his forehead. “Seems wet enough to me now,” he chuckled.

He turned to Brienne and Sansa. The last man standing was Glover. He was in a bad state and weaponless with Brienne’s sword pointing at his neck but he was still looking her in the eye. Yohn Royce was sitting on the ground next to him. He was dying, the loss of his hand had drained him.  Tormund almost pitied the old man.

“Go on,” Glover muttered. “You might as well kill me.”

“I might,” Brienne quipped with a steely voice.

Glover didn’t expect that answer. For a moment there he thought of surrendering but he knew it was too late to beg. “You can tell the King in the North,” he said decisively “What I did, I did it for my people. I did it for my Erena.”

“It is quite unfortunate then that you won’t be there to tell her,” Sansa murmured calmly and her eyes were darker than the rain clouds that were gathering in the sky. She slowly turned to Brienne and nodded. Brienne nodded back. Without hesitation the warrior woman swang her sword and beheaded Robett Glover, the lord of Deepwood Motte. His lifeless body collapsed on the ground in front of Yohn Royce who was now too weak to even sit up.

The Knight of the Vale tried to lift his head and face the people he had persecuted. He struggled to lean on his elbow but he had lost too much blood. He lied back down.

“Lady Stark, I’m so sorry,” he wheezed. “So very sorry. I don’t deserve to live as I don’t deserve to find peace in death either.”

Sansa kneeled beside him and brushed his hair back wiping away the sweat from his feverish forehead. He was pale as death but his grey eyes were full of regret and sorrow.

“You brought the Knights of the Vale to the north, Lord Royce,” Sansa said as she tried to smile. “You helped my brother. You deserve Mother’s mercy.”

“I betrayed you...” Royce whimpered. He had lost too much blood now, and there were no tears left in his eyes. Only pain.

“I’m so sorry, Lady Stark, I’m so…”

Sansa knew he was a traitor but couldn’t hold back her tears. “Give my greetings to Sweetrobin when you see him. I know you will.”

“I’m so sorry, my lady, I’m… So….” He stopped struggling. He was finally at peace.

He wasn’t a lord, or a knight, or a traitor anymore.

He was nothing.

Sansa wiped her tears as the first raindrops started falling.

“Time to go,” Tormund said dryly and he turned his back on the bodies of the northern lords and Littlefinger’s men. “I’ll get the horses.”

“Lady Sans-“ Brienne said.

“I’m alright,” Sansa interrupted her. “Let’s go.”

Brienne took a deep breath – she knew Sansa was suffering even if she was too proud to show it. The last few days had been horrifying to her.

“I promise you as soon as we’re able to send a raven I’ll ask for men to come here and burry the bodies of Lord Arryn and Lord Royce.”

“I wish their bodies could be taken back to the Vale,” Sansa replied. “Sweetrobin would like to be with his mother.”

“I know,” Brienne said taking a small bow.

“The horses are ready, come on,” Tormund barked.

Brienne gave him a scornful look. “Can you wait? Lady Sansa needs a bit of a rest. Just a little longer.”

“She can rest,” Tormund answered. “On her horse. Soon it will be pouring down and we do not want to stay anywhere near the Dreadfort. We don’t know if Lord Littlepecker has sent any more men.”

“Lady Sansa is mourning. She just lost her cousin. That ‘dim-witted runt’. I think Lord Arryn deserves your respect – and your patience.”

Tormund pulled the straps of his saddle and looked at her. Headstrong to the end.

He shrugged tilting his head.

“So be it. The rain can wait for us I guess. Although you shouldn’t take my words about the boy so seriously.”

“Perhaps I should,” Brienne snapped. “Was that the great plan you came up with yesterday after I… after we… talked?

Tormund let out a snicker but Brienne ignored him.

“Did you have to offend Lord Arryn’s memory so much in front of Lady Sansa?”

Tormund gave her a look of disbelief. “He’s dead. We’re alive,” he said and without warning he threw Oathkeeper for Brienne to catch. It would have hit her in the face if not for her impeccable reflexes. It almost did. “I hope you’re happy we are,” he continued icily as he turned his back on her.

“I am happy.”

“You don’t look happy to me, Lady Brienne.”

“I am happy… you are… not dead.”

The change in her tone made him turn. She was looking down embarrassed, her cheeks, spilled with blood just like his, blushing like a little girl’s. Tormund smiled.

“Is this the closest to a love confession I’ll ever get from you?” he sighed. His heart was already racing but if she kept being stubborn as a mule he wouldn’t take a single step towards her. He only wished they were alone.

“No. But this is.”

Without letting go of Oathkeeper, Brienne walked towards him, put her hand on his cheek and placed a light kiss on his lips. She sure knew how to surprise him. His lips parted as he closed his eyes and tasted the sweat and the blood and the sweetness of her mouth. Gods, this was heavenly. Her tongue dominated his and then it dawned on him: they had never kissed before. They had done lots of things to each other but this was their first kiss. And he wasn’t dreaming, it was real.

He let his hand slide around her waist and he gently pressed her against his naked torso. He heard her moan. Just a tiny moan, meant only for him to hear. And there was nothing he could do about his erection now. He wondered if she was as excited as he was, if there was another way to tell. He was dying to feel her ass, make her feel his hard-on but he didn’t want to offend Sansa, or Brienne would take his head. But she was still holding back, still hugging him with only one hand. The other was holding Oathkeeper, never letting it go.

Tormund pulled back and smiled as their lips glistened with saliva and drops of rain. Their hair was getting more and more wet but none of them seemed too eager to leave now.

“Is this another distraction to make us stay longer under the pouring rain?” he joked. “Do you have an ulterior motive again?”

“No,” Brienne smiled back beaming with joy. She was the most charming creature in the world.

“In that case…” Tormund took her hand gently by the wrist, held Oathkeeper by the hilt and made her loosen her grip. He put down the blade slowly, carefully, without ever letting her go of his sight, smiling as he rose again to hold her with both hands. He couldn’t help noticing her biting her lip ever so slightly, lustfully, as her gaze travelled down his round belly and even lower than that. She wanted to see him. With a deep sigh he pressed her against him and was happy to feel both her hands caressing his back, his ribs, his waist, her fingers sneakily reaching into the back of his trousers as she lost herself in his mouth, and tried to steady herself while he gave in to his uncontrollable desire for her. And since he couldn’t feel her generous curves or dive into her pants just yet he simply stood there, waiting for the hot wave of desire to retreat and his heart to calm down.

Finally they pulled away from each other.

“Let’s go,” Brienne whispered in his ear.

“Yes, it’s time,” Tormund agreed and smiled back. “Or you’ll finish me in front of Sansa, and I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it.”