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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years ago

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If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue �� he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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starksinthenorth · 3 years ago

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Musings on ASOIAF Ladies and Ambition

I’ve noticed people use “ambition” to describe Sansa and Daenerys as if it’s a bad word or an insult (often called “power hungry”). Yet in the text of the series, neither of them are shown to be ambitious people as a core characteristic. I blame the series for a lot of this, because it failed to explore the internal dialogue of Sansa, Arya, and even Cersei, who ends up more humanized than either of them by the end (because of the maybe baby).

Cersei Lannister is the classic ambitious ASOIAF lady, whose point-of-view is introduced in perhaps the most iconic sentence of any introductory chapter:

She dreamt she sat the Iron Throne, high above them all.

I can’t think of a sentence in ASOIAF that better introduces the internal thoughts and view of its leading character.

In comparison, Sansa’s first sentence is receiving news about her father’s whereabouts, Daenerys is shown her new dress to meet Drogo, and Arya has crooked stitches again. Arya’s works to frame her relationship with Sansa and her internal struggle to fit the feminine Westerosi mold, while Sansa and Daenerys are setting up plot points. None of these interactions signal ambition, bad or good. Daenerys did not arrange her wedding, Sansa is just told the information by her Septa, and while Arya is aspiring to have straight stitches, that’s hardly an ambitious goal for a girl of nine.

Fans rarely, if ever, deny Cersei’s cruel, cold, often stupid ambition. In fact, it’s one of the reason people seem to love her. She’s internally open about what she wants - power - and when she wants it - now:

All of them are burning now, she told herself, savoring the thought. They are dead and burning, every one, with all their plots and schemes and betrayals. It is my day now. It is my castle and my kingdom.

- AFFC, Cersei III

The rule was hers; Cersei did not mean to give it up until Tommen came of age. I waited, so can he. I waited half my life. She had played the dutiful daughter, the blushing bride, the pliant wife. She had suffered . . . She had contended with Jon Arryn, Ned Stark, and her vile, treacherous, murderous dwarf brother, all the while promising herself that one day it would be her turn. If Margaery Tyrell thinks to cheat me of my hour in the sun, she had bloody well think again.

- AFFC, Cersei V

Cersei is the definition of a power hungry lady, scheming and cheating at every point. Yes, Sansa learned from her, but most of Sansa’s internalized lessons of Cersei’s were to do the exact opposite.

"The night's first traitors," the queen [Cersei] said, "but not the last, I fear. . . . Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. . . . The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy."

"I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If I am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.

- ACOK, Sansa VI

Cersei isn’t the only POV character who views herself outside of conventional Westerosi standards and aspires to something beyond being a wife and mother. Arya Stark has ambition writ clear on the page, though it is not so cold or denying other people their rights or chances. Compared to Cersei, Arya doesn’t want everything, crown and throne and kingdom and all. She just wants something, and even that is denied to highborn women in Westeros. Even when she asks her father about her future, a man who wants to do right by his children and loves them, Eddard Stark is blinded by Westerosi patriarchy:

Arya cocked her head to one side. "Can I be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?"

"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon."

- AGOT, Eddard V

With Arya in this, I see some parallels to Elaena Targaryen, who was so good at math and management she served as the secret Master of Coin while her husband carried the title. Elaena was “more willful than Rhaena, but not as beautiful as either of her sisters,” yet is also said to have been “more beautiful at age seventy than at age seventeen,” growing into herself like Arya is expected to. They both even cut their hair, Arya to hide her gender and Elaena to hide her beauty, both instances to gain freedom from captivity in the Red Keep.

Despite both these examples of ambition - Cersei’s all-encompassing, without care for how it affects the realm, and Arya’s attempt to find a place in the world outside the Westerosi model - it still becomes an insult when people speak of Daenerys and Sansa.

Critics claim Sansa is ambitious, and negatively so, because she “wants to be queen.” But this criticism misses a vital point of Sansa’s character. Unlike Cersei, she does not want to be queen because of the power and political influence, but because she will be living a song. In the start, Sansa’s got her head in the clouds, not to the dirty world of politics. Her very first chapter lays out this motivation incredibly clearly:

All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

When she thinks of Joffrey and being in love with him, it’s because he’s “handsome and gallant as any prince in the songs” (AGOT, Sansa II),

Alternatively, it has been said that Sansa is ambitious because of her claim to Winterfell. But compare how Sansa thinks of her claim to how Big Walder Frey does. Despite being far down the inheritance line, he is certain he will someday possess the Twins. He’s likely willing to kill his family to become Lord of the Crossing, and already has killed Little Walder.

In comparison, Sansa isn’t the one who realizes her claim as heir to Winterfell, even after her two younger brothers are believed dead. It’s Dontos who mentions it, and after she still thinks that Robb will have sons to inherit.

But she had not forgotten his words, either. The heir to Winterfell, she would think as she lay abed at night. It's your claim they mean to wed. Sansa had grown up with three brothers. She never thought to have a claim, but with Bran and Rickon dead . . . It doesn't matter, there's still Robb, he's a man grown now, and soon he'll wed and have a son. Anyway, Willas Tyrell will have Highgarden, what would he want with Winterfell?

- ASOS, Sansa II

Sansa’s not ready to kill Bran and Rickon if they show up. Her arc is about taking off the rose-tinted glasses and seeing reality, but also working to make reality like a song. For example, her idea of the Tournament of the Winged Knights for Sweetrobin. It’s a song come to life, all by her making. TBD how the ending goes, of course, but it shows that trajectory.

And finally, Daenerys.

Daenerys is not driven by some lifelong desire to win and dominate. She’s forced into it, a la Brienne’s “no chance and no choice.” If Daenerys were raised in a stable environment, I have a feeling she’d be much more like Sansa: dreamy, hopeful, sweet and studious. Happy.

But instead, her eyes are open.

When she’s introduced as a character, she shows an awareness for the schemes and politics of the world. She knows her brother is called the Beggar King in the Free Cities, and is doubtful of the smallfolk’s secret toasts to Viserys III that Illyrio Mopatis claims happen across Westeros.

Like Sansa and Cersei, there’s evidence of her goals, hopes, and wishes in the very first chapter:

"I don't want to be his queen," she heard herself say in a small, thin voice. "Please, please, Viserys, I don't want to, I want to go home."

. . .

Dany had only meant their rooms in Illyrio's estate, no true home surely, though all they had, but her brother did not want to hear that. There was no home there for him. Even the big house with the red door had not been home for him.

Daenerys remembers home as the house with the red door in Braavos. It’s her brother whose only home and stability was the Red Keep, not her.

Throughout her journey of power to take back the Seven Kingdoms, she is doubtful at every turn and most of her wishes are for happiness, for peace, for stability.

Dany had no wish to reduce King's Landing to a blackened ruin full of unquiet ghosts. She had supped enough on tears. I want to make my kingdom beautiful, to fill it with fat men and pretty maids and laughing children. I want my people to smile when they see me ride by, the way Viserys said they smiled for my father.

- ACOK, Daenerys II

A queen I am, but my throne is made of burned bones, and it rests on quicksand. Without dragons, how could she hope to hold Meereen, much less win back Westeros?

- ADWD, Daenerys II

Even later, Daenerys is determined to bring peace to the lands she currently rules. She does plan to return to the Seven Kingdoms, but it’s not driven by pure ambition. And this is, notably, from a conversation when Prince Quentyn Nymeros Martell asks her to come back and claim them now, saying she has allies for that conquest. And still she turns him down, with promises that it will only happen eventually:

"Daenerys said. ". . . .One day I shall return to Westeros to claim my father's throne, and look to Dorne for help. But on this day the Yunkai'i have my city ringed in steel. I may die before I see my Seven Kingdoms. Hizdahr may die. Westeros may be swallowed by the waves."

- ADWD, Daenerys VII

And yet in both Sansa and Daenerys, these visions and hopes for the futures they might have are considered unbridled ambition, although they turn more on happiness and peace for themselves and their people, rather than the type of ambition Cersei has, which is clearly her own power and being heralded above everyone.

Daenerys’ thoughts in her sixth chapter of ADWD have the same energy as Sansa’s “I will make them love me.”:

"A queen must know the sufferings of her people."

. . .

A queen must listen to her people, Dany reminded herself.

Daenerys has figured out how to make her people love her, by wearing her “floppy ears” and appealing to the masses, listening to them, et cetera. She’s also a bit ahead of Sansa in the realm of ruling, to be sure.

But how are these similar thoughts ambition in either of them? It’s an attempt to empathize and connect, not to throw away and disregard and rule by force and domination. Both these ladies are more nuanced, and the fandom does them a disservice by painting them as ambitious or power-hungry when at the end for both of them, it’s a desire to have a happy, stable, loving life.

#asoiaf meta #sansa stark #daenerys targaryen #cersei lannister #arya stark

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iheartbookbran · 3 years ago

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I think the whole Daenerys burning KL thing has a lot less to do with her than it does several other plot threads and themes in the story. Unfortunately I think GRRM is going to use Daenerys to confront the concept of paying for your ancestors crimes, her father put that wildfire there, her legacy (as a Targaryen, not as Daenerys herself) is literally built on fire and blood. The Targaryens might have united the 7 Kingdoms, but they did so with a lot of unnecessary bloodshed, and there was almost never a time in their history of reigning where there wasn't war. Daenerys as an individual is not responsible for any of this, and I wholeheartedly agree with you that she doesn't need to be taught a lesson about abuse of power, but unfortunately I think GRRM is going in this direction anyways, because he's going to use her as a climax for the entire Targaryen reign. It's a cruel sort of irony, that the place her ancestors built from the ground up will be the cause of her "downfall" and probably turn her into a morally ambiguous historical figure in the future, regardless of what she does to save Westeros from the others.

And there's the fact that the wildfire beneath KL is a huge chekov's gun. Someone *has* to ignite it, and if it's not Daenerys, I'm not entirely sure who it could be. Cersei is definitely a contender, but seeing as she doesn't know about the wildfire yet, it's a little bit of a reach. I think it would be a very tragic way to wrap up Daenery's storyline, but it seems like that's the direction GRRM is headed in :/

Hey there! Ok, a little disclaimer before I start: today I got my first covid vaccine shot and I’m a little dizzy as a result so I might not make much sense right now. Sorry in advance.

While I completely get the whole ‘paying for the crimes of your ancestors’ concept you’re bringing up, and that’s a theme GRRM is definitely fond of exploring, to me it would be like holding Dany at completely different standards than the rest of the characters. Because it’s one thing for Dany to be in conflict with her father’s legacy—which tbh I would say she already kinda is?—and another entirely to punish Dany for every bad thing the Targaryens ever did because Monarchies=Bad and therefore Targaryens=Bad. I mean we wouldn’t be getting anything similar from the other major POVs. For example, I don’t believe a house like that of the Starks could rule for literally thousands of years without a little blood in their hands, it’s just GRRM doesn’t focus as much on them (and they didn’t have dragons, but I already explained why I believe Dany doesn’t need a lesson on how her dragons can be dangerous in the first place).

I think when it comes to fathers and legacies characters like Dany, Tyrion and Jon are very similar because a part of their stories is about showcasing how they’re not like their fathers. Tyrion has to confront his father… and kill him so he can move on with his life, which in turn kickstarts the downfall of House Lannister, but that was something Tyrion was alive to see, and to question and to know that it wasn’t as glorious as his family wanted to believe it was, but instead shallow and rotten; Dany on the other hand never got to see her family in full power and reap the benefits of that; in fact, she was actively a target for most of her childhood because of her name. With Jon I think he will be confronted with the legacies of his biological Father (Rhaegar) and his adopted one (Ned), and try and decide which one he wants to honor, or that maybe he ought to forge his own path entirely.

Now with Dany, again she’s already starting to question Viserys’ narrative about their father, we see it in her conversations with Ser Barristan and her fears of ‘turning mad’ like Aerys (and tbh that’s all the reasons I need to know why she wouldn’t go mad) for me not to believe she’s going to try to distance herself from what her father represented. The destruction of KL and the knowledge of her father’s role in it would just solidify that in Dany’s head plus the internal emotional conflict that would come with it but without the extra steps of the author needlessly lecturing Dany (and us) about the dangers of unchecked power or that a throne is not all there is in life; I would argue Dany already knows that. She doesn’t need a reason or an excuse to be a rescuer, she already is one, as Tyrion (GRRM) said for several paragraphs in ADWD.

The part that you mention about the destruction of KL giving Dany bad PR? I believe she already has it lmao. Just remember how she was talked about during Quentyn and Tyrion’s POVs, while a lot of people love her, many others hate her guts to a hilarious degree and demonize her for what she’s done to the poor defenseless slave masters. Such are the woes of women who rise to power and then go like “hey… maybe owning people is wrong?” but I digress. As you said, there are currently many contenders for the honor of getting to burn KL, and who knows, maybe it will be a group effort! I suspect the dragons will be involved one way or another, but the stolen ones (idk if Euron will steal more than one dragon) so adding Dany to the mix wouldn’t make much sense except to make way for her showdown with Aegon VI, that at this point honestly I’m not that interested in. I think Dany has more important stuff going on for her. Like, there’s a lot of confrontations I would like to happen that I believe the narrative as it currently stands doesn’t have much room to allow to breathe properly, like Jaime/Tyrion, Cercei/Tyrion, Arianne/her family in general. At the end of the day those dragons are her dragons, her children, and she will blame herself strongly for whatever they do (and others will too, enthusiastically, I’m sure), just remember how much guilt she feels over Drogon killing that little girl, and no one was controlling him then, not even Dany.

So basically what I was trying to convey during this mess of a response is that I’m not saying Daenerys has no buisness in the KL conflict, but rather that making her the one responsible for its destruction would feel way too contrived for me, it would require the plot to stay on hold for god knows how long until she’s done with her business in Essos and it would do absolutely nothing for her character or development but rather serve as some kind of twisted double-standard in which only Dany has to atone for the sins of her ancestors, as if living exiled and destitude all her life wasn’t enough.

#again sorry for my rambling and not making any sense i swear i’m dying a little here and my arm hurts like hell #Anonymous #ask #ask pam #daenerys targaryen #stormborn #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #a song of ice and fire #valyrianscrolls #pro daenerys #meta #my meta

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janiedean · 3 years ago

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I feel bad for all the nice J*nsa shippers who like their ship for whatever reasons (tropes, pretty art, aesthetic appeal, whatever) and know it's not canon but get associated with the misogynistic Dany hating crowd who act like Jon being attracted to Ygritte is J*nsa foreshadowing because red hair (I guess Jon should fuck Edmure Tully too? Omg give me Dark!Jon getting revenge on Catelyn by seducing her brother!) Tell me something. I'm new to the fandom but was J*nsa popular before the show? And I've heard something about the OG J*nsa shippers being alienated by the new shippers who insisted it had to be canon and acted like the series is called, "A song of J*nsa #danysux." I don't find that hard to believe because I know people who are now ashamed of calling themselves J*nsa shippers. Like, at this point, it's not only rival shippers who hate it. Even Gendrya/Braime/Jon stans/etc have started disliking that ship. You know your fandom is a problem when people who have nothing to do with Jnsa have a problem with it.

me: reads this ask

me: iwastheregandalf.gif which I can't find now but

okay anon buckle up because I am sadly well-equipped to answer this ask but before I do lemme tell you dark jon seducing edmure to take revenge on cat is LITERALLY THE BEST THING I'VE EVER HEARD but *clears throat* ALL RIGHT THEN.

disclaimer: as anon says I have no issue with like the shippers mentioned by anon in the beginning and ngl I agree, I have ABSOLUTELY ZERO FUCKING STAKES in the j*nsa vs j*nerys war and the only het jon ship I gaf about is jon/ygritte and we all know where that ended up I just... have been here since 2011/adwd was over and all the fic around was just for the books under secret lj communities and asoiaf qualified for yuletide and I have... seen... things.... and I actually have like uh had... beef... with some people in there and I know things bc ppl who hated those others told me stuff so anyway *sigh* buckle up anon I'mma tell you the story of jon shipwars through the years

in order, the old gods help me here, under the cut bc this is long as fuck

when I got into fandom also given what numbers were on ao3 one ship was popular and it was sansan. no like sansan was lit. the only asoiaf ship on ao3 with more than 200 fics. jb had twenty when i checked first. jc had like around 100-ish because of the show but sansan dwarfed anything. I posted the first jon/ygritte fic on the ao3 tag and the fourth throbb fic and like the others were all reposts from lj kinkmemes. nothing was popular before the show except for sansan when it comes to huge numbers bc grrm doesn't like fic and it was all hush hush until the show made it impossible to control and that ship was the one with a huge enough fanbase it actually had numbers, so like... j*nsa wasn't popular in the way nothing else was popular until it got screentime on the show

now, that stated, j*nsa had a... fair amount of fic for a rareship which was mostly book-based and from og shippers that were there from before the show and liked it for what it was but literally none of them thought it was gonna be canon, like it wasn't huge or anything but it had a small but dedicated fanbase who did their own thing and thought it was fun/liked the idea but that was it

that fandom had their own niche of hcs that they cultivated and shit except that like... at the end of S5/beginning of S6 there was a surge in shipping for... well obvious reasons bc it was obv sansa was getting to the wall and that would have been all nice and good but a) it was the time puritanical shipping was starting to take root and the 'shipping sansa with sandor or tyrion is hella problematic' rhetoric had started to circle coming from sans*ery shippers mostly but I'mma not open that fucking can of worms here, b) while the ending of S5 had more of a theon/sansa spike, the j*nsa stuff started getting big

now here we have to mention my villain origin story ie: j*nsa fandom had this one stan whose name I won't make because honestly it's been years and if she's still around I don't want her to remember I exist who was a bnf, wrote for... the website that created the whole larry/carol thing etc who was really fixed on this thing that j*nsa was actually canon and started writing extremely popular meta about it. now you're gonna ask how do you know, I know because this person once wrote a meta named 'why robb stark is a dick' and I told her that it was really fucking bad meta and she took it so badly she kept on trash talking me on her blog/her podcast (I was apparently the insane robb stark fangirl l m a o good lord) and like that was when some sane ppl who argued with her informed me in pvt that she was basically harping on the CANON thing when they'd have been okay with like... it being crackshipping and that she was basically cultivating a hoarde of followers who were harping on them/the ogs and basically ostracizing them;

I would like to add that this person - before her tumblr got 'accidentally deleted' and remade it therefore deleted most receipts for, er, her so-called meta which included stuff like ned and cat raised sansa as a sexual object and only wanted to sell her like cattle - had at some point started a round robin fic thing where... some of the characters mocked openly said stuff that some of the og fans had said specifically targeting them and people in that side basically went harassing anyone who didn't agree with that specific notion

now never mind that this person basically coined an entire term to describe ppl who liked white guys and excused all their wrongdoings out of my conversation re robb basically lying about everything I said as if I didn't have the receipts and tried to sell shirts with it and it didn't work and like then she got kicked out of her own website because she was telling her commenters disagreeing pretty shitty insults (considering I was called psychotic for disagreeing with her that time I don't doubt it) I think at some point she stepped back from fandom bc idk wtf she's up to these days and I don't want to, but basically at that point the dam was broken and there was a bunch of puritanical shippers harping on anyone who didn't agree with j*nsa is canon endgame stuff

this also includes an incident when those ppl were like... passing themselves as throbb shippers and ended up trying to tell t*hramsay shippers off the theon tag based on moral reasons and I ended up arguing with all of them (and they were all from that crowd) which in turn landed me in contact with other og j*nsa shippers who were like detached from that fandom bc those same people harassed them away as well ssooooo fun

anyway when S6 happened everyone was high on it and whatnot but I wasn't gonna begrudge them that I mean... you shipped it for years, canon is delivering you, good for you, but then j*nerys happened

god j*nerys happened

aaand basically...... I mean personally I was there like are y'all seriously arguing about the best incest jon ship out there but like basically the j*nsa endgame side was like AH JON IS PLAYING DANY SEE IF IT DOESN'T HAPPEN, the j*nerys obv got defensive af and both sides were sort of alternatively shitting on jon/ygritte anyway and depicting any other romantic rship jon could have as abusive™ and during S8 it just got worse and like I tried to stay out of it but basically from what I'm seeing now idk how the j*neryses are doing but on the j*nsa one it's ah jon's gonna play dany anyway and she's going to go insane like in the show so SHOW TRUTHING EVERY OTHER WAY and like again denying that sandor exists or that tyrion exists and like I barely touch my corner (sansan) but I ended up arguing with j*nsa/th*nsa people on twitter who were antis and is2g it was white-hair inducing and I know for sure the sansa/tyrion shippers were harassed to hell and back throughout so FUN

and even if the show didn't go there now since everyone there banked on the jnsa endgame thing and admitting you're wrong is like... not a thing, they still haven't let go of it and attach to that ship any shred of evidence which honestly is grasping at straws half of the time (like... the sansa/alysanne parallels like guys please no) and which is why every other ship is starting to get fed up, attaching canon proof of stuff from other ships onto theirs see that batb argument and jb is platonic but jonsa is not nvm taking all the sansan stuff and throwing it on j*nsa but then denying that sansan has canon evidence (like guys I had to read sansa touching his shoulder when saying gregor wasn't a true knight wasn't meaningful and we were seeing things please) and blah blah blah

this also goes hand in hand with the fixation on like... villanizing dany at all costs and like is2g I have zero investment in dany or her storyline I don't even remember it and I don't particularly care abt her either way and sure af I'm not for j*nerys endgame but like.... some stuff I read is completely excessive esp when fixing on how she's a completely mad tyrant who's gonna have to be put down and like... guys no

(also there's some srs stannis hate in that corner which I honestly don't get why they even care abt stannis but I had to read stuff like ppl don't recognize that dany and stannis are the real villains in this saga and like........ idek)

I think most of the og shippers are gone or don't ship it openly bc they don't want to be attached to the drama but like I also think they're pissing off everyone else bc like... I mean a bunch of them also were down with sansa being paired with other ppl as long as it meant a good ending for her except those ppl were... like everyone but the ppl she has actual contact with in canon which meant that at some point sansa/gendry was a thing and like.... you can imagine why arya/gendry shippers & arya stans were fed up, and there's also this tendency to behave like sansa is the center of the entire saga which like these books is named a song of jon snow basically can we pls make peace with it and personally I've had it with both j*nsa and j*nerys people since they started with that dumbass JON/YGRITTE WAS AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP rhetoric but I'm also fed up with the total ignoring that sandor exists/depicting us as delusional and honestly I also was by proxy fed up from the harassing of the sansa/tyrion shippers soooooooooooo

there were also instances of 'well theon is an acceptable choice other than jon bc he can't threaten her' which... i mean we all know what that meant and I'm not even commenting it bc it's one AM and I have no force to but I don't have to explain why it's not a progressive take now do I

there were also metas about how cousin incest being legal in half of the world means that jondany is a worse incest and j*nsa doesn't count as such and I was basically there like guys please just fucking own up to it but honestly I chose to forgot where I read that and I couldn't find the link if I tried

tldr: no one wants to admit that it's not gonna be endgame which considering the amount of fic they have on ao3 is imvho useless bc they have more content than like.. anything I ship that's not jb or that's actually like canon *cries in joncon/rhaegar but I mean renly/loras is canon and has less fic than them* so idk what's the problem with enjoying that instead of insisting it's gonna be canon when not even the show validated it while show truthing anyway when the only show truthing that can be truthed is the small council made of minorities and possibly jon eventually fucking off with the wildlings but not like that but like most people who thought it wasn't gonna be endgame had left/were made to leave by the time S7 rolled by and at this point since wow isn't out yet everyone is fandom-grasping at straws to find stuff to discourse on and we're here beating dead horses *shrug*

so that's... how it is but I would again like to point out that I don't judge ppl on their shipping, I don't particularly care about this entire feud bc I only ship jon with ppl he's not related to in whichever way and I try to stay out of this mess bc I don't really care to argue with ppl who have already decided to bend canon to whatever they want and will have to realize that it's not what grrm wrote at some point but like I have a very good memory and the above rant is as objective as possible also bc again I don't literally have a stake in that race I just think romantic/endgame j*nsa is not a thing and that ppl should stay in their lane and not harping on other ppl who ship whatever in general but especially when their ship is the most popular thing in fandom in the first place /two cents

#1 #2 #3 #4 #5 #anonymous #ask post #anti-jonsa #anti jonsa #anti-jonerys #anti jonerys #both of them for equality

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hellsbellschime · 4 years ago

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Do you think Jon hold some love and affection for Dany? It's hard to analyse as in s7 Jon suddenly started to fall for her after she came to rescue him when in previous episode he tell her they were strangers. In s8 there was scene after dragon ride their first kiss was romantic before he got scared. In ep4 when Dany says she loves him the kiss was romantic. But otherwise the framing and chemistry was awful.

Honestly? No, not really. Jon’s character in the later seasons somehow managed to be both a clusterfuck and a snoozefest, but ultimately falling in love with Dany is just not something I think Jon would have ever been capable of.

I mean, the massively consistent aspects of Jon’s character that have always existed within him no matter what are that A. he loves his family more than anything, B. he has literally devoted his life to protecting the North, and C. he idolizes, wants to be like, and is more similar to Ned than any of the Stark children. So let’s think about that in the context of Jon’s meeting with Dany and his entire relationship with Dany.

So Jon does something astoundingly stupid that no other king or queen would do, he goes to Dragonstone with zero information about Dany aside from the fact that she is incredibly powerful and about to invade Westeros/destroy the Lannisters. Taking down the Lannisters would be plus in Jon’s book, but I don’t know that that’s enough for him to not be massively concerned about her being an insanely powerful invader. He takes a horrible risk on the complete long shot that he can convince Dany to come North and save his family and his people, because that is how important it is to him.

And what is Dany’s reaction to that? She not only says she won’t help unless he submits to her, someone who he literally just met who appears to be the most dangerous person on the planet in terms of raw power, but she literally takes him hostage despite the fact that Jon is so comparatively powerless. She immediately makes it clear that he’s a rebel and essentially that she’s probably not going to even let him leave until he bends the knee. And what’s worse (which is actually Tyrion’s fault but is something they never clarify and I can’t imagine Jon not loathing her for) is that he was brought there under false pretenses. The letter that Dany sent him inviting him to Dragonstone asked him to “join her to end Cersei’s tyranny,” he didn’t hear shit about bending the knee immediately until he met Dany and literally five seconds after he walked into the room she demanded that he bend the knee.

At this point it’s not as if Jon doesn’t understand political theater at this point, but right off the bat Dany breaks every rule of Westerosi custom and imprisons a literal king to demand that he submit to her or let EVERYTHING HE LOVES DIE while he’s a helpless prisoner. This is the FIRST thing Jon ever learns about Dany. And while Tyrion says that he’s being unreasonable for expecting immediate help and expecting to be believed, it’s like yeah except LITERALLY THE WHOLE ASS REASON HE’S HERE is because Melisandre showed up and was like yo you gotta talk to this kid Jon Snow he’s seen some wild shit and then when he shows up and is like “I’ve seen some wild shit” everyone’s like well clearly you’re insane so we’re putting you in a time out until you return to sanity and bend the knee to a complete stranger. Also not to fucking mention, unless nobody on the island ever brings this shit up, Jon also immediately learns what kind of an ally Dany is because every one of Dany’s other allies is either killed or CAPTURED and she’s just like well bummer for them guess I have to accept that as a loss or wait for them to rescue themselves even though I have three dragons and the biggest army in the world and instead of saving them I can just try to force this new guy to become my “ally” instead (and if the whole political motivation for Jon’s relationship with her stems from this it would make complete sense because he should already know that even those who submit to Dany don’t get her protection or assistance if it doesn’t serve her purpose, so he HAS to get her to feel like he’s more than just her ally).

And despite being obsessed with his bastardy, Jon values nothing more than he values his family, and Dany constantly undervalues, insults, or completely writes off Jon’s family. I actually think that’s understandable from Dany’s perspective because she only knows of familial abuse, but there is no world in which I can believe Jon would take her ignoring the fact that Robb literally died to free his people, or implying that Ned was cool with goddamn child murder, or accusing Sansa of being an evil schemer because she’s angling to keep the North free very well, and two of those three things are things she does the first time she ever speaks to Jon.

And finally, Jon wants to BE Ned. That is literally the person he has admired and emulated more than anyone, to the point where it’s almost an unhealthy obsession for him. Jon knows that Ned would choose to do the right thing over pretty much everything else. Jon knows that Ned is the type of person who would die saving the children of his enemies. I cannot fathom a world in which he would even consider loving anyone who let thousands of innocent people die for their own political gains. But again, Daenerys makes it clear the very first time that he meets her that that’s what is happening right now. She’s willing to use “her kingdom” as a political pawn that she won’t have a second thought about sacrificing in order to gain Jon’s submission. I think there was a chance that he could have truly liked her or even loved her if she just hadn’t come in so insanely hot the very first time that they met, but frankly the very first moment that they meet she shows Jon that she is exactly like Cersei, she will literally use an existential threat to all life as a tool to her political advantage regardless of the fact that it is a fucking EXISTENTIAL THREAT TO ALL LIFE.

So I think no, there is zero chance that Jon could ever love a person like that, and I think that legit the minute that he met her he put himself in a completely political mindset and was willing to do whatever he had to do to get Dany to actually help him. I just cannot imagine a world in which Jon freaking Snow would even feel a shred of respect or non-dislike towards someone who would do that, let alone liking them or loving them, and I sincerely think that within their first conversation Dany ensured that Jon would never have any real feelings for her. I understand why so many people are confused by their relationship because it is confusing as fuck, but I actually feel like D&D very absurdly overtly put so much shit that Jon would absolutely loathe into their relationship straight off the bat that regardless of anything that happened afterwards I just cannot fathom Jon Snow essentially overlooking every single thing he hates or has no respect for in this world to realize that Dany is actually the one true benevolent queen, or even a halfway likable person in his eyes.

#Anonymous #anti jonerys #jon snow #anti daenerys targaryen #anti jonerys meta #jon snow meta #anti daenerys targaryen meta #got #got meta #political!jon

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ladycatofwinterfell · 3 years ago

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45. Kisses exchanged as they move around, hitting the edges of tables or nearly tripping over things on the floor before making it to the sofa, or bed

The offer had hung heavy on her mind for a week, but she had finally almost made her decision. All she needed was to talk to Ned, then it was final. Then she would hand in her letter of resignation and leave. After fifteen years at the company she would say her farewells. She had been married to the CEO for thirteen of those years, she reflected. Thirteen out of fifteen, that was a lot.

The curtains were pulled for the glass walls of his office when she came there, meaning he was having an important conversation with someone. She wondered who it was.

It felt like all of her inside was crawling when she stood there and waited. She didn’t know why she was so nervous. It was normal, there was nothing unusual about talking to her boss about resigning. But she had been there for so long, it would feel strange to leave it behind. And it would feel strange to talk about it with him of all people.

After a couple of minutes the door opened and Maege came out.

“Hello, Catelyn” she said and nodded.

“Hello, Maege.”

The other woman looked at her for a moment before leaving. It was a look that was somewhat pitiful. She didn’t like that look, she had seen it so many times. Every time they were in a room together people looked at them like that.

Taking one last deep breath she poked her head inside.

“Mr. Stark, do you have a minute?” she asked. “I have something I need to talk to you about.”

She would never get used to calling him that instead of Ned. But she had convinced herself it was better to do so.

“Yes, come inside” he said, gesturing towards the chair on the opposite side of his desk.

She carefully closed the door behind her and then walked over and sat in the chair, crossing her legs.

“Is it about the kids?”

She understood why he would assume that. They were rarely alone except for when they needed to talk about the kids. Not because they had parted on terrible terms, it was just easier that way. For everyone.

“No, it’s not” she said, avoiding eye contact. “It’s about my job here.”

“Okay” he said, as if telling her to go on.

She noticed she was tapping her fingers against the armrest and immediately stopped, folding her hands in her lap instead. Why did it make her so nervous? They weren’t married anymore, it was just about her job and nothing else.

“Edmure made me an offer” she said, forcing herself to look at him. “It’s a great offer, and I will take it. Unless you give me a reason to refuse it.”

She didn’t know how she had expected him to react, but she believed she could see a hint of sadness in his eyes. And she could feel all of her soften at the sight of that. An old habit she hadn’t managed to get rid of. It hadn’t been a problem that far, she rarely saw him feel anything. All she ever got was his cold facade.

He left his chair and walked over to the the windows, turning his back to her and looking down at the city below them instead. The whole wall was glass. He looked very small there, not at all like the CEO of one of Westeros’ largest companies that he was.

“If he really wants you, and I presume that he does, he will outdo whatever offer I make” he finally said. “I have nothing to give you that he can’t also give you.”

“Well, Sir, that’s true, but–“

“Ned” he sighed. “You don’t need to call me Sir.”

She knew his name. Saying it was easier than breathing. But she had chosen not to use it in professional situations for so long. She remembered the surprise in their coworkers eyes when they had got to know about their divorce. “I thought Dorne would freeze over before those two went separate ways” she had overheard Maege saying to Jon Umber a few hours later, and he had nodded in agreement. Once she had also thought that. But things had changed, she was wiser than she had been then.

She stood up too, even though she didn’t really know why. It felt better to be on the same level as him.

“So you don’t have a reason for me to stay, Ned?”

She almost wished she had a reason to stay. And she almost wished he would have given her that reason.

“No. I will let you leave, because that’s what you want.”

Yes. Yes, that was what she wanted. Right? Whatever doubts she had had earlier meant nothing, she would do it.

He turned to look at her. And she looked back at him, not knowing what to say. What did you say to the person you had loved for so many years when you left them in yet another way? They had separated, and now she was leaving the company they had built together.

“I would have liked you to stay though” he said. “The stocks will take a dive the moment people get to know you’re leaving.”

That made her laugh.

“Is that the only reason for why you want me to stay? The stocks? Are you worried about what the tabloids are going to write too?”

Was there nothing else? Was that all she was? An asset to the company? Had he cut every tie there was? How had he managed to that when she had been unable to?

He came over to her and suddenly he was very close. She laid her hands on his chest, turning her face downwards. She should have pushed him away, that was the reasonable thing to do. He wasn’t her husband, they went separate ways. But there he was, his body close to hers, and she found that she wished they hadn’t divorced.

He had to feel it too, why else was he so close? He wouldn’t seduce her into keeping her job, he wasn’t the type of person to do that. There had to be more to it.

“Is this your offer?” she said, almost breathless.

Edmure couldn’t give her that. He couldn’t give her Ned back.

“Do you want it to be?”

Of course she had played with the thought of being with him. She had played with the thought of what would happen if she kissed him, what would happen if she allowed herself to get as close to him as she was in that moment. Sometimes during her lonely nights she had even thought that she would marry him again someday, when they were in better places. And she had missed him.

Instead of answering she turned her face up and kissed him. For the first time in more than two years she kissed him. Before she knew it she had moved her hands up into his hair and he had wrapped his arms around her, pressing them against each other. It was like they had never been apart. He kissed her back like they were still married. She had longed for that, she had longed for him. She smiled against his lips when she felt how one of his hands removed the clip holding her hair into place. The gesture was as familiar as her home.

She realized they were moving when she hit the chair she had previously sat in. She would have tripped and fell if he had not held her. The chair, having no one to hold it, fell over, but they took no notice of it, making their way towards the couch placed along one of the walls. When the back of her knees hit it she pulled him down with her, not wanting him to part from him even for a second. She wrapped a leg around his waist, trying to get him even closer

But against her wishes he broke away from her, leaving her gasping for air.

“Oh no” he muttered, shaking his head. “No.”

She felt somewhat disgruntled. Was he going to leave her there? Laid back on the couch with ruffled hair and clothes, her skirt almost up at her hips. She had given herself to him, had thought it went both ways. Apparently it didn’t.

She tried to keep her feelings from showing on her face. He would probably see it no matter how hard she tried, he knew her too well.

“Okay, then, Mr. Stark” she said as she readjusted her skirt and found her feet. “I will hand in my letter of resignation before the week is over.”

She had just made out with her ex-husband. For no apparent reason. Well, there was an apparent reason. She still loved him.

He grabbed her hand before she could walk over and take her clip on the floor next to the fallen chair.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

She sighed and put a smile on her face

“It’s fine, Ned, you don’t have to want me. We’re not married, we’re not together. We can pretend this never happened, it was a mistake anyway. Right?”

That was where he should have agreed. It had been a mistake, making out with your ex was always a mistake. She should have just told him, she shouldn’t have let it go that far.

“Catelyn, listen to me for a moment.”

She did go quiet then, but she let go of his hand.

“I would like to try, if you want that” he said calmly. “Because I think we can have something good again. That is my offer. Not that you have to stay at the company for that, but I would like you to. I just don’t think that having sex in the office with the door unlocked is a good way to start.”

“Gods be good, look at you being the voice of reason” Catelyn chuckled.

Ned allowed himself a smile.

“I’m a changed man.”

She walked over and took up her clip, holding it up.

“Not too changed though” she said as she twisted her hair up. “You’re still very much recognizable.”

She fastened the clip and made sure it held her hair into place.

“Old habits die hard.”

“They do” she agreed, very much still feeling the effects of their little session.

She had not slept with a single person since they split up. She had briefly considered dating, but it hadn’t been possible with the kids and work. Well, she only had them every other week, but she had no energy for meeting people on the weeks when she was alone. Taking interest in someone, loving them, had been a lot easier when she had that person in her home. In her bed and at her dinner table. She missed having someone to love with her every night. No, she missed having him with her every night.

She wondered if he had done the same. If he hadn’t she couldn’t fault him for it, they were divorced and he had the right to have sex with whoever he wanted.

“I won’t tell my brother no yet” she said. “I’ll wait a bit. But as of right now your offer is one I find myself unable to refuse.”

She would regret it. If she stayed and it all fell apart she would probably regret it. She liked her job, but she didn’t know if she could through having to see him every day while being heartbroken again.

“So how do we proceed from here?” he asked.

That was a relevant question. Did they start over completely with dates and all that? Well, they couldn’t just go back to how it had been before, but it was hard when they already knew each other so well. They had been married for thirteen years.

“I don’t know, but I guess we do it one thing at a time.”

She would have to promise herself not to be too disappointed if it didn’t work out. They had divorced for a reason, after all. Chances were she would only get reminded of those reasons and nothing else.

“So can I ask you to go out for dinner with me?”

She smiled. No matter what the future held it could be fun for a while.

“Yeah, you can ask me out for dinner.”

#catelyn stark #catelyn tully #ned stark #ned x cat #my drabble #here’s a drabble that’s way too long to be a drabble #have fun #i really should write more drabbles #i haven't done one in so long and i have many requests just waiting in my inbox #i have another one finished tho so im gonna post it tomorrow #its connected with this one it'll be great

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years ago

Text

The Last Dragon | The Witcher

Chapter 16 | Steel for Humans

Pairing: Geralt of Rivia x Targaryen!OC

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Warnings: Skeevy bandits being Skeevy bandits

Word Count: 7.5k

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Also! My tag list is open!

He's looking at her again.

She can feel it; a shiver up her spine, the prickling feeling in the back of her mind to be alert for something, all telltale signs of his eyes on her. Every time she turns to meet his gaze, to try and decipher the whys and what's in his eyes, he looks away. And in the midst of all of her uncertainty, she's sure of at least one thing, he's still reeling from her confession, despite it being weeks since her name, her real name slipped from her lips. He doesn't say that he's still trying to piece together the puzzle, but he doesn't need to. She can see it in the way he carries himself around her, his lingering eyes and stumbling words.

More than a few times he's called her Jane, instinctively, if she were to have to guess. And each time she just simply raises a brow at him before he swiftly corrects himself, eyes wild and uncertain, unable to directly look into hers. She never gets mad or annoyed, the exact opposite, in fact. She's never seen this side of Geralt that resembles a fumbling boy who still isn't a man yet; all rosy cheeks and shy conversation. Normally Geralt is so put together, constantly in control of the situation, and yet, something as simple as a name change is all it takes to throw him off.

Another thing she's certain of is just how much she enjoys the way he says her name, the smooth Valyrian name effortlessly slipping past his lips. It's like a symphony, a sound not even the most renowned of bards could replicate. But she'd never tell him that.

She continues staring at her face in the old mirror, dust and cracks speckling across her reflection. But she looks past it, staring at her eyes that are like liquid gold, and her fair skin, nearly glowing in the dim light. She frowns, lines appearing around her mouth - lines that weren't always there. Under her eyes are small wrinkles, hidden by the dark circles from countless sleepless nights in the least ideal spots, but she can pick them out a mile away.

She's older, that much is obvious, but how much older is not.

She used to count each day, the wall near the bed in her old room in Blaviken covered in small little lines meant to represent every time she fell asleep. She stopped keeping track after the town burned to the ground. At first, it was too painful to think of anything beyond the basic necessities of her survival. But then time drifted away, things grew easier the longer she spent with Jaskier. She smiled more, laughed more, and felt lighter than she had in a long time. And now she finds herself in an odd position, unsure of how much older she is.

"Geralt." She doesn't remove her eyes from her reflection. He grunts, a sign that he's listening. Always a man of few words.

"How long has it been since Blaviken?" She hears a sharp intake of breath before it's released back into the air. It's silent a moment longer.

"You don't know?" Geralt asks, skepticism and disbelief abundant in his voice.

"No." She reaches a hand up, tracing the new scars that mare her face, they're faint, nothing more than a whisper on her face. To everyone else, they're only visible in the flicker of a candle at the right angle, but she's always aware of them.

"Fifteen years."

Her hand drops, limp at her side. She turns a flurry of hair and wind, facing Geralt with an odd expression on her face. She can't discern how to feel with that revelation. How is one supposed to react upon figuring out the fifteen years have passed, and they don't even know it? She wants to protest, to scream that he's lying to her, and demand that he tell her the truth, the real truth and not some practical joke. But the longer she thinks on it, her eyes resting on Geralt's stone face, the more it makes sense.

She thinks back to Winterfell, trying to remember the smells of her previous home. To remember how everything felt under her fingertips - whether it be in the warm castle or the icy cold. She tries to recall how everyone looked the last time she saw them, tried to visualize their exact heights in comparison to hers, to recall small imperfections that made them not smooth porcelain dolls. Only then, when she focuses so hard on doing just that, does she realize she can't even remember their faces. She can see their general shapes, her mind recognizing them as either Jon, Robb, or anyone else important enough to remember. But when she tries to zoom in and make their faces clearer, they're nothing but humanoid-like blurs.

Her face twitches, in discomfort or shock, she's not sure.

"Huh." It's the only thing she manages to say, unable to force her mind to think of another response or to form the words with her mouth. She's utterly frozen in place.

She almost allows her mind to wander, thinking of what may have happened to the rest of the Stark children. Would they have found peace and safety, or would they have blown away like leaves in the wind, desolated by monsters and grief? But she banishes the thoughts before they could form. What would be the point? All it would do is pull her into another bout of melancholy, the same suffering she was drowning in whilst hiding away in Blaviken. So she does what she's best at; she takes all unpleasant thoughts and ghosts and locks them into a little box in the back of her mind. Leaving it to collect dust until it's long forgotten.

"You didn't know that?" Geralt asks, breaking his statue-like posture to step closer to Visenya. She doesn't answer, she simply shakes her head, her breathing shaky and unsteady.

'Fifteen years.'

The number echoes in her mind, it's on repeat and she finds herself unable to escape it. He's silent, Geralt is always silent. But she welcomes it, more so now than ever.

Her fingers begin to count down as she counts up, the numbers hardly above the breaths she takes. She looks down at the ground, counting the grain in the wooden floors.

"21, 22, 23, 24…"

She pauses, finishing the math in her mind. She opens her mouth, cautiously.

"Thirty-five… I'm thirty-five years old now." It makes sense, her face appears much older than when she first arrived, the lines and crow's feet not just a result of poor living conditions and battle scars.

"Is that a bad thing?" Geralt asks. Visenya looks up at him. His facial expression remains much the same as before, but his eyes glow with a hint of curiosity. Not that he would ever admit to it if she ever called him out on it.

"No, I just-- never thought I'd make it this far," Visenya says, a sardonic grin pulling at her lips that looks more like a grimace than anything.

"With the life, you've had--" Geralt starts, his voice low and raspy, but Visenya cuts him off with a bout of laughter that sounds more like knives than bells. He closes his mouth, simply raising a brow at Visenya.

"You have no idea, Geralt of Rivia." She shakes her head, the grin-grimace hybrid still on her face, yet her eyes tell a different story. They're despondent and regretful, and Geralt can't understand why.

"Then perhaps you should tell me." Suddenly Visenya is no longer laughing. She stares at Geralt with a type of intensity he's never seen in her eyes before. And before he can bring himself to get used to it, to allow himself to sink in the new atmosphere that surrounds them, she dissolves it, eyes turning warm and mischievous once more.

"Give it another fifteen years, and maybe then," she says, feather-light laughter following her words. She turns once more, hair whipping behind her as she continues to stare at her reflection. Her hair is longer, reaching a few inches below her breasts. Her roots are slightly grown out, allowing a little bit of shining silver to peek through the mud brown. She still can't decide if she wants to continue dying it or not. But she tucks that thought away, not wanting to unpack everything that comes with those thoughts. Not after she just packed away unpleasant thoughts that are of a similar vein.

"Plus, I've told you more things than I've told anyone else, and still I feel as though I know nothing of you," Visenya says, turning around once more, moving away from the dingy mirror. This causes Geralt to laugh - it's rough and dark, the complete opposite of Visenya's. It causes shivers to rush up her spine and a fluttering sensation to form in her stomach.

She passes by him, a hand ghosting over his shoulder. She exits the room and Geralt swiftly follows. His footsteps are much heavier than hers; she's like a soft summer breeze while he's the terrifying winter winds that threaten to blow everything down.

They walk the length of the hall, down the winding staircase, and out of the inn where Roach is patiently waiting for them. Throughout their small journey, they maintained not only the same distance between one another but the same space.

She only pauses upon reaching Roach, a hand resting on the mare's side as she gently pets her. Visenya looks at Geralt, who now stands precisely two paces away from her - one pace closer than he had been five seconds ago.

"Fair is fair," she says, raising her brows. A grumble of a laugh escapes his mouth, so quiet it could almost be mistaken for the world itself shaking. His laughter causes his eyes to close for a brief second before he opens them once more.

"I can't argue with that. In exchange for what you've told me, I'll tell you about my first hunt. Does that sound like a fair bargain?" he asks, a certain lightness in his eyes that quickly disappears in the time it takes for her to blink and open her eyes again. She holds a hand out, and he places his own in it. They shake their hands, two times to be exact.

"Sounds like a deal to me."

oOo

"I'd only just left Kaer Morhen, a new Witcher who was naive enough to think I could save the world. I came across a gang of men who were about to rape a young girl, a few of them holding back the girl's father." Geralt says, his voice quiet and somber, but she could hear each word perfectly. They're both riding on Roach, with Visenya in front and Geralt's arms slung loosely around her as he holds Roach's reins. The mare doesn't need much guidance though, she just follows the winding road ahead of them, and neither Geralt nor Visenya corrects her.

"And then what happened," Visenya asks, resisting the urge to turn around and look at Geralt. He's so good at obscuring any emotion or feelings when he speaks, often opting to talk with a monotonous voice. While hilarious when dealing witty one-liners, it makes it near impossible to discern how he feels. His eyes on the other hand are a completely different story.

To most, they may seem as empty and dead as a poorly done painting, but Visenya can read him like an open book - spotting small flickers of different emotions. After all, Visenya often employs the same tactic to appear as cold and unfeeling as possible, it's only natural she sees through when others try to do it to her.

"I killed them, the bald man with the rotted teeth and all his friends. The girl's father fled right after--" Geralt says.

"And the girl?" Visenya says, unable to stop herself from interrupting him. When he promised her a tale of his first hunt, this isn't exactly what she expected, yet she finds herself enthralled none-the-less. A part of her wonders how different her history might've been if Geralt lived in Westeros. What would be different, if anything at all. She knows with complete certainty that the Geralt she knows would have no problem defeating the Mountain. But if Geralt lived in Westeros instead of here, he wouldn't be a Witcher. Which means he'd have none of the capabilities that make him superior to mortals. So her train of thought is moot and pointless.

But she can't help the twitch of a smirk on her lips as she imagines Geralt slicing the Mountain's head off his body; the cut clean and precise. And instead of a girl about to be raped by a slimy bandit, she sees the Mountain looming over her mother, and Geralt saving her just in time.

"What happened to the girl?" This time she doesn't fight the urge to turn and look at Geralt. She turns her head just enough to see the right side of his face. His eyes are far away, recalling memories that are probably lifetimes away. The mid-day sunlight aggressively shines onto his face, but it's deceiving in its harshness for it provides no warmth. The air is cold and icy, freezing dead leaves and small twigs into timeless statues that will melt when summer comes again.

"She was covered in the bald man's blood, but unharmed, not that you'd know that with how she reacted. When I approached her, she screamed, vomited, and then passed out," Geralt says. His tone remains even, not portraying any feelings.

She turns her head to face the road once more, her lips pursing in concentration.

Would her mother have reacted the same if Geralt swept into her chamber like an angel of death, white hair his halo, and the blade strapped to his back his judgment? Or would she have thanked him, tears streaming down her face as she held her screaming children?

"And how did that make you feel?" she asks, not daring to turn and look at him once more. She fears if he takes one look at her eyes, he'll see all the thoughts furiously swimming in the flames that dance in them. She can feel him shrug more than see it, the movement of his shoulders causing his arm to brush against her back.

"Like shit," he simply replies. Visenya scoffs, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips.

She opens her mouth, a witty quip on the tip of her tongue when she's cut off by a scream. It comes from her right, in the forest, but not so deeply hidden that the dying trees and frostbitten leaves muffle the noises. Her posture turns stiff like a board, the hairs on her body standing up straight.

"Did you--" she begins, only to be cut off by another scream, this one more guttural than the last, yet not beast-like in nature. Visenya turns, catching Geralt's eyes. He nods, acknowledging that the shouts aren't just in her head, the manifestation of deeply hidden thoughts resurfacing. He hears it too.

Without allowing a moment of hesitation or for her mind to catch up with her actions, she jumps off of Roach, unsheathing her blade. The dragon hilt is cold as ice, but soothing to the heat slowly rising in Visenya.

A loud thud follows only a moment later, signaling that Geralt is following her lead. She'd feel touched by his lack of protest when it comes to her charging headfirst into the unknown, but the situation is far too dangerous for any distractions, even if only for a brief second.

Blood rushing and heart pounding, she turns to ice as another scream echoes in their ears. It's closer this time, sounding as if someone is shouting while choking on their blood. Visenya's pace quickens, her heart racing faster as adrenaline floods her body in preparation for the potential fight that seems more likely than not as each second passes. The grip on her sword tightens as she clenches her jaw. Dozens of battle maneuvers and tactics fly through her mind, all the years of training; both in Winterfell and with Geralt blaring in her mind.

Another scream, this one deeper than the previous. Visenya picks up her pace again, eager for this confrontation to be over before it even begins. She glances behind and Geralt is right behind her, sword unsheathed and face battle-hardened.

For the fifth time, another scream rips through the trees, but now that they're closer, Visenya hears the rustling of what sounds like people running. The muffled noise of jeers and mocking voices trickle into her ears.

People, they're dealing with people, and not literal monsters. Though most times, people can be the worst type of monster there is.

With a deep breath that she quickly releases, Visenya reaches a handout, pushing away the branches that separate her and Geralt from the apparent attackers.

'The blood of the dragon is not afraid.'

The phrase enters her mind without thought. But instead of banishing it away, she embraces it. She imagines Queen Visenya beside her, a stern expression on her beautiful face, lips curling into a snarl that would perfectly mimic Vhaegar.

When she opens her eyes, nothing could have prepared her for what she saw. A group of six or so humans wielding various types of weapons that were dripping with blood stand in the small clearing. The source of the screams quickly became clear; a small family of elves with blood dripping from various wounds. A male elf lays on his stomach, unmoving; meanwhile, a woman cowers in a corner, pressing her body against a tree, three children with her. The smallest of the three were huddled on either side of her as she attempted to soothe them, tears streaming down her bloodied face. Meanwhile, the oldest, only looking to be seven at the most, stands in front of her, the branch from a tree between his unsteady hands. He holds it as if it's a blade, determined to protect what remains of his family.

The humans are bandits and not very successful ones; with worn mismatched leather armor and blades that look seconds away from rusting. But they wear sneers on the face, showing rotted teeth and foul words. They snap their attention toward Visenya who enters first and watch her for a moment as she watches them, taking in the scene before her.

She expected the worst, but nothing could've prepared her for this. It's too familiar, too close to home. She feels her vision go red, blood pumping in her veins, and skin nearly burning.

"Look at this boys, no need to find a nearby brothel. Looks like our entertainment found us," one of the men says, a twisted smirk curling on his cracked and bleeding lips. Visenya's face contorts into a look of disgust. The other men around them laugh, cackles that sound more like screams than sounds of delight.

Visenya tightens her grip on the hilt of her sword, teeth grinding as she clenches her jaw tighter. She takes a single step forward.

"Pretty thing you are, and you look like a fighter. Good, I like it when they fight," the man continues, undisturbed or intimidated by Visenya.

"And I like it when bastards like you are six feet under. Lucky for me you will be, soon," Visenya says, her voice gravelly and harsh like a growl. She smiles, her mouth looking more like the snarl of a wolf that's moments away from attacking.

The man doesn't falter, instead, he barks out a laugh, pointing his finger at Visenya as he does.

"Funny," he says. He nods his head at a few of the men, turning his attention back to the elf and her children. "But be a dear and be quiet. I have some business to attend to." He lifts his blade and begins approaching the woman. The child holds his stick up high, about to try and defend his mother when the bandit just shoves him aside, knocking the kid on the ground. A loud crack resounds in the clearing as his small head collides with a protruding rock.

The elven woman screams, crawling to try and get as far away as possible, clutching her kids tighter against her. Tears stream down her face as vigorous as a waterfall. Dread fills Visenya, all her thoughts consumed by panic.

"No!" Visenya screams. She moves to charge him, but a grimy hand holds onto her, keeping her from running. She turns towards the man, and wildly swings her blade. It misses, but in dodging it, he loses enough of his footing that he lets go of her.

He goes to grab her again, but before he can try, a blade slices into his neck, causing blood to gush out of the wound before he drops to the ground. Visenya doesn't have to look to know it's Geralt, but she does anyway. A deep scowl is set on his face, eyes blazing in a way that's eerily similar to Visenya's. He growls, eyes assessing the scene before them. He glances at Visenya, then moves his eyes to the leader. Visenya nods, understanding the nonverbal cue.

Save the girl.

"A fucking Witcher!" The man spits out. He spits turning away from the elf, no longer able to ignore the threat right in front of him. "Just kill them both, I hear Witchers make good coin."

Then everything descends into chaos. The rest of the bandits charge Visenya and Geralt, but she pays them no mind. She nimbly dodges each one of their attacks, leaving them to Geralt. Her eyes stay on the leader, who's eyes rest solely on her as well. He grabs a second blade from the ground, ripping it from the hands of the dead elf. He strides towards her and she meets him halfway in a clash of blades and fury.

Their blades meet in a cross, the clang of metal ringing in her ears. She scowls as he snarls, spittle flying into her face.

She jumps back and pivots to his side. His gaze follows her, body turning as she does. Like a butcher cutting a pig, he hacks down at her. She parries it with her blade, pushing it away as if it's nothing more than an annoyance. His second one comes down a moment later and she dodges to the other side, the blade slicing through empty air. A third swing, his other hand comes down, this time towards her face. She crouches low to the ground as she brings her blade up to block the hit, using her lower position to steady her body as she pushes against him, both hands holding onto the hilt.

He presses down and she pushes upward, arms shaking from the exertion. She screams, the sound eerily similar to the roar of a dragon, moments before it decimates its enemies with its fiery wrath. With a burst of power, she shoots up, causing him to stumble back.

Right and left, she slashes her blade at him. His leather armor takes the brunt of the first hit, but the second one manages to piece into flesh. She snarls as he screeches in pain. Clammy hands begin to shakily smack against his belt, desperately looking for a blade to try and stick her with, but she doesn't give him the chance.

She kicks him in the abdomen. The force of it slamming his already weak body against a tree. There's a loud crack as his body makes contact, another howl of pain escaping his mouth.

"Stupid bit--"

Her blade stabs into his neck, stopping him mid-sentence. Blood pours out of his mouth, a gurgling sound replacing his scratchy voice.

"Fuck you," Visenya says. She then spits at him, the saliva landing on his chest and disappearing into the blood.

She sighs, the sounds of fighting die down, and she turns around. Geralt is standing in the center of the clearing, blood speckling his armor and dripping off his blades, but luckily none of the blood is his. Her tense shoulder loosens slightly, the adrenaline leaving with the threats. She tosses her blade to the side, making a mental note to clean it later.

Turning to her right, she sees the elven woman with her children still cowering in the corner, all three of her children around her, the eldest of them knocked out cold. Now that no threats are looming over them, Visenya allows herself a moment to inspect the three of them.

The mother looks to be middle age, with wheat blonde hair and pallid skin, her bones protruding in a way that the bones of someone well-nourished wouldn't. Her eyes are down and as large as a doe, the sparkle in them enhanced by salty tears.

The small girl looks nearly identical to her, her wheat hair in a messy braid that's falling apart. She clutches her mother's hand tighter, moving further into her the longer Visenya looks at her. The other boy is the complete opposite, with dark disheveled hair and blue eyes. His face is blotchy and wet from tears, but he doesn't seem to fully understand why. Staring at Visenya with blank curiosity rather than fear.

"Are you hurt?" Visenya asks, making a conscious effort to make her voice as light and harmless as possible. She takes a step forward, a branch breaking under her foot. The woman gasps, pressing herself further against the tree.

Visenya stops, holding her arms up, a nonverbal sign that she means peace. The woman doesn't relax, not that Visenya expects her to.

"You--you--you," the woman stutters, tears still streaming down her face, but not as frantically as they were moments ago.

"Saved you, yes," Visenya says, taking another step forward. The woman doesn't cower, but her fear doesn't lessen.

"I don't have coin," she says, her voice wavering in between her sobs. Visenya shrugs, a small smile curling on her lips.

"And I have more than enough," Visenya says. The woman continues to stare at her, not uttering a single word. It's like they're frozen in place, only the tears running down her cheeks and their shaking forms giving away that they're in fact real. Visenya feels her stomach twist itself into knots.

She should grab her blade and leave the clearing behind, get back on Roach with Geralt and ride off to the next destination. At the very least her conscience would be eased by the fact that they kept these band of idiots from hurting the woman and her children.

And yet…

A voice whispers in her ear to not, that she'd never stop thinking about this moment, wondering what became of them. Did they save them from these bandits only to get robbed and left for dead by the next group of pricks with pointy swords? She couldn't live with it, she realizes. Not if she doesn't do everything in her power to ensure they arrive home safely and alive… wherever home is. A sigh escapes her mouth, so quiet it could be mistaken for the wind.

"You have no reason to trust me, I get that, but at the very least I saved you from those pricks, so I can't be that bad, right?" Visenya asks, voice rougher and blunter than she intended for it to be. Internally she winces as the woman cowers for a brief second, but then slowly she nods her head.

"Right. Your son is injured, how serious, I'm not sure. I don't know, maybe you have some training in the art of healing, but if you're not, at the very least, I'm no stranger to minor injuries. I can help him," Visenya continues. The elven woman doesn't cower anymore, her rapid tears dwindling to a light drizzle rather than a heavy pour. She nods once more, and Visenya finds herself sighing in relief.

Without wasting another moment she takes a step forward, turning towards the child on the ground. She crouches beside him, his mother moving to be on his other side. Her shining eyes are sharp, watching Visenya with the likeness of a hawk watching its prey.

He looks to be a mixture of his mother and presumably his father. His hair is a dirty blonde, freckles dotting his tan skin. He's not nearly as frail as his other siblings, similar to how Jon, Robb, and Theon looked when they first started training in Winterfell. But he seems to have much less meat on his bones.

Visenya places her warm hands on his face, lifting his head and moving a hand to gently cradle his head. There's a large bruise blossoming on the right side of his forehead, but there's no blood or any other signs of injury. She places a hand on his heart, feeling it beat against her hand, then slides it to the side of his neck, feeling a pulse there as well.

"He didn't get hit with a weapon," the woman says, whether convincing herself of his safety or trying to feed Visenya information she isn't sure. Or it could be a mixture of both.

"No, but he took a hard fall, I've seen men twice his size get knocked on their heads and never get back up, and if they do, they're never the same. There's bleeding, but that doesn't mean he's completely safe," Visenya says, removing her hands from his body.

"Is there anything to be done?" she asks, picking his up and gently cradling his head in her lap.

"Other than wait and see when he wakes? No. As I said, I'm no healer, but I have a tea that can help ease his pain. He'll have a bad headache and sore body, that much is certain," Visenay says. She looks over at the two other children; a girl and a boy. They're young, that for certain, younger than the boy on the ground.

"How much?" the woman asks, not removing her eyes from her son. Visenya's brows furrow in confusion.

"How much what?"

"How much will I owe you for the herbs?" the woman asks again, looking Visenya directly in the eyes. Her tears are dry, but her eyes still shine from the residual dampness.

"Nothing. He needs it now more than I do. I can buy more when I reach the next town," Visenya says, keeping her face as pleasant as possible. The woman purses her lips, clearly in thought. Silence washes over them until it's broken by the woman.

"Thank you. Not many humans would show kindness to elves, much less two so well trained in fighting."

Visenya snorts, a smirk appearing on her face.

"One human and a mutant, actually. But you're welcome. What good is all the fighting talent in the world if you don't use it well," Visenya says, slowly standing from the ground? The woman's eyes follow her form as she stands to her full height. "Our horse is near the road. We can take you wherever home is, and make sure you get there safe."

The woman nods, adjusting her son in her arms so that he is lying across her lap. With Visenya's help, she stands from the ground, holding her son's bridal style. Her two other children stay close, hiding a bit behind her, each one with a hand attached to her dress. Visenya turns, eager to leave the clearing and forget any of this happened, but the woman stopped her.

"I've already lost Aldon, my husband. I could not lose my son too, I truly appreciate what you have and are doing for us."

"I wouldn't speak so soon," Geralt's gravelly voice enters the conversation. They both turn to see him kneeling beside the body, two fingers against his neck. "He's fading, but he hasn't died yet."

Visenya strides towards Geralt, the woman, still holding her son, hot on her trail while her two children stay in place, silently watching with wide eyes. Visenya sits beside Geralt as the woman nearly collapses on the other side of Aldon's body. She takes a hold of his hand, her grip so tight her fingers begin to turn white.

"Can we save him?" Visenya asks. Geralt grunts, gesturing with his head in the direction behind them. She nods, knowing what he's saying without having to physically say it. She stands and runs the way they came in. Her feet are heavy, beating into the soil and breaking any twigs or crunchy leaves. The world is a blur around her, wind rushing against her skin. They can save him, but only if Visenya can get the supplies back to Geralt in time.

Either by sheer dumb luck, or the gods truly have shown them favor, Roach is right where they left him. Visenya releases a heavy sigh as she beelines straight for her pack that hangs off of Roach.

"Good horse. I'm going to give you so many apples once we reach civilization," Visenya breathes out, untying her pack from his saddle. He neighs, happily it would seem. She smiles, patting his side a few times before turning and rushing into the forest once more.

Everyone is in the exact spots as when she left. Geralt is leaning over Aldon with his wife sitting on the other side of his body. She clutches his hand in hers, knuckles turning white from the tightness of her grip. Her lips are quivering with large eyes, her body shaking every few minutes, the stark contrast of Geralt. With thin lips, hard eyes, and unwavering hands as he cleans the wound to the best of his ability; he's the epitome of stone. Visenya runs towards them, tossing the bag at Geralt once she crosses halfway through the clearing. He catches it in his hand, flipping it open and rummaging through it. He pulls out various bottles; some with powders, liquids, herbs: both brushed and whole, and bandages.

Visenya slows her pace, moving around Aldon to sit beside his wife. She glances at Visenya for a moment before looking back at her husband. She;'s breathing heavily, the sharp intakes of breath sporadic. A hiccup escapes her mouth every few seconds, eyes on her husband, waiting and hoping for any signs of recovering. Hand on the grass, it moves over until it brushes against her free hand. She doesn't look away from her husband, but she takes Visenya's hand, her cold body instantly feeling warmer from Visenya's proximity. It provides comfort, a sense of reassurance that Geralt knows what he's doing. That her husband will make it out of the mess, and this day won't become a travesty that's burned in her mind.

Geralt works quickly, each minute passing in a blur. He tears strips of bandages off with his teeth, the tearing sound from it enough to keep Visenya from getting lost in her thoughts. He wipes away the blood with a cloth, pouring a liquid that smells suspiciously like alcohol over the wound. It hisses upon contact but the noise swiftly dissipates. He then grabs one of the vials that contain a thick liquid. It's amber, with various herbs and other ingredients slightly discoloring it. He packs it into the wound, laying down multiple thick layers of the poultice. He then lifts the torso of the man just enough to wrap his torso in bandages. With her only free hand, Visenya helps him keep the body off the ground, mutely watching Geralt work.

Finally, Geralt sighs, removing his hands from the body, the two of them gently lowering him to once again lay on the ground. Blood is no longer gushing from the wound on the side of his body, unable to seep through the dense layers above it.

"They were pricks, but luckily they weren't skilled pricks. He would've bled out, but it wasn't a fatal blow. When he wakes he'll be weak, but alive," Geralt mutters. Visenya sighs, eyes moving to the elven woman. She removes her hand from Visenya's grip, moving her child off of her lap. Visenya immediately places hands on the small boy, taking him from his mother and cradling him. The woman cries out in relief, hovering over Aldon's body and placing a hand on his cheek.

She looks down at the boy in her arms, noticing the way his eyes twitch under his lids. He's dreaming, it seems. And from the small grin on his face, it's a good one. A soft smile forms on Visenya's face, wide eyes watching the boy, her breathing matching his. A familiar tingling sensation runs up her spine. She glances up, seeing Geralt's gaze firmly on her. She smiles, and he returns it. They've done it, managed to save an innocent family, keeping them from being torn apart by stick bastards with pointy sticks. It's...nice.

"We probably shouldn't move him too much in fear of disturbing his wounds. How far are you from here?" Visenya asks, turning her attention back to the woman. She lifts her head, eyes moving from her husband to Visenya. They're wet with tears again, but not tears of sorrow or fear. This time they're from an overwhelming feeling of joy and hope she didn't have moments ago.

"It's a short distance, we live just on the outskirts of Brunwich," she says. Visenya nods, opening her mouth but Geralt speaks before her.

"We just left," Geralt says.

"And we can turn back around," Visenya interjects, looking at Geralt with a stony expression; lips in a firm line and eyes daring him to contradict her. She clutches the child closer to her, not willing to let them go just yet. They need to be safe and back home, and Visenya needs to see it with her own eyes. Otherwise, her consciousness will never be sated. And Geralt gleans this, causing a sigh to leave his lips, not bothering to start an argument he knows he wouldn't win.

"We can," he concedes, voice lacking any form of enthusiasm or conviction in his words.

"Excellent." Visenya returns her attention to the woman. "Since his injuries are the most delicate, your husband can ride on Roach, and you can ride with him. I can hold your son, but would your two other children be okay to walk? I'm not sure they'd fit on Roach."

"They won't. We should camp here for the day until he's conscious and well enough to ride," Geralt says. Visenya nods and looks at the woman for confirmation, who nods as well.

"In that case, I will get Roach," Visenya says. She begins to adjust the boy in her lap to give him back to his mother, but she stands from the ground.

"I'll come with you," she says. Visenya nods, standing from the ground as well. She walks around Aldon, to stand beside Geralt. She gestures with her chin down at the child. Geralt opens his arms, reluctantly. She places the boy in his arms, and turns, dusting off any dirt that clings to her armor. Visenya nods at her and the two of them exit the clearing.

The air around them is quiet. They neither speak nor acknowledge each other. Occasionally Visenya glances at her out of the corner of her eyes, and she catches the woman doing the same thing. It's almost like two wolves dancing around each other, trying to figure out how to approach the other. It isn't hostile, neither of them having any obvious tension. It's just….silent.

The woods are as gloomy as before; a cold chill sweeping through the air with dead trees and crunching leaves in shades of brown coloring their world. Yet everything somehow feels lighter, less dull, and grey. Visenya feels weightless, the adrenaline from the battle still lingering in her veins and the rush from saving innocent lives giving a small skip in her step.

"I am Amaria," the woman -- Amaria says, making the first move. Visenya nods, continuing to look straight ahead.

"I am Amaria," the woman, Amaria, says. Her voice is louder than she's heard it, yet the only other times she spoke was during great distress. There's a melodic tone to it, each word slightly flowing together like the lyrics of a song. Visenya nods her head, staring straight ahead.

"Visenya." Leaves crunch under her boots, matching the pace of her heart, and the distant song that lingers in the back of her mind. It's been too long since she's heard music - and not just the drunken yodeling of tavern goers. She misses music and singing that are enjoyable to listen to. She misses the small tunes and fumbling lyrics that Jaskier always sang throughout the days. Everything is too silent now, and she finds herself trying to fill the silence the way he did.

"That's a beautiful name," Amaria remarks, stepping over an overly large root. Visenya smiles, glancing over at her. She's only the second person to call her Visenya. It's relieving...finally able to take ownership of her own name once again.

"Thank you, it's a family name." Amaria nods, falling silent once more, and unlike moments prior, this silence is not an easy one. Nerves fill Visenya, the uncertainty of what to say - if she should say anything at all overwhelming. She mulls over it for another moment, before just opening her mouth and hoping to not offend.

"What are your children named?" Visenya asks.

"Rohir is my oldest at seven, he's the one you helped. Then there's Elana, she's only four and my youngest is Vyron, he's only two," Amaria says, a wide smile appearing on her face as she thinks about her children. Visenya watches her with keen eyes, a pang of envy stabbing into her, a piece of her longing to know the feeling of having a family that's all your own.

"They're beautiful," Visenya says, tightly nodding her head. She drums her fingers against the side of her leg.

"Do you have any?" Amaria asks. She's seemingly unaware or unconcerned by the awkward air that surrounds Visenya. But it's nothing new, she's never been the best with people. Constantly being around such loud people like Jaskier, or quiet and reclusive people like Geralt, she never notices. But now, walking in the forest alone with Amaria, she can't help but notice how extremely difficult something as simple as conversation is.

"No," Visenya says, crouching to avoid smacking into a low hanging group of branches. Amaria nods, and then sighs. Her face scrunches into discomfort; pursuing her lips with eyes that are narrowed slightly.

"Sorry, I should not have asked. I'm sure Witcher mutations make conceiving a child near impossible," she says, her voice sympathetic and apologetic. Absentmindedly Visenya nods, only a moment later, fully processing the words.

"Wait what?" Visenya stops in her tracks, turning to face Amaria. Her mouth is agape and eyes wide, ashen brows furrow in confusion with lines on her forehead. She continues a few steps before realizing Visenya is no longer walking with her. She stops as well, turning around and facing Visenya.

"You and the Witcher. Aren't you two..." Amaria trails off. Visenya's cheeks are bombarded with heat that makes her skin bright red. There's a funny feeling in her stomach, tingles rushing up her spine. The thought of her and Geralt together isn't unpleasant, and that's the worst part. She almost enjoys the idea. But she quickly sweeps that away, her and Geralt having children would be disastrous, not that he probably could.

"Geralt and I are not...together," Visenya says, tone more frantic than she intended.

"Oh, I just thought maybe…"

"Well, you thought wrong," Visenya says, the words harsher than she intended for it to be. She releases a sigh of frustration, watching Amaria jump, slowly taking one step back from Visenya. Quickly, she crumbles back into the scared rabbit she was when Visenya first saw her. The familiar look in her eyes quickly snaps Visenya out of her frustration. Guild replaces her bubbling temper, immediately dousing out any annoyance in her voice.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be so harsh," Visenya says. Amaria nods, frown curling into a small smile. "Please, forgive me."

"You are forgiven. I should not have made such assumptions," Amaria says. She steps closer towards Visenya, a non-verbal sign that she doesn't hold any fear for her. Visenya smiles at her, and the two of them continue walking once more. Silence cloaking them in its aura for the rest of their walk, neither speaking even upon reaching Roach and bringing his back to Geralt and her family.

oOo

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you.

#geralt of rivia fanfic #the witcher fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the last dragon #house targaryen #targaryen!oc #Geralt #GAME OF THRONES CROSSOVER #the witcher crossover #geralt fanfiction

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bigdaddib · 4 years ago

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Gendry Who? pt2

So, lol, this is from like so so long ago and I didn’t update it cause it started getting so much longer than I ever intended it to. I did make a part 2 though, from Gendry’s pov. If anyone’s still interested, here ya go

“Arya’s recital is next week, you coming?”

Gendry had long since conditioned himself to not respond too dramatically when her name was mentioned. Instead, he withdrawals so deep within himself even he couldn’t tell you where to find him. “Wouldn’t you be bringing Ygritte?” Gendry asked, not pausing as he shoveled down cereal and scrolled through his phone.

“Yeah, but she invited you too, she just has to know so she can reserve us a seat.”

This, however, Gendry did not prepare himself for. His spoon, just as it was about to enter his mouth, became so still not even a drop of milk spilled over the sides. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, eyes unblinking but not seeing anything around him.

Sure, she had said she had forgiven him. And, sure, he had believed her because she was Arya. If she didn’t forgive you, if she harbored any negative emotions toward you, you knew about it. But he didn’t think her forgiveness would change anything, as much as he had hoped it might. He had played multiple scenarios in his head on how it might, he had no choice in the matter. Letting his mind wander meant fantasizing about seeing Arya again, eyes soft and caring as she opened her arms so they could simply pick up where they left off two years ago. Thinking of what it would be like to kiss her again, even if it were just for a second…

Even if it were just on the cheek.

Those cheek kisses were what he had lived on. He’d be anxious for the end of the night because he knew he had a kiss on the cheek waiting for him. He’d need that kiss, since it was all he had to carry him through until the next time he saw her, then the cycle would continue. It was so easy to get caught up in that routine again, just one kiss on the cheek from her and he was left pressing his fingers to that spot dreamily an entire month after. He was fully prepared to rely on that last kiss for the rest of his fucking life. Forgiving him didn’t mean taking him back, and he had no right to ask for her back, he barely had the right to ask for forgiveness. It was a blessing that he managed that, especially with the way he had went about it. Jerking her around, stuttering his stupid arse off, it was a wonder she understood him at all, he sure as hell didn’t understand himself. He never understood himself when he was dealing with her, never knew what the right thing to do was.

Seeing her through the rain on the side of the road, angrily kicking her flat tire, the right thing to do was to help her out. When it turned out she was Arya Stark, famous rebellious daughter to Ned and Catelyn Stark, openly defying their wishes by pursuing ballet, the right thing to do was help her out and not expect anything in return. People must do things for her all the time, expecting some sort of favor in exchange. He wanted to show the small girl with wide grey eyes and soaked through dark clothes that he didn’t want anything from her, didn’t expect anything.

Then she had kissed him on the cheek.

“She…invited me?” was all he was able to say.

Jon raised a brow. “Did something happen between you two?”

Gendry’s overwhelming first instinct was to say “no!” Of course not! Why would he even think that?! Arya and him…they were nothing, he had helped her out with her car and her wifi and one time with her mysteriously broken bed frame and that was all they had to do with each other…

But that sort of thinking was what had gotten him into this situation, wasn’t it?

If he had simply answered these types of questions honestly, where would he be now? With Arya? Waiting outside her dorm room to take her to a quick lunch between classes? Walking hand in hand with her down the street, feeling her tucked into his side?

Embarrassing her?

He winced. He had to stop that. She wasn’t embarrassed by things like he was, she didn’t care, so why should he? If she was willing to let Gendry drag her down to his level, then he should be too. Whatever people said, whatever their questions and whatever their jokes, they shouldn’t bother him because he had her. He had her tucked in next to him, hand in hand, getting a sandwich before she had to head back to practice…

Except he wasn’t, because he couldn’t. He couldn’t let himself have her without thinking she would one day wake up and realize she had been wasting herself away on him. Realize all the shit and jokes she would have to take for him weren’t worth it and she would leave. So he had to leave first, he had to make sure no one would know what sort of loser Arya was running around with so that maybe Arya wouldn’t figure it out either.

That wasn’t quite how things worked out though.

“What do you mean?” Gendry said, finally putting the spoon into his mouth.

“I mean…you guys never talk anymore, and you got kind of weird just a second ago.”

Gendry cleared his throat, set his phone down. “No…I just…you know she knows ballet’s not my sort of thing. But, uh, yeah, I’ll go. If she wants me to.” Honestly, he’d go anywhere if she wanted him to.

Jon nodded, grabbed his jacket and keys. He’d come over this morning to give Gendry his flat keys, but Gendry had said he didn’t need them. He trusted Jon enough to live with him for two years, he trusted him enough to keep a spare set of keys.

“Then I’ll meet you there, yeah?” Jon turned to look at Gendry as he opened the door to leave.

Gendry only nodded and didn’t move after Jon left.

Did this mean she wanted to be friends? Or was she only being polite?

No. If Arya didn’t want him there she wouldn’t invite him. That’s the way she was, she was blunt and straight forward. Which is why what he did to her was so difficult all around. The lying and sneaking around may have been fun for her the first month or two, but when they started getting into the “I love you’s” and holding each other all night, it probably got a bit redundant. He could feel it, he could feel her frustration with him, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Numerous times he found himself at her door with full intentions to simply give up and be with her, to not think about it so much. But then she’d open the door and he’d be struck by her smile and by her eyes and know deep, deep down, with everything in him, that he didn’t deserve her. He never would. No one did, but especially not him.

He’d never seen her dance before. Of course, he knew she did it professionally. The entire bloody world knew that. He assumed she was good at it. With her passion for it and the way she blatantly disregarded her parent’s wishes for her in order to do it, her skill was the last thing to questioned. He never felt he needed to watch her in action, he already knew everything he needed to know. Ballet, though he never took the time to watch anyone do it, was boring anyway. It must be, or else more people would say otherwise.

Obviously, he was wrong.

Although, he was biased. If it had been anyone else besides Arya dancing on that stage, he probably wouldn’t have been nearly as interested. But she was, and he couldn’t even find the time to blink. He had to watch the almost liquid way her body moved across the stage. Bent and twirled, leaped and stretched. Gendry knew Arya’s body well, probably better than he knew his own, and he liked to think he knew its limitations, but he never truly grasped its potential. What had he been doing, throwing her legs over his shoulders? Watching her back arch against a wall? What did any of that prove? He should’ve been driving her to practice, watch her dance every damn day. Not doing so was a fucking waste of time.

He was confused when it was intermission, even more so when he saw Jon snoring peacefully next to him. Angrily, Gendry shoved at his shoulder. “What’s wrong with you?” he barked.

Jon blinked dazedly. “Sorry, you won’t tell her, will you?”

Gendry rolled his eyes, feeling genuinely angry. How in all seven hells had Jon managed to fall asleep? Was he even watching? If Arya asked and Jon said she was wonderful, he would set the record straight. Besides, Arya was the one person he couldn’t lie to, not really. He could lie to Jon, he could even lie to himself, but not to her. Not to those big grey eyes.

Gendry found he was too angry to hold up conversation with Jon, so he excused himself to go to the bathroom.

The second half of the ballet seemed to be going just as good, if not better, than the first half. Gendry found himself leaning as far forward as he was able, watching as Arya’s body flowed just as easily and languidly as the silken dress they had put her in, knowing her very skin felt just as smooth.

When she fell onto her right ankle it took everything in him not to climb onto that stage and carry her off.

It took her two attempts to get back up, everyone around her kept up with the routine but it was all a bit awkward considering she was the lead dancer.

Gendry’s knuckles turned white as he saw her wince for the first time since knowing her. It stirred something different in him, something protective and fierce. He’d felt something similar to it once before, seeing her cry for the first time.

He hadn’t registered it at first, the single tear glistening down her cheek. He thought it was a trick of the light, a reflection off the window, anything but a genuine tear. Anything but a tear coming from Arya Stark’s eye. That simply wasn’t possible, Arya Stark didn’t cry, she couldn’t, wouldn’t let herself. But she was, and it was because of him. Fuck, if everything in him didn’t crumble into dust.

Arya wasn’t crying now. She was getting back up, dancing on that ankle he was sure he heard crack. And she kept dancing, right up to the very end. Gendry hadn’t taken a solid breath the rest of the performance, holding it for something horrible to happen, and when it was finally over he stood up in an immediate search for her.

Eventually, he found her in the dressing room, foot elevated and head in her hands. It was swollen an angry read, an ice pack rested on top of it. There was a man whispering in her ear, hand rubbing up and down her back. Gendry paused at the sight, Jon halting just behind his shoulder.

“Arya?” Jon called out.

Dejectedly, Arya lifted her head. Only her tired grey eyes visible. Gendry’s feet started walking toward her.

“You’re Arya’s family?” The man straightened up, back straight and shoulders broad. If Gendry was making assumptions, he’d say he was one of Arya’s dance teachers.

“We are,” Jon answered and Gendry’s chest tightened. He added nothing to contradict him.

“She should be fine. We had the doctor come in and—”

“I can speak for myself Jaqen,” Arya snapped. Jaqen’s only response was a sigh, brought his hand back to her bare shoulder.

“I’ll check up on you later,” he whispered and Arya’s only response was to rest her head back into her hands. Jaqen smiled tensely toward Jon and Gendry before leaving.

“Are you alright?” Jon was the first to ask, walking around Gendry and kneeling in front of her.

“No. I fucking blew it,” she bit out. “No company will hire me now, its fucking over.”

No one knew what to say, it was quiet for a moment. Then Jon tried, “You were beautiful up until then, Arya, I’m sure they’ll see that.”

Gendry let him say it, she didn’t need to hear that Jon had actually been napping the whole time.

“It’s fucking whatever,” her voice was violent, yet very tired. “I’ll just go to real college or something. The world is at my fingertips and all that. This is a sign I shouldn’t throw it all away,” she made it obvious she wasn’t serious about any of the words she was saying.

Gendry wanted nothing more than to go over and hold her as tightly. Maybe even let her cry on his shoulder, if she felt comfortable enough. He could feel it, her warmth pressed into him, her head nestled into his neck. Maybe it wouldn’t make her feel better, but he would.

“Can you…can you just bring the car around or something?” Arya spoke up. “I just want to get out of here.”

“Right. Right, Gendry, stay with her. I’ll text you when I’m out front,”

Jon left and Gendry promised he wouldn’t be the first to speak. He wouldn’t push her.

“Can you leave?” she whispered.

His heart shattered. “…Wh—why?”

“Because…because…” her voice cracked. She paused to release a heavy, shaky breath. “I can’t hold myself together around you.”

Something close to hope warmed him, and he let that propel him to kneel beside her as Jon did. It was a reflex to smooth a hand over her temple. “What are you holding yourself together for?” he whispered.

Arya shrugged in response.

“I won’t tell anyone that you’re upset if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Arya shook her head. “It’s not everyone else…I don’t wanna know.”

Gendry took a second to collect her meaning. “You don’t want to know you’re upset?” he clarified.

Slowly, Arya nodded.

“Alright, I won’t tell you either,” he agreed easily.

Arya’s shoulders shook in a dry laugh, revealing a dark, glistening grey eye. On the verge of tears. He rubbed a thumb over her brow bone. “Your secret’s safe with me,” he whispered. In movement a similar to the leaps she made on stage, she was in his arms. Head buried into his neck and fingers clawing at his back, she clutched him to her desperately.

Her entire body shook with her sobs and he felt his shirt absorb her hot tears, he was proud to hold her through it. It’s what he should’ve done that first time. He should’ve held her, all night if that’s how long it lasted. How long had she cried? He wondered that often. Was it all night? Did it carry into the morning? Was it no more than a second?

He himself found himself crying through an entire month. Alone in his room, often in the middle of his dreams. He’d wake up sniffling, laying on a wet pillow. That was different, though. He deserved it, she didn’t.

He had cried into that voicemail.

He wanted to ask about it, during the party. He wanted to know if she had gotten it, half hoping she hadn’t. He had immediately regretted it, once it was sent. A month later and he was still staring anxiously at his phone for a response, any response. A fuck off, an lol, anything at all, anything but that horrible silence. Because Arya Stark was never silent on things she cared about, and didn’t she care about him?

He hadn’t brought it up, obviously, because what would she say? What could she say to make him feel better? That she hadn’t gotten it? Maybe, but in retrospect her knowing his pain was a different sort of comfort. He wanted her to know he had truly cared for her, wanted to be with her, he wasn’t simply jerking her around. Whether or not that changed anything between them didn’t matter, as long as she knew that.

And if she had listened to it? What then? What more was there to say? She had heard him break and decided to leave him there and that was that. No response told him all he needed to know, no use in opening old wounds.

Except now, holding her, all of his wounds were open and pulsing and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Gendry’s phone buzzed which was probably Jon telling them he was out front. They didn’t move.

“I don’t suppose you’d let me carry you?” He tried, dreading watching her limp all the way to Jon’s car.

“Actually,” her voice was breathless and ragged, voice raw from sobbing. “I really don’t think I can walk on it. I already overworked it.”

Gendry was oddly excited. “I could…is there a back door or something? We could sneak out front.”

Arya pulled back enough to gift him a small smile. Nodding, she said, “I’ll tell you where to go.”

#gendrya #Gendry Waters #Gendrya fanfiction #gendrya ff #Arya Stark #arya x gendry #gendrya au

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ladyandtheghost · 5 years ago

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How “The Dany-Show” ruined GoT at the core: 3-point system

1. Sansa vs. Cersei:

How is it possible that we had a million reunions - many of them involving secondary characters for fluff and fan service with zero impact on the plot - but these two women who had so much drama, so much unresolved business, never saw each other again? This is where you would have found the good story to tell and a major plot strand to resolve: the conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters. This is what started it all, this is where it should have ended. This is the story they should have focused on.

So why didn’t they?

Because Game of Thrones was already dead and gone and the series had become The Dany-Show and nothing but The Dany-Show.

Every character, every story arc, everything had to be directed towards Dragon Barbie and her drama. So of course there was no time or space for anything that was not related to the The Dany-Show. Basically a black hole that sucked all the great storylines and characters into its dark void.

Massive loose plot strands like the Stark-Lannister showdown were left to rot, because it was far more important to show off that CGI budget for gratuitous dragon shots and inane conversations between secondary character including sex jokes on the main.

There was literally more screen time allotted to the dragons than to Cersei...

After four seasons of Sansa and Cersei constantly referring to each other and the day they would meet again (willingly or not), it’s scandalous that they shoved so many characters back together for pointless reunions that were more or less blatant fan service (Bronn and the Lannister boys, really?!) but the big conflict, the personal drama that was playing out between Sansa and Cersei - that had actually taken on political dimensions now - did not even get a single scene?

Wrong choice.

I mean can you even imagine how Lena and Sophie would have acted the shit out of their reunion, because I can and it makes me furious that we were robbed of it. When two characters have so much unfinished business, so much foreshadowing and so much history that still isn’t resolved, the least you can expect is to give them at least a half-assed resolution - but we did not even get that, because it had nothing to do with The Dany-Show. Because all the characters have to only think about Dany and relate to Dany and if there is to be a conflict between female characters, it has to involve Dany and no one else.

Poor Lena deserved better than to be reduced to playing a two-dimensional shadow of Cersei Lannister who was little more than a prompt giver to The Euron Greyjoy Side-Show (because sex jokes!)

Also Bonus fuck-up: the prophecy of the YMBQ? Cersei died in the arms of Jaime, if anything Dany’s attack had given her back the one person/thing she cares about. So how exactly did Dany rob her of “all you hold dear” when Dany’s attack caused Jaime to literally drop Brienne like a hot potato, declare his undying love for Cersei and run back into her arms for his final moment?

Before that, Sansa had already “taken” Jaime into her services together with Brienne. He’d actually switched sides to serve “another queen” (just not Dany) and at least this prophecy made sense for two seconds but of course the YMBQ had to be Dany because it’s The Dany Show, whether it makes sense or not...

They just didn’t care anymore, did they?

2. Little...who?:

So we have half a dozen characters rolling up to Winterfell who knew Littlefinger and his dirty business, and Arya, Sansa and Bran are about to go:

Only for some reason: NO ONE asks.

There is not a single reference to the fact that the Stark kids found out that Littlefinger is the mastermind behind 90% of everything that has happened since S1 and that he was executed for this. It’s like it never happened and he never existed and neither did all the important plot points before S8.

Did Jon ever find out that Littlefinger betrayed Ned and conspired with the Lannisters to bring down the Starks?

Did Tyrion ever find out that Littlefinger framed him at the Purple Wedding?

Did Varys ever find out that his nemesis was outsmarted and defeated by three teenagers?

Nope. Nope. And nope.

Ain’t we all?

A character who’s been hailed as MVP by a huge part of the fandom because he knew how to network and play the game™ that is advertised in the title like no other, isn’t even mentioned again. One of the most popular theories re: S8 was (ridiculous as I found it myself) “Littlefinger isn’t dead” because many people felt he was still important to the story and there was also a lot of unfinished business with other characters he was connected to...Jon, Varys, Tyrion, Cersei, Sansa...

Instead, Littlefinger himself, his death and every plot point he was ever involved in was simply erased - because Littlefinger and his relation to these characters had nothing to do with, i.e. did not contribute to...you guessed it...The Dany-Show and therefore POUF, he never existed...

3. R+L = who gives a f***

But you know, these are minor grievances compared to the fact that Jon’s character was not only dumbled down and turned into a complicit in genocide...

Jon’s parentage story arc - you know, THE big revelation and PLOT TWIST - was turned into a side note, a five-minute mini drama that was more about how this will affect poor little Dany and her feelings.

They gave us scenes of Dany waxing on about how Jon’s being the one true king stresses her out because she wants the throne and what she expects him to do about it - but they ROBBED us of the moment Jon tells the Stark siblings that he is not truly their brother, but their cousin.

Because who cares about how Jon feels about this and his “siblings” coming to terms with the fact that:

their father Ned Stark had kept Jon a secret from everyone

that he had not fathered a bastard and betrayed their mother

but saved the one true heir, at cost of his honour,

they lived with the Targaryen crown prince and raised him under everyone’s nose...

No, no, the important thing is how Dany feels about it all and how it affects her.

After the huge build-up, the theories, the overt foreshadowing, even more infuriating - after throwing poor Elia and her children under the bus and making Jon legitimate...

After literally EVERYTHING in this series leading up to the moment when everyone would know who Jon Snow truly is...it had no effect on the story whatsoever, besides contributing to Dany finally revealing the full extent of her insanity (which was only a matter of time anyways)

Heir to the Iron Throne? Targaryen Prince? Rhaegar’s son? PTWP?

The point is: Drama for poor little Dany because her nephew doesn’t want to fuck her anymore is the actual heir.

You can’t even say that it led to her advisors finding out and betraying her because that is something they should have done ages ago, at the latest when she burned the Tarlys. It gave them a legitimate alternative option, yes, but it was not the first time they thought she needs to go...

At least R+L=J served one good purpose: it rubbed Dany’s nose in it that she is not special at all. She is NOT the last Targ, nor the “princess that was promised” - and it was never her destiny to rule, she was only ever the “aunt” of the prince.

Sadly, this is again ALL about Dany and her feelings and how everyone else reacts to her in light of the news that Jon is Aegon.

So R+L=J is not even about Jon in the end, it’s just another element of The Dany-Show. And once Dany is gone, it’s like R+L=J also got erased (just like Littlefinger and the Stark-Lannister-conflict)

...because let’s just send the Head of House Targaryen and last of his line beyond the wall again just because the murderous army of the mad tyrant, whom he heroically freed us from, demands it...and of course we have to wrap up the last five minutes of this shitty episode.

Conclusion:

D&D just REALLY didn’t care anymore once The Dany-Show was over and it’s painfully obvious to see. The good news is that all of these plot points that got erased/dumbled down/ignored^^ are things that are important to GRRM, which gives me hope for the last books at least...

#game of thrones #sansa stark #jon snow #anti-daenerys #anti-dany stans #anti-d&d #cersei lannister

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orangeflavoryawp · 4 years ago

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Jonsa - “Red Curtain”, Part Two

Whoopsie. Just realized I never posted the update. Forgive me, I’m a mess.

Red Curtain

Chapter Two: Orgel’s Rules

"She may as well have spelled it out in the convenient magnetic alphabet along the fridge door. In big, colorful, kindergarten-sized letters:

Mistake.

That's what she was calling it." - Jon and Sansa. Summer's for lovin', after all.

Oh, and crisis. That, too.

Read it on Ao3 here.

Part 1 | 2

* * *

The first and only time Jon Snow kissed Sansa Stark was back in middle school. She was 12, and he was 14, and neither of them were particularly good at ignoring peer pressure at that point in their pre-pubescent lives, so when they were locked in a closet for 'seven minutes in heaven' at Jeyne Poole's birthday party, well, he was just a budding teenage boy, after all.

And Sansa Stark was pretty. Always was. Except he hadn't really noticed it so specifically until that moment. She was pretty when she tucked her hair behind her ear nervously, and she was pretty when she folded her skirt underneath her knees as she settled on the floor of the closet, and she was pretty when she leaned forward and placed her hands on his shoulders in a sudden surge of courage, eyes wide and unblinking, her throat bobbing.

Hell, she was even pretty when she pulled back after the initial kiss, mortified and stuttering, when her teeth had clacked against his in her fervency, her determination. And sure, he had laughed, and she only blushed harder, her hands ripping from his shoulders instantly as though burned, and he'd known he'd fucked up then, but she was – god, she was so fucking pretty, and endearing, and she was Robb's little sister, oh god, only not so little anymore, not since the summer before, and definitely not now, and Jon had surged forward without thinking, meeting her mouth once more with his, a hand curled urgently around her arm to pull her to him, his other lighting on her shoulder, and he'd kissed her.

Sansa Stark.

He'd kissed her.

Even now, he remembers the way her lashes fluttered against his cheek, and the way she'd come unbalanced, nearly tipping them to the floor, their mouths jostling together for a brief, unbearably awkward moment, before she was suddenly laughing, pulling back, her fingers curling in his sleeve.

The truth is, he thinks that might have been the start of it all. Never mind the fact that they'd mutually agreed never to disclose the act to anyone else, or that they'd both admitted in the blaring aftermath that it had been a first kiss for each of them, or that the comfort and easiness of their following conversation had probably been the highlight of their imprisonment in Jeyne's closest.

Because he could talk to Sansa, he realized suddenly. In different ways than he could with Robb or Arya. Because she didn't laugh at him when he said it was his first kiss, and because she said she thought he'd done rather well, even as she was blushing furiously, and because she told him she was glad it was him she got stuck with (not that she'd said 'stuck with' per se, but he didn't really mind the insinuation anyway, which was kind of refreshing to realize, if he was being honest).

A stupid game, really. But there are worse things than being locked in a closest with Sansa Stark for seven minutes.

A fumbling, wet kiss. Some self-deprecating laughter. An honest conversation about the perils of navigating teenager-ism. No big deal.

The problem though, as he discovered shortly after, was that he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He's pretty sure he left that closet at least half in love with her.

Which is ridiculous, and yet, here he is, at the annual Stark summer cookout, beer in hand, trying his damnedest to look casual in his lean against the counter beside Ned when Sansa glides into the kitchen with bags of burgers and dogs and pork chops hanging from each arm. She stops short, blinking those sharp blue eyes at him, pushing her sunglasses further back along her hair, a smack to her lips.

"Jon," she greets, and it's not acidic, at least. Always the polite one, he reminds himself.

But fuck, she's still so inarticulately pretty. His chest heaves at the realization, his mouth parting unconsciously. He nearly slips from his lean against the counter.

See, the next time he very nearly kissed Sansa Stark was last winter. And okay, directly post-break up – on her part – was definitely not the time for it to happen.

"Harry's drunk. And getting handsy with his secretary," she'd said when she'd called him in the middle of what was supposed to be Harry's company's Christmas party.

"Sansa," he said, wanting to reach through the receiver and tug her to him.

"Pick me up?" she asked, voice cracking just the slightest.

"I'll be there in ten."

He was there in less.

In hindsight, it had been a long time coming. Jon knew Harry wasn't going to last. But try telling Sansa that. She was as stubborn as her sister, even if she was never so brash about it. She was the quiet sort of immovable. Like stone.

But Jon swallowed back his I told you so in favor of late night tacos and sharing a park bench.

"He's intolerable," she said, wiping sauce from her lip.

Jon only hummed his agreement, biting into his own taco.

"And a shitty liar. And sleezy, ugh, so sleezy. And – and not nearly as good in bed as he swears."

Jon laughed around the food in his mouth, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She huffed. "God's gift," she mocked. "Ha!"

Jon watched the way she picked at the wrapper of her taco, her brows furrowing. She looked at him then.

"But you knew all that," she said, more a statement than a question.

He cocked his head at her. "I did."

She sighed, shaking her head. "God, I'm so stupid."

"Hey, hey, no," he said, straightening as he turned fully to her.

Sansa kept her eyes on the half-eaten taco in her lap, silent.

He wanted to wrap an arm around her shoulders, or brush a thumb across her cheek, or take her hand in his, but he still had this stupid taco in his hand, dripping sauce all over his fingers, and he looked around for a napkin, found none, got even more frustrated, heaved a sigh as he turned back to her. She was still staring down at her lap. So he just shuffled closer to her, their knees knocking, his thigh braced to hers as he tried to wipe his hand along the taco wrapper in his lap. It was all very not-suave. "Hey," he said.

She looked up, eyes blinking owlishly, as though she hadn't expected him to suddenly be so close.

But then neither had he.

Jon sucked a breath through his teeth, eyes flicking between hers when he realized he could feel the hot expel of her breath, when he realized he could count her lashes if he wished.

"His loss," he said, breathless suddenly, and shit, why did he sound like that? Jon swallowed thickly.

She pursed her lips, watching him.

He took a breath. "I mean, god, Sansa, you should know by now. You're anything but stupid. You're... you're fucking exquisite, okay? And he's – Harry's a dumbass," he laughed, licking his lips.

She glanced to his mouth.

And oh. Oh no.

Jon stiffened, his breath hitching.

Her eyes flicked back up to his, and instantly, he knew what she meant to do.

Sansa leaned in.

Distantly, he remembered Ygritte. His girlfriend. And he was half a second away from discarding the thought entirely, considering the downward spiral they'd been in lately, and considering how much he realized he wanted this. Fiercely so. Enough to send him spinning.

But that's not the kind of man he wanted for Sansa. And not the kind of man he wanted to be himself.

Hell, she'd literally just ended a relationship with a man who had no qualms about kissing a woman who wasn't his girlfriend, and here he was, about to do the same. Just a different angle on the same shitty situation. Sansa was vulnerable, and hurting, and looking for comfort in the wrong places, it was true. And he understood this, on some level, but it didn't really process like that, in the moment.

It happened more like this:

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do much morethan kiss her, truth be told.

His hand went to her shoulder, stopping her.

(But not like that.)

Sansa froze, mouth thinning into a tight line.

Jon cleared his throat. "Sansa, I..."

She pulled back instantly, back ramrod straight. "Oh," she said, voice wavering. She took a deep breath, jaw clenched. "Oh," she said again, eyes straight ahead.

Jon fumbled with the taco in his hand, trying to set it aside on the bench. "Wait, Sansa, look, I just – "

Sansa stood suddenly, her food slipping off her lap. She looked down at it as though suddenly remembering it, her features narrowing in anger. She grabbed at the take-out bag on the bench beside her, wiping her fingers with a napkin she snatched from inside, the slip of her copper hair obscuring her face from his view for a moment.

Jon gulped back his regret. "Sansa, please, I'm sorry, I just – "

"Take me home," she said flatly, jaw clenched.

Jon sighed, standing as well, tacos forgotten. And his hands were still so fucking messy, and now it was smeared on his pants, and she was already stalking away, and fuck, he was so stupid, so frustratingly stupid and fuck these goddamn tacos, he was just –

"Sansa!" he called after her.

But she'd only repeated her request to be taken home and so that's exactly what he did, and it wasn't until she slammed the car door closed and stalked up her driveway that he finally deflated in the driver's seat, a hand wiped down his face.

Because what the fuck? He picked now to be an upright guy?

It wasn't like he hadn't been fantasizing about her well before things went south with Ygritte, imagining it was Sansa's legs wrapped around his waist whenever he gave in to an angry fuck. It wasn't like he hadn't brushed off plans with his own girlfriend because Sansa hit him up. It wasn't like he hadn't had it in for nearly every man she's ever dated under the petty pretext of 'just being a big brother'.

It wasn't like that at all.

Except it was.

And now he'd screwed up. Rejected her when she'd made the first move.

She hadn't called him again since then, and he'd only seen her a handful of times since, always briefly, always in the company of others, always with a stiff, practiced veil of indifference between them.

He hated it.

They were friends once. Good friends. And now... well, now Jon didn't know what they were.

"Jon! So good to see you!" Jeyne swoops in for the rescue, pressing a kiss to his cheek, before waddling over to the sink for a glass of water.

"Thanks, hon," Ned says as he makes his way over to Sansa, taking some of the bags off her arms. "Jon, will you help Sansa take the rest of it to the other fridge?" he asks, and jesus christ, Jon is beginning to think the man has it out for him.

But he sets his beer down anyway, grunting his ascent before Sansa can refuse his help and he spreads his hands out in a 'gimme' motion toward her.

That earns him a reluctant smirk and a shake of her head and damn, it does something to his chest that leaves him nearly winded. But he can't help smiling in return, and maybe this won't be so bad. Maybe she doesn't hate him. Or maybe it's just that damned politeness of hers. His smile wilts at the edges at the thought, just slightly, but he's tired of this melodramatic shit, and he just misses her and he hopes she misses him, too, holy hell does he hope she misses him, too.

They make their way to the garage through the side kitchen door where the Starks store their second fridge for such things. Big enough for Catelyn Stark's largest casserole dish, and big enough for Aunt Lysa's punch bowl, and Rickon's stash of cream sodas. Jon offers an awkwardly wide, close-lipped smile when he opens the fridge door and Sansa just scrunches her nose as she squats down, pushing her sunglasses further back on her head and then she starts to rearrange the contents.

"You just got in?" she asks.

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Yeah, Robb just picked us up at the train station."

"Long trip?"

He shrugs one shoulder, shifting the weight of the bags over his arm. "Couple hours."

"You should make it more often, then," she says, eyes still on the fridge.

He doesn't test that one. Doesn't really know how to, anyway. So he just hums in acknowledgement.

She glances up at him, hair swinging over her shoulder. "Robb misses you," she says in explanation.

"Do you?" The words are out before he can catch them. He stands there staring down at her.

She blinks, mouth pursing. And then she reaches for one of the bags off his arm and he hands her the extra burger patties wordlessly.

"Sansa..."

"Let's just... not," she says.

And god, he wants to bash his head into the freezer right then. He blows a breath through his lips and rakes a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Sansa, I never meant to – "

"I'd really rather you just forgot about it," she says, attention fixed back to the fridge.

He takes a moment, thinking on it. He doesn't really want to forget it though, that's the thing. But at the same time...

She gives a rough chuckle. "I mean, I was probably still drunk from the party, and feeling spiteful toward Harry, and you were there, and you were, well, you, and I think I just made a really stupid choice that had nothing to do with you and everything to do with me and that... that wasn't right." She catches her breath, looking back up at him. "I didn't mean to use you like that. Or make you uncomfortable."

Nothing to do with you.

Jon blinks at her, mouth tipping open. Because what the fuck? What the – how could she – just what –

Now he really, really wanted to bash his head in. "Sansa," he grouses. What was going on?

"Dogs."

He rears back. "What?"

She opens an expectant palm toward him. "The hotdogs."

"Oh." He shakes his head, fumbling with the bag as he digs out the hotdogs, handing them over obediently and then –

Wait. Stop that.

Why is she so good at distracting him?

"Sansa, look – "

"And I'm sorry."

He swallows back his reply instantly.

She turns her gaze back to the fridge, tapping a nail nervously along the crisper drawer. "You don't have to worry. It won't happen again."

His mouth clamps shut, and now he's practically crawling out of his skin, ready to scream at her, and yet, god, if she only knew how much he had wanted to kiss her then, or just how much more he would have let her do to him, spiteful or not – but he's not sure that's the sort of thing she wants to hear right now, not if it was only ever a mistake to her.

She may as well have spelled it out in the convenient magnetic alphabet along the fridge door. In big, colorful, kindergarten-sized letters:

Mistake.

That's what she was calling it. That's what kissing him would mean to her. A mistake.

And you know, he is really, really starting to regret ever coming into this garage with her. Maybe awkward not-knowing is better.

Jon frowns, hand curling over the open fridge door. He opens his mouth, but the beeping of the fridge interrupts him, that stupid alert when the door is left open too long, and then Sansa is pushing the dogs further back on the shelf, asking for the pork chops, and they get the fridge stocked and closed in a matter of seconds.

Sansa stands then, and she's close. Real close. And Jon doesn't step back.

But she does. And maybe that should tell him something. Something he hadn't really wanted to consider before.

Sansa brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thanks," she says.

And everything he'd thought to say is suddenly deflated in his chest. Useless. He starts to bunch the empty grocery bags together. "Yeah," he says, and he can't help the edge to his voice.

"Jon?" she asks, a hand going to his arm.

He looks up at her then.

She's nervous, he can tell. And not because he knows this through some stupid love osmosis, but because he fucking pays attention. Because he knows what it means when her brows furrow like that, and when she pushes her lower jaw out just the slightest, and when she leans her head unconsciously to the left. Because he's known this girl since she was born, and he'll know her years from now, without doubt. Because he's become attuned to every minute detail of her. Because he doesn't know how to stop paying attention to Sansa Stark.

"Are we good?" she asks, tentative and soft.

And fuck no, they're not good. He's anything but good around her. Hasn't been for years, actually. But that's not what she needs right now, apparently. Or maybe he's just a coward, in the end. But he thinks he can live with that. If it's between being a coward or a mistake, he thinks he can live with that.

"Yeah," he croaks out – tries to mean it. He reaches for her arm, gives it an affectionate squeeze. "Of course."

And yeah, in the end, he just misses her. Misses the smile she gives him just then, easy and free.

It makes things a little easier.

His hand slips from her arm then.

She glances back toward the kitchen when she hears a loud bang and Arya's whine through the closed door. Instantly, the tension snaps, her chuckle lighting the way for his own mirth, and he's laughing then, a hand reaching back to rub the nape of his neck. "I don't think your sister's good though," he jokes.

She shakes her head. "And you were looking forward to seeing this family again?" she mocks.

He shrugs, leaning back along the closed fridge door. "Stuck with you, I guess."

She leans back beside him, arms crossing. "I'm glad you were able to make it." It sounds honest. Real.

Jon likes the sound of it.

"You, too." And he means it, he finds. He really does. "Going back tomorrow, though, I hear?"

She nods. "Yeah, Marg and I are trying to make a concert."

"Think you'll make it to sunrise?" he teases.

Sansa rolls her eyes. "I've never made it before."

He nudges her shoulder with his own. "Come on. Just try. You can sleep on the train."

She arches a brow at him.

"I've got a good feeling about tonight."

"Oh god, now I'm scared," she laughs.

"What?"

"None of your 'good feelings' have ever boded well for me."

"That's not true," he defends, a dramatic hand to his chest as though wounded. And damn, he thinks Theon is rubbing off on him. Not good. That is not good. He drops the hand instantly.

But Sansa only laughs, shaking her head. "Look, no promises, okay? But I'll try to hang in there."

He smiles cheekily at her. "That's all I ask."

She juts a finger into his chest then. "But you better not give me any shit if I pass out too early, okay? This is a 'no shit-giving zone', you hear me?" And then she crosses her hands before her, swipes them through the air. "Absolutely no shit."

He holds his hand to his chest like a goddamn boy scout. "Absolutely no shit," he swears solemnly. And god, she's just so fucking cute when she narrows her eyes at him.

But she leans back along the fridge again, smiling, and he thinks he can do this. He thinks he can relearn 'normal' with her.

"Work's been good?" she asks.

He rolls his eyes then, a hand wiping over his beard. "Same old, same old," he says.

The thing about inheritance law, see, is that the work is actually pretty fucking boring. And tedious, holy hell, so mind-numbingly tedious. And yet, working probate as a paralegal has introduced him to some truly interesting individuals. The ones that are preparing their wills, well, half of them end up waxing nostalgic with him, a stranger, just sitting there in their living room trying to get a signature out of them. And the stories! Oh man, the stories he's heard. But he likes to let people talk. Likes to listen. There's a lot someone will reveal when they think they're at the end of their life. A lot of candidness you don't find elsewhere. And sure, when he gets back to the office, he's often knee-deep in documents and his eyes are red from too much computer screen staring, but it's... oddly fulfilling. In a strange, coming-together kind of way – preparing an estate.

But then the other half he deals with are an assortment of paranoid upper-middle classers, stringent career military, young finance majors, and the occasional new parent.

He thinks of his mother then.

And it's not a glamorous job, certainly, but back when he was nineteen, and his mother hadn't left an executor, hadn't even left a will, back when his mother's childhood home had slipped from his fingers to some distant cousin, back when Ned and Benjen had hired a lawyer for him and made sure to secure enough of his inheritance to live by – he remembers what it felt like to navigate the 'after' with no clear discernment of what 'after' was supposed to look like, or how he was supposed to achieve it, or hell, how to even submit her death certificate to the DMV or who to call to turn off her water and electricity or how to change his phone plan from 'family' to 'single'.

How to settle the minutiae of death.

It's a strange, disconnected kind of experience. Tying up the ends of another's life. Maybe that's what got him. The cleanliness of it. The closure. Somehow outside of himself and yet, intricately tangled in it.

And Jon's sure there's a joke in there somewhere about it, but for the life of him, he can't figure it out just yet. He's stopped looking for punchlines a long time ago. Now, he just... is. Joke or not. He just is. There's a sort of peace to it.

And a paycheck's a paycheck, so maybe that's all it really is. Yeah. That's all it really is.

"It's the slow season," he says then, not having the words to really explain the rest. And isn't that just surreal? That probate has a slow season?

(He doesn't tell her that the majority of deaths happen around the holidays, that they happen in winter. But he thinks she knows this, even if he doesn't say. And it's not the kind of thing he whips out at the dinner table anyway, so he keeps his facts kept securely beneath his tongue – dismally objective as they are.)

But Sansa just nods, humming an acknowledgement. "I hear Mr. Mormont's been doing better."

Jon rubs along the back of his neck, stretching as he lets out a laugh. "Yeah, I don't think that guy's kickin' it any time soon."

Sansa nods sagely. "Good to hear." She drops her head back along the fridge, grin cracking wide. "Lyanna told me earlier, and I quote, 'The old bear doesn't know how to die'." She glances to him out of the corner of her eye.

"Honestly, the guy's revised his will like seventeen times at this point. I don't think he knows the meaning of 'terminal'."

They joke about it now, but five years ago, when Lyanna's uncle got the diagnosis and he'd first gone to Jon's firm, it certainly hadn't been a joking matter.

Now though – well, laugh so you don't cry, right? Mormont's a tough one, anyway. And he's the sort that doesn't make peace until he's ready. "Growing old ain't for pussies," as he'd said. Or was that Lyanna? Shit, he doesn't even know at this point.

Jon chuckles again. "Those two were cut from the same cloth."

"I'm glad she has Arya," Sansa muses softly then. "Just, you know – when it happens." She glances to Jon. "She'd never let her drown."

"No, she wouldn't."

A somber silence descends then, and with anyone else, it might have felt uncomfortable, or oppressive, but with Sansa it's just... contemplative. An easy sort of lull.

He picks at an imaginary thread along the hem of his t-shirt. "No, she'd sit with her," he says, and he doesn't know why.

Except he knows precisely why.

Because he'll always remember that morning on the Starks' porch and how she'd sat with him in his grief and never demanded anything or tried for meaningless words. How she knew he wasn't ready for some grand pep talk but he also wasn't ready to send her away.

Will you just sit with me?

How she just... stayed. How she stayed.

Yeah. He's not forgetting that any time soon.

Something comes over her face then that he can't really identify. But it's unnerving, and a little too scrutinizing for his taste, so he clears his throat, pushes off the fridge, grabs at the bunched-up, forgotten grocery bags along the counter beside them. "I swear, you Starks take in people like stray dogs," he mutters, a smirk at his lips.

She cocks her head at him. "Says one very happy puppy," she laughs pointedly.

He rolls his eyes then. "Alright, alright, move it or lose it, toots," he says, shooing her away.

She peels off the fridge and heads to the kitchen with a broad, knowing smile.

And just like that, he's okay again.

Jon breathes deep, exhales slowly.

It's summer, goddamn it – his favorite day of the year, with his favorite people around him. So why is he making it so much more complicated?

Jon shakes his head, following her out. In a matter of moments, he's bombarded by Bran and Theon trying to settle their argument over the latest DLC for their favorite video game, and he loses Sansa in the great expanse of the house, as she's ushered down the hall by Margaery, who offers him a short salute and a wink as a greeting.

"Did you bring your muscles?" Catelyn asks him suddenly, tearing his attention from Sansa's disappearing figure and halting Bran and Theon's argument around him as she plops an insanely large bowl of potato salad into his arms and nods toward the backyard in silent direction.

He nods dutifully at her. "Always, Mrs. Stark." He gives a wink for good measure, never missing her sly tut, though she tries to hide her smile. But it's enough. She's always been a woman of quiet affection, after all, speaking through actions rather than words. A stern look as she brushed the curls out of his eyes on he and Robb's first day of school, and firm, agile fingers when she taught him how to tie a tie, and a reluctant sigh as he'd ushered her into the selfie he took at last summer's cookout, even when her hand braced warm and steady at his back.

Maybe it was because she knew what it meant to lose a mother. Maybe because she was a mother herself. Maybe because you never really unlearn these things.

Jon makes his way outside through the sliding glass door, hulking potato salad in tow, and by the time Ned and Benjen have stopped the grill from smoking, and Rickon has grudgingly toted out the watermelon, and Jeyne has started husking the corn, the summer sun falls low and warm along the pool's waters just past the patio set. Bran and Arya arrive to the table wrapped in beach towels, and Margaery shrieks when Arya shakes her wet hair out at her, though she gets her back with a toppled beer into her lap, all by accident, of course, Margaery swears, and Sansa and Lyanna are howling with laughter while Ned and Catelyn try to wrangle everyone into their seats and Jon is – Jon is –

Happy. Stupid fucking happy. So happy it's hurting his jaw, and he thinks his smile might crack his face in two if he keeps it on any longer, so he tears into his burger instead, leaning back as he watches dinner unfold.

The food is demolished in record time, of course, and Robb offers to go get Jeyne's famous nectarine butter cake out of the fridge, dragging a bemoaning Lyanna behind him toward the kitchen to help cut up Arya's brownies with an argument of 'be the better significant other'.

Arya smirks at her girlfriend's retreating form, bringing her beer to her lips.

"Made those brownies 'special' this year, did you?" Theon asks pointedly.

Arya shrugs one shoulder. "I'm not Bran."

"Hey," Bran defends, looking very much like he's already slipping into a food coma without any further help. "I have sleep issues, as you all know."

Sansa rolls her eyes, rising to help her parents clear the table, and the image of her blurs just the slightest. Yup. Alcohol's kicking in now. But Jon's perfectly warm and contented, so he just settles further into his seat with his hands folded over his very full tummy.

"This innocent act is absolutely not believable, just so you know," Sansa jokes, once their parents are out of ear shot and through the sliding glass backdoor already.

Arya shrugs again. "Not like Lyanna would notice if I pinched her stash anyway," she laughs.

"What was that I heard?" Lyanna asks through the open back door.

Okay, so maybe not quite out of ear shot.

Jon chuckles as Sansa pinks with the realization.

Arya cranes her neck over the back of the patio chair. "What, babe, I'm not even – it's not like I'm – oh my god, put that down!" Arya vaults over the chair, toppling it, her beer sloshing over Theon's shoulder. She ignores his indignant 'Christ, Arya!' in favor of scrambling through the back door into the kitchen as Rickon keels over in a fit of laughter across from them.

"How'd she manage to keep that beer in her hand?" Bran muses dully beside Rickon, watching Arya flee.

"She didn't keep it in her hand," Theon grouses, wiping at his shirt. Beside him, Jeyne is offering napkins, dunking one into her ice water and dabbing at his shoulder. He shoos her hands away after a moment. "Fuck it, it's a lost cause." He stands up and reaches back to pull the shirt over his head, tossing it to his abandoned chair. "Pool time!" And then he's sprinting toward the pool in his trunks, canon-balling off the deep end.

"Theon!" Sansa shrieks. "You'll get a cramp!"

And god, she's so fucking adorable, Jon can barely manage to hide his smile behind his fist. But no one's watching him anyway, because Bran's already following Theon's example with an exaggerated whoop, and Jeyne's still fretting over the abandoned beer-stained shirt, and Margaery's still happily chatting away with Benjen in their little oblivious bubble at the far end of the table, and isn't that just a little unsettling because –

Jon shakes himself. No way. He doesn't even know how to begin feeling about that one.

"Score," Rickon says beside him gleefully, reaching for a beer from the ice bucket at the center of the table.

Catelyn swipes the beer from beneath Rickon's lips, appearing suddenly behind him. "Excuse me, little man."

Rickon makes a face. "Mom, I'm seventeen."

"And still so good at whining," she says sickly sweet, before she levels him with a deadpan look. "No."

Jon chokes on a swig of beer when he can't contain his laugh.

Rickon turns imploring eyes on Ned, who's come out the backdoor just behind Cat. He holds his hands up in surrender immediately.

Yeah, Jon thinks, because that's ever worked in this household.

"Your mom said no," Ned says in sympathy.

Whipped, Jon thinks, smirking at the exchange.

Rickon huffs, pushing his chair back and turning for the house. "We got any sprite?" he asks no one in particular, stalking away.

Jeyne looks after him with pity a moment before tossing Theon's shirt aside and going to help him raid the fridge. Or maybe help Robb escape the mania that is Lyanna and Arya in the kitchen currently. Jon's not particularly sure.

They never really make it to dessert anyway, as the Stark bunch ends up collectively piling into the pool, even Sansa, after dutifully tracking a half hour on her watch and entering the water not a second earlier. Bran and Arya take to chicken fighting on Jon and Theon's shoulders, Ned and Cat end up curled together on the swinging bench on the other side of the yard, and Jeyne and Robb have a splashing contest while she sits at the edge with her feet kicking water. Jon barely even notices the pool lights kicking in, or the lightning bugs coming out over the lawn, until Benjen puts on one of his old school records, their usual signal that evening had well and truly commenced, as well as Benjen's drunken nostalgia – although Margaery taking him up on a dance across the deck is most definitely new.

"Oh god, she's dancing with him," Sansa says, almost panicked, straightening up from her lazy hang over a pool noodle.

Jon laughs as he treads water. "It's just a dance."

She eyes him shrewdly. "A dance is never just a dance with Margaery."

Bran kicks languidly past them balancing his stomach over a beach ball. "It's not the first time they've dance."

Theon scrunches his nose at the comment.

"What are you talking about?" Arya kicks at Bran's ball, nearly toppling him, and he glares back at her.

He rights himself easily, continuing past them. "Last Christmas."

"What?" Sansa says, blinking wide-eyed at the comment.

But Bran is gone, trailing after Rickon in the deep end.

Sansa points at him, glancing around to each of them in turn. "How does he know that? How does he know that when I don't even know that?"

Theon shrugs, kicking back to the ledge. "The boy's a mutant."

"Yes, okay, but hello – best friend here."

Arya wiggles her brows at Sansa. "Did you know Rickon snuck Shireen out through the garage window one time when Mom nearly caught them?"

"I swear to god, Arya, if you tell Mom – " Rickon suddenly hollers from the other end of the pool, spluttering water.

Jon and Theon bust out laughing simultaneously.

"Oh my god," Sansa laughs, "Anything else you heathens want to share that I've missed?"

Arya reaches her arms back along the ledge behind her, chuckling. "Nah. Nothing as good as you and Jon making out in Jeyne Poole's closet." And then her face drops instantly, realization at what she'd said hitting her like a truck. Her eyes shoot to Jon instantly.

He's pretty sure he's just snapped his neck though, with how quickly he looks at her.

Arya mouths a silent, pained 'I'm sorry', bringing her hands together quickly like a prayer.

Theon's laugh putters out over the water. "What?"

Fun fact: Jon is just the slightest bit drunk at this point. Or at least, pretty well on the way there.

Another fun fact: He has absolutely no recollection of said confession. But it's coming in a little hazy now, the longer he thinks about it. It was just one of those nights. Arya had just broken up with Gendry, and Jon was visiting for Robb and Jeyne's engagement party, and there was a lot of alcohol, and a lot of Arya projecting the whole night, and they ended up sitting on the couch ruminating about what-ifs and lost moments and all that bullshit one talks about at one in the morning in the living room of your best friend's house after witnessing him and his soon-to-be unwrapping one too many lingerie sets to be at all comfortable.

And sure, maybe he'd wanted to tell someone, even when they'd both promised not to. Maybe he was just tired of the status quo. Best friend's sister, and all that. First kiss cliché. Like it was just a memory. A fond one, sure, but just that. A memory. Not to be nurtured into something more. Not to be held. Not to be taken as anything other than what it was.

Just two nervous-as-all-hell kids discovering new ways to fit together.

Except now, he thinks he's ready to admit he'll always want more. Even when he tells himself he doesn't. Because why would he tell Arya then? Why would he voice it at all?

He can spin all the excuses he can manage, and probably will. And he can drudge up a hundred different reasons, he's sure, for why he spilled the beans. And he can tell Sansa any number of reasons why he let it slip – all except the real one. That perhaps – and this is a big perhaps, a huge perhaps, the kind of perhaps that shakes you to your bones –

Perhaps she wanted him just as bad.

Jon figures this is the universe's way of letting him 'know'. Giving the push. The nudge. Making it happen. This was the universe telling him 'now' and 'her' and 'yes'. He just had to get his head out of his ass long enough to follow through on it.

See, it's kind of like that law. Or that set of laws. What is it? Fuck, Jon really wishes he'd paid attention in biology now.

Oh yeah.

Orgel's Rules. The first being: "Whenever a spontaneous process is too slow or too inefficient, a protein will evolve to speed it up or make it more efficient."

Now, Jon's no scientist. Of that he's sure. But he's pretty positive he's got the gist of it. And if his slow, pining ass can't get his shit together, well, here comes the 'universe', to speed things up a bit, a la Arya's big fat mouth style.

The only problem, he finds, is the way Sansa is currently looking at him.

He doesn't think he's ever seen that look on her face before. Not even when he rejected her kiss last winter. It's a blank sort of look. No pretty frown or curl of her brow. No pout or indignant shout. Just a look. A stare.

And oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jon nearly sinks beneath the water.

Sansa pushes her pool noodle away, wading toward the stairs.

"Sansa..." he croaks out, following her.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He's just never seen her look like that.

"What's going on?" Robb asks, turning as he bobs between Jeyne's legs over the edge of the pool. Her hand stills in his hair as she notices Sansa's stiff retreat.

Jon rushes a little more toward the stairs. "Sansa."

"I should go," she says, voice flat, water steaming from her as she stalks up the pool steps.

He's not far behind her, oblivious to the family's curious – or in Theon's case, utterly flabbergasted – stares.

And this would be a really, really good time for that second rule to kick in, Jon thinks.

"Evolution is cleverer than you are."

Sansa whirls on him, and he stops abruptly, nearly slipping on the pool steps as he's reaching for a towel along the rail. He blinks chlorine-water out of his eyes when his wet curls plaster over his forehead. He wipes at them in anxious frustration. "Sansa, look – "

"You're an ass, Jon Snow." And then she whirls back around, stalking away in her pretty little turquoise bikini, snatching a towel off the closest chair.

Jon deflates instantly, standing half in and half out of the pool.

Alright, universe. Suppose that's a 'never mind', then.

"Dude, you're never getting it now," Theon goads, kicking off the floor of the pool to settle into a float behind him.

"Oh fuck off, Theon," he snarls, jumping up the remaining steps and storming after her.

Because fuck what the universe wants. And fuck Orgel's stupid fucking rules in the first place.

Evolution can suck his ass.

He's taking things into his own hands now.

Arya drops her head into her palm as Jon runs off after Sansa, dripping all along the deck.

Robb blinks dumbly at their retreating forms. "What the fuck just happened?"

#jonsa #jonsa fic #jon snow #sansa stark #red curtain #jon x sansa #jon and sansa #my writing #got fanfic

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captainelliecomb · 4 years ago

Text

Tagged by @zetaaa, and because I loved their post, and the others I’ve seen, here’s mine. Except that I don’t have 20 stories to list, even including a few WIPs, and I don’t tag people. Consider yourself tagged if you haven’t been tagged before but have thought about doing this. I want to read them!

(In doing this, I realised I’ve posted 16 stories and have several WIPs, so I do have 20! And I’ve never posted a story that wasn’t written as an exchange gift. How odd.)

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 authors!

Complete and Posted (AO3 Archive Warnings Noted)

“The corn maze is the best!” Betty’s ponytail bobs as she bounces down the hall, books clasped to her chest. (Does the Wolf Apologize, Riverdale (TV 2017), Betty/Veronica, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Trick or Treat 2018)

“Still the little cinder girl.” (Little Cinder Girl, Cinderella (1950), Cinderella/Stepmother, M, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Trick or Treat 2018)

Red smells the Wolf long before she sees him. (Find Me in the Stars, Avengers Grimm, Cinderella/Red Riding Hood, T, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2018)

Dawn broke before they finished getting people settled. (Not a Lick of Sense, Avengers Grimm, Cinderella/Red Riding Hood, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2018)

“Well looky here.” Dahl sat at the top of the ramp, legs folded together, hands loose on her knees. (Bad Company, Riddick series, Dahl & Riddick, T, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chocolate Box 2019)

Kase gets fucked slow most times. (Pretty Little Pussy, Trials in Tainted Space, Kase/Steele, E, No Archive Warnings Apply, Shipoween 2019) (The pun in the title is terrible and makes me laugh every time I see it.)

Stupid. (Plant Specimen: Unknown, OW, Tentacle Monster/Xenobotanist, M, Rape/Non-Con, Trick or Treat 2019)

Jack Steele would never visit New Texas as a lowly tourist. (Public Use, Trials in Tainted Space, Jack Steele/Steele, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Trick or Treat 2019)

The statue was so realistic that, in the flickering light, he seemed to breathe. (Breath and Blood, OW, Minotaur/Curious Female Historian Who’s Surprisingly Into That, E, No Archive Warnings Apply, Chocolate Box 2020)

Flynn Rider sagged sideways against the wall, nearly falling out of the chair they’d propped him in. (Golden Girl, Tangled, Pub Thugs/Rapunzel, E, Rape/Non-Con, Chocolate Box 2020)

Every step was agony, but she ran. (Desperation, OW, Feral Female Alpha Werewolf/Male Omega Living Alone in an Idyllic Woodland Cottage, M, Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Chocolate Box 2020)

“It’s a shame,” the guard said as he stripped her, methodical. (Punished, OW, Male Dungeon Monsters/Servant Girl Thrown Into Dungeon as Punishment, E, Rape/Non-Con, Smut 4 Smut 2020)

Run, little Red, run, run away. (Run, Red, Run Away, Little Red Riding Hood (fairy tale), Big Bad Wolf/Red, Wolf Pack/Red, E, Rape/Non-Con, Smut 4 Smut 2020)

Lah trembled as Steele eyed him, but his chin stayed high and he burned with anger. (Broken Promises Made, Trials in Tainted Space, RK Lah/Steele, Able/Steele, E, No Archive Warnings Apply, Shipoween 2020)

Caine is a lot, sometimes. (Breathe Me In, Jupiter Ascending, Jupiter/Caine, M, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2020)

“On a scale of accidentally burning down my shop to going to prison because you tried to steal a cow, how bad is this plan of yours?” Trish asks. (Lynette’s Worst Christmas Pageant Ever, Lynette- SouthernASMR Sounds webseries, G, No Archive Warnings Apply, Yuletide 2020)

WIPs

Brienne of Tarth still pissed blood the day she found the war hammer. (Mjolnir AU, 60% GOT 40% ASOIAF (for now, it started as 95% to 5% and keeps leaning more toward book canon), Jaime/Brienne (with possibly others to be added), probably M)

Brienne Tarth’s clearest memory of her childhood included her older brother, Galladon. (Brienne’s Mother is from Dorne and Brienne is Elia’s sworn shield canon divergence, ASOIAF, Jaime/Brienne, probably M)

After the Great Council, Brienne avoided personal conversation with Lord Tyrion for as long as she could. (post-GOT Brienne and Jon are sent to hunt down a dragon, Brienne/Addam with other pairings to come, probably M)

Selwyn Tarth did not know what to do with his only surviving child, his warrior daughter with her ugly, strong body and her maiden heart. (Brienne is sent to be a ward of Ned Stark because of Robert’s obsession with Lyanna Stark canon divergence, ASOIAF, Jaime/Brienne, probably T, may also include things like Mormonts literally turning into direbears and Starks into direwolves)

Oh, right, analysis! I tend to open with dialog, and I’m surprised so many of these don’t. Most of the first lines are not about the main character, at least until we get to the WIPs in which case Brienne of Tarth is clearly my go to girl, my world, my focus of everything.

#zetaaa #tag game #first lines #fic

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butterflies-dragons · 5 years ago

Note

I read on a Reddit forum that Jon's scene where he beheads Janos Slynt in has been altered. Initially Jon would hang the frog guy, but in a reading to the audience a fan changed Martin that this is not "the Stark way of doing it" and that was why there was this change to the version we know. Couldn't that compromise the question of Jon being "Sansa's hero" as has been speculated?Sorry for the inconvenience, but it was something that didn't get out of my head.

Hello Anon:

I know about this subject.

I wrote about Jon Snow being Sansa Stark’s hero/true knight before, and this affirmation is not solely based on Jon Snow beheading Janos Slynt.

Now, let’s answer your question:

THE FORESHADOWING:

Sansa Stark wished for a hero that cut off Janos Slynt’s head as punishment for his participation in Ned Stark’s death:

Frog-faced Lord Slynt sat at the end of the council table wearing a black velvet doublet and a shiny cloth-of-gold cape, nodding with approval every time the king pronounced a sentence. Sansa stared hard at his ugly face, remembering how he had thrown down her father for Ser Ilyn to behead, wishing she could hurt him, wishing that some hero would throw him down and cut off his head. But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. “Life is not a song, sweetling,” he’d told her. “You may learn that one day to your sorrow.” In life, the monsters win, she told herself, and now it was the Hound’s voice she heard, a cold rasp, metal on stone. “Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants.”

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa VI

And four books later, Jon Snow beheaded Janos Slynt using his sword Longclaw:

“You are refusing to obey my order?”“You can stick your order up your bastard’s arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering.[…] “As you will.” Jon nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—”[…] “—and hang him,” Jon finished.[…] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.”[…] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.”“Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out. The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Jon said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Longclaw. […] The pale morning sunlight ran up and down his blade as Jon clasped the hilt of the bastard sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse.Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at him. “Please, my lord. Mercy. I’ll … I’ll go, I will, I …”No, thought Jon. You closed that door. Longclaw descended.“Can I have his boots?” asked Owen the Oaf, as Janos Slynt’s head went rolling across the muddy ground. “They’re almost new, those boots. Lined with fur.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

If you read the entire Jon’s chapter, you will find that during his conversation with Janos Slynt, Jon was thinking about Ned Stark and the participation of Slynt in his father’s death at King’s Landing. Jon even thought about how easy it would be beheading him with Longclaw. And maybe that was the reason why he opted for beheading him instead of hanging him, just as Sansa wished.

Also, take note that Janos himself had mentioned that beheading is for highborns (Like Ned) and hanging is for lowborns, like Jon, because he was a bastard. Janos was wrong tho, because Jon is not any bastard, is a highborn bastard, that’s why he has a surname, only highborn bastards bear surnames.

And during his interactions with Jon, Janos was the one that repeated over and over again that Jon needed to addresses him as “My Lord” because he was Lord of Harrenhall; so, following that logic, as “A Lord”, Janos deserved beheading and not hanging as punishment. But this was also wrong, at that point the Lord of Harrenhall was Littlefinger, not Slynt. Janos was wrong at everything.

Also, take note that after ordering Janos’ hanging, Jon thought:

[…] This is wrong, Jon thought. “Stop.”

[…] “I will not hang him,” said Jon. “Bring him here.”

What was wrong, Jon? Hanging Janos and not beheading him like “A Lord” deserves? Or maybe you remembered what Ned always said:

The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

This would also explains why Jon asked Janos for his finals words:

“If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” he said, expecting one last curse.

And believe me Anon, GRRM doesn’t need the fans tho remind him this. He is very thorough and he also have a very competent staff that helped him with his work.

THE CHANGE:

MARCH 2008: GRRM reads ‘A DRAFT’ of a Jon Snow’s chapter from ADWD, the one where he orders the death of Janos Slynt’s by hanging:

This morning at Technicon George read a Jon chapter. It was totally awesome. It covers the discussion between Sam and Jon from Jon’s point of view. Here’s what happens.

(…)

Next Janos Slynt comes in. Jon tells him that he is getting the command of a fort, with 20 Watchmen and 10 King’s men. Janos flips and is totally impertinant, calls Jon a boy, and says that he is not going. Jon says ‘yes you are. be ready at first light.’ Janos leaves, scoffing at Jon.

Next morning, Janos isn’t in the yard ready to leave. Instead he is in the hall eating breakfast with Aliser Thorne and their cornies, laughing about the whole thing. The hall is full of men, Grenn, Pip, Donal, King’s men, Thorne’s supporters, etc.

Jon walks in with like 7 guys behind him. He says ‘Lord Slynt, you are supposed to be preparing to leave.’ Slynt’s all ‘whatever.’ He and Thorne laugh. Jon says ‘I’ll give you one more chance.’ Janos says some stupid ass shit about how he doesn’t have to listen to a boy, that he has friends in King’s Landing.

Jon gives the signal, but he knows he is making a gamble because so many watchmen supported Slynt and Thorne in the election. Two guys grab Slynt and pull him out of his chair. Everybody in the hall is like ‘oh shit.’ Thorne grasps his sword hilt, looks at Jon, and then removes his hand, slinking away from Slynt. Janos now realizes that he is in serious trouble. He is dragged from the hall into the yard. Slynt makes a big scene, yelling about his friends in Kings Landing. ‘I was the Lord in Harrenhal’ he cries. Stannis and his men come out to watch and so does pretty much everyone else at Castle Black.

Jon says, ‘Take him to the wall.’ He thinks, 'I could send him away somewhere else, but if I send him to east watch, he’ll come back to cause trouble.’

'Take him to the wall,’ Jon says, 'and hang him.’

Slynt freaks, yelling, struggling, kicking as they throw him into the cage and start lifting. 'I have friends, if Tywin Lannister were alive you would never…’ His voice fades away as he is lifted to the top. The rope they found was a hundred feet long but the wall is seven hundred feet tall. They hear his neck crack as he hits the end of the rope.

Jon glances back at Stannis. Stannis nods, then turns and goes back inside.

(…)

Yes, I forgot to say that part. I think (if I remember correctly, I didn’t take notes) that Jon looks at Janos while in his office and wonders how big of a part he played in killing his father. He thinks about how easy it would be to pull out his sword, cut through bone, fat, sinews, and chop off his head.His anger about what’s happened to his family really comes out in this chapter.

-Posted on westeros.org by “LugaJetboyGirl-irra” (Source)

—MORE THAN TWO YEARS LATER—

OCTOBER 2010: GRRM reads ‘ANOTHER DRAFT’ of a Jon Snow’s chapter from ADWD, the one where he beheads Janos Slynt’s himself:

Liliedhe: Since GRRM read this chapter at Octocon, can somebody please tell us if there were any differences to what was reported here?

Ran: It’s been suggested that there is a difference, not so much as to what happens but how it comes about exactly. Poking someone to provide details. *poke poke*

Brush Guy: Luckily I was at Octocon. The ending’s been changed slightly. Although I’m not too sure I am allowed to tell.

Aw, what the heck, Jon beheads Slynt with Longclaw while Stannis is watching. It’s a pretty awesome scene, much better than the other version.

(…)

If I remember correctly, Jon says something along the lines of

'Fetch me a block.“ When a suitable block was found, Jon pushed Slynt and placed his head on top of it. “You’re going to die, but if you move your head it will be a lot more painful, and you will still die. Any last words, my lord?’ Slynt started babbling. “Please, m'lord I’ll go… I’ll go.” You already closed that door, Jon thought. “Can I have his boots?” Edd asked as Jon swung Longclaw down in a savage slice. Janos Slynt’s head rolled on the ground. “They’re made of fine leather, y'know, nearly new!” Jon sheathed Longclaw, and looked at Stannis. He gave a small nod and then turned around and walked away.

This is the basic ending, and the dialogue is almost word for word, I think. I’ve forgotten the little flourishes GRRM added to it but that’s pretty close. Maybe it was because he was reading it, but the part with Dolorious Edd asking for the boots seemed a bit out of place.

-Posted on westeros.org (Source)

Take note that none of the two drafts of the chapter is the final version that got printed.

Anyway, the thread in westeros.org about this subject has 13 pages Anon, you can read it yourself, but none of the guys that attended those two events has reported that a fan told GRRM that hanging is not the Stark way, so he need to changed that. I think the discussion happened on forums and fan-sites and two years later, when GRRM read that new draft of the chapter where Jon beheads Janos, the discussion became a rumor and the rumor became a “fact”….

A reddit user has already stated this:

This is one of the famous rumors-turned-fact that really irk me.

The page that you’re citing here as your source is largely responsible for this particular rumor. Basically, someone went to a reading Martin gave for an early draft of that Jon chapter from ADWD. The poster tried to recall, the best he could, what happened in that chapter from memory.

He wasn’t the only one. I remember several write-ups about this at roughly the same time (2008-2009) because, well, I read anything and everything about ADWD during that period. Each one was slightly different, which makes sense since people were simply writing what they remembered. I recall only one that claimed to be an actual word-for-word transcript (a post that was made to either westeros.org or some other site) but it was taken down as Martin usually asks people not to record his draft readings and whichever site it was had moderators who took exception to the violation of that trust. That so-called transcript one ended abruptly with Jon’s order to have Janos hanged. Most of the others ended with Stannis nodding to Jon after Jon gave the order but didn’t include the exact method of Janos’ death.

Now, here’s the part that irks me. Later, as people digested and debated these readings over and over again, some people began to theorize that that this proved Jon wasn’t Ned’s son because if he were he would have him beheaded, not hanged (note: most of the writeups did not include seeing Janos actually being hanged). Conspiracy theorists figured, “The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword,” and all that, so clearly R+L=J is true! Jon can’t be Ned’s son!

There was also a lot of open speculation about how much of this draft was complete; as in, was this the full chapter? Was the Janos sentence a cliff-hanger? Some said that it was, some said Martin had stated the chapter wasn’t finished yet, some argued, that sort of thing.

Flash forward to the release of ADWD. Suddenly every fanboy who recalled these early readings started to claim that Martin must have read their post/comment/etc. because he had obviously changed the chapter to suit the Internet’s desires and/or decided to squash the conspiracy theories. Not only did the chapter not end on a cliff-hanger, but he had taken the Internet’s advice and made Jon ask for the block rather than the rope.

There’s just one problem with that theory: Martin has stated many, many times that he does not read fan-theories on the Internet nor does he follow any fan-sites in any capacity.

In any event, while it’s certainly possible that Martin did change the chapter due to fan feedback received either at a reading, via fan-mail, or (if he’s a liar re: fan-sites) browsing the Internet, there is no concrete evidence to prove it. The fact that he foreshadowed Janos’ manner of death via Sansa in AGOT suggests to me that it’s far less likely he changed the chapter due to the fandom and far more likely that the readings he gave for this chapter were early drafts that he had yet to complete. He’s been doing the same thing with TWOW; reading chapters that aren’t yet complete.

In summary: there is no proof that this rumor is true. It could be, of course, but I get annoyed when people state a rumor as fact. This is not a fact; it’s simply a neat story that many of us fanboys want to believe is true. For all we know Martin always had Jon asking for the block even in the original draft. Or perhaps the original draft included the Stannis nod as the last line of the chapter but without Janos being killed and later Martin decided it didn’t want to make that chapter a cliffhanger. Or perhaps one of his editors read the draft and said, “Wouldn’t it be cooler if Jon killed him the Ned Stark way?”. We simply don’t know the truth but the rumor persists that it was the people (i.e. fans) who raised a ruckus and that Martin decided to placate their desires and change his story to suit their needs/wishes. But does that sound like Martin go you?

Posted on reddit by “jmk4422” (Source)

I couldn’t have said it better myself, thanks “jmk4422”!

IN ANY CASE…

Sansa wished for Janos’ death and she got it: Janos was sentenced to death by Jon, and Janos died. No matter the way of death, no matter if Jon did it himself or ordered others to do it. Janos died as punishment for his participation in Ned’s death, as Sansa wished, and Jon was instrumental in making that wish real.

But the author decided to make this connection even stronger.

Jon didn’t know that Sansa wished for Janos’ head to be cut off as ‘the exact’ punishment for his participation in Ned’s death, but Jon did cut off Janos’ head honoring the Stark way, to avenge Ned. And this Anon, is an epic, very strong connection, that no one can deny.

Also I recommend you to read some metas about Sansa’s wishes becoming real, her wishes actually happen. So I think this change in Janos’ way of death also followed that pattern.

Indeed, If the first draft read by GRRM had Jon ordering Janos death by hanging, but a later draft had Jon beheading Janos himself, I think the change was intentionally made to match Sansa’s wish, following the pattern already stablished in the Books.

So, no Anon, the change didn’t “compromise the question of Jon being -Sansa’s hero-”; the change has made this Jon and Sansa connection, canon.

And remember, as I said before, the reason why I think Jon is Sansa’s hero/true knight is not solely based on Jon Snow beheading Janos Slynt.

Thanks for the ask.

#Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #Janos Slynt #jonsa #grrm #it went from obvious to blatant obvious

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 5 years ago

Text

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentySeven

Title: Swear It

Words: 1,677

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Sorry for the late update! I’ve been looking for jobs (even though there aren’t any) and trying to remain sane while locked up in my house with my entire family. I’ve also been trying to write more things to give y’all more content. I’m going to make a whole different post about that, so go give it a look! Enjoy the chapter!

Taglist: @tonbluemchen @affection-rabbit @art-flirt @10morgan10 @thatting @iwontdance-dontaskme @simsvetements

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

“Half are gone,” Greyworm said as he took some markers off of the war map.

“The Northmen as well,” Jon said. Yhon Royce grabbed some as well as a member of the Dothraki.

“And the Golden Company has arrived in King’s Landing.” Varys put a marker down. “Courtesy of the Greyjoy Fleet.”

“The balance is growing even,” you mused.

“We will rip her out. Root and stem,” Daenerys said, eyes straightforward.

“The objective here is to remove Cersei from King’s Landing without destroying the city.” Tyrion looked up at Daenerys and all she did was throw daggers with her eyes.

“Thankfully, she’s losing allies every day. Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in the name of her Queen, Daenerys of House Targaryen. The new Prince of Dorne has also pledged his support.”

“It won’t matter how many Lords or Houses turn against her. As long as she sits on the Iron Throne, she can call herself Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“So you’re saying that we need the Capital,” you said.

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen the people of King’s Landing rebel against their King when they were hungry. And that was before Winter began. Give them the opportunity and they will cast Cersei aside in favor of you,” Tyrion said. You could tell that he didn’t want the people to become collateral damage. He wanted as little death and destruction as possible.

“So we surround the city. If the Iron Fleet tries to ferry in more food, we’ll burn them with the dragons,” Jon said.

“And if the Lannisters or the Golden Company decide to attack, we’ll defeat them on the field,” you chimed in. “Cersei is our only enemy and once the people see that, it’s all over for her.”

It was silent for a moment as Dany mulled over the options. You knew that she wanted to go all out and randomly attack the Capital, but she knew that doing that would cause more harm than good.

“Alright,” she said.

“Many of the men we have are exhausted and wounded,” Sansa said. “They’ll fight better if they have the time to rest and heal.”

“How long do you suggest?” Daenerys asked her.

“I can’t say for certain. Not without talking to the officers.”

“I have come to help you and your people at great cost to mine and me. Now is the time to pay back and you want to postpone.” Daenerys posed it like a question but by the severity of her tone it was a statement.

“It’s not just our people. It’s yours too,” you said, trying to diffuse the tension. “They’re not ready to fight again so soon. All of them.”

“The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become.”

You sighed internally at the two hot-headed girls and rubbed your stomach absentmindedly, ignoring the conversation in front of you. You didn’t even really know why you were at the meeting in the first place. It wasn’t like you were going to fight and you technically weren’t a Stark anymore. You grimaced at that thought and started to lean on the table. In a flash, Varys was beside you.

“Are you alright, milady?” He said quietly.

“Yes, thank you. The baby was just kicking.”

“Do you need a chair, Lady Stark?” Daenerys asked you. You looked up and saw everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Yes. That would be helpful.” Daenerys gestured to Greyworm and he dutifully fetched a chair for you.

“Thank you,” you said to him. He nodded in response and retook his place by the Queen. The conversation continued and you tried to pay attention.

“Jon and Ser Davos will ride down the Kingsroad with the Northern troops along with the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied. A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbor and sail from there to Dragonstone, with our Queen and her dragons accompanying us from above.” Tyrion paused for a second. “Ser Jaime has decided to stay here, as a guest of the Lady of Winterfell.”

“We have won the Great War,” Daenerys said. “Now we will win the Last War.”

She looked around the room and when no one said anything, walked out the door. Everyone else followed until it was only the Starks left. Jon started to leave as well, but Arya cut him off at the door.

“We need a word.”

---

“You understand they we’d all be dead if it she wasn’t here,” Jon said. “We’d be corpses marching down to King’s Landing.”

“Arya’s the one who killed the Night King!” Sansa said.

“Her men gave their lives for Winterfell—“

“And we will never forget them,” you said. “That doesn’t mean that I want to bend the knee to someone who can’t even respect me.”

“I swore myself and the North to her cause.”

“I respect that,” Arya voiced.

“You respect it?”

“We needed her. Her army and her dragons. You did the right thing. And we’re doing the right thing telling you that we don’t trust your Queen.”

“You don’t know her.”

“I do. And I still don’t trust her,” you said.

“We don’t know her. We never will. She’s not one of us,” Arya said.

“If you only trust the people you grew up around then you won’t make allies!”

“That’s alright. I don’t need many allies.”

“Arya—“

“We’re family. The five of us. The last of the Starks.”

“I’ve never been a Stark,” Jon said after a moment.

“You are. You’re just as much Ned Stark’s child as any of us,” Sansa said.

“You’re my brother. Not a half-brother or bastard brother.” Arya stepped forward.

“You’re our brother,” you said softly, putting your hand on his arm. Jon looked at the four of you and placed his hand on yours. He looked at Bran with a torn look on his face. You could see that he was fighting something inside of him and you got slightly confused. It only escalated when Bran spoke.

“It’s your choice,” Bran said. You and your sisters looked at Bran then back to Jon. Jon was nodding and it seemed as though he had come to a decision.

“I need to tell you something,” Jon said. “But you have to swear that you’ll never tell another soul.”

“What is it?” Arya asked.

“You have to swear before I tell you.”

“How can I promise to keep a secret before I even know what it is?” Sansa said.

“Because we’re family. Swear it. Please.”

“I swear it,” you said. The two youngest swore as well.

“Tell them,” Jon said to Bran. The three of you turned to Bran and he just looked at you for a moment.

“Jon isn’t Jon Snow. He is Aegon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He was born in Dorne where our father, his uncle, took him before he could be killed by the late King Robert.”

Your eyes were wide and you looked up to Jon.

“So this means that you have a claim to the Iron Throne,” you whispered.

“Yes, but I do not want it.”

“I know that. Have you told Daenerys?” The way Jon flinched told you what you needed to know.

“How did she take it?” Sansa asked.

“She was definitely not thrilled. She thinks that I want the throne, and no matter what I say it won’t leave her mind.”

“Fuck,” you muttered.

“And I take it she is the reason why we can’t breathe a word of this?” Arya said.

“I wasn’t even supposed to tell the four of you. Especially not you.”

“Because if we know then the knowledge is in powerful hands,” Sansa mused.

“Yes.”

“So what are we going to do?” You asked.

“We are going to do as our Queen says and you are not allowed to breathe a word of this to anyone.”

---

It had been a few days since you and your siblings had that talk in the Godswood. You mostly kept to yourself and if you were around someone, it was Sansa or the Maester. The Maester had told you that in a few days he was going to put you on bedrest for the rest of your pregnancy. You weren’t looking forward to that so you tried to do whatever you could before that happened.

You had also moved rooms to be closer to Sansa and to get out of the place you once shared with Sandor. All of your things had been moved by someone else and you were reading by the fire when there was a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you called, looking up from your book.

The door opened and Arya walked in.

“Arya! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I just wanted to see you before I left,” she said.

“You’re leaving?” Your eyes widened. “You’re not going to fight, are you?”

“I’m going to be the one to kill Cersei.”

“Arya, love, don’t be too hasty. Bad things come to those who go looking for death. And I have a bad feeling about this battle. I do not think that Daenerys is going to keep her promise and spare the people of King’s Landing.” You struggled out of your chair and Arya was by your side quickly.

“Don’t push yourself, [y/n],” Arya said. “If you worry too much it will put stress on the baby.”

“How can I not worry when my sister is going off to a slaughter?” There were tears in your eyes and Arya brushed them away.

“How about this. If it gets too much and things start going too much out of hand, I will turn around and come straight back home. Okay?”

“Okay,” you sniffled. “I’ve already lost Sandor again. I can’t bear to lose you too.”

Arya’s eyes hardened just the slightest bit but you didn’t notice. She gathered you into a hug and rubbed your back gently.

“You won’t lose me.” You sniffed again and squeezed Arya as tightly as you possibly could.

“You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

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