#nothing is complete without Davos for me

[catofoldstones]

hiii i’m bored and we recently became mutuals so fav asoiaf character(s)? <3 or shall i say top 5 to make it easier

(this is @fuckalicent)

Oh hello!!! ♡

These are characters I absolutely would kill for, would sell my soul to keep happy, if there are no fans of them I am dead etc etc

1. Sansa

2. Arya

3. Jon

4. Catelyn

5. Brienne

& complementary Davos (I love middle aged men who suffer eldritch horrors & insufferable high lords on a daily basis)

Thank you for the ask @fuckalicent <333333

May I know yours?

[13keithxpidge13]

Fem Aeron who has a Blackwood brute scaling up to her apartments at Stone Hedge nearly every week without fail. Davos Blackwood is his name and he’s an absolute /beast/ of a man, always leaving Aeron covered in sweat, nearly three of her nightgowns absolutely ruined in their throes of passion so far, and her thighs always are left bruised and bitten to all the Seven Hells.

She’s forbidden him from taking her maidenhead, smacked him more than once for daring to attempt to seduce and manipulate her into giving up the last of her purity. Davos, the cheeky bastard he is, never fails to whisper sweet nothings into her ear, kiss at her neck, and brush between her thighs to slither his fingers over her clit.

“Let me take you to wife, sweet girl,” He will breathe over her collarbone and tickle her sides all the while grinning that manic grin of his. “Let me bed you and make you my gorgeous Lady-wife.”

Aeron will deny it to the end of her days, till the day the Stranger comes to take her that she fantasizes the very thing he speaks of, to be his Blackwood Wife, and bear his Blackwood children, to be his lawfully wedded wife in the eyes of the Seven and live out the rest of her days by his side. She’d spend the rest of her life being bred by Davos, hanging off his cock, and being worshipped by him. It should be her worst nightmare.

Instead, it’s her greatest fantasy.

“One day,” Davos promises as he always does as licks his wet lips, sticky with her fluids and slick hanging off his tongue as he rises from between her limp thighs. She gasps for air, chest heaving as she comes down from her latest high and Davos chuckles darkly. “One day, I’ll have you—you’ll be mine, my wife, and I’ll take you as I please, make you full with my seed where you’ll grow children who will have your pretty smile, your gorgeous eyes, and your beautiful hair. I swear this to you before the Old Gods and the New.”

Aeron clenches her shaky legs together and turns away with red cheeks as she pushes him off her and he laughs again, dusting off his cape as he saunters off her bed and onto the floor.

The young lady suddenly yawns and settles on her side, her eyes fluttering as exhaustion takes over her as it always does whenever Davos has his fill of her, always making her reach completion at least three times before finally relenting. Aeron sighs and twitches only minutely as a large, warm hand gently grazes her lips. Aeron’s eyes open and she glances up at him.

“Till I have you again, pretty,” Davos says with a cheeky grin and grabs her hand before raising it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles softly. Whenever he acts gentlemen-like, it never fails to make her blush and squirm at his actions. “Sweet dreams, my princess.”

Aeron curls up in her sheets and watches as he makes his way over to her open windows. But, before he can hop out and leave, she says—

“Davos,” She calls to him and he immediately glances back at her. Aeron blinks slowly at him and takes in his handsome features before she realizes she’s staring and mumbles; “Be careful getting back to RavenTree…”

Davos seems to hesitate for only a moment before he smiles back at her, a real one, a soft, impossibly handsome one, and replies; “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

Aeron grins back at him, sweetly and curls up in her blankets before he blows a soft kiss her way and then, he’s hopping out of her window and into the night from whence he came.

That night, as she always does whenever he leaves, she dreams of his rough, large hands holding onto her, laying in his lap while children with black hair and blue eyes run around them, giggling and squealing with laughter.

She wishes and she dreams.

But most importantly, she hopes.

[morgoonie]

Monstertober Day 1 - Marking the Territory

Getting ahead of the October monster prompt that @ozzgin made and, as with every story I've written so far, its with a roswell conspiracies vampire (I have a problem I know)

Featuring Davos, he's in like one episode for a short time (but I love him anyway)

M!Vampire/Naga x F! Reader

"D-Davos slow down it's t-to much." You whined as your nails dug deeper into your boyfriends chest in a fruitless effort to push him off of you. You poor pussy was drenched and overstimulated from the hours he's spent stretching you out with his fingers and tongue for his first dick, your body desperately needed a break.

However your giant serpentine boyfriend was to far gone as he continued to grind his hips against yours, hoping that your body would miraculous accept his far to swollen knot, to hear your soft pleas. As he continued to pump his still hard cock into you each twitch and roll of his hips nudged you closer and closer to another orgasm.

Crying out his name as you clung to him Davos pressed himself more against your warm sweat covered body, his inflated knot throbbing against your wet hole as he filled you with more of his cum. You could only weakly moan in a mix of pleasure and pain as his sharp claws dug into your plush hips leaving bright red marks that you know will be replaced with bruises in the morning.

Panting against his neck an idea crossed your mind on how to properly get his attention and without hesitating you bite down onto him. While your teeth aren't able to actually harm your vampire but it's enough to make him go still.

A shiver courses through your body as a deep growl rumbled through Davos as he finally pulled out of you. His hand came up to press against your neck making you let go of his neck, but not before swiping your tongue over the light pink bitemark you left on him.

The triumph grin you had from finally getting him to pull out of you faltered when you saw the burning lust in his golden eyes. Before you could utter an apology Davos grabbed your plush thighs and pushed your knees up by your head, exposing more of your soaked pussy to him

"Hush now my sweetling~ you know what you invited when you bit me." His second cock twitched in excitement as he watched your hole quiver and clench around nothing as he let his words register in your mind, pearls of precum leaking from the tip coating the underside of his thick shaft down to his knot.

You always knew that Davos had a thing for leaving marks on you. It was his silent way of making sure others, both vampire and human, knew you were already claimed. Mentally cursing yourself all you could do is let out a resigned sigh and wiggle into a more comfortable position "Try not to go overboard at least? I want to be able to walk later."

Moving his hand to cup the back of your neck Davos pulled you closer so he could bury his face into your neck, giving you a soft "maybe" as he took deep slow breaths of your scent and nuzzled you affectionately. His larger body caged you completely under him as he pressed you further into the mattress tail shifting to coil around and under you as he lined up with your entrance again, hissing in satisfaction of feeling your combined juices slick up his tip.

The hiss quickly erupts into a possessive growl as Davos clamped his jaw around your throat, fangs piercing the soft skin enough to force your instincts to keep you still as he slowly pushed his second cock into you, burying himself to the knot in your sweet warm folds.

Wasting no time he begins slowly pulling out of you leaving only his tip inside. He gave you a momemt to mentally brace yourself before plunging back into your wet folds with a purr, your needy moans and the lewd wet squelching only spurring your boyfriend on as his continued to fuck you with a steadily increasing pace while his knot pressing more and more against your overly sensitive pussy begging to be let in.

Letting out a hiss that reverberats through your whole body the sensation forces you to relax more in his hold despite his fangs gripping your jugular. Releasing your throat with a pleased groan as he feels your body grow limp against him Davos' tongue softly flicks along your flushed skin tasting your heavy arousal.

Whining his pace faltered for a moment from your taste. Replacing his fangs with his lips Davos kissed and sucked along your neck leaving small marks of his love to have you show off later "F-fuck sweetling you're so perfect, my perfect little mate. Gonna be a good girl for me and take all of me this time, right? Gonna let me breed you and give you a nice big clutch~"

Moving your legs to wrap around his hips Davos uncoiled his tail and dragged you up with him as he stood, his large hands holding you up with ease as he bounced you on his cock, the one from earlier rubbing against your clit and coating both of your stomachs with your combined cum as he held you tightly against himself, his long tan and dark brown tail slapping against the mattress as he murmured soft praises against your neck. He was so close to fitting all of his length inside of you.

Sharp discomfort mixed with pleasure had you arching into his hold as his thick knot finally slipped inside of you. Luckily the discomfort didn't last long much to your surprise as it was quickly drowned out by the immensely strong orgasm that came from the pressure and throbbing of Davos' knot swelling against your g-spot. Your vision blurring as your came hard around him, tears rolling down your cheeks from how utterly filled you felt as pushed himself further into your soft body to keep his knot from slipping out before he could properly lock in you.

Moaning and panting against your heated skin Davos gently laid you back down onto the mattress, or as gentle as he could be while rutting against you in his lustful state. The room shook at the volume of his growl as he came deep inside of you.

Your eyes searched for his as you both came down from your euphoric highs but his gaze was drawn further down. Curiously you glanced down to see what had his focus and couldn't help but gasp at the sight of your slightly distended belly. Reaching down between you two your fingers lightly brushed the large bulge. Feeling him through your skin made your squeeze around him more drawing out a small whine from your massive boyfriend.

Grinning you pressed down on the bulge making you both moan loudly from the sensation. Giggling from the way he whimpered about you being mean you cupped his face and pulled him into a kiss, you hands combing through his gray hair as he purred and returned the sweet gesture; that is until he shoved his far to long tongue into your mouth and partially down your throat.

Gagging from the sudden intrusion you tug at his hair and pull away gasping for air while he laughs at the deep blush forming on your cheeks "Sorry sweetling, I saw an opportunity and took-" Gasping as you purposely clenched around him in retaliation he quickly dropped his head against your neck and nuzzled you with soft whines "O-okay okay, I'll behave."

For now perhaps, but you knew by the time his knot was deflated enough to come out you'll be covered in his marks.

[hello-nichya-here]

Ok, so what in your opinion is the WORST mistake that the showrunners for Game of Thrones made in terms of content, either it's addition or redaction?

WARNING: Looooooong post ahead

Themes are for eighth-grade book reports

This absurd quote by one of the showrunners explains why exactly the show fell appart. They wanted to make a story... without themes. Anyone with a minimally functioning brain will tell that this is impossible because every story, even the simplest and least complicated story there ever, has a theme. Even a nihilistic story has a theme "Nothing matters". Every. Story. Has. A. Theme.

But Game Of Thrones didn't, at least not after the writers ran out of books to adapt and did their own thing. Everything every character did was no longer to build a narrative, but to essentially act as click-bait. The focus was to make people keep watching, not on making any content that was worth watching.

The first four seasons had it's problems, just like the books had it's problems, but Martin's writting was so brilliant that it managed to stay good even while being handled by absolute clowns. The moment season four ended was the moment the show stopped being an adaptation and became it's own thing - and like I explained before, said thing wasn't a story.

Shock

Both the show and the books had MANY shocking, heart-breaking and downright horrifying scenes: Daenerys being raped by Drogo; Bran being pushed out the window after accidentally seeing the queen fucking her brother; the whole deal with Craster and his daughters; the Dotrakhi destroying Mirri's village and her revenge against them and Daenerys; Ned's death; Melisandre giving birth to a shadow baby that killed Renly; The Red Wedding; Jeoffrey's death; Tyrion killing his father; Theon being tortured by Ramsay...

The difference is there were REASONS behind the shocking scenes Martin created. Even when you look at things like rape and torture scenes and threats of rape/torture - Martin used those scenes to remind us that the world he created is an EXTREMELY dangerous and downright vile place, and that the characters are never truly safe, and that there are WAY worse things than just being killed.

Dumb & Dumber on the other hand, gaves us scenes like an evil, former man of the night's watch evily making an evil speech to his fellow evil men, evily drinking whine from a human skull while nameless women were being raped in the background - but little does he know that Jon Snow, the hero, is about to wreck his shit. It takes something that could realistically happen (and that did happen in the books) and takes it up to eleven because the writers think shock is the same as quality and that the audience is SO STUPID that they need to practically make the actor jump out of the TV, grab us by the shoulders and scream "I'M EVIL! I'M THE BIG BAD! ROOT FOR THE HERO TO KILL ME!"

Pretty much every bad guy became a parody of Jeoffrey, ironically enough because the writers took Jeoffrey too seriously. He was a cruel, sadistic character, who had WAY too much power - but he was also a spoiled baby whose reply to Tyrion bitch-slapping him wasn't a threat, but "I'M TELLING MOM!" Jeoffrey worked because he was only allowed to do his thing whenever smarter, more competent characters like Tyrion and Tywin where not around, meaning his actions, while inhumane, never reached the point of no longer being believable.

The horrible things that happened to the characters no longer felt "right". For instance, Sansa had just been taken to the Eerie by Little Finger, who has a weird complex in which he sees her both as the daughter he never had with Catelyn AND as a replacement for Catelyn, and she was starting to truly be a player instead of a pawn... and then the writers realized "Oh shit, we should have not cut the Jeyne Pool/Fake Arya' plot, that was important" and forced it on Sansa, making Little Finger hand her on a silver plater to Ramsay and turning her into a victim AGAIN, this time to a man that dramatically fights his enemies without a shirt own, practically saying "come at me bro"

Compare this to Ned's beheading, or Catelyn and Rob being betrayed and killed by the Freys. These moments were shocking and downright depressing - but they were earned. The writting was on the wall for anyone to see: Ned was at the mercy of Jeoffrey, and the Starks had given the Freys, who are notoriously disloyal, a reason to resent them. These twists felt completely natural, were the only logical way for the situation the characters were in to play out, AND they had consequences to plot instead of just making the audience gasp and then being forgotten about.

Plot armor

It's kind of ironic and almost tragic that the show that became famous for killing characters later became the worst type of high-stakes series, putting the characters in situations they could NOT survive, not even if a goddamn miracle happened, and having them live anyway. What's even worse is that it happened repeatedly. If I had to see Jon Snow almost die and then survive anyway one more fucking time I was going to lose my mind.

There's no bigger proof that there were just no consequences for the "main" characters anymore than watching the second, third, and fourth episodes of season either. The first sets up that this battle against the night king and his army of undead is likely going to kill the majority of them, if they're lucky... and then in the third we see the plot armor in all of it's "glory", and then in the forth we find out that the Dotrakhi, who had ALL been killed, actually still have half the numbers they had the night before, somehow. Even red-shirts weren't dying anymore.

DORNE

This disaster needed it's own session because HOLY SHIT, it's a miracle/tragedy that everyone didn't go "Fuck it, I'm never watching another episode of this stupid show."

The Dorne plot in the books isn't perfect, but what the show did to it was so fucking bad that I'm pretty sure the writers didn't even read the Dorne chapters in the books, they just looked at a wiki, wrote down the names of a few characters and then did their own shitty thing.

In the books, Doran Martel is a clever, dangerous man, who pretends to be harmless so people will understimate him and step right into his trap. In the show, Doran Martel... died. That's it. I can't remember anything else that happened to him. Add him to the list of "Brilliant characters that became stupid due to shitty writing", I'm sure Tyrion, Varys and Little Finger will love making him company.

The sand-snakes, one of the main driving force of that plot, were all distinct characters in the books, with their personalities, goals, methods and motivations - basically they were created by a writer who knew what he is was doing. In the show they were all the same "character" who could be perfectly described by that horrible, cringy, PAINFUL line one of them (I can't even remember which) said to Bron "You want a good girl, but you need the bad pussy" (Seriously, if that actress ever kills the show-runners as revenge for having to say that, she'll be 100% justifyed in doing so)

And we cannot forget the driving force behind that unwatchable shit show: Ellaria Sand. In the books, the death of Oberyn made her believe that revenge only leads to more blood-shed. In the show, his death enraged to the point of wanting to avenge him and his family, and she did this... by killing his family. If that doesn't explain how insane and stupid this plot-line was, I don't know what will.

Hype = Character assassination

Many shows are based around the conflict between the bad guys and the good guys. Game Of Thrones is not one of these shows. Or at least it wasn't. As they ran out of ideas, the writers started mutilating every single character until they could be label as "Good" or "Bad", regardless of what felt right to the story and to the point that there was nothing left of said characters. Stannis's actor, Stephen Dillane, straight up said that the only thing he got from being on the show was money and that his character's motivations and decisions were nonsense - ironically enough, that kind of brutal honesty means that the writers had THE perfect actor play Stannis, and wasted his fucking time.

Here's a list of the characters that fell victims to this horrible fate: Catelyn Stark, Tyrion Lannister, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, Jon Snow, Melisandre, Stannis, Jorah, Daenerys (bonus points for being mutilated into being both a generic, shitty "hero" and a generic, shitty "villain") Greyworm, Rhaegar Targaryen, Lyanna Stark...

Pretty much the only character who became more complex in the show than she was in the books was Cersei. While her book self was never just a "Generic Evil Queen", the show version of her was far more sympathetic, which made the stories she was part of interesting. Too bad the writers ran out of ideas of what to do with her after season six and just left her by the window drinking whine until Dany showed up to kill her. Which brings us to...

Why is this happening?

Cersei was seen as a threat in the last two seasons based on nothing but the things she HAD done. Her story just ended the very second season six did, but since she was still alive despite being one of the bad guys she had to die... I guess. She (and by extention Jaime) joined the list of characters that had nothing to do, but were still around: Davos, Theon, Yara, Melisandre, Bron, Sam, Gendry, Bran (the last one being SO unnecessary that he was cut from season five and no one noticed)

To combat that issue, the writers gave characters "motivations" that made no sense. For exemple: Sandor Clegane. His only reason to be in the show was so he could kill his brother. The problem was that Gregor was already dead. He was a walking corpse. There was nothing left of the abusive brother Sandor once knew, meaning he had no reason to fight him, and that, to keep Sandor around, the writers should have come up something new (like the redemption that book fans have been waiting for, and that has a lot of backing evidence). You might as well have had HIM be the one to randomly fly out of nowhere and kill the night king despite having no connection to him.

And since we're talking about the night king... Arya was the one to kill him. Why? Because the writers ruined Jaime's redemption arc, meaning that the only fitting ending for him was to die with Cersei, and so Arya could not kill Cersei despite wanting to, having the ability to do, AND having heard a prophecy that said she'd "Shutting brown eyes, blue eyes, and green eyes forever", the last one being the only one she had not done AND applying to Cersei. But Dumb & Dumber admitted they had no plan for this, so now that they were at the last season, they needed to do something with it, and they retconned it to mean Arya would kill the night king...

But Arya killing him meant Jon had nothing to do, so Dany had to go mad so he could kill her. To "hint" at that, they ignored all the not at all subtle foreshadowing the previous season had of Dany and Jon having a kid, and they even showed her getting jealous that he was technically the true heir... even though that made no sense since they were going to rule together anyway, and even after Dany went full "Mad Queen" she ASKED HIM TO RULE WITH HER. But anyways, he kills her and becomes king...

Except he doesn't actually become king and him being a secret Targaryen has no effect in the plot, because Bran needed to become king so there'd be a reason for him to be alive, because his magical powers turned into a plot-device. A plot-device that wasn't used at any goddamn point. Seriously, the only thing as bad as Bran becoming king was Euron's existence - dude was THE most useless villain ever AND the worst Jeoffrey parody.

A darker story (literally)

I could not end this rant without bitching about this. What is the point of spending an ungodly amount of money on sets, costumes, make-up, special effects... and then using such poor lighting that no one can see what the fucking is going on?

Anyway, this disaster of a series was so absurd it should be used as an exemple of what NOT to do.

[13atoms]

Lead the Way: Chapter 2 (Davos x Reader)

On the run, you try and figure out just where you and Davos are going. [10.6k]

Prologue   Chapter 1  Masterlist 

You hadn’t planned on letting him behind the wheel of your Chevvy a second time, but Davos made that choice for you. After you’d pulled into a layby to sleep, you awoke to the rumble of tarmac beneath wheels. After a second of confused drowsiness you sat up in the passenger seat to protest, furious he’d just taken the keys from your clenched hand, moved you to the other side of the car, and continued on this endless drive without your permission. Yelling followed sheer, silent shock, as you fumbled for your seatbelt.

“What in the hell –”

He’d stopped your yelling at him with a single hand, fingers splayed firmly against your clavicle, pushing you back from him as his eyes barely drifted from the road. The touch had made you gulp and sag back into your chair immediately. You accepted it. For the few moments before you fell asleep again you watched his strong profile, lit by increasingly-sparse streetlight as civilisation grew further and further away. Even as he’d pushed you back, his eyes never left the road.

Barely hours had passed since you both agreed to nap.

“We were stationary for too long,” he grunted. “And you needed to sleep.”

Even after so much time apart you could read between those lines.

He’d gotten nervous. Twitchy. Except Davos denied himself emotions, weakness, so it was some grand battle tactic.

“You can’t just move me like that, without my permission. And this is my car. You can’t just take it.”

“I’m sorry.”

He wasn’t. You didn’t argue with him.

Instead you rested back in your seat and listened to the soft strum of country music Davos seemed to have selected as a worthy listening option. You smiled as he remained seemingly unhearing, not even a pinkie tapping against the tightly-grasped steering wheel, as the tune picked up to a catchy pop-rhythm.

“Anything on the news?”

You dreaded to ask. Anything about us? Davos knew what you meant.

“Nothing of much interest. No mention of our names.”

For a beat the pair of you just sat in silent. You could feel a tightness in your throat, discomfort in your body as you longed for a stretch and a shower.

The tarmac under the tires felt like a physical kind of tinnitus, how it droned monotonously on and on, drove you crazy. You were half convinced you’d continue hearing the whine long after this journey ended. If it ever ended.

“Why?” You exclaimed suddenly.

You startling even yourself with the desperation in your voice.

He glanced at you with a muted surprise, something bordering on amusement at your apparent hysteria.

“Why wouldn’t they be hunting for us. They had us on the news, they just… stopped. It doesn’t make sense. They can track plates and… phones… why?”

“Perhaps we’re not worth chasing.”

“Hm.”

He seemed non-committal to the idea, already back to facing the road as you fretted in the passenger seat. It felt inevitable, somehow, that you would be caught. That this bizarre cat and mouse game, pursued by invisible law enforcement, would be ended and you bubble would be burst.

Your heart raced if you thought about it too long, and Davos shot you a look of concern.

In a bid to distract yourself, you finally did what you had been avoiding for hours.

You pulled out your phone from the centre console, switching it on before you could talk yourself out of the idea. The lights outside suddenly paled in comparison to the bright, painful light of the screen, and you quickly turned the screen away from Davos – eager not to distract him while he was driving. You still found him sat behind the wheel of a car, obeying road signs and listening to the radio, completely strange.

As the screen lit up and message alerts came in, you glanced over to see the deepening furrow in Davos’ brow. It was as if he could sense the familiar name which now sat proudly at the top of your texts. You tilted the screen away from him further, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Colleen, your phone told you. Colleen had sent you a text, after her scathing remarks and demands to never speak to you again.

You tried to appear unaffected as you opened the message, trusting that Davos wouldn’t look.

With trembling fingers you tapped the message open, and frowned when you were greeted with a surprisingly curt text. Sent a day ago, it was a single phone number, and a name: “Danny.”

It was hard not to react, not to glance at the man in question’s stoic, fugitive brother as you drove. You couln’t help but wonder: did Danny know?

A shiver rose through you at the thought that maybe the police weren’t looking for Davos because Danny was. You didn’t know much about what had happened, but you felt sure that another fight between them would end in nothing less than a blood bath. And, as much as you hated to admit it, Davos didn’t look in the best shape. He couldn’t stand up to the Iron Fist. No one could.

The vision of Davos injured after his fight with Danny for the Fist in K’un-Lun was still fresh in your mind, and with it came a rush of fear. You’d feared he’d die, even if the rest of the city seemed unbothered by the risk of internal bleeding or horrific head injuries.

With a frown you returned to deciphering Collen’s message, trying to unpick what she’d meant, why she’d given you Danny number.

Then you noticed another text.

The number matched the one Colleen had sent you, you realised, seeing them one above the other in your inbox. She’d told Danny that you’d been looking for his brother.

He would hate you too.

You opened the message slowly, half-expecting a vitriolic paragraph or a threat to turn Davos over to the police. Instead, it was short. A single question. Each word made your heart sink more than the last.

“Is he safe?”

God.

You turned the phone over, taking a deep breath and blinking at the passing darkness outside as you absorbed Danny’s message.

Is he safe?

It was all you could do to shoot back a quick ‘yes’, and ignore the sheer devastation which seeped into your bones at the thought of Danny typing out that message.

“What’s that?”

You were thankful for Davos’ intense concentration whilst driving, because his eyes never flickered from the road as you absorbed the messages.

“Nothing.”

Your phone buzzed again in your hand, and you forced yourself to wait until Davos was distracted by the road to open it.

“I told them he’s left the country.”

Brusque. Surprisingly so. Especially from Danny, he’d always been the chatty type. But as the pieces suddenly clicked together, and you breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he was saying far more than you realised.

A sincere ‘Thank you’ sat typed out on your phone screen, but as the seconds passed you became more and more wary of sending it. You could already see these texts projected in a court room, on police paperwork. You deleted the message.

You curled up, prepared to go to sleep, watching as Davos tapped out an inconsistent rhythm against the steering wheel. You didn’t tell him about the messages, you couldn’t, but you knew this changed everything. Danny had lied to the authorities. Colleen had probably helped. It seemed that Davos wasn’t being actively hunted – though you had no doubt he would be arrested should anyone recognise him. And now… what?

It was a question for tomorrow, you decided, as you opted against replying to Danny’s message and instead simply switched your phone off. You could take your victories as they came, and this was certainly something good. Even though you trusted Davos not to snoop, you slid the phone beneath your legs, curling around it protectively.

At least until the sun came up, you could bask in this relative safety.

The rumble of tarmac and the quiet tapping of Davos’ fingers on the steering wheel became amplified as you closed your eyes and rest your head on the door, surprised once again by how comfortable you felt letting down your guard around Davos despite everything he’d done. He seemed larger than life, often, a regular man who commanded more fear and respect than someone a foot faller. Yet sat beside you in the car, his presence just felt comforting.

An image of the three of you wandering the mountains surrounding the village was wrought somewhere from your memory. You, Danny, and Davos. It was cold, a thin layer of melting snow crunching between your boots, the rest of the world down for as far as you could see from the ridge you trapsed across. Danny had been bouncing on his heels, excited and jumping in front of your lens as you explored with a camera in hand. It was always odd to you; the way Danny seemed a markedly different person outside the walls of the monastery. A gentler contrast, Davos had been beside you the whole journey, keeping to your pace, his feet falling to the ground in a quiet, metered crunch as his adoptive brother took a more chaotic route.

You’d taken a photo of them stood together up there, feeling as though you were sharing the top of the world, giddy with the thinness of the air which felt as though it crushed your lungs if you inhaled too deeply.

Through the viewfinder of your camera you’d allowed yourself to laugh at their dynamic: Davos’ relaxed stance and Danny’s cheesy grin down the lens, one arm slung around his brother even as Davos was unaffected by the camera focussed on him.

As soon as the click of the shutter went off, Danny had bounded towards you.

“Lets see!” Danny had demanded, holding a hand out for your camera as Davos looked on curiously.

“It’s not digital,” you’d explained patiently. “The film needs to be developed.”

Danny had thrown his head back like a stroppy toddler, his dramatic groan making you giggle as it echoed around the mountains. Davos had given him a curious raised eyebrow, as you undid your thick winter coat to retrieve something from the inside pocket.

You’d brought one digital camera on your trip, the batteries saved for special occasions, and now felt like the right time to use it.

You and Danny had crowded the frame, jostling to try and get Davos in the background, laughing too hard to take a good picture. The photos had come out full of weird faces, blurry and messy, and they were some of your favourites from the trip. Danny had stared at them in awe on your tiny viewfinder as you shuddered from the cold, eventually taking the camera off him so you could zip your coat back up at Davos’ insistence.

On the walk back to where you’d been staying, Davos had seen the distinctive tracks of a snow leopard, silencing you and Danny’s laughter with a single raised hand.

You could still hear his voice now, melding into your dreams as you fought the jostling of the Chevvy to try and sleep:

“Tread carefully.”

*

As the morning sun rose, you once again lamented your severe lack of sleep.

Where would I be now, you wondered, if I hadn’t stopped to have a cry in my car at the prison?

Better fed, and less exhausted. That was for sure.

“This has to be the most stressful few days of my life,” you grumbled, reaching for one of the warm water bottles scattered around the car to wet your sleep-dry mouth.

Davos gave a grunt, and you sensed amusement from him as you choked down water. This was a chilled-out experience by his standards, you realised glumly.

Completely unaware of your aching sadness for him, Davos was watching you with concern.

“Good morning to you too,” he greeted.

“‘Morning.”

As you watched wordlessly as the road signs pass. It only took a few minutes to spot what you wanted: the turn off for a service station. Davos gave an aggravated huff as you flipped the indicator for him, desperate for a chance to alleviate the pressure on your bladder.

He followed the indication despite your early-morning grumpiness, slamming on the brakes to take the turnoff, and you watched his movements.

He looked at you in question, and you shrugged.

“I really need to pee,” you admitted.

*

At the service station you scraped together enough change for coffee and a couple of meagre breakfasts, instructing Davos to pull into a distant corner of the parking lot, hoping no one was watching the security cameras at this ridiculously early hour.

Why would they be? You had to remind yourself. Just act normal.

The rest stop was near deserted, but you kept your head down anyway.

After washing your face and using the facilities, you felt infinitely better, and Davos smiled at the spring in your step as you approached the car with food and a hot drink in hand.

“Better?” He asked as you stood outside his window, enjoying the stretch in your legs after so long sitting down. You even though you could hear a tint of teasing in his voice, and it only brightened your mood.

“So much better,” you groaned, handing over a rustling bag of food which Davos quickly examined.

You had already started on your own breakfast, silencing your grumbling stomach.

For a second, as the two of you gratefully choked down your food, it almost felt like a normal road trip.

“So what do you make of that?” you teased.

Davos just gave you a look of sincere confusion, pausing mid-mouthful to furrow his brows at your question. You caught yourself stumbling to explain yourself, face hot with embarrassment as your joke fell flat.

“I just meant… It’s not exactly… what we ate in K’un-Lun,” you explained.

He huffed a laugh between chews, making you roll your eyes, secretly relieved he wasn’t upset.

“I suppose you’ve been here long enough to adapt.”

Finally Davos broke his silence. You always loved it when you could wring a few words out of him.

“I wouldn’t say I’ve adapted. Settled, perhaps, for this junk.”

“Better than prison food?”

“Infinitely.”

As you finished eating, Davos stared down another perfectly innocent driver who had pulled into the parking lot for a bathroom break or some equally trashy food. The lot was surrounded by woodland, and Davos seemed in his element as he excused himself to the woods.

It was probably for the best. He would stand out like a sore thumb to the gas station workers. You took the opportunity to change into something fresh, grateful for the lack of interruptions. The two of you were filthy, the last few days peppered with apologies to one another for smelling of sweat. A fresh change of clothes was heavenly, and you rummaged through your bags for a shirt and pants which might fit Davos. He would certainly be glad for the same luxury.

And the chance to get that bright-orange reminder of the NYC prison system off him.

His light footsteps warned you of his approach as you finally found an oversized shirt and pulled it free from your bag. Pants would be a bit trickier – thrift stores, perhaps? Any change of clothes would likely be an improvement.

“I have a shirt?” you called to him.

Davos rounded the car, his undershirt fabric already bunched in his hands, and you tried to look away as he stripped off. He had no shame about nudity, never had, but you were left flustered standing at the trunk of your own car. You tried to avert your eyes, but you’d never been much good at resisting the draw of his body.

As he turned you gasped, suddenly forgetting to even pretend you weren’t staring.

“What’s that?”

“What?” Davos demanded, still shirtless as he followed your eyeline, trying to spot something behind him.

“Your back!”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t see you as the tattoo type,” you stood from the car, walking behind him, allowing yourself to run your fingers down the snake as it wound its way down his spine.

He didn’t flinch away, letting you be nosy, letting you touch him.

“It’s nice. I like it,” you added.

“It was not a vanity project,” he said dryly.

From his tone, the stiffness of his muscles, he was resisting the urge to snap. Just when you’d started to have fun, you thought glumly. In one swift motion he pulled the shirt on, forcing you to step away and withdraw your hand.

“Why’d you get it?”

No reply. But from the slump in Davos’ shoulders, the pieces clicked into place.

Danny’s tattoo had been a huge point of pride, the power in imbued in him, and you remembered an evening in K’un-Lun where he’d proudly showed you, a black dragon fresh with leaking ink, framed by still-pink skin. Davos had never been able to look at it, averting his eyes when Danny showed it off.

Now that he had his own, its majestic form hidden away on his back, you wondered if he avoided looking at it in the mirror.

You knew you should resent the ink, the grab for power it symbolised, but in some ways, Davos had deserved it all along. If he looked inwards enough, you felt sure even Danny knew that.

The artful lines sketched across Davos’ skin didn’t make you angry at him, or scared. All you could see in them was desperation, and loss. You wondered how he’d felt as he got it. As he’d grit his teeth through the pain and felt as though he fulfilled his birth right. He had probably been thinking of his mother.

Davos had turned, watching you for a reaction and hiding his clothed back from your sight. You were left with the sight of his chest, muscular and proud, the fabric of your shirt stretching across it.

You swallowed, wondering how much tact would be required to ever discuss this with Davos at length.

“Must have been painful.”

You comment was innocent on the surface. You hoped Davos caught your meaning.

He grunted a “yes”, before rummaging through the trunk for more food.

So much for that conversation, you thought begrudgingly for yourself.

At least the shirt fit, with a pair of your sweatpants managing to cling around his hips. Before you had even fully stretched out your aching muscles found yourself rushed to get behind the wheel once again, pulling out of the parking lot, accompanied by a sleeping Davos in the back seat.

He’d been exhausted, jumping at your offer to sleep while you drove, and you couldn’t help marvelling at how long he’d stayed awake. His whisper-quiet snores kept you company as you drove, his dead sleep rather impressive in a moving car.

Your fight to focus on the road ahead was embarrassingly hard won, as your mind drifted over and over again to the ink painted across Davos’ back.

*

Something had been bothering you ever since you’d first heard Davos on the phone from prison. You’d assumed his muted-ness, his strange nervousness, was a product of the environment he was in. But even now, the Davos you’d known hadn’t returned full force. Did he not trust you anymore?

Was he just… a different man to the one you’d known in K’un-Lun?

That was what you feared, deep down. That he was simply an irreparably different person. That Colleen’s warnings had been right. That you couldn’t trust him anymore.

He had woken up after just a few hours, and you gladly took the chance to swap place with him, laying in the puddle of body heat he’d left on the back seat of the Chevvy and entirely failing to doze off.

Instead you lay still, watching his profile sideways as he changed lanes, navigating heavier traffic for the first time. He was trying to drive gently, accelerating slowly and breaking even slower in order to to let you rest. You were begrudgingly forced to admit that – for a man who grew up in a rural mountain city – he was a remarkably adept driver.

If a little defensive.

That was to be expected, you supposed.

Even more impressive than Davos’ driving was the fact he was doing it whilst keeping a watchful eye on you. Like a parent with a misbehaving child, he kept glancing down in the rear-view.

Perhaps he was convinced you would lunge for the door handle, try and escape out onto the speeding highway. Certainly, he had to know you wouldn’t. But this overprotectiveness and mistrust seemed like yet another thing which seemed off about Davos.

Back in K’un-Lun he had been trusting to the point of naivete, even to you, once he had overcome his initial suspicion towards a foreigner in his home. He had trusted his mother, his father, Danny, the customs he grew up with. Even when they hurt him, he never failed to trust again and again.

So why was he watching you like a hawk, half-convinced you were about to stab him in the back or run for the hills? There was something up, you knew it. And yet, for the past few days on the run, you had chosen to ignore it.

You could try and pretend no time had passed and he was the same man. You almost dreaded the truth, the thing you had suspected this whole time: that he was simply not okay.

Would he explode if you asked? Without lifting your head from the bunched up sweater you were using as a pillow, you summoned the courage to try poking the tiger.

“You don’t seem yourself.”

Silence.

Then, after Davos had merged lanes, and sped up:

“I don’t feel myself.”

Another beat of silence, and the echo of his voice inside your head.

“I don’t either, if that helps.”

It was all you could offer, a tiny condolence, and a weak one at that. You immediately regretted your words, loathing to make it all about you. Still, what else could you say? You had no idea what he had been through, no comparison points from your own life. But the little he had told you was heart-breaking.

“I’m sorry,” Davos mumbled.

Immediately you sat up, blinking at the bright light of outside as you reached forwards for his shoulder. He tensed up, and you withdrew your hand.

“God no, I didn’t mean… it’s not your fault.”

“It is. And I am truly sorry.”

His sincerity was humbling, as usual.

“This is temporary,” you reassured him. “They’re not looking for us. Besides, we’ll run out of America eventually.”

“I have no plans beyond that either.”

You let silence weigh heavy on the both of you, uncomfortable and constricting. For once your mouth wasn’t dry, your tongue didn’t taste foul from being unable to brush your teeth. Yet even with enough sleep and food in your stomach, you felt a physical nausea, the beginnings of a stress headache brewing behind your eyes.

Now, Davos being such a control freak suited you. You felt too uneasy to drive.

“What was your plan in New York?” you asked softly.

He remained stoic, not even a shrug, but he answered without missing a beat.

“To rid the city of the evil which consumed it.”

You blinked in surprise.

“But I mean like… where were you going to live? What were you going to do?”

Real life stuff, you wanted to ask. Kids and a wife? GoFundMe campaign to start a new fighting school? Retrain as a nail technician? What was the plan, Davos?

“I had none.”

“Just… ‘purge evil’?” You tried not to sound disbelieving, but you suspected it didn’t work.

“Yes.”

Simple. Of course it was. That was a complete plan in Davos’ mind. But it gave you nothing to extrapolate from, no bucket list or attainable career aspiration you could plan for in future. Sometimes you cursed him for being so plainly ambitious, directly driven. He was never one for a ‘Plan B’.

Ever the king of uncomfortable, prolonged silences, Davos said nothing more.

“Even when you had the Fist, did you not want anything else?”

“Nothing.”

“Not when you were locked up? No exciting new perspective on life?”

You regretted your jovial tone instantly. That nerve was still exposed, raw, tender. Suddenly his entire body was tensed, the flexing of his muscles making you instinctively recoil from him a little. You suddenly felt as though you were in a career guidance session with a bomb.

“I wanted to die, when they took the Iron Fist from me. Begged for it. I thought they’d leave me to rot in that cage of evil for the rest of my life,” he spat.

Your heart sank.

Right. So that was what he’d been thinking about. You were coldly reminded that you had almost no idea what he’d been through. What he’d done.

Would you even side with him so strongly if you knew?

Nonetheless, you cautiously trusted him. He couldn’t be so different from the man you’d known in K’un-Lun – the protector who would sacrifice himself for any innocent bystander on the street.

Perhaps his methods were harsh, at times. But that was where he came from, all he knew.

He just wasn’t built for this world.

As usual his anger cooled quickly, unacknowledged and unsatisfied, as he’d been trained.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You asked tentatively.

He nodded sagely, as though you had no reason to fear any of the million conversation topics you wanted to broach.

“Why didn’t you escape before? You were obviously capable of it.”

“From prison?”

You nodded, fumbling for a water bottle to distract yourself.

“Where could I go? I had nothing left to fight for,” he told you, his words heavy.

You dropped your chin, staring down at your hands. Silence reigned for another second.

“What was the power like?” You whispered, “How did it feel?”

You asked the question timidly, but truly you had wanted to know for as long as you’d known about the Fist. Danny had been frustratingly vague, smug, once the power was imbued in him. You suspected it was to wind his brother up, that he’d never given you the description you wanted to hear.

Davos inhaled deeply, as if he was breathing fresh mountain air, remembering the feeling of the Fist.

“It was… everything I wanted. I felt new. Better. Complete. A stronger man. All those years of slowly building my punches, going through the pain of training, breaking my knuckles over and over until they were strong, and suddenly I was more powerful than I could ever dream of. And I deserved it. Or… it felt like it did. I felt whole.”

You let the words hang heavy, the unspoken swirling around on the air flows of the car AC.

He felt whole.

Past tense.

He continued speaking as if he’d forgotten you were there, the same wistful tone as when he’d told you parables and ancient stories in K’un-Lun. It was harder to lie back and relax, to let his voice wash over you, when you knew he was talking about his own actions.

“There were street boys in New York. I trained them, saved them,” Davos mumbled, “or tried to.”

His jaw clenched as he spoke, and yet you couldn’t see true anger. Instead, there as an emotion he was taught to fear, to avoid. Sadness.

“What happened?”

“They were taken too. Arrested, or killed. I could never be like my father, I couldn’t train them. Even the Hand taught better than me.”

“What do you mean?” You asked carefully.

“There was an academy in New York. They… trained them. Poisoned their fighters’ minds. Took young people and turned them into soldiers for the Hand.”

You’d been told about the Hand. You had always assumed it to be something abstract, like evil itself, the darkness you had heard people describe. Intangible. A manifestation of what you recognised as sin. It was startling to hear of The Hand as real, not something out of a story. Just as it was startling to see Davos outside of K’un-Lun, you supposed.

Like a badly-done photoshop job, the idea of the Hand being real, a part of real, actual New York... It didn’t seem right somehow. You couldn’t imagine it.

Small world, you could hear Danny saying.

It was a fight to keep your focus on the road and away from his face as you reeled from finally hearing what Davos had to say. The urge to run from him boiled up in your chest as Davos gripped the steering wheel harder, his nails carving crescents into the faux-leather.

“Like you trained those boys?”

Tendons in his neck bulged slightly, and you feared the safety of your car as his forearms tensed. For a moment, you wondered if he would burst a blood vessel, or hiss at you in frustration, swerve across the lanes. The anger just stayed there, holding his body hostage.

After a split-second, his fury was gone. Schooled back into place. Pushed down into the box he trapped it in.

“I am nothing like those agents of the Hand.”

You could sense the end of a conversation when it came, and fear for your own safety overtook curiosity. Not that you thought Davos would hurt you on purpose, of course. But the speedometer ticked higher and higher with every uncomfortable question.

As a point of pride, of trust, you refused to be scared of Davos. It was impossible to admit to yourself that he might, truly, be the dangerous man you’d been warned about. He had never scared you in K’un-Lun – merely amused you with overprotectiveness, and endeared you with how his true good intent was masked behind an awkward bluntness which failed to warm almost anyone to him at first.

A Labrador in an Alsatian’s body, you’d joked with Danny.

Davos hadn’t understood, but you’d reassured him it was a good thing.

You wondered if Danny had thought differently back then. Suspected Davos had a darker nature. He certainly hadn’t said anything if he had, treating Davos a little like a younger brother, winding him up for your shared amusement. Davos had always seemed begrudgingly happy to be part of the joke.

You fought down the urge to apologise to him as the road flew by uncomfortably fast.

Slowly, his temper cooled, and the car slowed. You let go of the seatbelt, unaware you had even been clutching it. You refused to be afraid of the man in front of you, as he squinted at the passing road signs and demanded to know the nature of ‘Indianapolis’.

“Too populated,” you told him gently, “let’s move on.”

He nodded, and you drifted off.

*

The sun rose and fell in the sky as you dozed, and by late afternoon you had stopped for another rest stop, gotten food, and resumed your journey sat up front in the passenger seat. As long as Davos insisted upon driving you would let him. No grudges seemed to be held from your conversation that morning, apparently.

You sat up to rest your head against the window, and Davos tilted the steering wheel to breeze past a queue traffic headed for a nearby city. The calm was unsettling, somehow. It made you nervous to close your eyes.

The conversation was still so heavy in your mind it made your shoulders ache, leaving you too buzzed to relax in the early evening sun. On instinct, you unlocked your phone, wincing at the tiny amount of charge it had left and vowing to plug it into the car tomorrow.

Or whenever you next woke.

Was it already tomorrow?

You watched disinterestedly as the screen lit up with messages, knowing better than to reply to anyone the police might be in contact with. Only one name finally caught your eye, making your phone buzz as the lights of yet another copy-pasted town faded into the rear-view.

Danny had sent you one more text, after you’d assumed your conversation to be over.

“Keep him far away from people. Be careful.”

You tossed the phone into the footwell in disgust.

As you went to switch on the radio, desperate for something engaging to listen to for yet another day of endless driving, Davos’ hand gently stopped you. It was jarring, when you felt so far from the man beside you, to have him close enough to touch.

His skin was warm, and as you withdrew your hand from the radio you looked over to see something close to true pain on his face.

It made your heart clench in sympathy.

“I was wrong to get them involved,” he told you, his voice low and filled with disgust at his own actions, “the kids.”

You’d assumed he’d already moved on from the hours-old conversation, his focus drawn away and his conviction in his own actions as strong as ever. Now you could see you were wrong. He was still mulling over everything which had happened, everything he’d said.

Maybe he had been this whole time. It would explain his distance.

“I wasn’t strong enough to be their Shifu. I barely trusted what I was doing myself. I should not have wasted their lives by drawing them into my tutelage.”

You nodded quietly, unsure what to say. The car was so silent, the air so conductive with tension, you thought he could probably hear your uneasy gulp.

After a moment of silent acknowledgement, Davos turned up the radio volume himself.

You were too shocked to change it from the fuzzy ‘immoral garbage’ he hated, which was playing through a half-tuned pop station. Davos was already back to staring at the tarmac ahead.  

*

When Davos began to yawn, you knew it was time to sleep. You had swapped seats and taken over driving for a few hours, but it would be too dangerous to continue through the dark night for much longer. You own eyelids were drooping with exhaustion, each blink becoming longer to avoid the harsh headlights ahead.

Even with the car’s heating there was a distinct chill in the air, making you shiver in your seat as Davos fought to keep his eyes open.

For the first time, both of you needed sleep and felt you deserved it. A day of driving, a day of snacking, and meaningless chatter, and singing along to the radio while Davos gave you amused smirks, and you were still no closer to knowing what would happen when this bizarre road trip ended.

Or when it would end.

How would you know it was safe?

For the first time, there seemed like a way out which wasn’t prison. You rolled your neck and stretched out your back as you evaluated your options, two fingers resting on the steering wheel. You knew a few things. Davos wasn’t being hunted, for one. Even if he was caught, you might not be implicated in his escape. You might be able to just…. Disappear. You could relax for one night, after days of agonizing driving.

The man beside you seemed to realise it too, and exhaustion finally started to show on his face in gaunt shadows and slow blinks, as he let down his guard ever so slightly. The finger-shaped indents on your steering wheel told you just how much he had been through today – you feared he would permanently damage it with his misdirected tension. When you first took the steering wheel you had ghosted your fingers over them, let your hands settle where his had been, impressed in some strange way by the dents he had left.

“We should find a layby,” you told him quietly, the sunset ending in a glorious rays of orange, filtering through the tall forest which bracketed the highway.

You were rural here, passing an occasional house nestled in the mountainous terrain, but nothing more menacing than that. There were occasional spots to pull over and sleep for the night, some shielded thinly from the road by trees or maintenance buildings. Every instinct in your body would usually scream against stopping, being vulnerable to highway killers and all kinds of imagined beasts lurking in the woods.

But with Davos, you knew you were safe.

Your sunglasses were perched on his nose, borrowed while you squinted against the last light of an orange sunset. You’d insisted he wore the glasses, and he’d only denied you use of them begrudgingly, at your insistence. The sight of him with wide cat-eye frames more than made up for your aching eyes. You had to fight back a giggle at the sight of him wearing them each time you looked across the car.

“How about there?” You suggested, spotting a turn off for a long-abandoned campsite, the advertising sign flaking with paint and cracked.

Once again, you were grateful you weren’t on your own. It was horror film material. But beside Davos, it would be fine.

He’s the scariest thing out here, the seed of doubt inside of you offered.

“As good as anywhere,” he conceded.

You took the turn quickly.

There was no one else around, but you caught yourself scanning the road for cop cars nonetheless. It was instinct now.

A quiet rhythm was established once you stopped, silently taking it in turns to wander into the woods undisturbed. You deeply missed a locking bathroom door. You’d both chosen to stand around to eat, stretching your legs, picking through the food in the trunk of the Chevvy.

Ah, dinner.

Dinner had been underwhelming. Just stuff you had left from previous meals. You should still be driving, you knew. Your mental plan had been to get more drive-through when you were another hundred miles down the road, but that wouldn’t fly. Davos had barely eaten since breakfast, insisting you had first pick of the food, and hating everything anyway for its impurity. Barely fed, you’d both sat above the back bumper of the Chevvy suddenly overcome with tiredness.

“I’ll drive on. You sleep.”

He’d held his hand out for the car keys, and you declined to give them to him. You didn’t even have them. They were in the ignition, ready at the first sign of trouble.

“No. They’ll definitely catch us if we wreck the car…” you’d mumbled sleepily.

For a moment he seemed ready to fight.

“Plus you’re exhausted,” you tacked on, eyes resting closed.

Davos didn’t even try to convince you he could drive. His own eyes were bloodshot, face sullen, and you knew you were as bad. Exhausted. On the verge of giving up.

The sun had gone down while you ate, making the abandoned parking lot infinitely creepier than when you first arrived. But unsafe or not, it was better than driving on.  

“A fair argument.”

He got out of the trunk unexpectedly, throwing himself into the backseat and slamming the door closed. You took a moment for take stock of what little you had left in the trunk, to tidy a bit, before you clambered out yourself. You reclined the front seat as far as you could without crushing his legs, and clutched your coat for warmth. It was almost completely dark, he’d shut off the lights inside the car, and you struggled to get comfortable as your hip bumped the steering wheel and your body protested the awkward angle.

You wouldn’t deny Davos sleep for you own comfort, no matter how quickly sleep was now evading you. You tried to fight through the ache in your back silently, begging your body to get some rest. Though you were a little jealous of his dibs on the bench seat, you wouldn’t argue. He needed it.

It was getting to him, the feeling of being chased like this, like a deer hunted for sport. You knew he must think of you as incompetent company, resent your lack of discipline, your uncontrolled mind, your need for sleep and junk food, the readiness with which you succumbed to the basics of life, how you needed reassurance, wouldn’t let him drive too late, wouldn’t just push through your fear, how you’d –

“I’m glad you’re okay.”

His voice broke you from your panic, and you realised you had gone strangely still, struggling for air as panic overtook you.

“Hm?”

With a glance in the rear-view mirror you could see his face, sideways as he assumed a position to sleep, meeting his reflection looking at you with a concerned frown.

“I was worried about you,” he added.

Oh.

“Thanks..?”

He nodded.

“You’re the only person from this world to show me kindness.”

His sincerity was scary.

Sometimes he was made of stone, sometimes he bared his feelings like it was the most natural thing in the world. The flip-flopping was jarring enough to make your own mask slip.

“That’s not true –” You began.

As he exhaled a heavy sigh, you realised you had no way of knowing that. Not really.

You diverted the conversation instead, for all the good it would do.

“Danny text me earlier. He wanted to check you’re okay, said our faces weren’t on the news anymore –”

You weren’t quite sure why you hid the full truth from him – how instrumental Danny had been, how he was drawing fire in violation of the moral code of their upbringing – but something told you it was the right thing to do.

Your gut said to hold onto that piece of information a little longer. To hold your cards close to your chest. As Davos spat his reply, you felt sure you had made the right call.

“A tiny offering, made from guilt,” he declared. “Danny only showed me kindness when his world was too small to have other friends. Other family.”

You gulped, feeling tears prick at your overtired eyes.

“He really loved you, in K’un-Lun. He was so proud to be your brother.”

Davos flinched, you could see it even through the moonlit interior of the car. A semi sped past on the road outside, sounding like a freight train for just a split second before its ruckus was quietening into the cricket-chirps and bird calls of the night.

“It doesn’t matter. He betrayed me,” he protested.

Abruptly Davos’ voice became softer, quieter.

“He saw my weakness. Like my parents did. He thought he was better. And in the end, he was right.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” you comforted hollowly.

Davos sniffed. You knew he was as overtired as you, as overly emotional, and his words broke your heart.

“He saw I wasn’t worthy of attachment. Of kindness. Perhaps he told you the same, since the two of you have been texting.”

The absence of bitterness in his voice would have surprised you, had anyone else been speaking. In Davos all you heard was sadness – an emotion he likely didn’t even recognise in himself.

It fell under that repressed umbrella of ‘mental weakness’.

“You deserve it,” you told him earnestly. “Care. Love. Respect. On my trip to K’un-Lun… you were kind to me there. In your world. I can’t believe what they said you did.”

When he didn’t speak, you filled the silence.

“I was outside on the face of a mountain, and you took me in. Not many people would be strong enough to do that. Not when everyone around you said to let me freeze.”

“I can’t imagine if I had let you freeze. My life would be… different.”

Better? you wondered. Would Davos be better?

You refused to believe it. If anything, he was short on friends. More love in his life could never be a bad thing.

“I wish I knew,” he began. “what I did. What I should have done. They told me in prison, every day, that I was supposed to think about what I’d done. And I meditated, and I tried to think, and I could never understand.”

Prison. You knew it would half-kill him, every day he spent in there.

“I was surrounded by murderers and thieves and rapists… I… I’m not like them. Those were the very people I fought against. And I was imprisoned by the people I was trying to help. The good side. Or, at least, I thought –”

“There is no good side.”

Your interruption in his impromptu soliloquy seemed to take him by surprise, and you wondered just how far into a manifesto he might have gotten before he even remembered you were there.

“Explain,” he demanded.

With a deep breath, you leant back into your uncomfortable position, wondering if being able to see his face would make this discussion easier or harder.

There must be a reason we haven’t talked about this during the day.

“People aren’t good or bad. ‘Infected’ or ‘safe’. Everyone’s…. just trying to do the best they can. Every day. Including you and me.”

He was quiet, and you wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Or simply tuned you out.

“Even when there are bad guys, we don’t just go around fighting. Or we shouldn’t. Certainly, all of New York isn’t your fight,” you continued quietly. “There’s… there’s procedures. Criminals should get second chances. People are shades of grey…”

“I saw no justice on those streets.”

You sighed, rolled your neck, pulling your coat over yourself like a blanket and half wishing you could just go to sleep. But you had to know something else first, as Davos lay still and tense on the backseat.

“Did you really kill people? The papers and Colleen said… you did.”

“I killed those who needed to be dealt with, for the good of the city.”

“Fuck, Davos!”

You couldn’t help yourself, pulling the coat tighter around yourself, rolling away from him. A flash of headlights in the distance made you flinch, wondering if this was the police, the FBI, finally bothering to come and get you. You had trapped yourself in the car with a murderer, sided with him. Yet you never saw that in Davos. He put you on edge sometimes, but you were never afraid.

You couldn’t see the evil in him.

“The lack of discipline, the way people suffer, because of the evil pervading those streets…” his voice reached you through the car’s new stillness, the air suddenly fragile, ready to snap.

“Corporal punishment… capital punishment… those aren’t yours to dish out. They’re not any one person’s right to dish out.”

The scars all over his hands told a different story, the lash marks you’d caught glimpses of all over him. He’d never known any different.

Did he even see the gulf of difference between what he’d been doing, and the misplaced ‘love’ his parents had shown him? Not for the first time, you wished you’d been able to do more than spectate in K’un-Lun, that you had shrugged off the protocols of good, non-invasive journalism ethics and intervened. You’d offered friendship to Davos and his brother, and now you wished you’d offered the man beside you something more: guidance, love, help.

Davos had stopped arguing with you, and when you turned to face him he had cut you off, closed his eyes and gone wherever it was he went when his mind drifted from your company.

Meditating, maybe.

With a sigh, you pulled your coat tighter around yourself. You glanced at his face again, before reaching up to push the mirror away. Suddenly his eyes snapped open.

“When did you leave K’un-Lun?” he asked.

“I don’t know… maybe three months ago?”

“It’s gone now.”

You knew.

You knew.

And yet you still couldn’t comprehend it. Refused to believe it.

“Yeah.”

“I was so glad you were okay,” he repeated.

He’d lost everything, and he couldn’t talk about it. His mother, father, home. Then he’d come to New York and lost the Fist, and Danny. You were suddenly overcome with grief for him, shivering.

You wished you could turn the car’s heating on, but you couldn’t risk flattening the battery. You shook with cold instead, trying to summon the strength to get out and find more layers to pull tight around yourself.

Davos noticed how your teeth chattered.

“It’s cold.” He stated.

“I know, strangely enough.”

In the silence, he laughed. Your answering snort of amusement only made him laugh harder.

You’d never understand his sense of humour.

“Come here. You’ll be warmer, with body heat.”

He hadn’t moved, hadn’t even lifted his head, his own coat clutched tightly around him. You froze up.

“That seat looks uncomfortable,” he prompted.

“Yeah…”

There was barely room to climb into the backseat, and you were forced to lie on top of Davos a little to get your legs through the gap. He still hadn’t moved, and you started to feel confused. This couldn’t possibly be what he meant…

“Hold on.”

You held still as he unwrapped his coat from around himself, wrapping the fabric behind you, until you were laying on top of him. His hand guided you down, palm firm against the small of your back, and you hated how it made panic rise up inside of you.

“Davos I’m heavy…”

“You’re warm.”

The hum in his voice made you gasp. The noise he made was dangerously close to a moan as he manoeuvred you over his body. You were surprised by how soft he was beneath you, untensed and pulling you close.

For warmth.

This was survival. Nothing more.

All he wanted was not to freeze. For you not to freeze.

You tried not to breathe too deeply, not to let your body melt into his.

Your sleep came and went easily that night, the pair of you fidgeting between REM cycles, trying to get comfortable in the unfamiliar situation. You woke up warm though, fingers cradled with his between your bodies, hands no longer numb.

*

The grumble of his voice as he greeted you ‘good morning’ sent you packing, climbing away from his chest and preparing for the day with a new jumpiness around him, a completely inappropriate feeling deep in your stomach.

As you drove you could feel his body beneath yours, a phantom sensation of his warmth paradoxically making you want to run from him and cling to him all at once.

You put it down to exhaustion. At least, you did when he asked you about your skittishness.

“I’ll drive. Have a proper sleep,” he insisted, sending you into the back seat.

You weren’t really tired. And besides, the back seat didn’t feel the same without his body beneath you. When you woke up from a half-doze you were at a drive through, Davos shaking you as you reached the beginning of the order queue.

“I don’t know what any of this is,” he grumbled, “help.”

You frowned at him, drowsy from sleep as you scrambled to the passenger seat, leaning over his lap to order. His thighs were thick under your hands as you leant on him for balance. Somewhere deep in your stomach you felt a tightening feeling, imaging how the tired worker behind the glass must have seen you.

A sweet couple.

He let you order, fumbling with cash from the centre console to pay, as you tried to wake from your sleepiness.

He ate the meal you’d ordered him in silence as he drove on, listening to you sing along to the radio.

It was in moments like that, amongst the panic whenever the news played, the frantic rerouting, the crap food and worse sleep, you found yourself enjoying yourself.

And so began a pattern.

The sweet moments at gas stations, laughing at Davos as he tried junk food and lamented what you ate. You gradually wrote off every type of drive-through, letting him try a bite of everything you ate in the hopes he might suddenly take to Veggie Deluxe Big Macs.

No luck, but that was fine. He always indulged you anyway, whining about sour sweets or stealing your fries, even though he insisted he hated this junk-filled Western food.

“That garbage will rot your body,” he had told you earnestly, refusing to hand you candy as you drove.

You had rolled your eyes, reached for the bag beside his thigh anyway with one hand on the wheel.

“We’re wanted fugitives, might as well let our bodies rot.”

Despite his complaints, he let you delight in making him try various foods. He hadn’t liked Skittles, but you had appreciated him trying them for your benefit.

Through all your time in K’un-Lun, between the opening and closing of the pass, you had never seen him like this. Almost dressed down, lost without the discipline and structure of his life.

Certainly you had spent time together back then, diverted him from his routine. You had grown fond of each other as you drifted in and out of his life. He’d guided you, once, on an expedition to take photographs. You had treasured the pictures you had of him, all taken without his knowing, in strong training poses or moments of quiet reflection.

There was still a polaroid of him tucked inside your backpack, part of a stack. Danny was there too, photographed laughing cheekily, between prints showing the beauty of the surrounding mountains. Publication of those pictures seemed like an impossible idea now. Maybe it was selfish, but you could never share them with the rest of the world.  

Davos looked good as he drove, attentive to the road, refusing to take breaks until you insisted. His jaw would tense as he took in your instructions, or saw another irresponsible driver, and you would watch from the passenger seat.

“You might be the master of your own body, but I got a large drink a hundred miles ago, so…” you had taunted him once.

He had long since stopped being annoyed at you, even smiling fondly before pulling into a rest stop.

Only when he slept were you allowed to drive. He rarely allowed you to be in control of the vehicle while he was awake, irritating you by silencing the radio to meditate, or trying to work out in your passenger seat, nagging you to be more attentive to the tarmac of the freeway.

You suspected he was planning, thinking, every time you pulled onto the side of the road to switch places with him. He needed to be doing something. If driving was what it took to keep him sane, his mind from working overtime, you were happy to let him do the bulk of it.

The late hours of the night were when he finally conceded it was too dangerous for him to drive unrested. He would sprawl out on the bench backseat, body rocked a little by the road, uncaring of the discomfort. You would catch yourself watching him in the rear-view, the way his mind seemed to run away as he slept, chest rising and falling with dreams and nightmares intermingling. He would always wake suddenly, making you jump as he sat bolt upright.

You caught yourself quickly tilting the mirror back up, distracted from the road for too long by watching how his face relaxed in unconsciousness.

It took three days before one of you suggested breaking the pattern, before the pair of you started to think beyond hour-to-hour survival. As you crossed state lines into Colorado, and you started to think long term.

“We’ll head to the mountains. We will be safer. Further from people,” Davos decided.

You had no better suggestions.

It didn’t surprise you when he squinted at your phone screen and began to guide you up a barely-maintained mountain track. You thought of the provisions you had packed into the trunk of your car, a fortnight’s worth of luggage and snacks from gas stations, nothing substantial. At least you had a full tank of fuel.

The track was horrifically narrow, even at the turn off.

“Davos…” You grumbled.

You flicked your turn signal anyway.

“Do it,” he insisted.

“You’re lucky I trust you.”

Busy turning, you barely caught his embarrassed smile.

From the passenger seat he scoured the environment, and you saw him give you a curious look, before he returned to the map on your phone. The evergreens grew closer and closer around you, the road turning to a forest path, making you fight to keep the car moving over the bumpy terrain.

The track took you zig-zagging up a mountain, and split off in places. Davos seemed to choose left or right at random, squinting at the satellite image on your phone, never saying more than he had to. Your faith in him began to wane with every near-miss instruction-change, your exhaustion with fighting the road growing as he remained stoic.

For sections at a time the road would clear, only to reveal the more appallingly steep mountainside, the path so narrow your stomach knotted whenever you checked your tire placement out the window, inches from slipping off the track.

After almost a week of running as fast as you could, this slow crawl made you nervous.

“Davos, I swear to god if I have to reverse down this mountain…”

He shushed you, pointing ahead as the road was crowded by forest once again.

“There,” he told you.

You exhaled, frustrated by the shake in your limbs from such intense driving. Your foot was shaking, your hands cramping, and you put the handbrake on.

“Just… give me a minute,” you begged him.

You let the engine idle as you stretched your shoulders out, taking in the claustrophobic place you’d stopped, crowded in by mountains and ancient forest. The thought of what might be out here, so far from civilisation, made you check your mirrors constantly, even stationary. There were no fresh tire tracks ahead of you, the rocky road surface littered with new growth, undisturbed by people.

This was rural, a good spot to hide, you conceded. But not somewhere you felt sure you could survive.

Davos was tapping at dashboard, anxious to move on. When you looked to him for guidance, he offered to take over driving, but you refused to let him.

“These roads are horrific, and I don’t think you can legally drive.”

He huffed, and you bit down a laugh at how he petulantly looked away from you.

“You’ve let me so far,” he pointed out.

“You know what I mean,” you snapped.

He seemed undeterred by your irritation.

“Then hurry up.”

With trepidation you switched the headlights on, the even midday sun barely penetrating the trees this far into the wilderness, and put the car in drive.

He grew less nervous the further you were from the main roads, a direct inverse to yourself. After a few miles you’d grown accustomed to the lack of other headlights. It seemed impossible, surreal, that you were crawling down this abandoned road. Each time you looked to the passenger seat, you got a reassuring smile.

His confidence barely soothed your nerves, but you leant on it anyway, relying on his certainly to mask your own fear.

“All roads must lead to somewhere,” he assured you softly.

The sincerity of his words made you shudder.

Soon enough you realised Davos had been right, a fact you met with equal gratefulness and irritation. For the first time in almost an hour you saw a sign of civilisation, a small dwelling dwarfed by tall forest, with not a person in sight.

It was completely dilapidated, and you should be horrified, but a treacherous voice in your head reminded you: there might be a proper bed.

Clothed in moss and chipped paint, you imagined this cabin must have been nice once. Built for retreats to the woods and filled with the warmth of people enjoying nature, it had a wraparound porch with covered outdoor furniture.

There was even a rectangle cleared to park the Chevvy, and you cut the engine to an astonishing silence, nothing but a bird call in the distance. As you opened your door hesitantly, Davos was already rushing up to the cabin, and you watched him, flipping the headlights on to try and guide his way.

The distinctive sound of rotting wood made you wince as Davos signalled for you to stay back, his foot sinking into the front steps. The half-beam lights of the car didn’t quite reach the building, separated by a line of trees, but Davos had taken the one hiking-kit torch you had.

The flashing beam of light signalled how he crept around the house, and you watched as the windows were illuminated, clinging to the car as birds called to one another, tree branches seeming to snap and move on their own in the canopy above you.

“Davos?” you called.

He wouldn’t be able to hear you, too far away and your voice too muted. Suddenly your creepy rest stop on the road side, curled up on his chest, seemed far more appealing. Maybe you could leave. Drive forever, or at least until your debit card was declined on fuel. You would certainly prefer it to this place.

Branches snapped beside the car where you were stood, and you prayed it was just Davos, or something you couldn’t see. One hand clutched the door handle of the car, your phone tightly clasped in your other. The battery was almost flat, and you’d lost signal miles ago. But you clung to it anyway. It was cold outside, but you couldn’t bear to pull your coat from the vehicle. The thought of what might be watching from behind you was too much to bear.

It was irrational, you knew, but being so far from Davos in the woods made you break into a cold sweat. You jumped at a distant howl, eyes scanning the darkness. It sounded miles away, but you couldn’t help the urge to run, to climb back in the car.

“Seems safe.”

You shuddered an exhale, startling as Davos approached.

“There’s fucking wolves here,” you whimpered.

“I would prefer wolves to people.”

“I doubt it.”

“Bears, then!” You called to him, exasperated. “There could be bears. Davos, are you listening to me?”

He was already unloading the trunk, and you joined him in pulling out a backpack, clinging tight to his side as he marched to the sad dwelling he’d decided to camp out in.

“I don’t get a say in this?”

“Drive off, if you want. I’m happy here.”

There was a gruffness in his voice, and his words should have offended you, but you suspected he didn’t mean it.

You tried to be rational, and were left with the stark reality: this might be your best option. Free housing, safe from CCTV or nosy neighbours, where you could wait for the threat of Davos’ recapture to diminish.

“This is insane.”

As the last echoes of your voice rung through the trees, no doubt tempting a million bogeymen and monsters towards the pair of you, Davos turned to stare you down. His dark eyes seemed even wider as night drew in, and you saw the façade behind his gruffness begin to crumble. He’d be upset if you left, and you knew it.

So what could you do? Return to the outside world, pray no one had pieced together how you had aided Davos’ escape, and try to get a job? A house?

Or you could settle here. At least for a bit, alongside your strangest, most loyal friend. You could trust him to keep you safe from the elements and the law, and yes, even wolves.

He’d hauled your bags from the trunk, and he was just there… waiting. Watching you. Asking for your permission before starting this strange new phase in your lives at this rickety old section of woods which you certainly couldn’t pin down on a map.

When he said your name it was almost a whisper, a nervous plea.  

With a groan, you grabbed a few more bags from the trunk, and you stayed.

[a-secret-bolton-vampire]

The Coming War for the North, Part 2: The Lost Wolves

In part 1, I talked about the coming battle of ice with Stannis fighting against the Boltons to take Winterfell. I discussed the situation there, the pink letter, and briefly speculated what the battle of ice will entail and who I thought would emerge victorious. If you read that, you know I argued Stannis would lose and the true battle for the North would be fought by Jon against Ramsay. In part 2, I'll dive into setting up the different factions left in the North (and beyond!) that I think will be integral to the northern storyline in TWOW.

A Trip to Skagos

Last we saw of Davos, he was not executed by Wyman Manderly, and Lord Manderly has sent him to retrieve Rickon from Skagos. Davos in TWOW is definitely going to be fun to read, as Skagos sounds like a very sinister place (or is it all that sinister?) and seeing Rickon again should be interesting. At the beginning of ADWD Davos was sent to parley with the Manderlys by Stannis, but the Manderlys imprisoned him, and per what we hear from in AFFC, executed him.

Of course, they didn't, and instead put him into the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle that is now used as a prison. Then Davos is freed and meets with Wyman in private, with Robett Glover in attendance, who say they are not with the Boltons, and were merely playing up the ruse so that Wyman's son Wylis would be returned safely without a hint of disloyalty towards the Lannisters. Instead, they are plotting revenge against the Red Wedding, and inform Davos that they found Wex Pyke, Theon's mute squire, who eventually revealed that Rickon has gone to Skagos. Wyman will support Stannis if Davos successfully brings Rickon back.

We don't know a lot about Skagos, and the little we do know paints it as a very sinister, savage place. They are rumoured to practice human sacrifice to the weirwoods and cannibalism in winter, and luring passing ships with false lights, more like tribes of raiders not too dissimilar to wildlings. They also rose in rebellion against the Starks during the reign of King Daeron II, which lasted years and claimed the lives of thousands, Lord Barthogan Stark among them, before it was finally put down. Also they ride unicorns, one horned shaggy goats.

I'm not sure what Skagos will ultimately be like, but I think it's probably going to be a weird mix of wildlings and northmen. There is also the question of their relationship with both. The northmen hate them and view them as savages, and they are built up as sinister people, but perhaps they only play it up in order to be left alone. Their historical connection to the North isn't very positive, so they might enjoy being isolated from the rest of the North, so long as they aren't disturbed.

That said, it is interesting that Osha chose Skagos to hide with Rickon. Anywhere in the North is dangerous for a loose wildling and a young Stark to be in... except Skagos, apparently. Do the Skagosi have good relations with the free folk? They seem to live more like the free folk and the island is further north than the rest of the North (bordering on the lands of the Night's Watch & even stretching beyond the Wall). Plus, Osha went there with Rickon to keep him safe, so the idea that the free folk and Skagosi have connections isn't too unikely.

The real question I am wondering is; how is Rickon doing? Last we saw him, he was only 4 years old, wild and untamed. I somewhat subscribe to the theory that the names of the direwolves hint at their future, and while there is a theory that Rickon is a shaggydog story (a long winded, complicated anecdote that goes nowhere), I think Shaggydog more or less foreshadows Rickon's wild nature. There is nobody training his warging abilities, and he was already wild to begin with, and now he's on a remote island in the middle of nowhere, so I only think he's going to grow more and more wild.

And, how are the Skagosi treating Rickon? Do they like him? They don't have good historical connections with the Starks, so they may not like Rickon when they first met him. Maybe they revere him since he is a warg? Or perhaps nobody truly knows who he is, but some kid with a giant wolf who knows lives on the island, and people give him offerings? Since we have little to nothing to go off, we have no idea what exactly Rickon has been up to since his exit from the pages in ACOK.

Regardless, Davos might find himself in a difficult position to convince Rickon to return. He's a complete stranger and nobody is going to trust his agenda, least of all Osha who was tasked with keeping Rickon safe. Given George has "important plans" for Rickon, I doubt Davos will fail to bring Rickon back, but it won't be easy, and probably will take some time.

From there, I see two possible places for Davos to go. While he would be tasked with returning Rickon to White Harbor, there is a possibility that the storms will force him to land in Eastwatch. Rickon could have a reunion with Jon Snow if that is the case, but I tend to favour Rickon being returned to White Harbor and used to rally Manderly and their allies against Ramsay. Wyman tells Davos all the value of having his House as an ally against the Boltons.

"I have been building warships for more than a year. Some you saw, but there are as many more hidden up the White Knife. Even with the losses I have suffered, I still command more heavy horse than any other lord north of the Neck. My walls are strong, and my vaults are full of silver. Oldcastle and Widow's Watch will take their lead from me. My bannermen include a dozen petty lords and a hundred landed knights. I can deliver King Stannis the allegiance of all the lands east of the White Knife, from Widow's Watch and Ramsgate to the Sheepshead Hills and the headwaters of the Broken Branch."

Stannis Baratheon

One thing to note is what Stannis will be doing. Say he, as I think happened, was defeated by the Boltons and faked his death. What is his next move? It's entirely possible that Stannis just retreats to the Nightfort, a location that he intends on sitting at one day, and in his desperation, burns Shireen to wake dragons out of stone (apparently people hate this take but it's a possibility in my mind). However, this isn't to say he is completely out of the game yet.

The Manderlys are open to allying with Stannis (should Davos be successful in retrieving Rickon), and they are part of the army sent in the battle of ice to do battle with Stannis. Could they possibly help fake Stannis's death in battle and have him retreat to a secret location? There is potential foreshadowing for this.

"White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need."

Could they have him retreat to the Wolf's Den, an ancient castle turned prison? There is a secret passageway connecting the Wolf's Den to the New Castle that Davos was shown.

While it might just be simpler for Stannis to retreat and die, this story is anything but simple, and I feel George is still having him around for a reason. He did send Justin Massey to Braavos to hire sellswords and sent them to him through Eastwatch (which is how I believe Arya will return to Westeros), so those might come in handy in the future. So while I believe the Starks will be the centre of defeating the Boltons and retaking Winterfell, Stannis could still have a role in this. One idea is that he actually takes the Dreadfort.

While the original idea posed by Arnolf was to merely siege it, and was supposed to undermine Stannis, interrogating Theon would be of some great use, as could the fleet of warships Lord Manderly has been building. Theon once escaped the Dreadfort through a postern gate that is either lightly or not guarded at all, with the help of Kyra, only for this to all be a game devised by Ramsay to hunt them back down. His knowledge of the Dreadfort could prove useful for Stannis to take it, while the Manderly fleet rows up the Weeping Water and lays siege to it.

A Blaze of Boltons

Now it's time to look at the Boltons. Say Roose is successful in holding Winterfell and defeating Stannis, and he gets rid of the Freys and Manderlys. What then? The northern houses are still only tentatively loyal to him, and he knows it. But the danger that poses to him is temporarily dealt with. The true danger was the fact that there was an option to join a new side against the Boltons, but once Stannis defeated, they are back to being all by themselves, knowing the Iron Throne is backing the Boltons and not risking their ire.

However, there is a distinct possibility that the Boltons will still lose support eventually, and by none other than their own hands, specifically Ramsay's. As a psychopath, Ramsay has an enormous ego, and is very concerned about his birthright, hoping he will one day be Warden of the North and Lord of the Dreadfort.

"My lord has a new wife to give him sons." "And won't my bastard love that? Lady Walda is a Frey, and she has a fertile feel to her. I have become oddly fond of my fat little wife. The two before her never made a sound in bed, but this one squeals and shudders. I find that quite endearing. If she pops out sons the way she pops in tarts, the Dreadfort will soon be overrun with Boltons. Ramsay will kill them all, of course. That's for the best. I will not live long enough to see new sons to manhood, and boy lords are the bane of any House. Walda will grieve to see them die, though."

Roose is aware of just how unhinged Ramsay is. He knows Ramsay will be upset if Walda gives birth to a boy, and knows Theon is reporting back to Ramsay. But Roose doesn't really seem to care all that much. Perhaps he would be amused if this did happen. Or perhaps he's just trying to comfort Ramsay to prevent this happening. Regardless, he also knows that Ramsay was responsible for his half-brother Domeric's death.

"Yes, m'lord. Domeric. I … I have heard his name …" "Ramsay killed him. A sickness of the bowels, Maester Uthor says, but I say poison. In the Vale, Domeric had enjoyed the company of Redfort's sons. He wanted a brother by his side, so he rode up the Weeping Water to seek my bastard out. I forbade it, but Domeric was a man grown and thought that he knew better than his father. Now his bones lie beneath the Dreadfort with the bones of his brothers, who died still in the cradle, and I am left with Ramsay. Tell me, my lord … if the kinslayer is accursed, what is a father to do when one son slays another?"

It seems clear that Ramsay's murder of his half-brother Domeric is foreshadowing, not just for the eventual death of Walda's child, but for Roose as well. Ramsay is very close to one day snapping and doing something so horrible that he cannot go back from. And to make it more clear, there is a line at the end of ADWD that I completely overlooked that shows Walda is actually pregnant.

Roose Bolton entered, pale-eyed and yawning, accompanied by his plump and pregnant wife, Fat Walda.

Later Ramsay and Roose are seen arguing, and Walda seems very frightened, but Theon doesn't hear what they say. It's possible they were arguing about Ramsay's inheritance given that Walda is now pregnant (although I think they were more likely arguing about what to do with Stannis). Regardless, I think that Walda giving birth to a boy would drive Ramsay over the edge. Despite him being impulsive and angry, he's still quite capable of covering up what he does. So I think, just as he did with Domeric, he will poison Roose, Walda, and his newborn half-brother, leaving him the only Bolton left and asserting his dominance over the North.

Of course, this is going to have serious consequences for Ramsay, something I will get into in part 3, where I will talk at length about the coming Bastardbowl.

[sansacherie]

The Meaning of Her Words

note: i’ve always been bothered by what happened to argella durrandon so i guess this is my attempt at getting some justice for her. this was written very quickly over two days so its perhaps not the best fleshed out but i hope y’all enjoy

I. 3 AC "Your bath is ready, my lady.” Your Grace, Argella thinks as she turned away from the window. It had been two years since her valiant father had lost both his crown and his life. When Orys Baratheon had arrived at Storm’s End with his army, Maester Samwell had implored Argella to open her gates and yield to the brother of the pretender-king. There would be no shame in it. Argella refused. She understood that refusal meant her life- the lives of them all. But a part of her father would have understood that death could await him when he had ridden out. She knew her father would agree with her decision. Remember our words, my daughter, he had told her solemnly after she kissed his cheek, when she had come to see him off. Those parting words would be the final thing Argella would ever receive from her father.

That, and his own murderer as her husband.

Her men proved to be weaker than she. They lasted for two days, before they had stripped her of her clothes and crown and delivered her bound in chains to Orys’ camp.

That had not been the worst part. It was the fact that the man who had killed her own father had treated her with more gentleness than the men who had been sworn to her, but who had decided those oaths meant nothing.

If she had been her father’s son, she knew Orys might have chosen to execute her. Perhaps she would have been asked him to. But she was her father’s daughter, and she was more useful alive.

‘I will take you as my bride,’ he said. ‘And to honour your father’s memory, I will take his words and sigil too.’ ‘Is that because you have no words or sigil of your own, bastard?’ Argella snarled. She stared across the table at him, wrapped in the furs that covered her nakedness. Orys did not flinch, but merely did a sip of his wine before speaking. Argella’s own cup had remained untouched. ‘Guilty.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘But I think it would please your father, to know that House Durrandon will live on through his sigil and words.’ ‘Don’t you dare presume to know what my father would want.’ Even just saying his name hurt. ‘You didn’t know him.’

‘I know he was a brave man. And I know he raised a brave woman.’ He put his hand on the table, almost as if he wanted to reach for her. ‘There are all different kinds of bravery, my lady. There is the bravery your father displayed in battle. There is the bravery you showed when you refused to yield your castle to me. And sometimes… there is bravery in acceptance.’ Acceptance, Argella thought. How could a simple word leave such a foul taste in her mouth? Accept the pretender as your king. Accept me as your husband and lord, the man who killed your father. Accept the life that was meant to be yours is gone now.

It had been over two years since Argella had gone from being a princess-born to a two -day queen, to lady wife of Lord Baratheon of Storm’s End. But two years could not revoke a lifetime, and often Argella found herself thinking these words whenever she was addressed in such a way.

“Thank you.” Argella shed her robe, exposing her swollen breasts and protruding stomach that held her child within. She was six moons gone, and she had come to rely on hot baths to ease her discomfort. Joy’s strong hands helped her into the tub. At her touch, Argella had to fight down that sense of panic she would feel whenever someone touched her. She had to remind herself that Joy had never hurt her, and those men had been sent away. I don’t care where you send them, she told Orys. I will not have them here, in my presence. I will not have them here, in my castle. Orys had complied. She would have preferred to see them beheaded and their corpses fed to stray dogs, but you couldn’t have everything.

‘You may leave.’ Joy nodded and gave a quick curtesy, before leaving. She would only be in the next room, Argella knew and would come once Argella called for her again. However, for now, Argella simply wished to be alone. She often preferred it that way, these days. Argella felt her stomach kick, and she shifted in the tub to get more comfortable. ‘You’re strong, aren’t you? Perhaps you’ll be as strong as your grandfather.’ She gave a sad smile. This child would never know his grandfather, thanks to the man who had planted his seed in Argella. Orys had been delighted with her pregnancy, and had insisted on her having the upmost care. It was almost sweet, Argella thought. If only she didn’t know that he was more concerned with the promise she could hold within – a precious son, to secure his Baratheon legacy. And for good measure, perhaps she could give him two more, before conveniently dying in childbed, as so many women did.

After all, he would have what he needed from her by then. What was the point in her being alive? She felt her stomach kick, as if her question was being answered. This. This child was just as much hers as he was Orys’. It was from her, not Orys, that her child would receive the blood of kings. And she would ensure her child understood what that meant.

II.

Her resolve weakens when her son is born. After he is cleaned and handed to her, she realizes she has something more precious to lose now than a crown. This was her flesh and blood, the only family she had in the world now. She wonders if perhaps she did deserve to lose her crown then, if she is so willing to give up just now. Her father had never given up. And neither had she. She had resolved to die when Orys had arrived with his army, and even when she had been joined to him, she had never given herself to him completely- keeping him at a distance and nurturing treasonous thoughts about the pretender-king and his sister-queens. But the moment her son had been born, that furious resolve had withered away.

She would not know it yet, but one day there would be another birth in this castle. The birth of a different boy, to a different Lady of Storm’s End, that would be the answer to the wish she had been forced to relinquish when her own son was born.

III.

To celebrate the birth of Davos, Orys announces that there will be a grand feast. And that King Aegon and his sisters will be in attendance. Argella cannot bear the thought of having them here. Of having to curtesy and call Aegon “His Grace”, when the only ruler she wanted to recognise was her father, and he was gone now. Thanks to Orys, and the people he served. Of having to pretend that she was proud to have her son be presented to these people. But she had no choice. “These people” were her king and queens (that unnaturalness she would never get used to.) She must not forget that now, for her son’s sake.

IV.

Excusing herself, Argella left the feast to temporarily seek the solace of her bedchambers. Illuminated in the candlelight, sat a woman at Argella’s dressing table. Argella gasped. “Who are you?” She demanded, as she stepped into the room without thinking that it was perhaps not a good idea. The woman smiled as she turned to face Argella. She realized with a jolt that the woman was startingly beautiful. She was tall and shapely, with dark curls and dark eyes

“A friend.” She said simply. “A friend.” Argella repeated. She didn’t know why she hadn’t shouted for her guards yet. “Tell me why I should not call for the guards and have my husband question you? Or perhaps His Grace?” The woman smiled. “Oh, I can think of many reasons, Your Grace.” It is those two words that make Argella’s heart stop. Two beautiful, exhilarating, frightening words. “That’s treason you’re talking.” The woman shrugged. “The only difference between us, my lady, is that I am open about mine.” Argella feels an absurd jolt of fear surge through her. But somehow, looking at this woman she knew she had a right to fear her. “What do you want?” Argella asked. The woman locked her eyes on Argella. “I am simply here to give you hope.” She handed Argella a golden mirror. “Look.”

Argella licked her lips as she held the mirror up. Instead of seeing her own reflection, Argella gasped to see a young girl gazing back. Pretty, with brown hair and sad grey eyes. The girl then faded, and Argella watched open-mouthed in horror as the mirror revealed a man effulged in flames, and another strangling himself to death as he fought futilely to reach a sword that lay out of his reach, and thus any hope as well. The image faded once more, to be succeeded by a man with silver blonde hair and purple eyes- instinct told her that this must be one of Aegon’s descendants. She watched, transfixed, as that same man’s ruby-studded armoured chest was smashed in by…. Why, that man looked so familiar… and Argella discerned that this had to be one of her own descendants. Powerful and strong, the way her father had been. The scene shifted once more, and Argella found herself watching that same man now crowned. While the girl before her was certainly pretty, the girl that stood beside him now was strikingly beautiful, with golden hair and emerald green eyes and a slender, graceful figure. Argella understood at once that this must be his queen. Behind them, was huge banners displaying her’s father’s stag. A crowned stag.

Suddenly, the images in the mirror ceased and Argella saw only herself now. She tore her eyes away to look at the woman before her. “Does this mean…” She was almost afraid to ask. The woman nodded. “It will not happen for many years and you and your children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren will be bones and memory by the time it does, but I promise you- House Targaryen will fall. And it will be House Baratheon that rules in its place.” Argella’s heart was beating rapidly. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Who was the girl with the sad grey eyes? What happened to their dragons? What caused House Baratheon to turn? Who else was involved? But at the same time, all she could think was this - House Targaryen will fall. House Targaryen will fall. House Targaryen will fall. And it would be her descendants that would be responsible for it. Her descendants that would claim back the crown that was taken from them. Argella’s heart took flight. Closing her eyes, laughter burst from her, as she realised that they would not just be getting back Storm’s End- they would be the rulers of the entire kingdom as well. She could almost hear her father laughing.

Later when Argella returned to the feast with a ready excuse for taking longer than she intended, she watched Aegon talk with Orys, and thought how he had taught Westeros the meaning of fire and blood. And that one day, House Targaryen would understand the meaning of her words as well.

[tinyshe]

Pope: Private property is ‘not Christian’, WEF agrees

At the turn of the month November-December, the pope made a move that was described as shocking by many. He argued that Christianity did not support the right to own a home. This led to surprised and outraged reactions, whereby several pointed out that those who are forced to rent or beg for shelter can never be free. Free West Media can here reveal that the Pope's statement is in line with the plans that the globalist elite has long discussed and also more or less clearly communicated to the public, something that most people have overlooked. Among other things, we present the World Economic Forum's 8-point vision for 2030. These world-changing plans are beginning to materialize in various ways now, including in China.

Published: January 19, 2021, 3:46 pm

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Pope Francis attracted a lot of attention in Catholic circles on November 30 when he said several controversial things in a video message to judges from the Committee on Social Rights in Africa and America. However, the general public is not aware of his sensational statement, as the system media did not report on it.

The pope said, among other things, that a new “social justice” is needed and that private ownership is not something obvious in Christianity and therefore not for the Catholic Church either.

“Let us build the new social justice and admit that the Christian tradition has never recognized the right to private property as absolute and immovable,” said Francis.

Outraged reactions

Many were shocked by the statement and pointed out that the right to own private property is one of the most important human rights.

PROFESSOR KLAUS SCHWAB, 82, is a German engineer, economist and professor of business policy who is best known as the founder and chairman of the powerful globalist foundation World Economic Forum (WEF). In his book Covid-19: The Great Reset, Schwab claims that the world “will never” return to normal, despite acknowledging that the alleged coronavirus pandemic “does not pose a new existential threat.” – The pandemic represents a rare but narrow time window with opportunities to reflect (re: flect), rethink (re: imagine) and restore (re: set) our world, Schwab said at the launch of The Great Reset this summer. Photo: KTU

They pointed out that without that right you are like slaves of old, who must rely on their owners giving them a roof over their heads and food. Being always forced to earn in order to pay for the most basic need – protection against the forces of the weather – makes you both unfree and in practice completely powerless, some said on social media.

The pope’s statement was also widely discussed in Christian circles and no comments were positive. The exception was possibly the Twitter account Lichten & Bright who wrote:“Thank you for letting us know the Pope’s position on private ownership of property and means of production. We had no idea that he was an advocate of nationalizations [the state seizes] all land and business companies and against democratic elections. Thoughtful things”.

The Twitter account Catholic Victory wrote briefly that “Francis is a heretic and not a pope”.

Several people pointed out that it was reminiscent of the startling tones heard for several years from the World Economic Forum (WEF) foundation, which is best known for the annual conference in Davos, Switzerland. It brings together some of the world’s most powerful policy makers and globalists in politics and business. It was precisely the WEF that this summer, via its “ambassador” Prince Charles, launched The Great Reset, which more and more world leaders are now talking openly about being implemented.

The author of The Great Reset is Klaus Schwab, chairman of the powerful WEF, who wrote a 280-page book entitled COVID-19: The Great Reset. The book puts forward the argument that the pandemic has proven absolutely necessary to immediately introduce a completely new world order.

No private ownership 2030

To get an idea of ​​the background to the pope’s strange statement and what The Great Reset might mean, we can watch a video from the WEF entitled “8 predictions for the world 2030”.

COVID-19: THE GREAT RESET is 280 pages long and was already published on July 9, almost four months into the pandemic. Many have pointed out the improbability of writing such a comprehensive and complex book in such a short time. It tells us that the pandemic has shown the need to immediately introduce a new world order, which does not quite unexpectedly advocate a comprehensive “world government” and a merger of governments and multinational corporations to meet people’s needs. The incentive for for-profit large companies to pay out, for example, social benefits is, to say the least, vague. Instead of prioritizing profits, companies must now put “people at the center”. The book also proclaims that capitalism is obsolete and should instead be replaced by a new merger of capitalism and socialism, which is called “Stakeholder capitalism”. Critics call it communism in the form of a totalitarian global technocracy ruled by a small globalist elite using Big Tech (technology giants) and artificial intelligence (AI).

The first point there is as simple as it is remarkable. It states that “You will own nothing and you will be happy”. The point also explains that “Whatever you need, you will rent”. So no more ownership, but everything should be rented, including the clothes you wear on the body.

Can they really mean it? We visit WEF’s website for more information. There you can in a text, which paints the future they want to see in 2030, read the following:

Welcome to the year 2030. Welcome to my city – or should I say “our city”. I own nothing. I do not own a car. I do not own a house. I do not own any appliances or clothes.

The text on the WEF’s website also states that it is not only private ownership that will be abolished in the new utopia, or dystopia depending on who you ask, but there will also be no privacy. We can read there that:

Sometimes I can get annoyed by the fact that I have no real integrity. Nowhere can I go without being registered. I know that somewhere everything I do, think and dream about is recorded. I can only hope that no one will use it against me.

Many who hear it for the first time believe that it must be a conspiracy theorist’s crazy fantasies, but it is instead the richest and most powerful globalists on the planet who meet annually in Davos who present it in text and video form. System media has not reported on this and then the general public does not know these visions and agendas of these globalists.

Canadian Whistleblower has been right so far

Someone who claimed to be a Canadian MP and member of the Liberal Party of Canada (Canada’s Liberal Party led by Justin Trudeau, the country’s current Prime Minister) wrote an open letter on October 10 to warn the Canadian people that the pandemic is a smokescreen with the aim of introducing a far-reaching agenda where, among other things, people will be forced to renounce their right to private ownership. The Whistleblower did not reveal his name, but wrote that “I sit on several committee groups, but the information I provide comes from the Strategic Planning Committee, which is governed by the PMO [abbreviation for Prime Minister’s Office]”.

The anonymous MP then set out a secret roadmap established by Trudeau, which would be implemented regardless of their views or objections. He initially states that a second shutdown will be introduced in November, which will then be even tougher over Christmas and New Year. This is exactly what has happened in both North America and Europe. The whistleblower then indicates a frightening development in 2021, where, among other things, a third wave from a mutation called “COVID-21” – this time with real death rates – will be followed by an even harsher third shutdown in the first and second quarters of 2021.

Regarding the current economy and ownership, he indicates an impending “collapse of the supply chain, stock shortages, major economic instability” in the second quarter of 2021. Desperate people will then be offered the general basic income program, Universal Basic Income [UBI] in English. It can be mentioned here that Australia has already made it clear that only vaccinated citizens will be given welfare funds under a new law with the slogan “No jab, no pay”, “no syringe, nothing paid”.

In China, thousands of people in rural areas who voluntarily abandon their privately owned property and move to newly built apartments have been rewarded in various ways, while those who struggle are arrested and punished. Their houses are being demolished regardless of compliance.

POPULATION FROM THE RURAL AREA has begun in China. Here you can see Xiguozhuang, the first village in China’s eastern Shandong province, where residents saw their houses demolished at short notice. Fewer than a dozen homes remain along the village’s main road when the photo was taken in August. The Communist Party (CCP) forcibly expels farmers from their homes and farms. Liu, an affected farmer, recounts how he came home one day and discovered that local officials were preparing to demolish his house. When he called the police, they arrested him instead. Liu told the news channel NPR how about a hundred government officials surrounded his home before breaking down and arresting him, because he “resisted”. Liu’s privately owned property has now been demolished and apartment buildings await him and his neighbors. Photo: Amy Cheng / NPR

NEWLY BUILT MICRO APARTMENTS IN CHINA. Here you can see high-rise buildings with micro-apartments in Heze, in China’s eastern Shandong province, where Liu and his neighbors will be forcibly relocated when they are ready. The farmers are upset about the high rent they are being forced to have and will find it very difficult to afford. They are given the right to continue using the land, but they say that it will be impossible due to the long distance between the rental apartments they have been forced to and their land and that they do not have buildings left there that are necessary for the work. For several years, China has built many new cities, some of the largest in the world, which in most cases are still completely empty. This has been a mystery to many. Now that the CCP is starting to forcibly relocate people to the countryside and demolish their homes and farms, some are beginning to suspect that these “ghost towns” were built for Agenda 2030 and the massive expulsions from the countryside the globalists advocate (see NyT v50 / 2020).

Then the whistleblower describes in detail how the Canadians will be forced to renounce their ownership starting already this year. The anonymous Member writes:

Based on the roadmap provided, the Strategic Planning Committee was asked to design an effective way to change Canadians to meet unprecedented economic hardship. One that will change Canada and change the lives of Canadians forever. What we were told was that the federal government would offer Canadians a total debt write-off to compensate for what is essentially an economic collapse at the international level, where the federal government will offer Canadians to write off all their debts. Here’s how it works:

The federal government will offer to write off all personal debts (mortgages, loans, credit cards, etc.) where financing will be provided by the Canada [International Monetary Fund] IMF during what will be known as the World Debt Reset.

In exchange for accepting this total debt forgiveness, the individual will give up ownership of all property and assets forever. The individual will also need to agree to participate in the vaccination program for COVID-19 and COVID-21, which would allow the individual to travel and live indefinitely even during a complete shutdown (using a photo ID called Canada’s HealthPass).

With the pope’s statement, the Vatican and the Catholic Church have now officially taken the position that such possible plans do not run counter to the “Christian tradition”. Pope Francis was the one who, at the UN headquarters on September 25, 2015, the first visit ever by a pope, saw to it that all world leaders signed Agenda 2030.

All rights reserved. You have permission to quote freely from the articles provided that the source (www.freewestmedia.com) is given

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

The Dove and Her Hound - CH. TwentyNine

Title: A New King

Words: 2,040

Warnings: Slight language

A/N: It’s almost over! Just one more chapter and the series is done, I can’t believe it! Also, if you’d like to request something, send me an ask. I’d love to write something for you! 

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

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

It had been a week since your son had been born and many things had happened. You learned that one of Daenerys’ dragons had been killed, most of the fleet destroyed, and Missandei captured. Brienne had come to visit you and the child as well. She apologized for the way she handled things when she encountered your trio years ago. She did not know the significance Sandor had in your life and never knew how to approach you about it. You accepted her apology immediately and you apologized to her as well for your naïve attitude and your hate towards her.

The same night Brienne apologized to you, Jaime Lannister fled Winterfell to go back to Cersei. You had known that Brienne and Jaime were together and when you found out he left, you went to console her.

 “He doesn’t deserve you,” you said. “If he leaves you for another woman when he had you then he’s not worth your tears.”

 You wiped away the tears running down her cheeks and looked her in the eyes.

 “You are strong. You are beautiful. You deserve better. Don’t let one man ruin things for you forever. It’s okay to still love him, but don’t let that take over everything.”

 Brienne gave you a watery smile and sat up a little straighter.

 “Thank you, Lady [y/n],” Brienne said. You stood up and kissed her forehead.

 “You should get some rest. I have a feeling that we’re going to do some traveling soon.”

 ---

 Turns out that you were right. A raven arrived from King’s Landing a week later and before you knew it, you were traveling down the Kingsroad. Brienne and Sansa hadn’t wanted you go with them because of the baby, but you went anyways. It took little less than a month to get to the Capital and it looked nothing like you remembered.

 Buildings and houses were charred and crumbling. Ash was still on the streets, swept away into corners. The Red Keep was almost all burnt down. The people of King’s Landing were trying their best to rebuild their homes and lives but it would take years to get things back to the way they were.

 The raven had told you where to go and once more, you found yourself in the Dragonpit. You were seated between Sansa and Brienne, your babe on your lap. Bran and Arya were next to Sansa. You were the first ones there. Ser Davos and Gendry were the next ones to arrive, with Yara, Robin, Yhon Royce, and the rest to follow. Another person showed up with the last group and you couldn’t breathe. It was Sandor, alive and well. The two of you locked eyes and your chest hurt. He looked like he was going to approach you when Greyworm brought out Tyrion before you in chains. Jon was nowhere to be seen.

 “Where’s Jon?” Sansa asked Greyworm.

 “He is our prisoner.”

 “So is Lord Tyrion,” you said. “They were both supposed to be here.”

 “We will decide the fate of our prisoners. This is our city now.”

 “If you look outside the walls of your city, you’ll find thousands of Northmen who will explain to you why harming Jon Snow is not in your interest.”

 “And you will find thousands of Unsullied who believe that it is.”

 “Some of you are quick to forgive. The Ironborn are not. I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow put a knife through her heart. Let them give him what he deserves,” Yara said, venom spewing from her words.

 “Say one more word about killing my brother and I’ll slit your throat.” Arya’s face was ruthless and cold. Yara made to stand up but Ser Davos beat her to it.

 “Friends, please. We’ve been killing each other for too long.” He turned to face Greyworm. “Torgo Nudho. Am I saying that properly? If it weren’t for you and your men, we would have lost the fight with the dead. This country owes you a debt that can never be repaid. But let us try. There is land in the Reach. Good land. The people that used to live there are gone. Make it your own, start your own house with the Unsullied as your bannermen.”

 “I agree. We’ve had enough war. Thousands of you, thousands of us. You know how it ends. There has to be another way,” you said.

 “We do not need payment. We need justice,” Greyworm spat. “Jon Snow cannot go free.”

 Ser Davos sat back down and Tyrion let out a small breath.

 “It’s not for you to decide,” Tyrion said.

 “You are not here to speak!” Greyworm shouted. “Everyone has heard enough words from you.”

 “You’re right. And no one’s any better for it. But it’s not for you to decide.” Tyrion looked up at everyone. “Jon Snow committed his crime here. It is for our King to decide. Or our Queen.”

 “But we don’t have a King or Queen,” Royce said.

 “You’re the most powerful people in Westeros. Choose one.”

 “Make your choice. Quickly.”

 Everyone was silent for once and was looking around at the other people. Nobody spoke until your uncle stood up. He started a little speech talking about him being one of the senior lords in the country and that he knew a little bit about statecraft. It was then that Sansa intervened.

 “Uncle. Please sit,” she said. He kind of spluttered a bit and only sat down when Sansa gestured to his seat with her head. He backed into a pole and it took all your willpower not to laugh.

 “Well, we have to choose someone,” Royce said. That’s when Sam got up and suggested that the people help pick a monarch. Everyone did laugh at that and Sam sat back down, more than slightly embarrassed. It was a funny notion, but you didn’t laugh at your friend.

 “I suppose you want the crown,” your uncle said to Tyrion.

 “Me? No. Half the people hate me for serving Daenerys and the other half hate me for betraying her. Can’t think of a worse choice.”

 “Who then?” You asked.

 “What unites people? Armies? Gold? Flags?” Tyrion shook his head. “Stories. There’s nothing in the world more powerful than a good story. Nothing can stop it. No enemy can defeat it. And who has a better story than Bran the Broken?”

 You sat up a little straighter and looked at your siblings in confusion. When you looked back at Tyrion, he kept speaking.

 “The boy who fell from a high tower and lived. He knew he would never walk again, so he learned how to fly. He went beyond the wall. A crippled boy. And he became the Three-Eyed-Raven. He is our memory, our history. All the wars, weddings, births, massacres, and famines. Our triumphs and our defeats. Our past. Who better to lead us into the future?”

 “Bran has no interest in ruling and he can’t father children,” Sansa said.

 “Good. Sons of Kings can be cruel and stupid, as you well know. His will never torment us,” Tyrion said to Sansa. To Greyworm he said, “That is the wheel our Queen wanted to break.”

 “From now on rulers will not be born. They will be chosen on this spot by the Lords and Ladies of Westeros to serve the realm.” He turned to Bran. “I know you don’t want it. I know you don’t care about power. But I ask you now, if we choose you, would you wear the crown?”

 “Why do you think I came all this way?” Bran said after a moment. Tyrion looked a little shocked that Bran had actually said yes and you knew that the other people in this meeting were feeling the same way.

 “To Brandon of House Stark, I say aye,” Tyrion said. Everyone was quiet until you and Sam said ‘aye’ at the same time. Tyrion sent the both of you a grateful look. Your uncle was next followed by the men from the Vale. Yara and the new Prince of Dorne agreed as well along with Gendry and Ser Davos. Brienne agreed as well, but you saw that Sansa was trying to pick out words again.

 “You know I love you, little brother. I always will. You’ll be a good King. But tens of thousands of Northmen fell defending Westeros. And those who survived have fought too hard and too much to ever kneel again,” Sansa said. “The North will remain an independent country, as it was for thousands of years.”

 Bran nodded in consent and you could see the relief flood through Sansa’s body.

 “All hail Bran the Broken,” Tyrion said. Everyone stood up and repeated those words. When everyone sat back down, Tyrion bowed to the new King and started to make his way out of the Pit.

 “Tyrion,” Bran called. “You will be my hand.”

 “N-No, your grace. I don’t want it.”

 “I know. And I don’t want to be King.” Tyrion shook his head.

 “I don’t deserve it. I thought I was wise but it turns out I’m not. I thought that I knew what was right, but I did not. Choose Ser Davos. Choose anyone else.”

 “I choose you.”

 “You cannot,” Greyworm said angrily.

 “Yes I can. I’m King.”

 “This man is a criminal. He deserves justice.”

 “He just got it. He’s made a lot of terrible mistakes. He’s going to spend the rest of his days fixing them.”

 Greyworm was angry and he spat out, “That’s not enough!”

 ---

 After about an hour of talking, a decision was made. Jon would go back to Castle Black as a member of the Night’s Watch. You and your sisters wanted him freed completely, but you recognized that this was the only way for your brother to keep his head. You would miss seeing him every day, but you’d lived with this before so it shouldn’t be too hard. Jon was to leave that evening and you had a few hours before you had to say goodbye. Everyone was slowly trickling out of the Dragonpit when Sandor came up to you.

 “Dove,” Sandor said quietly. You froze and slowly turned around.

 “I thought I told you not to call me that.”

 “You did.”

 “Why are you here, Sandor?” Your voice sounded tired and Sandor could see it in your eyes.

 “I heard you were here and I wanted to talk to you.”

 “Talk about what? How you left me for some petty revenge? How I gave birth with you not by my side? How I have been raising our son without you?”

 “I-I have a son?” Sandor’s heart skipped a beat and your chest tightened at the sound of his voice breaking.

 “Yes.”

 “What’s his name?”

 “Eddard. Eddard Stark.”

 “Are you going by Stark too?”

 “Ever since you left me.” Sandor was silent for a moment. He stepped closer to you tentatively.

 “Would you ever take me back?” You sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

 “I know I fucked up and I know it will take a lot to fix it. If you’ll even take me back, that is. But even if you decide not to, I want you to know that I still love you. I always have. I’ll always love our babe and I will do anything for the two of you.”

 His voice was so quiet you could barely hear it, but it was also so loud that it was ringing in your ears. Your eyes filled with tears and you gestured to Sansa to take Eddard from your arms. When your arms were free, you wrapped them around Sandor tightly. It took him a few seconds to respond, but soon you were being spun around. You let out a giggle that was cut short by Sandor kissing you. It was a sweet kiss that you broke shortly after it began.

 “While I love kissing you, I think you’d like to officially meet your son, yes?”

 Sandor’s eyes lit up and Sansa brought over your son. You took him from her and gently placed him in his father’s arms. You showed Sandor how to hold him properly and the sight made you melt. Finally, your family was complete.

[a-libra-writes]

Imagine Being the Sister of the Baratheon Brothers

heyyyy, this is …  not my usual thing, i’ve only done it one other time, but it kinda got away from me! I started brainstorming the backstory for the requested Davos x Baratheon!Reader fic and idk what happened? w/e here we go

You were the third child of the Baratheon household, born several years after your two older brothers. Lady Cassana was so pleased to have a girl. You distinctly remember how she’d brush your hair and teach you songs. She’d embroider little turtles in your clothes - the sigil of her House Estermont - because she knew you adored them. Your lord father was just as doting. He liked carrying you on his shoulders while he walked around Storm’s End, talking to his men with a straight face as if there wasn’t a toddler pulling at his ears. 

Your father would seriously lecture Robert about not teasing you, telling Stannis to set a good example, and insisting to both of them that you were to be protected. You were their only sister, he’d say, and your virtue and safety was important. These lectures just embarrassed you and bored Robert; Stannis seemed to be the only one paying attention.

It was a great surprise when your mother had Renly. You were delighted to not be the youngest anymore, and you were fascinated by him. You liked to carry him around and insisted on helping look after him. Storm’s End had become so boring since Robert went off to foster with Lord Arryn, and while your mother liked your enthusiasm, she also put Stannis in charge of dragging you out of the nursery when you kept pestering the baby.

You were often restless and left to your own whims. Robert thought you were too much of a child to play with, and a girl besides; Stannis wasn’t one for your silly games and Renly was a baby. Your parents indulged you and allowed you to play and run far more than other young ladies, and you had become an adept rider at a young age. Your childhood was carefree, for a time.

Robert was visiting the week it happened. You didn’t recognize him, and he could carry you on his shoulders like your father did. He talked all about the Stark boy he was friends with, and you asked if they could really turn into wolves. As the sun was setting, you carried Renly as you followed Robert and Stannis to a high point on Storm’s End. All of you wanted to watch your parents return from Essos. They’d been gone so long.

You’d  never seen a ship crash, although your father had told stories of it. You didn’t expect the noise of the wood breaking against the rocks to carry in the wind and reach you, nor did you expect the horrible silence that came afterward. Robert screamed and cursed and ran off the wall, as if he could make it to the bay. Stannis was so still he could have been a statue. You just sunk to your little knees, holding the babbling Renly in your arms. He was crying, but he didn’t understand. Robert’s yelling had scared him. 

The nightmares were constant for the first few months. Ships breaking against giant waves, bodies sinking to the bottom, screams drowned by water. You’d run crying to Stannis’ room in the middle of the night, and he’d walk you back to your’s and tuck you in. During the day you’d want to look after Renly yourself, because he was young and confused and kept asking for your parents. You didn’t know what to say. You often left Storm’s End to ride in the forests around the castle, sometimes for hours, and Maester Cressen was exasperated with how you’d skip your lessons. 

It took a long time, but you soon became the Lady of Storm’s End, having to take on a number of duties, just as Stannis had to do. While the two of you usually worked well as a team, you often butted heads on Renly’s education and talk of your marriage. You were confident in making your own matches, and besides, Stannis hadn’t even considered his own. In hindsight, it was all silly bickering compared to the war that followed. You knew Robert. He’d stop at nothing until he felt his vengeance was satisfied, and you were petrified at the idea of him and Stannis dying in battle, leaving you and Renly alone to defend Storm’s End.

You don’t like remembering the siege, and it’s awkward when ladies bring it up in pitying voices. You remember how terrible it was at first, how hungry you were, but then the days and weeks began to blur. You were cold all the time, your head hurt, but most of all, the blanket you stayed under felt like an impossible weight. Every action took too much energy, energy you didn’t have. The last words you remember speaking, before speaking became too difficult, was telling Stannis to feed Renly first. He’d gotten so thin and pale, and had become too weak to cry anymore. 

Then one day, someone put food in front of you, and you scarfed it down without questioning what it was. In your delirium, you tried to get up and bring it to Renly, but Stannis caught you before you toppled down and hit your head. You stayed in bed for a week while servants fed you - onions, you later learned. It was mostly onions you were eating.

Even today, it was difficult to eat them without bringing up a slew of troubling memories. A smuggler brought them in, you heard, and later you heard Stannis had knighted the man after taking his fingers for his crime. It wouldn’t be until long after the siege when you’d meet this Ser Davos, and he was taken aback by the tight hug you gave him. 

Your dear temperamental brother was crowned, and he had the rest of his siblings move into the Red Keep. You’d only visited it once or twice as a girl, and it still amazed you. Renly took to the court life right away, and Stannis couldn’t stand it, both outcomes you expected. While you didn’t like the foolish self-serving politics that carried on, you ended up finding your own place. Between attending balls with Renly, debating this policy or that with Stannis and trying to curb Robert’s temper and vices, you were quite busy. 

Nevermind the poor suitors that tried to impress you. Yes, you were the sister of a king, but courting you meant contending with all three of your brothers. Renly was full of thinly-veiled mockery and japes at the lord’s fashion or family, Stannis could make the largest man feel an inch tall with his judging gaze and high standards, and Robert would just tell the men to fuck off. If he was in a more sporting mood, he’d ask for a proper duel, which you always had to talk him down from. 

Some days your brothers and the Red Keep’s politics truly tried on you, but you could escape to the Kingswood to ride your favorite mare. You could attend whatever galas, feasts and tourneys you wanted. It had been years since you’d felt this free of worry, and you couldn’t help but think back to your easy childhood days. Things were completely different now, of course, and your brothers quarreled worse than old women, but you had endured much, and you were just happy to have all your brothers safe and close by.

[janiedean]

I don’t know why you turned that comment in a sansan meta, but anyway in my opinion Book!Theon is narratively more important than Sansa and Jamie. What the show did to him was horrible, and I hate that when they talk about Sansa and Jamie they always dismiss Theon. You have no idea of how many times I have seen people say that Sansa is a main character while Theon is a secondary one, if she’s so much more important than him, why did they give her his storyline

I did beeecaaause people putting sansa over 90% of the other characters is also rooted in ignoring that san/san is a thing because it negates what 70% of her storyline is about so they have to give her other people's also i felt like ranting X°D also under the cut bc it got long

that said I 100% agree that what the show did with theon was complete shit and the fact that they gave s. his storyline was criminal because it was tailored to him and it made no sense to give it to her but I'm not so sure he's narratively more important than she is or that jaime is, in the sense that speaking as someone whose third-fave is theon (like my top five is robb brienne theon jaime davos and sansa these days is like... top 20 or 15 at most but idk just to point out that technically I like him better than both jaime and sansa) idt that they are there for the same purpose and theon has less technical narrative weight than she does if only because for now he's been like... the indirect catalyst of a few events but imvho he's there because george wanted to write that story (as in: the ptsd recovery/identity reclaiming/deconstruction of the backstabber trope) and found a way to make it somewhat integral to the plot tying it to robb's demise but like I think sansa is more of a main in the economy of the narration bc she's in the middle of a lot more storylines while theon for now has been basically tied to robb's/the northern demise only and I'm not that sold on the concept that he ends up being part of the supermain political plot, honestly I think he's going to be part of the northern one and play some kind of important role but then he's most likely getting the nice house in the country with jeynep or something because his character is about overcoming trauma and surviving it and realizing what you want from life which is not necessarily a kingdom or posturing for others while sansa has to be at least in the middle of 'we're bringing an army from the vale' storyline + reconnect with jon/her other siblings etc (which is def. gonna happen just not as horrid as the show made it) and so on, so like... if I had to bracket it I think sansa is secondary main and theon is tertiary main and jaime is secondary main bc he's tied to the knighthood theme and the romance theme etc but like.... how do I put it

You have no idea of how many times I have seen people say that Sansa is a main character while Theon is a secondary one, if she’s so much more important than him, why did they give her his storyline

anon I was on the theon tag until the year the show aired believe me I have more than a vague idea of that and like... the thing is: anyone with more than two throwaway povs is a main in these books (I mean AREO HOTAH def is not but theon or sansa or anyone who has povs in more than one book is one), then there's the brackets we were saying (main five + secondary + tertiary) but like how do I put it, I also would consider davos a tertiary main character and he's in my top five, it doesn't make it less of a main? and the problem isn't that she's more main than theon, it's that theon's storyline is theon's storyline like they also gave jon's aegon vi's and it showed because it sucked, they split the joncon/aegon plot over jon, jorah, crsei and dany and it sucked because it wasn't their storyline, even if theon was a secondary one giving sansa his plot made no sense

but that stated if you wanted a srs reply to that: because no one gaf about theon X°D like I've been watching that shitshow since S2 and I can 100% assure you that in S2 everyone wanted him dead and in S3 when they tried to make him somewhat sympathetic everyone still wanted him dead, so since winterfell is a huge location and theon's adwd storyline is like the only northern pov we have they went like 'if we stick theon in the north storyline viewers will riot because they don't gaf about him so we're just gonna swap him with someone they actually care about' ie sansa and they thought it was smart thinking because they could do the whole fake feminism revenge storyline later and I'm dying on that hill and it had nothing to do with theon being secondary or not but all to do with the fact that the majority of the viewers wanted him dead back in the day imvho X°DDDDD and they took shitty decisions based on that without learning the main lesson the sopranos taught us which is don't give the audience what they want rather give them what you think is good for the story XD

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 55

Seeing Ryan, who had been so introverted and internalized, staring with rapt wonder at Billy was a sort of improvement.  The male, the one who I could find no background on, seemed intent on hovering, until Billy turned and glared at him dead on.

“I think you’ll find the boy has my last name,” he growled, and I bit my lip as the overzealous guard backed off, and disappeared from sight at least.  Ryan was practically vibrating, and Mrs. Davos had already faded away.  “Let’s head into the room where you and Ronnie sat last time, eh?”  

He was shooting me a look that screamed ‘help’ which only made me bite my lip a little harder.  I raised my eyebrow and gestured for him to lead on, causing his nostrils to flare with exaggerated patience and I had to swallow a laugh.  Dear God, this was NOT what I was expecting.  Ryan sat, waiting with the patience of a ten year old for Billy to sit beside him, and so did I.  

“Uh, Ronnie, Doc - I mean,” William Fucking Butcher looked like he was unsure of himself and I wished I could record it without making things even more weird.  His eyes were on mine and if he could actually telegraph his words I was pretty sure they were ‘fucking HELP’.  

“Ryan, Billy’s here to check in with you, but I’m going to be asking most of the questions again, is that alright with you?”  If I didn’t take control, God knew we wouldn’t get anywhere.  Ryan’s eyes met mine and he smiled, more at ease with me than he had at the beginning of our first visit.  “OK, Billy, take a seat, please.”  

Once Billy sat down, I took the chair across from the sofa that the two Butcher men were seated on, of course one wasn’t Butcher by blood, but Becca had given him that name for protection and because it was HER name.  Ryan couldn’t take his eyes off of Billy and Billy looked as comfortable with the attention as most men would look at detonating an armed bomb.  

“Ryan,” I hoped that I could at least keep the conversation moving, the dialogue going.  His gaze met mine again, and I smiled.  “I - we watched one of your stop-motion movies,” his eyes flashed back to Billy, seeking confirmation and he got a nod for it.  “Do you not have what you need to make more here, or -”  I left it open, I wanted Ryan to pick up the thread and explain why he’d stopped, why it didn’t seem as important now.

His eyes dropped, the shutting down started, and I glanced at Billy.  “What is it?”  Good, I thought, he’s catching on.  “Ryan, why don’t you do it now?”  Getting Billy to ask, to get involved could help get the gates opened, hopefully.  

Ryan sighed and fidgeted, his hands not knowing what to do with themselves.  “I made Mom’s favorite movies,” he peeked at Billy, timid of how the mention of Becca might be met, but seeing nothing other than a small nod for him to go on, he did.  “She’s not here to -” his voice broke and so did a piece of my heart.  Oh, shit.  “I just thought -” his shoulder shrugged a bit and I shook my head.  

“Did ya like doin’ em?”  Billy’s voice was gruff, it always was, but this was just a touch rougher, and I knew it was from the reminder of their loss.  Ryan looked up at Billy and I watched as the two of them studied one another for a few beats.  “If you like doin’ em, then keep doin’ em.  Your mom would want you to do what you like - to find happiness in something.”

Ryan didn’t say anything, he just stared at Billy like he was waiting for the punchline or the other shoe to drop. When none came, he turned to me.  “Do you enjoy making them?”  I asked, keeping my voice even and quiet.  “You did a wonderful job on the one we watched.”  I didn’t want to talk about all of them, telling Ryan I watched all of his stop action films wouldn’t really matter to him, not with his need for Billy’s attention.  

I could see that he was trying to decide how to explain and Billy looked like he was about to ask another question, so I shifted slightly, causing his gaze to land on me. A slight shake of my head to warn him to keep quiet.  Thankfully he took the hint and kept silent because Ryan found his words and we managed to keep the conversation flowing.  

Ryan told us how he loved doing the movies, but without his mom beside him, urging him on, giving him the push and helping him, with the tiny touches and just giving him the confidence to keep going, felt wrong somehow.  Without Becca beside him, keeping him steady, it wasn’t right.  

“Ryan,” I was staring at Billy, getting the strength from just seeing his face to ask the question that I knew we needed the answer to, “have you had any feelings of -” I stopped, trying how best to ask it.  “Have you had any sort of -” I couldn’t do it, I realized, I couldn’t ask this little boy if he’d lost control or if he noticed that he COULDN’T lose control.  

Billy grabbed control of the reigns from me, thank fucking GOD, and found a way to ask what I couldn’t.  “What the good doctor here is trying to ask, is -” he took a deep breath, and I knew it was just as difficult to bring it up, more so since it meant both of them would remember losing HER.  “Have you found yourself getting upset and feelin’ like you felt when your mum,” their eyes met and I felt like I’d disappeared completely from the room.  “Hey, it’s alright,” Ryan had started to fold in on himself, but Billy stopped him with a shaking hand on his shoulder.  “You know she didn’t blame you.” 

“She should have,” Ryan was shaking, almost rocking from the pain of the memory and I felt like the worst sort of interloper.  “I killed her.” His eyes were glassy and I could feel how deeply he still felt it, the pain of what happened to his mom.  “I killed her and now I have nobody.”  

If anything would trigger his powers, an outburst, a reaction, THIS - the pain of the loss of his mother, the memory of how it happened should have caused SOMETHING.  “Ryan?”  I hated to interrupt, but I had to.  “Do you know about the inhibitors?”  His gaze met mine and my heart broke a little more when he nodded, affirming what I started to suspect as he spoke about the loss of Becca.  “Did you agree to them?”  Another nod and another crack chipped away.  “Why?”  

“So I wouldn’t hurt anyone else.”  It sounded so simple, and to a child it was.  But to an adult, and to the two that were seated with him, it was far more complicated and complex. 

[trombonesinspace]

Typhoid Mary: feminist femme fatale?

“Season 4 was going to be Typhoid Mary, Alice Eve [who played the role in Iron Fist], we were doing a kind of...I had a much different version of her than what Raven [Metzner] had done in Iron Fist. I was kind of rebooting what she was going to be like, and we were going to do a, you know, kind of a warped love story/murder mystery kind of femme fatale, but kind of a modern-day, feminist version of it, as opposed to kind of the older, sexist kind of femme fatale archetype.”

-Erik Oleson, in conversation with Steven DeKnight, SaveDaredevilCon 

As I said yesterday, I have some thoughts about this! If you want some opinions nobody asked for, about a storyline that may never come to pass, you’ve come to the right place! Let’s dive in.

A femme fatale is a character type with quite a history, that can take various forms. She is always an attractive woman who brings ruin to the man who gets involved with her. But sometimes she is deliberately manipulative, while sometimes she is more a victim of circumstances. She may be evil, or she may be sympathetic/tragic. But whatever her moral alignment, she has two defining traits: sexual allure, and some form of negative consequences for the hero as a result of his involvement with her.

A woman who schemes against the hero, and succeeds in harming him, but without using feminine wiles? Not a femme fatale. The Marvel TV universe has featured several examples on different shows: Madame Gao, Mariah Dillard, Alexandra. And, ironically, the version of Typhoid Mary who appeared in Iron Fist. (We’ll get there.)

A sexy woman who tries to manipulate/damage the hero, but fails? Also not a femme fatale. I wish I could give some examples, but sadly I can’t think of any, in dramas at least. Our current media culture loves a sexy manipulator, no writer ever seems to introduce one into a dramatic story without making her succeed in her schemes, to some extent at least.

Which is unfortunate, from my perspective, because I loathe sexy manipulators. It’s a character type I really dislike, whenever I encounter her. As soon as she shows up, I know the hero is going to fall for her bullshit like a chump, and I’m going to end up respecting him less as a result. I could try to unpack my feelings about this a bit more, but that would probably make a post all on its own, so for now I’ll leave it at that.

This doesn’t mean I hate all femmes fatales—it really depends on her motivation and her behavior. If she isn’t trying to harm the hero, and it happens due to circumstances, then I might like the character, but the story becomes a tragedy. Which is not necessarily bad. Just, you know. Tragic.

Anyway! Let’s talk about Typhoid Mary.

Mary Walker is a woman with Dissociative Identity Disorder (multiple personalities), and high-level combat skills. In the comics, she is also a mutant with mental powers. She appeared in the Daredevil comics starting in 1988.

In this original version, her personality fragmented due to childhood abuse, leading her to vow as an adult that no man would ever hurt her again. Her personalities are: Mary, who is timid and gentle; Typhoid, who is adventurous, lusty, and violent; and Bloody Mary, who is even more violent, sadistic, and hates all men.

Mary becomes romantically involved with Matt Murdock, who is cheating on his girlfriend, Karen Page, to be with her. At the same time, Typhoid is trying to ruin him, having been hired to do so by the Kingpin. Matt can’t tell they’re the same woman, because when she switches personalities all her bio signs change (voice, scent, heartbeat, etc) so much that he can’t recognize her. (Uh, sure.) She may also be using some of her mutant powers to confuse his senses. I haven’t read the comics, I’m relying here on what I could learn from the internet.

Eventually Typhoid drops him off a bridge, but then Mary finds him and gets him to a hospital, saving him. Karen is with him when he wakes up, but he breaks her heart by calling out for Mary.

This storyline...does not thrill me. As I said, I haven’t read it, but comics writing about mental illness is generally neither nuanced nor accurate, and comics writing about women circa 1988 is also not great, by today’s standards. And comics Matt’s disastrous love life is legendary—cheating on your girlfriend is bad, Matt! Don’t do it! 

I have, however, watched season 2 of Iron Fist, where we get a different version. This Mary Walker is a US army veteran, special ops, who was captured by the Sokovian military. Her personality fragmented due to the brutal abuse she received from her captors for nearly two years, until she finally escaped. She got a medical discharge from the army after being diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder.

Her personalities are: Mary, who is innocent and naive; and Walker, who is a ruthless, coolly efficient mercenary-for-hire. The existence of a third, ultraviolent personality, previously unknown to either Mary or Walker, is revealed near the end of the season. 

Mary meets and befriends Danny Rand, while Walker is hired by his enemies to stalk him, and eventually capture him so they can steal his Iron Fist powers from him. She later changes sides, getting hired to bring down Davos, the season’s main villain, by Joy Meachum, his former ally.

There are clear parallels to the Daredevil comics storyline, albeit in less extreme form—Mary befriends the hero, but isn’t romantically involved with him; her more violent personality works against him and fights him, but doesn’t try to destroy him. 

I enjoyed this version of the character more than I expected to, for a couple of reasons. For one, she is never the out of control, “crazy” stereotype of a person with mental illness. Both Mary and Walker are more-or-less functional adults, managing to live a strange hybrid life, aware of each other’s existence even though they don’t share memories.

But what I especially like is that she isn’t sexualized, at all. It’s incredibly rare, in my experience, to see a young, female antagonist opposing a male hero, and not have her be sexy. Older women are exempt from this obligation (see my list of examples above), but the young ones always vamp it up, and I am so tired of it. I am not opposed to sexy women, but I am very opposed to the requirement that all women must be sexy. (Unless they’re old.) Male antagonists aren’t required to be alluring, so why should women be? (Yes, I know why. I just don’t like it.)

There’s also a lot of potential YIKES in sexualizing a woman with a severe mental illness, which was caused by (among other things) repeated sexual violence. Could it be done in a way that isn’t super problematic? It’s possible, sure. Am I assuming that most television writers would give the subject the respect it deserves? NOPE! 

I’m really glad they chose to just not go there. Walker is extremely good at what she does, takes no shit from anyone, and (almost) never gets riled up. After everything she’s been through, nothing in her present life has the power to faze her, and none of the men around her have the power to intimidate her. It’s pretty great!

She isn’t the least bit coy or seductive, and, equally refreshing, none of the men try to sexualize her or hit on her. Everyone Walker talks to knows she is a highly skilled professional, and they treat her accordingly. Or, when someone does disrespect her, it’s never gendered as far as I can remember, and it stops as soon as she calmly states what she’s going to do to him if it doesn’t.

As for Mary, although she has a more feminine appearance than Walker (hair down and loose, makeup), she is also not sexualized. Her friendship with Danny, who is in an established relationship with Colleen Wing, is platonic, and no one else tries to hit on her that I remember.

So this is the version of Typhoid Mary that Erik Oleson was going to reboot, into a femme fatale. Only, you know. A feminist one. 

I...have some questions. What does that even mean? What does feminism mean to Erik Oleson? Let’s be real, the idea of a woman becoming an ultraviolent, sadistic man-hater as a result of sexual trauma would have been seen as feminist in some circles, back in 1988 when that version was written. So what, exactly, did he have in mind?

As I said before, sexual allure is a necessary component of a femme fatale. So she was definitely gonna be sexy. And you know now how I feel about sexy female antagonists. As for the “warped love story” part...Matt wouldn’t be cheating on Karen, since they aren’t together (please, for the love of mercy, don’t have them get together right before he meets Mary, we did that once and I do NOT want to see it again), but I am still not a fan of Matt/Mary as a couple.

Her Dissociative Identity Disorder raises some serious issues around consent, and even if the show chose to ignore that, there’s still the issue of past sexual trauma. Unless Oleson’s reworking of the character was going to include a completely different back story, a Matt/Mary relationship would mean Matt unknowingly having sex with a woman who has suffered brutal sexual abuse in her past. Not to mention, having sex with her that only one part of her personality actually wants.

Is it possible for someone with Mary’s past trauma and present mental illness to have a positive sexual relationship? In reality, of course! In the hands of writers with only a layman’s knowledge of psychology, on a show that loves to torment its hero, I wouldn’t bet on it. How do you suppose our poster boy for Catholic guilt would react when he inevitably finds out the truth?

Plus, aside from any issues around Mary herself, Matt starting a relationship with anyone other than the handful of people who already know his secret identity, means a whole new round of Matt lying to someone he cares about. Does anyone really want to see that? I know I don’t. Sure, maybe he’d tell her eventually, but how long would they have to date before he decided to trust her with the truth?

I’m not opposed to the Mary Walker from Iron Fist appearing in Daredevil, if the writers could come up with a new story for her (i.e, don’t just have her repeat all the same plot beats with Matt that she already did with Danny). But bringing her in as a femme fatale really doesn’t sit well with me. We’ve already seen Matt in an ultimately destructive relationship with a sexy, violent, morally grey woman. I really don’t want to watch Round 2: now with multiple personalities!

Of course, maybe we never will. The quote at the beginning of this post is from just a couple of weeks ago (July 25 2020), so Erik Oleson still seems to think it’s a fine idea. But obviously we don’t know yet if there will ever be a season 4, or who the show runner will be if there is. He may never get to make the story he was planning.

So yes, I realize I’m merely speculating about a completely theoretical story that may never happen. But I wanted to write this anyway. I had a strong “ugh, no” reaction to the idea of a feminist femme fatale Typhoid Mary, and I wanted to go deeper and pick apart my reasons for not liking the idea.

To the three of you who have read this all the way through to the end (this post is nearly 2000 words, yikes), thank you for indulging me! These are, as always, my own opinions, and YMMV. 

[alinaastarkov]

I really despised the show after S4. However i did at least appreciate that they didn’t follow the books by having Jon die before going to rescue Sansa because that would’ve been blasphemy. I really would’ve lost it and never had heard the end of it. However I do wonder why they decided not to go in that direction because it follows more true to the books. Thoughts?

I completely agree. If they had had Jon die trying to rescue Sansa, I would have been so viscerally angry because more than anything that is such a fundamental betrayal of Jon’s true character. That would be true blasphemy.

I think they didn’t go in that direction, or include the Grand Northern Conspiracy at all really, for a number of reasons. The optimistic, Arya-stan part of me likes to believe that not even D&D, with their heads so far up Sansa’s arse, could believably have the Lords rallying for her, because in the books they don’t care about her at all and there is no way they could fudge the story that much to realistically portray them rallying for “Sansa Lannister,” or believably have Jon die for her when they despise each other. Arya was just too integral to the story, to Jon’s story, and her name to Theon’s story, that they couldn’t fit Sansa in without screwing it all up. The realistic part of me knows that they simply aren’t good writers, and they can’t adapt things well, and they wanted to fit this in to half a season, when it takes up most of ADWD, and they couldn’t fit that much nuance in there. So Karstark simply sits by Ramsay’s side instead of the family having an entire subplot in the books. Plus, they were more interested in fetishising Theon’s abuse than showing his recovery, and they like being “gritty” and “realistic”, fascinated by war crimes and cynicism, and the Northern Conspiracy is about hope.

Then there’s the fact that this part of the plot, especially in Winterfell, revolves around Jon and Theon, and Jeyne’s role is small to non-existent. She is kept in the tower, whilst Theon is the one hearing the lords plotting revenge and helping Abel rescue “Arya”, and Jon is the one who receives the letter and agonises over it, devises several rescue attempts and then goes himself. They wanted it to revolve around Sansa, and because this plot line is about the name and not the person, and basically everyone but the actual Stark girl, they fudged it into the mess it became. They could have attempted to include Sansa more and have Lords rallying for her (barf) but they’re not good writers and not good at adapting, and that brings me to the next reason.

They did this purely to make Sansa the centre of attention. For them, Sansa had to be the best at all times, the only one with good traits, the only one with any storyline, the only one allowed to be worthy of praise. In this storyline, Jon, Theon and the Northern Lords are all brave, cunning, determined and sneaky, and D&D couldn’t have that when Sansa could be the only one doing anything. So, the lords and Jon do nothing. She then becomes the “only” one who’s suffered, the only one with honour or bravery, and the only one who wants to take Winterfell back because even Jon refuses until she makes him. All the Lords become cowards who either have to be forced by Sansa, stay home or outright betray the Starks when they actually died fighting at Robb’s side (looking at you Smalljon). This is yet another example of everyone being shafted to prop Sansa up, an act which would later be repeated with Jon, Tyrion, Dany and Arya. 

They’re hacks who can’t write multiple characters being great at the same time, and their obsession with Sansa made the show suffer. We forget that the Northern Plot in the books is not just about Jon, it spans the whole kingdom, and includes Manderly, Davos, Stannis, Theon and Jon, as well as the Mountain Clans (completely erased from the show), and pretty much every Northern family. Also note: House Frey being wiped out in one fell swoop when it will be much more complicated than that. So, though I will always be glad that Jon never died for Sansa (thank the lord!), overall Sansa’s involvement made it so much worse. Besides, they were never good at sticking to the books when it mattered.

[snarkytiara]

A loooong post, and I know long essays can be annoying, so putting behind a cut, but I have some Thoughts when I see a post like this by @willandkate

- First: I’m not sure who you are trying to convince with your post? Also, you start with William’s 2016 statement, but then the rest of your post tries to make a case for why statements are not the BRF thing and that other gestures were made. The statement from William shows there is precedent for statements supporting Harry and Meghan, so your argument isn’t very strong.

- Small gestures were not going to cut it! The response to Meghan is on a whole other level, and that should have necessitated other measures IMO. If you are having to sum up all the small moments for fellow royal watchers, who pay attention to this stuff, how is anybody else even going to notice?

- Stop normalizing the press abuse of royal women. If your response to the abuse Meghan gets, is to sum up what other royal women dealt with in the past, you’ve lost the argument. The amount of abuse any of these women got is not ok, and you going straight to mentioning that abuse is a means to deflect from talking in depth about all the facets of what Meghan has been dealing with. A big issue in the royal fandom is still the amount of people unwilling to talk about and understand what only Meghan deals with within the BRF (racism and xenophobia). It makes some people uncomfortable to talk about it and it’s fucking sad. The BRF wasn’t ready for growth, but neither were some people in the royal fandom. It’s a big problem to continue to see this conflating of Meghan’s treatment with the treatment of other royal women in the BRF.

- The abuse Meghan gets is contributing to a national (and international lbr) debate about racism in the UK. POC in commonwealth countries are looking at this and it reflects badly on the BRF. This is a huge added element to the treatment of Meghan, that is not present in abuse that other royal women got in the past. That Kate got called ‘Waity Katy’ by the press, dit not lead to the possibility of negative sentiment in CW countries towards the monarchy. This was said last month:

“This week a senior Commonwealth figure told me that the tabloid treatment of Meghan – so clearly racist to observers in other parts of the world, while large parts of the British public remain in denial – is having a knock-on effect in making it harder for him to promote Britain abroad.” - Afua Hirsch, The Guardian

- You summing up all these perceived gestures, does not say anything about how Meghan (and Harry) experienced that ‘support’. Are you deciding for Harry and Meghan that it was enough? Did you really expect them to say otherwise during the engagement interview? And those small moments William and Kate spoke about them, what else were they going to say? On the surface, a show of support, but tells us absolutely nothing about how things are behind closed doors. Your post decidedly ignores that.

- After all this supposed support, Harry and Meghan still left. Fact. Is that all on them? The warm embrace of the Cambridges must have felt a bit too warm for them I guess. They couldn’t handle all the love. Your post lacks analysis into the possible reasons for Harry and Meghan and the shared blame of different parties in things coming to a head in this way.

- I also have the following question: if you are going to call out the Sussexes for overshadowing other royals, you have to be fair. What did you think of Kate launching her 5 question survey on the same day as Charles’ big speech in Davos? Is that not overshadowing him? Kate had been working on this for two years, but she just has to launch on the same day as a big Charles speech, that is important to him? Genuinely curious how you view that. And if a promo for Harry and Meghan’s documentary overshadows a Cambridge tour, seems to me that is a Cambridge problem. Harry and Meghan have no say over when ITV airs a promo. 

- Harry and Meghan didn’t deserve a statement of support, because they made the announcement that they were leaving, without consent? Weird take, as it’s odd to say in retrospect that they didn’t deserve a statement earlier in 2019, when things were at their worst, because at the start of 2020 they made an announcement. That’s after the fact. The BRF knew about Harry and Meghan entertaining the possibility of stepping back. Fact. There was a reason they felt the need to go public with it now, as it has been mentioned they were halted and sent away by courtiers when they were trying to discuss things with the queen and Charles. Your post doesn’t explore the reason for why Harry and Meghan may have done what they did and incorrectly places all of the blame on them. 

- I don’t know if you watched Harry and Meghan’s documentary? A couple obviously struggling, and Meghan’s hard time as a royal is not going to be made better simply by a pat on the back from Kate after Serena lost at Wimbledon. It’s wild that you, and others, think that is doing enough to show support.

- None of what you’ve said takes into account the KP press approach over the past couple of years. For example, any small gesture of support from Kate to Meghan gets severely undermined when KP is completely fine with a press narrative meant to embiggen Kate, at Meghan’s expense. It’s naive to believe that KP has had no part in that and I’ve yet to see a Kate/Cambridge fan accept that reality and own that it’s been happening. The reality has always been that the BRF are fine throwing each other under the bus. PR and actually thinking about how that makes them look has never been the strong suit of this family.

- You know what else undermines any small gesture of support for Meghan? The seemingly huge gestures of support from the queen to Andrew! If Liz keeps taking Andrew out and about, I sure as fuck am not still giving her kudos for taking Meg on an engagement back in June of 2018! And sure, it would’ve been smart optics for Harry and Meghan to visit Balmoral, and I would have advised them of that if I worked for them, but also; should they have visited before or after the queen was seen going to church with a smiling Andrew the day after Epstein died? Effectively showing she doesn’t give a fuck about her own image either. You could argue that isn’t a great advertisement for wanting to visit the queen.. Plus Harry and Meghan live(d) in Windsor, where they queen spends most of her time anyway.

- Speaking of the Queen, it is so often ignored how much influence she does have over the press. I’m sure over the years there has been many a time where she has intervened on behalf of the likes of Andrew. Why is it that Meghan has to have the stiff upper lip? Because this is what all royal women just have to face?

- I find it odd that you are only blaming Harry and Meghan for possibly feeling isolated. A struggling couple, dealing with a lot, should receive most of that blame? That darn Harry and Meghan are just being so difficult because they didn’t feel that William and Kate standing near them that time in Westminster Abbey was enough!1! They are so ungrateful. 

- Harry and Meghan leaving looks bad for the BRF, however you slice it. It reflects badly on them. Even if you don’t believe that, I’m sure you still feel that all this drama should have been prevented, for the sake of your faves? If this has been a topic of conversation with Harry and Meghan since last year, then why not also make it a topic of conversation how the rest of the BRF could and should have done more to prevent them choosing to leave? 

All in all, your post on this is very superficial and lacks nuance, but that tracks with what I’ve seen from most Cambridge fans. I know there is no point convincing you, and others, just like there is no point in your post trying to convince Sussex fans. But this had to be said and honestly I’ve been sitting on this since after the documentary aired.

[thecatsaesthetics]

Ashara's baby. The whole thing seems so weird to me. What do you make of it?

This is probably gonna be unpopular and let me say this I’m okay to be wrong. So many people write theories and act like they can’t be wrong. I’m fine if I’m wrong. Also, I don’t give a single fuck what the show did. The show to me will never define all the canon. As Martin said when answering if it was the correct ending yes… no…. yes…no. Meaning yes some things were probably “plot points” but just because the show didn’t go into certain things doesn’t mean it won’t matter in the books. So please no “BUT THE SHOW” cause I don’t believe everything has been revealed at all. 

I tend to think if Ashara’s baby is gonna pop up it will be Dany. I know a very very controversial opinion. But let’s look at Lemongate, which doesn’t prove Ashara but raises doubt on Dany’s parentage. Lemongate is undeniable, anyone who says otherwise is completely fooling themselves. 

Martin confirmed it’s important:  

Livejournal Question: “Dany remembers a lemon tree outside the house with the red door in Braavos, but citrus trees shouldn’t really grow in Braavos’s cold, foggy climate. Is this discrepency significant? Does it point to future revelations about Dany’s past? Thank you so much.” 

Answer: “Very perceptive of you. Yes, it does point to … well, that would be telling.” 

This means no matter what Lemongate matters. There is a reason Martin put it in the plot. Whether I am right or wrong doesn’t matter, Martin has confirmed it points to something. Something he will be revealing. So for anyone who claims Lemongate is nothing is wrong. 

Rhaella and Aerys infertility. Rhaella had Rhaegar, 3 miscarriages, 2 stillborns, and 3 short live children. There is obvious fertile issues with them and she has all of these losses under the best medical care. But we’re supposed to believe Rhaella gave birth to a healthy living child, without a maester, after an incredibly stress war, the loss of almost her entire family, flight to Dragonstone, and the constant fear of being caught by Robert Baratheon. 

Dany has violet eyes. People might not think this is important but it is. Viserys has lilac eyes and Rhaegar has indigo eyes. No keep in mind Martin is pretty much you get either “mom or dad’s traits.” recessive genes don’t seem to be a thing (the whole reason the “black of hair” nonsense drives some fans nuts). On top of that Dany is supposed to be the daughter of two generations worth of brother-sister marriages. These violet eyes are a mistake. Even Viserys points it out in Dany’s first chapter he makes her wear a purple dress to “bring out the purple in her eyes” Viserys is terrified she doesn’t look like a Targaryen Princess. But will get into that later. The only person in the timeline of Dany’s conception that had violet eyes was Ashara. Barristan Selmy even says Dany’s eyes remind him of Ashara. 

Back to the Viserys point. He is terrified she doesn’t look enough like a Targaryen. The first chapter is him dressing her up and trying to convince himself that she looks enough like a Targaryen. It’s the eyes that are worrying him probably, they are wrong. 

Viserys doesn’t speak High Valyrian but Dany does. When they speak with in front of the Dothraki they speak in The Common Tongue. We know Dany speaks High Valyrian, a language few would know where they were. So it seems like Viserys didn’t know High Valyrian.   

 Dany says she was born in the worst storm in Westerosi history. Not a single person has a memory of this storm, this storm that supposedly smashed the Targaryen fleet (leaving them defenseless) and made the stones at Dragonstone come down. This doesn’t make for many reasons. First Stannis has a naval battle at Dragonstone, Davos mentions that Stannis led the assault against Dragonstone which implies there was a battle. Furthermore, Dragonstone castle isn’t made out of stone, it’s made out of magically fused Valyrian stones. Dragonstone couldn’t crumble the way Dany said it did. On top of that Stannis, Davos, etc never mentions repairs made to Dragonstone. 

Further disproving the “stormborn” Dany claims the storm happened in the summer during her birth. Which doesn’t make sense, we know that winter/autumn storms are in The Narrow Sea with the worst being winter. 

Dany remembers Willem Darry as a “great grey bear” of a man and also that he died wasting away of sickness. He remembers Willem Darry never leaving his bed, and him walking with a cane. She remembers he had soft hands, but Willem Darry was a knight and master-of-arms. His hands would be rough.

Dany says she and Viserys were robbed when they left the house with the red door. Leaving them with nothing. But Dany also said that Viserys sold all there Targaryen treasures, including there mother’s crown. So the servants stole everything but just missed all that good Targaryen treasure? 

Dany tells us they went from Dragonstone-Braavos- Myr-Tyrosh-Qohor-Volantis-Lys-Pentos. Just look at a map. Tell me how this makes sense. On top of that Dany specifically says she remembers the flight from Dragonstone to Braavos. Dany was an infant apparently, how would she remember it? 

Dany says in her first chapter they lived in Pentos for 6 months, Illyrio says that the marriage between Drogo and Dany was “years in the making” and also mentions to Viserys not to ruin plans that have been in the works for “years”. 

And finally, Lemon trees don’t grow in Braavos. The smoking gun, Dany remembering a Lemon Tree outside her window: here is the specific quote 

“That was when they lived in Braavos, in the big house with the red door. Dany had her own room there, with a lemon tree outside her window” 

Now many have claimed it’s possible that they lived with the Sea Lord and that the Sea Lord had a glasshouse similar to the Starks. Now that’s possible, but Dany doesn’t remember a glasshouse. She remembers a Lemon Tree outside her window. If you look at the Sea Lord’s Palace it doesn’t seem like the room Dany would be in would be close enough for her to see the Lemon Tree. Also in The Stark glasshouse, it’s interesting that Lemon Trees aren’t grown. Considering Ned Stark had a daughter who loved lemon cakes. 

Lemon trees are most associated with Dorne. This has been repeated in the text a bunch of times. Similarly the idea that Braavos grows no lemon has also been mentioned. And as I mentioned in the first point Martin has said this issue will be brought up and revealed, and I’m sorry if I don’t believe Dany will have it revealed to her she once lived at a place with a glasshouse. I think it’s probably a little more.  

Now all of this is evidence that Dany’s past doesn’t add up. There are questions about it. There are many theories about it, but if Ashara’s baby is going to be important I would suspect it’s because she’s Dany. Now many have speculated Ashara’s baby is Aegon, it’s possible but I think it’s important that we’re told that Ashara’s baby was a stillborn girl. Also Ned’s guilt over the decision to kill Dany. Also, The Daynes hold Ned in such high respect despite him killing Arthur. It’s very odd. I mean Edric Dayne is nicknamed Ned… which seems to be for Ned Stark. There is something going on with The Daynes, I’m sure of that. I mean Barristan says when he looks at Dany it’s like he’s looking at Ashara’s daughter. So I think if anyone’s gonna be revealed to be Ashara’s baby it will be Dany. 

Now there are many baby daddies, Brandon, Ned, Aerys, Rhaegar… I still tend to think Dany is a Targaryen so I would throw out Brandon or Ned. I mean possible B+A=D, especially with the “looked to Stark” but idk I think Dany’s a Targaryen. 

Aerys is interesting Daenerys  Daen-erys Dayne-Aerys. Idk maybe the very name itself was meant to be a clue. Aerys was known to take mistresses, to be a rapist, etc. He was obsessed with Joanna Lannister for a while and Rhaella sent her away in order to protect her. It was said Aerys was interested in beautiful women and Ashara was supposedly the most beautiful of them all. Aerys would have had access to Ashara given she was his daughter in laws lady in waiting. Plus it was said someone “dishonored” Ashara at Harrenhall, Barristan claims. Who was known for dishonoring maidens? Aerys. 

Rhaegar is also a strong case, Rhaegar again had access to Ashara. It makes more sense for him to fall for his wife’s lady in waiting then Lyanna a woman he just met. Dany has strong ties to Rhaegar in the books, he’s mentioned so much in relation to Dany. Rhaegar being Dany’s father would make sense.  Again fits with the “dishonor” but I also argue it would fit with the “looked to Stark”. Let’s say Rhaegar and Ashara were having an affair, and then suddenly Lyanna showed up at Harrenhall and Rhaegar realized that only a child of “ice and fire” would be The Prince that was Promised. Is it possible Ashara took to the Starks in order to actively dishonor or humiliate them after being set aside for Lyanna? Again this is speculative but possible. We know she leaves Elia’s service soon after the birth of Aegon. It seems like she was set aside. 

So that’s it… again don’t take this too seriously. I’m okay if I’m wrong. I’m not someone set in stone when it comes to ASOIAF theories. But I just think The Daynes do have a role to play.