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mon-blanchetts · 3 years

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Two years after The Long Night, Sansa is held prisoner at Dragonstone on charges of murder and treason. And yet, nothing is as it seems.

Had the decision been his, Jon would've insisted they leave half-way through the second course. But, as it wasn't, he was forced to see the evening to the end, making his way through four elaborate courses, each consisting of a dozen dishes. And even after all that, Jon still wasn't free. For a city merchant like Francys Drury, who was as wealthy as he was ambitious, a dinner with four courses just wasn't enough—a fucking banquet1 had to follow as well, held in the marble house erected in his garden just for the occasion.

No, he realized, downing the last of his wine. A servant quickly re-filled his goblet without prompt. Had the decision been his, Jon wouldn't be here at all. Only the damn thing was supposed to be in his honour, a celebratory dinner to prelude his departure, and Dany had ordered that he be in attendance with her. Jon didn't feel to argue when the time for him to take his leave was so near. She was already furious with him to begin with.

At least for the moment, Jon was free from his wife's wrath. Dany was informally holding court on the other side of the garden, surrounded by her courtiers. Jon could make out Francys Drury from his clothes only. Their host wore a rich doublet spun with gold, so that the fabric glittered beneath the flames from the torches surrounding them. Dickon Tarly was also among those orbiting his wife. Jon packed that away for later. For now he had Ser Wylis Manderly to contend with; the knight had latched himself onto his person just as soon as he'd lost Drury's wife and her brood.

"Seven Hells, it's been an evening," he praised, not for the first time. "I haven't been witness to this level of hospitality since well before The Long Night. Though, speaking of The Long Night, I found the pageant lacking in accuracy. Too flowery and all over the place for my liking. What say you, Your Grace?”

Jon noted the stains on the man's clothes with his good eye, the comfit in one of his hands. "Many prefer a rose-tinted variation of the truth."

"Too right, that," Ser Wylis said, his eyes twinkling. "Not so many can handle the truth, eh? Not like us northmen. Looks like most of this lot here decided to sit The Long Night out, too.” The comment was not made quietly.

He knew he was being watched; the feeling was too familiar as it crept slowly upon him. Jon began to regret heeding Sam's advice. It had been on his friend’s recommendation that he bring Ser Wylis tonight, thus saving him from the ordeal of offering a seat at his own dining table.

"The decision was their own, Ser. Whatever my opinion, it matters not now that those tribulations have passed."

Ser Wylis nodded as he finished the last of his comfit. "Well, let us hope the bad times are behind us. I'd like to think that after so much tumult and violence, it's only fitting that the gods bless us with a little prosperity, if they're generous enough. Though I must say, the gods have been well generous to you, no?"

"Generous indeed," he said. It was just short of a spat. Jon was ready to excuse himself, but Wylis Manderly had other plans.

"I assume you'll see Lady Sansa while at Dragonstone, Your Grace?"

Even more eyes felt like they were closing in on him. Jon watched the knight with an air of boredom on his face.

"If time permits, I suppose I will."

Ser Wylis wiped his fingers on his clothes as he spoke. "I do hope her health has improved from the fresh sea air. If she hasn't I already, it won't be long until she realizes how hard it will be not to live by the sea. Anyway, I hope you don't mind, but my father’s commissioned something for the Lady that I hope you'll take to her in honour of her name day. I've had it sent to your household just this morning."

It would please me more to throw it over the side of my ship, he longed to say; instead, he offered a nod. "So long as it's within reason, I don't see why she can’t have it. My half-sister always did enjoy a pretty bauble when presented with one."

"As do all women, believe me," said Ser Wylis, chuckling heartily. “Well, I do think she’ll like Lord Wyman’s gift well enough. Of course, I’m sure there’s much that the Lady Sansa would desire, but that’s not really up to her at the moment, now is it?”

Jon stared at him, his face closed. “When the time is right, Ser Wylis, Lady Sansa will be fairly tried, as promised to her by my wife. We’ll have real truths then—and I doubt it will be of the rose-tinted kind.” He'd spoken with an air of finality, drawing a curtain over the subject. A flash of hesitation passed over the knight’s face, but he recovered quickly.

“Yes, yes, of course. It will be good to have closure finally, no doubt.”

Ser Wylis was smart to segue into lighter matters, but in truth he had lost Jon’s attention nearly as soon as he had caught it. Jon dismissed the northman before making straight for his wife. He’d had enough.

Dany had an arm draped carelessly over her stomach when he approached; the crowd around her fell open upon his arrival. He caught sight of Dickon Tarly for a moment before looking away, but not before Jon noted the nervous expression on his face.

Even when he drew his wife close to him and away from their courtiers, her arm remained where it was. She’d been playing with her midsection throughout the whole evening and had refused the fine wine offered to her. Jon knew exactly what she was up to.

“I’m leaving,” he declared.

Her expression remained unchanged. "I'm not finished here yet," she said.

"Stay if you want, but I’m done here."

"Jon," she said gently, but he wasn't deceived. Her face was still light and calm, but he caught the anger brewing in her violet eyes, the tautness of the skin around them. He could hear her voice in his head, fury laced in her voice. We leave when it suits me.

“You’re welcome to stop me, but your courtiers will have plenty to talk about if you do, I promise you that.” Public or no, he was itching for a good fight. Strange, because he was so tired of fighting, with Dany and everyone else, be it literally or figuratively, but it seemed that it was the only thing he kept doing.

She didn't respond to his threat, only kept playing with the fabric of her gown around her stomach. Jon knew she was taking stock of her options, turning over one possibility before moving forward to the next. There'd be plenty for their courtiers to whisper about if they were to leave separately, but it would be nothing compared to the public row she was asking for.

"You can do the talking then," she ordered, beckoning for her one of her handmaidens before turning her back to him. If she couldn’t have her way, Dany found other means to punish him, however trivial they may be.

He made quick work of it. A word of thanks to Francys Drury, who accepted the toast that Jon made with a look of pure smugness on his face. He even managed a laugh out of their audience when he mentioned that his ship would set sail to Dragonstone without him were he to stay any longer. Of all the eyes staring at him while he spoke, his wife’s were the most menacing.

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"Did you enjoy yourself at least a little last night?" Sam inquired, pulling his dining cloth off his left shoulder.

Jon watched through the open window as the men below packed away the very last of his possessions onto wooden carts. He intended to make an early start for the harbour, eager to avoid as much fanfare as possible.

"Only as much as her dothraki, I think," he said, turning to face his steward.

Sam cracked a lopsided smile. "So they behaved themselves this time around. I half anticipated news this morning that they'd gone and set fire to Francys Drury's manse with his own cellar of vintages. That would've certainly put an end to your invites from the city’s merchants.”

Unlike yesternight, where countless eyes had watched Jon while he dined, today there was only Sam present in his private chambers. This morning's fare was just as much of a contrast, a world away from the elaborate and daunting menu that Francys Drury's cooks had planned out: fresh bread with salted meat and cheese, all to be washed down with light ale. The only cause for envy was Drury’s collection of wine, far superior in quality than anything served at Dany’s court. Jon knew that to be a connoisseur in such matters only meant he’d been imbibing more than his fair share; even the Hand had taking mild interest.

Well, at least she didn't know. Suspected it, perhaps, though there was never long enough occasion for her to draw any firm conclusions. But then, Jon never felt the need to drink so much in her presence, either.

"Were there any Tyrells present last night?"

Sam’s question shook him from his thoughts. "None. Tyrion missed a perfectly good night for nothing. Dickon Tarly attended, though." Jon remembered the tall man hovering near Dany, the strange look on his face.

“Yes, so I’ve been told. And Her Grace? Was she in a fine mood last night?"

He told Sam of his observations, the hints she had thrown about to all and sundry. His steward nodded.

"My guess is if you’re not back in a moon’s time, she'll make a formal announcement. You do plan on returning before then, right? That's what we agreed upon."

Jon followed the elaborate design etched on the table with his good eye rather than look up. "Some things may keep me there longer."

"Some things or someone? Sam pressed, his thick brows furrowing. Jon said nothing.

His friend sighed. "Jon, if you stay any longer than was planned, your courtiers will surely talk."

"They'll talk regardless. Once Dany decides to announce her pregnancy again, they'll have something new to fix their attentions on."

"Will it be true, this time around?"

Jon scoffed. "No, but if by some dint of miracle it is, the babe wouldn't be mine." Jon glanced at the man sitting across from him. They remained silent for a moment, but it was pregnant with meaning.

"Well, if you're going to stay at Dragonstone that long and tell people you're going partly to take the fresh air, then at least this time try coming back like it actually worked," Sam pressed. "More than once you just come back looking even worse for wear than when you left. Someone's going to speculate one day that you're being slowly poisoned, mark my words."

Sam wasn't wrong. His excuses weren't holding up the way they used to, and really, that was more his fault than anyone else's. That Dany might have to use another goddamned pregnancy as a means to force him back to the capital was equally bemusing.

But it was just so hard to leave after he got there, was getting harder and harder to do so with each visit

Seven Hells, it was agony.

"It would be more than Dany could ever hope for, that," he remarked. There was a knock on the door before Sam could reprimand him.

Stannis Seaworth entered at Jon's beckoning. "Everything's packed and ready, Your Grace," his squire announced after a quick bow of his head. "The captain wants to be knowing whether you'll be leaving immediately or whether you want to delay a bit more."

"No, we make for the harbour now," Jon ordered, soaking his hands in the silver bowl of rosewater that one of his pages brought before him. The boy—of a minor house from the westerlands—had slipped in after he’d given Stannis permission to enter, together with a small retinue of other servants designated to wait on him this morn. He could feel the boy's wide eyes on his back as he left his private chambers for what would, for now, be the last time.

Out in the busy courtyard, dozens upon dozens of bodies milled about; even this early in the morning, it bustled with as much energy as the city's marketplaces that existed beyond the castle gate. Those who recognized his person stopped to offer a quick bow, but he could never take leave of that feeling that itched at the back of his head, or the side of his face. He was being watched. Always being watched.

"Did you happen to receive anything from Ser Wylis Manderly?" he asked, mounting his black palfrey.

Sam looked up at him, squinting from the sun’s glare. "I did, actually, now that you've mentioned it. A set of combs made of ivory and horn. It was one of the last things packed off this morn.”

It was on the tip of Jon’s tongue have it removed from his inventory, but he thought against it. The choice wasn't his to make, it was hers.

He remembered his conversation with Wylis Manderly last night. Lady Sansa. No longer Lady Stark. A small slight with the greatest of meaning. Dany's work, he thought bitterly, no doubt aided by Tyrion Lannister or one of her other favourites.

Sam wished him safe travels. "You'll send her my greetings, won't you?" his steward asked.

"Of course." There was more to his words—always more—but the courtyard was no place for them.

There was no looking back over his shoulder as he left the Red Keep behind with his traveling party. The things that he still cherished were few and far there. Neither was there a final farewell between husband and wife, but that was the way it was for them; Jon had more or less bid her goodbye as soon as he told her he was leaving court for Dragonstone. If her dragons were still alive, he suspected that Dany would've happily razed the island to the ground with him and the other inhabitants on it. A small price to pay, the burning of a Targaryen stronghold, if it meant wiping out one of the strongest claimants to her throne. That she would also be removing the heir to the North was only a happy afterthought.

But her dragons were gone, just like the Others, and all the magic they had brought with them when they first hatched from their eggs. Now it was only mortals playing at the games the gods had fashioned them with, dealing with a hand of cards that weren't as strong as they might’ve hoped. But the gods had fashioned them for love as well—their greatest glory and their greatest tragedy. Jon had learned this all to well.

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The skies were clear when he landed on Dragonstone, greeted by less than a handful of the island’s nobles and the castle’s maester. Out of everyone, it was Ser Davos Seaworth whom he was grateful to see most. Jon recalled Dany's fondness for her merchants, which wasn’t so different from his own affinity for the former smuggler whom he now regarded as one of his closest confidantes. There was a time when he had more in common with his wife than that.

Jon threw a quick glance over his shoulder as the party made their trek up to the castle. With the winds blowing so loud around them, it would be impossible for the lords and knights walking not so close behind him to eavesdrop.

"How is she?"

His voice was low, audible for Davos’ ears alone. He didn't need to clarify; they both knew exactly who he meant.

The knight’s gaze was on the steps before him. “As well as I've described her in my letters,” he responded, not unkindly.

His heart sank. "She's still not eating?"

Davos shook his head. "Not as much as Marya think she ought. Apparently it's beginning to show, she says."

"I've brought some of her favourites,” Jon said. “I think Marya can use that to coax her to eat more."

"It may help." There was a note of hesitation in his friend’s voice that Jon didn't miss.

"You have doubts?”

Davos sighed. “I'd like to think her loss of appetite lies in a lack of variety, but...I fear the cause may be something else. A deeper melancholy, if you will.” He glanced at Jon with a crooked smile on his weather-beaten face. “Maybe things will get better, now that you’re here. A familiar face never did hurt.”

Would things get better? He had about a moon's time to make sure that they did, that she wasn't on her way to another illness as he had feared while reading Davos’ letters. But what if more time were needed? How much longer could he stretch his absence until court gossip reached a fever pitch?

Without thinking, Jon looked up. The imposing castle, with its sharp edges and perfectly-erected walls, stared down at him. Thousands upon thousands of years’ worth of Targaryen history were buried within this castle. It was no place for a lone Stark, one surrounded by nothing but dragon motifs sneering at her in just about every direction, but it was the safest place for her at the moment.

If he squinted hard enough, Jon thought he could make out wisps of red hair dancing the wind from one of the keeps.

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He played the role of Prince Consort adequately enough, even without Dany present. He invited Ser Davos and his other nobles to sup with him in the Great Hall that evening, going so far as to extend his offer to Lady Brienne of Tarth. In the end, she declined; whether of her own volition or whether she'd been pressured not to by whom she'd sworn to protect, Jon couldn’t tell. A little bit of both, perhaps.

Supper was a boisterous affair of the most subdued kind. He knew when he invited them to dine at his table that his nobles were expecting some flavour of hospitality famous in the capital, even if that hospitality didn't run the full gamut of what they knew either from experience or hearsay. But Jon had Ser Davos ensure that the wine he'd brought with him be served generously that evening, and the conversation flowed freely enough.

The subject of Sansa Stark was noticeably suppressed.

Knowing that she was somewhere within these castle walls—somewhere within reach— was all Jon could think about. He was styled a prince, a high-ranking one at that, and yet the one person he wanted to see above all was to come last, not until he dealt with something as trivial as entertaining his vassals, many of whose loyalty seemed to swerve from dragon to stag and back again. With a title like his, Jon thought that he should have whatever he desired, and yet the chasm felt as if it stretched forever.

It was ironic that the trappings of freedom were, in fact, the most constricting.

And so there was no choice for him, not now at least, but to keep his face closed off and his fury shackled as evening morphed into night. News of his arrival and subsequent movements would be reported back to King’s Landing; Dany would no doubt receive a minute report of his performance within a few days. Pages danced in and out of his sight; those seated at his table were equally fixed on him, even when their gazes appeared to be elsewhere. Everyone was gathering all the things they could to pick apart—all the things they could use to pick him apart. In the shadows of the room, he thought the eyes of the carved dragons coiling around the stone columns stalked him just as mercilessly, if not more so.

Don't give them reason to talk. Don't let them see what they want to see.

Paranoia clung to him long after he’d retired from the Great Hall, licking at his heels as he barred the door of his private chambers. Jon knew from experience that he could never fully shake off that wretched feeling, that it was never to be entirely ridden of it. Not so unlike this ache, he thought bitterly, stripping down to his small clothes.

For the space of a moment, he considered doing the opposite of his desires. Let his pride win for once, and forsake her for at least a night, perhaps even two. It might even be better for them in the long run; his head would be clearer from the fresh sea air.

Only he wanted her too badly. At least if he went to her now, Jon could blame his madness on the vices of the capital. He could blame it on the smog of King’s Landing that clouded his faculties and blinded him of his wits. If he went now, rather than later, he could still cling to some of dignity.

What value was there in his dignity, compared to her? What good was anything if he couldn’t have her?

Absolutely nothing, he told himself as he pulled aside the worn tapestry. The false stone panelling hidden behind it gave way to his hand with a sturdy push. Jon would never have known about the secret passages if it weren’t for the castle’s long-standing maester—the same one he’d pensioned off to the southern outskirts of the Stormlands, all before bringing in his replacement, a novice with little knowledge of the castle he was meant to serve.

Jon reached her chamber within minutes, could hear his familiar growling on the other side of the wall as he pushed it open. Ghost quieted down as soon as he recognized him, the direwolf’s red eyes glowing brightly beneath the flames of his torch. Sansa was abed, the curtains of her bed drawn shut. The last vestiges of the fire in the hearth sang weakly.

He set aside his torch and removed his boots, snuffing out the light before approaching her bed. The velvet curtains were soft beneath his fingers as he slowly drew them back.

Sansa laid on the opposite side to his, her back facing him. As his good eye adjusted to the darkness, he made out long strands of red hair that spilled across her pillow and the one beside it. Jon suspected that she was still awake, despite her even breathing.

His heart swelled painfully at the sight of her. It felt like ages since they had last been together, each short reunion feeling more poignant than the last that came before it. Jon wasn’t made to be far from her, but the realization had come too late; he damned himself over and over again for the fool he’d once been, leaving her when, even all those years ago, something within him had held him back. A flood of anger washed over him, like it always did whenever his mind drifted back just a little to that period in their lives. He had every single right to be furious with her—he still was. That didn’t change the fact that he loved her. More than anything.

He climbed into bed before pushing the curtains closed. Ghost, loyal until his last breath, would alert them to any unwanted approaches at her unbarred door. As soon as he burrowed beneath the covers, Jon didn't hesitate to wrap an arm around her waist as he pressed the length of his body against her, breathing her in. It was trivial, but one of the ways he marked their evolution together was the scent she carried. A long time ago Sansa once smelled of pine and rosewater. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, Jon recalled how every inch of her skin, even the parts he was never meant to lay eyes on, had clung tightly with the potent musk of his leathers. It had baffled him, more than once, but he could never fit the pieces together. Not until it was too late.

Sansa neither smelled of pine or his leathers now. Instead, it was the sharp saltiness of the island’s waters that clung to her, assaulted his senses. Could he drown in it the same way he might drown beyond the shores of the Narrow Sea?

How could you have done this to me? How could you have done this to us?

Jon pressed his lips desperately against the back of her neck before lifting his head to kiss the skin of her exposed shoulder, his anger mingled dangerously with desire. Sansa was awake, he was certain of it, but he wanted to revel in her without her protests. They may come later, he didn’t know, but for now she was willing to lie pliant in his arms, and for that alone Jon was eternally grateful to her. He found her hand resting close to her chest, like she was protecting her heart while she slept. From her enemies? Or from him?

Was there ever chance for that? he wondered, his fingers gravitated towards her own. Jon took small comfort in the cold metal he came into contact with, pleased that she still wore the ring he'd given her not so long ago—but then, Sansa also knew better than to take it off, unless she was intentionally courting his anger. Not so heavy as a yoke, but it wasn't meant to be such. It was a reminder, at best, a token in return for one she'd gifted him at Winterfell, bestowed with the same twisted malevolence. Had it been then that all their troubles and sorrows started, or were they conceived long before?

Jon knew he could dwell on it forever, but in truth it no longer mattered where their troubles began. What mattered, he realized, was that they had tonight. And tomorrow. And all the rest of his days where he remained on the island. He would take what he could.

"I've missed you," he whispered into her ear, tenderly rubbing the ring with his thumb. "You’ll never know much I’ve missed you."

He ached for her with the same force as a thousand suns, yet what little he could have of her for snatches at a time could never satiate the want that haunted him every day and night. Would it have been different, once? Would their lives have shaped out for the better if Sansa had only let things be, rather than play with them the way she had?

These were questions that Jon asked himself over and over again. Questions he knew would remain impossible to answer.

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Notes:

1 There are two meanings to the word banquet: one refers to an elaborate feast or celebration, while the second is akin to an after party of sorts held after the feast, and tends to take place in specially-made houses in gardens. Guests are served desserts and wine, buffet-style. I’m using the word here as it relates to the second definition.

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Please note that this story borrows heavily from The Persistence of Desire by Margot_le_Faye; while I highly recommend it if you're a Dramione fan, you will very likely spoil yourself silly for this story. Considering my horrible track record for updates, I wouldn't blame you, though. Lots of elements in this story may also echo when the walls come tumbling down by phantomphaeton as well as From Instep to Heel by orangeflavor, so giving credit where credit's due. Inspiration also comes from John Guy's Mary Queen of Scots, which I highly recommend reading if you're able to get your hands on it.

Also, if you happen to make it this far, I need you thank you guys so, so much for reading! I've had this premise in my head for so long and tried to put it down paper, but it just never felt right until now. This story will likely be the longest and most ambitious thing I've ever written, not to mention the angstiest. Like, not a joke you guys; when I looked at the entire outline I made for this fic, I just shook head. Please let me know what you think of this story-all comments and encouragement keep me going! Stay safe, folks.

#jon x sansa #jonsa #jonsaff #jon snow #sansa stark #writings

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writethelifeyouwant · 3 years

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Dive Bar, Ch 3/?

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Dany) x Sam (brief), Dean x Sam (eventually)

Rating: 18+

Prompt/Summary: @spnkinkbingo square - Gay Panic (eventually, I don’t know how to write short things, so the gay panic comes later). Dany and Dean hit it off at a bar and Dean is confident it’s a sure thing. But Dean doesn’t know that Dany’s has a dare to complete, and he definitely didn’t imagine his night would end with his pull inviting his little brother to come home with them too.

WC: 2690

Warnings: slight d/s tones, oral sex (m receiving), incest, p in v, orgasms, threesome, emotional constipation

Chapter 2

*** Dean’s eyes were wide and glassy, flicking from Dany to Sam, Dany’s slick still shining on his chin.

“I don’t think he’s touched anyone else’s cock before,” Sam smirked. “Maybe I need to show him how it’s done.” He was still lazily stroking himself, a lusty smile spread over his lips.

Dean didn’t think he should feel any better about that prospect than Dany’s request but he also knew if he thought too hard about it he would stop, he would back out, and he wasn’t about to stand down. Goddamnit, Sam wasn’t gonna scare Dean off now. If he did he’d never let Dean hear the end of it.

Screw it. Dean didn’t exactly say ‘sure, go for it’ but Sam correctly took his silence to be the green light.

Dean crawled up the length of the bed and pulled Dany down to kiss him. She could taste herself on his tongue, thick and cloying. Dean tried to devour her, kneading her breasts and losing his fingers in her hair, desperately trying to distract himself from what he knew was coming. He grunted when he felt fingers dance over the head of his cock and drag down its length. Nervous about what he would see, he looked down, relieved when he saw the clearly female hands rather than Sam’s. Sam’s hands that have apparently done this before, touched another dude’s junk before. Hang on.

“Wait, Sam,” Dean panted. Trying to collect the thoughts he’d had just a moment ago was harder once Dany started jerking him off.

“Yes Dean?” Sam had been expecting the protest, the hesitation, and he sat by their feet, gently stroking up and down Dany’ legs.

“You’re gonna ‘show me how it’s done’?” The air quotes were heavily implied in his voice. “When the hell have you touched someone else’s dick?” Dean was agitated, almost indignant. Sam knew he’d be nervous about it but this felt like more than that for some reason, not that Sam could fathom what that reason was.

“I told you,” Sam shrugged, “I’ve done this before.” He nudged his way between the tangle of legs on the bed and clasped a hand on Dean’s hip. Somewhere deep inside he questioned whether that was to steady Dean, or himself. “So just, let me do this, okay?” And without any more preamble Sam was sinking his mouth over Dean’s cock, chasing Dany’s fingers down his shaft, and not stopping until his nose was pressed against the skin of his brother’s waist.

“Shit!” Dean nearly choked on how good it felt. He had to fight to keep his hips from fucking further down Sam’s throat, scared he’d hurt him somehow. He’d never had anyone able to take him that deep.

Dany was kissing down Dean’s neck and chest, leaving small bites in her wake, but all the while keeping her eyes locked on Sam bobbing up and down on his brother’s cock. Christ, she didn’t think she’d seen anything that hot in her life before. Every time Sam pulled back, his lips dragged across Dean’s skin and she could see his tongue twisting around the shaft the whole way, leaving trails of spit to drip back down into the curls his nose had just been pressed against. And all the while, Sam was moaning, humming every time he got Dean back down his throat. Dany didn’t have a dick but she would have bet a whole lot of money that that felt incredible.

“Fuck,” Dean whined, high in his throat and breathless.

“Hey Dean,” Dany whispered against his ear. “I think Sam was being serious when he said he knew what he was doing.”

“Yeah, no sh- shiiit.” Dean’s scoff was bitten off in a moan when Sam pulled back and sucked sloppily on his tip. “What the fuck did they teach you at that college?”

Sam pulled off with a laugh and shook the hair out of his eyes, but he didn’t let go of Dean, still pumping his hand firmly up and down.

“I didn’t just learn out of books at Stanford.” Flicking his gaze to Dany for a moment, Sam drew her attention away from her assault of Dean’s neck. “Condoms?”

“Yeah,” Dany panted and spun to grab them out of her bedside drawer. “How many-”

“Two,” Sam grunted and reached for them. Dropping one aside for the moment, he tore into the other packet and rolled it quickly down Dean’s length. “C’mere sweetheart,” Sam grabbed Dany’s hand and pulled her up into an earnest kiss, taking his time to twist his tongue into her mouth and kiss until he’d taken her breath away. When he pulled back she just stayed there, eyes closed and swaying a little.

“Get on,” he smirked, nodding at Dean’s cock, still standing tall and hard in his hand.

Dany climbed over Dean’s lap happily, still facing Sam. Dean grabbed at her ass and pushed her apart so he could watch his cock disappear between her legs, groaning as her hot, tight, pulsing cunt sucked him in greedily.

“God you look good like that,” Sam grinned, brushing her hair out of her face. Dany whimpered at the compliment, shifting minutely back and forth, trying to adjust to Dean inside of her. Sam noticed and smiled. “He’s big isn’t he?”

“Mm-hm,” Dany sighed. “How did you fit him in your mouth? Jesus.”

“How’s she feel Dean?”

“Awesome,” he grunted, grinding his hips up a little harder, trying to get into a rhythm of fucking up inside her. “Fuckin’ tight.” Dany squeezed around him, dragging another expletive from his lips.

“Stop teasing ‘im now, come on,” Sam laughed, smacking her on the ass.

“But it’s so fun to tease him,” Dany pouted and ground down in a slow circle. Dean couldn’t even make a coherent word this time.

“Yeah but we both know how desperate you are for more.” Sam reached forward and wound his fingers in the hair at the base of her skull, pulling himself up to his full height on his knees so she had to look up to his face. “You’re so desperate for cock you wanted two of us here,” he sneered. “Dean here is just your warm up. Show me what I have to look forward to.”

Dean groaned again when Dany clenched around him instinctively at Sam’s words. She quit teasing and did as Sam said, starting to move in earnest now. With each bounce up and down she picked up her pace, gasping when she tipped back just enough to get Dean to fuck right against her g-spot with each pass.

Sam stroked himself as he watched Dany take her pleasure, using Dean as a means to an end. And Dean was more than happy with his role if the look on his face was any indication. His eyes were scrunched, his mouth open and panting, head tipped back with the strain of focusing all his energy into his hips. He’d planted his heels in the mattress for extra leverage so he could pound into Dany as urgently as she was fucking back on to him. Her fingers groped behind her, looking for purchase on something but slipping off the sweat beading on Dean’s chest.

Dean circled his arms around her waist and pulled them back up the bed, miraculously keeping his dick inside her as he did, and ended sitting up behind her, chest to back, so she could drop her head onto his shoulder while he took control, setting a punishing pace. His hands moved to her breasts, pinching at the nipples until they stood hard and pink and made Sam’s mouth water. Sam watched Dean bury his face in the crook of her neck but he didn’t have the energy to kiss it. His mouth just hung open, teeth scraping over the damp skin every time Dany lurched upwards.

In this new position Dean felt even deeper and Dany was so close to falling over her edge a second time. She reached between her legs to rub at herself, not caring enough to put on a show for Sam, who she knew was still jerking himself off as he watched them, just wanting to feel that release as quickly as possible. As her whines crept higher and higher in her throat Dean’s eyes flickered open and he noticed her hand between her legs. With renewed vigour, he pushed himself deeper and deeper inside her, chasing his own high.

He didn’t know what made him do it. There were so many moans and whimpers saturating the air around them he couldn’t really have been able to tell that one was Sammy’s but he thought he heard it, and he opened his eyes to look up to his little brother, still sitting on the end of the bed watching them, and when their eyes met, Dean broke.

His eyelids crashed down again as his hips stuttered and bucked erratically into Dany, who had hit her own edge moments before. Dean’s breath caught in his chest as he came down still rocking up into Dany’s warmth reflexively, letting the last pulses of pleasure squeeze out of him into the condom.

Sam didn’t give them much time to relish in their moment, nearly on the verge of cumming himself after watching their little performance. He quickly ripped into the second condom packet and rolled it on. Then he reached out for Dean’s legs and pulled the recovering pair back down the bed, so Dean was lying flat again.

Dany pulled off of Dean with a groan and leant forward to kiss Sam. He indulged her for a moment before he manhandled her off Dean’s lap to flip her around and reposition her, this time hovering over Dean on all fours. He straddled Dean’s thighs and leant down to lap at the slick pooling on the lips of Dany’s pussy, and flicking his tongue further down over her clit, which drew an agonised gasp from above him. Dany braced her forehead against Dean’s chest when she felt the tip of Sam’s cock nudge against her, pushing gently into the silken heat his tongue had just been probing. Sam had been right before; Dean was just a warm up.

As soon as he’d bottomed out Sam broke into a brutal pace, his position allowing him to fuck into Dany harder and quicker than Dean had been able to from beneath her. He was rewarded with Dany’s keening and small, mewling whimpers that filled the heavy air around them.

Sam folded himself over her back and laced his fingers through hers on the bed. Each thrust pitched Dany harder and harder against Dean, who was still beneath the pair, holding Dany’s head against his heaving chest, stroking her hair softly.

It didn’t take Sam long to build up to his own orgasm and when he was close, he pulled his head up and locked eyes with his brother over Dany’s shoulder.

“Touch her Dean,” he grunted, pushing faster and faster to reach his peak. Dean complied without hesitation, fumbling between Dany’s legs until her whine told him he’d found her clit, and seconds later it was over, Sam’s eyes finally leaving Dean’s when he came, slamming shut as he choked out a groan and went rigid inside Dany’s body. Dany was twitching between Sam and Dean, breath leaving her in shudders that rocked her whole body. Dean kept petting her hair, waiting for her breathing to even out. Eventually Sam relaxed and slumped down over the pair, struggling to regulate his own breathing. For a moment, the silence was comfortable and soothing, but that quickly became too much for Dean.

“Dude, not to kill the moment, but get your behemoth body off’a me.”

In the end, Sam was glad Dean had insisted on driving the Impala over to Dany’s; it saved them the walk back to the bar at the ass-crack of dawn.

After the three of them had untangled on the bed, they’d gone through the standard motions in a state of semi consciousness. Tying off condoms, grabbing glasses of water, hunting for lost underwear and t-shirts. Dany convinced them to stick around for the night. The bed was a bit small for three people, especially when two of them were the size the Winchesters were, but it did the job for a few hours.

Sam jerked awake in the grey light of an autumn predawn when Dean’s arm accidentally whacked him in the face. He retaliated in kind, flicking Dean perfunctorily on the forehead to wake him from his snuffling sleep. Two bathroom breaks and a hurriedly scribbled note later, the brothers were staggering across the blacktop and settling onto the black leather bench they called home.

At first the silence was easily explained away by lack of sleep and the early hour. Their post-case exit strategy was routine enough that the stop-off at the motel to retrieve their bags and extract a cup of coffee from the vending machine in the lobby was all handled non-verbally, without complaint or complication.

And for a while, they just drove. The grey light of the morning had turned into a grey day, the clouds hanging low over their heads and their mists creeping out across the countless fields that lined the highway. But the further away from that small college town they drove, the heavier the silence hung around them. By lunch time it became apparent that Dean hadn’t been driving anywhere in particular and while he breezed through a Gas-n-Sip to scrounge up some food, Sam scoured the newspapers he’d managed to find out front.

Dean’s first attempt at speech caught in his throat, and he had to hide it behind a cough before he tried again. “Anything interesting?” He nodded at the paper Sam had spread across his lap, tossing him a bottled smoothie. What a girl.

“Uh,” Sam glanced at Dean, who was resolutely picking through a packet of jerky, then cleared his throat. “No, um, nothing that looks like our sort of thing.”

“Awesome,” Dean grunted and cranked the ignition.

Sam chanced another look at his brother as they drove down the main street of whatever sleepy town they’d stopped off in. Dean was staring out at the road in front of them, seemingly concentrating on driving, but Sam could tell his eyes weren’t actually taking in anything in front of them. Whatever he was seeing it was only in his head, and he didn’t seem inclined to share with the class.

“Do we need t-”

“Nope.”

“Were you gonna let me actually finish my sentence?” Sam griped.

“We don’t need to talk about it, Sam, there’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, really? That why you’ve been all ‘Silence of the Lambs’ since we left this morning?”

“Oh and what, you’ve been Mr. Chatty Cathy?”

“I’m just saying-”

“There’s nothing to say, Sam. So we banged the same chick last night, so what? She was hot, it was fun, end of story. I don’t need a damn debrief.”

“Come on, Dean, that is not all that happened last night. You really expect me to believe nothing’s up with you?”

“You play 20 questions with all your one night stands or am I just lucky?” Dean sneered, glancing to his right for the first time since Sam had started talking and immediately regretting his decision. Looking at Sam only magnified the chaos he’d been slowly descending into since last night.

“Newsflash, Dean, what we did last night wasn’t exactly your typical Saturday night.”

“Sorry, didn’t realise you need a psych eval every time you get laid.”

“I’m not the one refusing to talk about my feelings here Dean!”

“I said drop it, Sam.”

Sam rolled his eyes and slumped back in his seat, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie. Dean let him close himself off, relieved that at least for now, he would be left alone with his thoughts. He reached forward to turn up the radio in an attempt to drown them out, but it still wasn’t quite loud enough to cover Sam’s soft exhalation of ‘jerk’.

***

Tags: @hawkerz12 @negans-lucille-tblr @babybrotherandthedemon @dylansbabygirl24 @mineshinamary @popsensationnicole23 @spn-problems @donthateme454 @doyouknowsamw @peridottea91 @delightfulbakeryaliendeputy @fictionallemons @petitgateau911 @natastic @marvelfansworld @delightfullykrispypeach @akshi8278 @crashlyrose @miufel @lyarr24 @itsthedoctah10 @kiss-my-peachy-arse @leftlokiofpuppy @tftumblin @devilsbby @alice101macwil @caitlinvd @j-ai-adore-dean @disneysloot @half-closeted-bi-girl @deandreamernp

#spn #dive bar #dean x ofc x sam #dean x sam #early season wincest #wincest

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

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

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

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

Warning: LONG. Many quotes.

Just a few things:

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

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

Snow White and the poison apple

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

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

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

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

Top chapter uses:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(The Hedge Knight)

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

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

So how do apples feature for Jon himself?

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

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

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

First apple: AGOT, Jon IX.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Second apple: ACOK, Jon I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Third apple: ACOK, Jon VII

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

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

He's staying to die, Jon realized.

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

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

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

(…)

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

(…)

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

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

(ACOK, Jon VIII)

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

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

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

Apple quality: unknown.

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

Fourth apple: ASOS, Jon I

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apple quality: red autumn apple.

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

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

Fifth apple. ASOS Jon V. BIG apple chapter.

His final confrontation as an Undercover Wildling.

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

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

(ASOS, Bran III)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apple Quality: rotten.

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

Sixth apple: ASOS, Jon VII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We get a Dany-Val nod…

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apple quality: dried.

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

Seventh apple: ASOS, Jon X

Tormund’s daughter Munda.

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

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

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

Autumn apple. Stolen women. Cloak.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He is just... disillusioned.

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

Apple Quality: autumn apple.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apples ensue:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Denial.

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

Faithlessness.

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

Theon about to be ordered to attack Winterfell. Betrayal.

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

Life and death brought by the same person.

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

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

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

Bless you Sam.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He recruits, actively.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apples v. onions. Jon has chosen.

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

Apple Quality: withered. Like the very first apple.

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

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

In conclusion:

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

Jon always has his eyes on the bigger picture.

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

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

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

whithered apples are fairly clean choices,

rotten apples are traumatic choices,

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

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

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

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

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tiramisu-translations · 5 years

Text

Prologue + Chapter 1-1

Prologue

It might be a bit cliche, but let’s start with a self introduction. My name is Ham Dani, seventeen years old. Right now It is just ten days before I start high school.

I was born in a normal household, with normal looks, and normal personalities. It’s so normal that you wonder how much of a normal girl I can be.

At least… up until the age of fourteen, that is.

What happened to my life after fourteen you ask?

That is really, really terrible...ah, I cannot explain it all within one sentence.

There are other backstories I need to mention first, before even explaining what happened. By chance, have you heard of web novels? On the internet, there used to be a popular ongoing series with a male protagonist who is an heir of chaebol¹, always skips class and causes trouble around town. Yet still manages to rank number one in studies, and also have a look that does not lose to a celebrity. Along with female protagonist who lives a normal life and is poor.

You might be a bit taken aback by this sudden topic I’ve mentioned, however if I were to explain my life, I cannot not mention about this very plot. Really.

Chapter 1: The Heroine? She lives next door.

2007 March 2nd was my middle school entrance ceremony. Just the day before, I could not sleep because I was filled with half worry and half excitement, so I’ve decided to read a book. I was reading until the point where my eyes started to close, and when I opened my eyes back up the daylight filled my vision. I got up slowly with a bed hair, while the book I was reading last night was placed above my head.

I got out to the kitchen and ate breakfast my mom made me. After the meal, I washed my face then brushed my teeth, and washed my hair. Until then, it was still a normal everyday morning. While I was having a peaceful morning, I became speechless as soon as I stood in front of my closet and stared at the bright white uniform that hung by the door from head to toe.

Huh? I squinted my eyes. I rubbed my eyes clear and looked at the uniform again. Nothing changed. This time I tried banging my head against the wall and stared back at my closet. Still nothing.

What is this? I held my uniform and sank into deep thought. The more I stared at this uniform, it reminded me of a hospital uniform from a mental ward. Bright white jacket with bright white skirt. The vest was light beige, but that did not comfort me in anyway. If I wore this uniform all buttoned up, then I would look just as white and bright as this uniform would be.

One the bright side, this was not our school uniform. Our school uniform is just plain brown.

After pondering about this uniform, I asked my mom.

“Mom, where is my school uniform?”

“What?”

My mom came by my room door after finishing up the dishes. I asked her again as I waved the white uniform in the air.

“Mom, this is not our school’s uniform! Where is my uniform?”

“What are you talking about? We had that tailored a week ago. That is your school uniform!”

“Huh?”

“What?”

A moment of awkwardness passed. Then my mom slapped my back as she left the room, thinking that I was just joking around. If it was the usual, I would have shouted when she slapped my back, but my thoughts were elsewhere. I blanklessly stared at the white uniform.

Wait, hold on. I went into my thoughts again. The uniform was glowing bright as if it was reflecting the sunlight from my room.

Are you saying this is our school’s uniform? And I have to wear this? This extravagant uniform that is hard to digest when general people wear?

I had a sudden feeling that it was going to be a long first day of school. I crimpled my face as I wore the uniform. However, this isn’t where my bad luck ends. This was only the beginning of my bad luck and three years forwards. .

I stepped out of my apartment door and became startled. There was an unfamiliar girl standing right in front of the doorway. If I opened the door any harder, the girl and the door would of collided. Why in the world is she standing so close to the door. I placed my hands above my beating heart and turned my attention to her. As soon I took a look at the girl, my jaw dropped.

She was really pretty. Really, really pretty. Having a girl this pretty so close up was for the first time in my life.

Her skin was white and pale as if you can almost see the veins underneath. Her long black hair is so straight as if you drew a fine line down with a ruler, softly rested down to her waist. A purplish hue glowed as sunlight reflected on her black hair. Sunlight passing through her eyes also gave a purple hue, and the places which sunlight did not reflect were jet black.

Her plump lips glossed and her small nose stood tall. Just staring at her face looked as if she was glowing.

For a moment I forgot the fact that I was on my way to school. When I came back to my senses, the unfamiliar girl was also staring right back at me. Ah, it was rude of me to stare at her on this first impression!

Never seen her before, I wonder if she just moved in? I thought. Anyways, a girl this pretty living next door to me, I wish we get along. She looks like she is around my age too. I hope I didn’t give her any weird first impression for staring at her.

By the look of it, she does not seem to be displeased so far. With her clear eyes, she was just staring back at me. Should I greet first? It was that moment when I was about to pull my hand out for a handshake.

The girl smiled brightly and grabbed my hand. This… is so forward? I thought, then.

“Dani, we’re going to be late. Let’s go.”

“...?”

Even her voice was pretty… wait a minute!

What? I was so startled I stared at her hands, holding mine. Without any hesitation, the girl dragged me towards the elevator. Wait, What’s going on! I shook her hands off and the girl stared back with her unwavering clear eyes. I asked.

“Wait, what were you doing?”

Out of the blue she calls me by my name, even though we never met before, then drags me with her. What is she doing? However, the girl became more surprised than I was. She asked.

“What do you mean? We’re going to school!”

“That is obvious, but why am I going with you?”

“What?”

After the question, the girl made an uncomfortable face then shut her mouth. She slightly furrowed her eyebrows.

With an awkwardness in the air, I then noticed her uniform was the same as mine. Even in this dark hallway where light does not reflect well, the uniform was still so bright it would hurt your eyes. Near the chest there was even her name tag. I read her name tag in my head. It was the first time I heard this name.

Ban Yeo Ryung looked with sorrow in her eyes then slowly reached her hands out to grab mine again. Then she spoke.

“Okay, I know what you want to say, but first let’s go to school.”

What do you mean you know. ‘I have no idea what is going on right now’ is what I wanted to say, but because her eye said with much sincerity I couldn’t say anything. Looking at her gaze made me think as if I lost my memories, or it made me feel like as if I am the one playing bad jokes on her.

In silence we walked alongside with some distance between us. Even after getting off the elevator, we kept walking in silence. After walking some distance away from the apartment, the air seems to loosen up a bit. I then started to look around my surroundings.

This is a strange occurrence. In my 13 years of living in this town, I’ve never seen this kind of extravagant uniform. However, as promised, the crowd of new students were weaning this white uniform. This did not make any sense.

Without caution, male students gazed around the surroundings and suddenly walked alongside my pace. Then they stared at Ban Yeo Ryung and became stiff. I felt startled and just kept shifting my gaze side to side.

Because it was early spring, the early morning was slightly chill. The morning ray reflected on Ban Yeo Ryung’s white forehead. The lights were hanging along her round tip of her nose, and the end of her eyelashes which were slightly pointing down.

No matter how much you look at her, the fascination of her beauty did become any less. She had bit depressed looked in her face. It might be my fault. However, even her sad expression was pretty. People who are walking by us kept staring at Ban Yeo Ryung as if they are possessed. I somewhat understood that feeling.

As I stared at Ban Yeo Ryung, she suddenly stared back. Then she took a look around her surroundings and cringed a bit.

“Hey Dani.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we walk while we link our arms?”

She spoke as looked anxious and looked around the people she was surrounded by. She felt uncomfortable by the attention. The gaze of people who were walking alongside us. They were all directed towards Ban Yeo Ryung.

I was hesitant, but I placed my arms over hers. Ban Yeo Ryung then made a slight sile and linked her arms with mine and started to walk forward. I felt as I became her guardian, and it was not a bad feeling.

The distance to the school were getting closer. I somewhat remember the appearance of the school building because I went there during our class arrangements. Just like any other Middle School, it was slightly run down, but did not look too bad. It was good enough to just go to class and eat school meals. Just that kind of everyday grey school building.

It was then when I lifted my head while in my thoughts. Faraway under the blue sky, there was the school building standing tall. Huh? I furrowed my brow. I lived and grew up in this town for 13 years and I have never seen that kind of school before. The school which was 5 storeys tall looked as if there was a main building and separately an annex building. The annex building was covered with glass walls and looked as if it was a fancy department store. No way that’s a school building. However, as I walked closer to the distance, it just became more clear. The wall that surrounded the school grounds were made up clean brown bricks. Then I saw the nameplate that was at the front of the school.

Ji Jon² Middle School.

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https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chaebol

Ji Jon (지존) (至尊) - It mean ‘the best’

[Next: Chapter 1-2]

#LoWN #the law of web novels #인소의 법칙 #Volume 1

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tatticstudio55 · 5 years

Text

Bran Stark in ADWD: caves, moons, wolves and other thoughts

Bran’s last ADWD gave me pause for a lot of details: how they all nestled beneath the earth while the wolves outside hunted and ate frozen wights, for a start. It reminded me of the wolves invading the lands north of King’s Landing at the start of ACOK. It reminded me of Ghost, and how he was the only beast unafraid of the still moving, undead hand. It was in this chapter that Leaf told Bran of the death of unicorns, giants, and other magical forces who once lived North of the Wall. I thought of the giants who supposedly helped build the Wall.

And it just hit me: that the Others probably rose again because Nature’s natural “weapons” against them – giants and direwolves and children of the forest – were dying out. That the War against the Others was never a war meant for men to fight. Bran, Jojen and Meera did nothing while Summer led his pack in a wights hunt. We learned that there was another way, apart from fire and dragonglass, to kill wights: you could eat them.

Maybe there’s a reason, apart from the war of the five kings, why wolves are invading the lands. Maybe it’s nature, preparing itself for the oncoming of the dead.

(Maybe Jon will slip into Ghost’s skin to kill the Night King? Ghost is silent as a dead and white like snow, so the Night King might not see him until it’s too late.)

~֎~

Back to Bran: while Summer gorges on bloodless wights, he eats blood stew and a weirwood paste “with dark red veins running through it” (Bran, ACOK). That he feeds on blood strangely fit with the vampiric undertones of Bloodraven sustaining himself on the life of a tree, or rather, the other way around: that’s it’s the tree who feeds on Bloodraven, slowly absorbing and digesting him: “the weirwood roots snaking in and out of his withered flesh, the mushrooms sprouting from his cheeks, the white wooden worm that grew from the socket where one eye had been.” (Bran, ACOK). Bloodraven’s description also evoke a fetus in the womb: “Lord Brynden drew his life from the tree, Leaf told them. He did not eat, he did not drink. He slept, he dreamed, he watched.” (Bran, ACOK) The cave is very womb-like; a place providing ample food, blood and warmth, brimming with sleeping life, and where days and nights intermingle.

"I wore many names when I was quick, but even I once had a mother, and the name she gave me at her breast was Brynden."

"The secrets of the old gods," said Jojen Reed. Food and fire and rest had helped restore him after the ordeals of their journey, but he seemed sadder now, sullen, with a weary, haunted look about the eyes. "Truths the First Men knew, forgotten now in Winterfell … but not in the wet wild.

He was almost a man grown, and he did not want Meera to think he was some weepy babe.

There he sat, listening to the hoarse whispers of his teacher. "Never fear the darkness, Bran." The lord's words were accompanied by a faint rustling of wood and leaf, a slight twisting of his head. "The strongest trees are rooted in the dark places of the earth. Darkness will be your cloak, your shield, your mother's milk. Darkness will make you strong."

In the beginning he had tried to count the days by making note of when he woke and slept, but down here sleeping and waking had a way of melting into one another.

He even crossed the slender stone bridge that arched over the abyss and discovered more passages and chambers on the far side. One was full of singers, enthroned like Brynden in nests of weirwood roots that wove under and through and around their bodies.

He wanted to put his arms around her, hold her tight the way his mother used to hold him back at Winterfell when he'd hurt himself.

His father and the black pool and the godswood faded and were gone and he was back in the cavern, the pale thick roots of his weirwood throne cradling his limbs as a mother does a child.

…a woman heavy with child emerged naked and dripping from the black pool, knelt before the tree, and begged the old gods for a son who would avenge her.

These are most of the references to motherhood appearing in the chapter (as you can see, there’s quite a bit), but there’s another detail worth bringing up. The shape and position of the moon in the sky are mentioned eight time in total:

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

The moon was fat and full.

The moon was a black hole in the sky.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

The moon was fat and full.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

The moon was a black hole in the sky.

The moon was a crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife.

Afterward, we have Brynden telling Bran “it’s time” (Bran, ADWD). We also have the “woman heavy with child” from Bran’s last set of visions. We’ll be reminded that there’s nine moons in a pregnancy.

It’s a bit unsettling, however. The moon “fat and full” is a clear reference to pregnancy and life, whereas the “crescent, thin and sharp as the blade of a knife” means death. The chapter concludes with a set of three visions, the first of a pregnant woman emerging from a “black pool”, the last of a woman with white hairs (old, I presume) slicing a boy’s throat as an offering to the weirwood:

Then, as he watched, a bearded man forced a captive down onto his knees before the heart tree. A white-haired woman stepped toward them through a drift of dark red leaves, a bronze sickle in her hand.

"No," said Bran, "no, don' t, " but they could not hear him, no more than his father had. The woman grabbed the captive by the hair, hooked the sickle round his throat, and slashed. And through the mist of centuries the broken boy could only watch as the man's feet drummed against the earth … but as his life flowed out of him in a red tide, Brandon Stark could taste the blood. – Bran, ADWD

I searched “sickle” on Google image and this is what I got:

Basically, it’s a crescent moon shaped knife. In farming, it is (or was) used to harvest wheat and corn stalks. It’s both a reference to death (as it’s used to kill) and life (as it’s used to collect food). The sickle is actually very similar to the arakh, a signature dothraki weapon:

(You’d knew I’d find a way to bring Daenerys into this, didn’t you?)

But I had to, because you just can’t talk about pregnancy in asoiaf without mentioning the primary character associated with motherhood, pregnancy, sacrifice and the moon. From this Bran chapter, one thing that seems connected to fertility is the rich, dampness and warmth of the earth. Daenerys, who believes herself to be barren, rule over a dry, barren land in Meereen. Droughts, deserts, dryness… she encounters it all.

They rode to the lake the Dothraki called the Womb of the World, surrounded by a fringe of reeds, its water still and calm. A thousand thousand years ago, Jhiqui told her, the first man had emerged from its depths, riding upon the back of the first horse.

The procession waited on the grassy shore as Dany stripped and let her soiled clothing fall to the ground. Naked, she stepped gingerly into the water. Irri said the lake had no bottom, but Dany felt soft mud squishing between her toes as she pushed through the tall reeds. The moon floated on the still black waters, shattering and re-forming as her ripples washed over it. – Daenerys, AGOT

The “fringe of reeds” part is interesting, since Bran is also surrounded by “reeds” (Jojen and Meera) when inside the “womb” of the cave, in ADWD. Anyway, Daenerys bathing in the black waters (bathing with the moon, I might add, just like she’s bathing with the child inside her belly) is definitely a parallel to the “a woman heavy with child emerged naked and dripping from the black pool, knelt before the tree, and begged the old gods for a son who would avenge her” part. Odder, even, is that her child will be sacrificed, like the man sacrificed to the weirwood in Bran’s vision.

The black waters are present in Bran’s cave as well:

"The river you hear is swift and black, and flows down and down to a sunless sea.” – Bran, ADWD

Bran “emerges” from it every time he warg a raven, or Summer, and leaves the cave. Once, he goes into the literal black waters, and back up, while warged into Hodor:

One day Meera and Jojen decided to go see the river, despite Leaf's cautions. "I want to come too," Bran said.

Meera gave him a mournful look. The river was six hundred feet below, down steep slopes and twisty passages, she explained, and the last part required climbing down a rope. "Hodor could never make the climb with you on his back. I'm sorry, Bran."

Bran remembered a time when no one could climb as good as him, not even Robb or Jon. Part of him wanted to shout at them for leaving him, and another part wanted to cry. He was almost a man grown, though, so he said nothing. But after they were gone, he slipped inside Hodor's skin and followed them. – Bran, ADWD

I think the black waters are linked with the black moon and overall symbolize a phase of “incubation”. The crescent shaped moon, I’d link it with blood magic, magical sight (for Bran) and for Daenerys, something related to the dothraki, as well as to the “reaping and harvesting” stage. You could probably view her recruitment of the dothraki in season six as a form of “harvest”. Dany’s army/armies and Bran’s magical sight both come at the price of blood, during the “crescent moon phase” of their journeys. That’s where ADWD leaves them: Bran’s last “moon” is a crescent shaped one, his chapter ending with him lost in a vision and tasting the blood of the man dying at “his” weirwood’s feet. Dany’s last chapter ends with her being surrounded by dothraki warriors in the Great Grass Sea.

I don’t think they’ve reached the full moon phase yet. The moon “fat and full” will come last for them.

P.S as usual, pic link in the comments below.

#asoiaf meta #daenerys targaryen #bran stark #A Dance with Dragons #a game of thrones #moon symbolism #i hope this is coherent

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wackygoofball · 6 years

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you once talked about the parallels between sigurd and jaime I have to point out hat sigurd is a dragonslayer who killed fafnir ( who was a dwarf who became a dragon after killing his own father fafnirAsked his father for gold. tyrion Asked his father for his inheritance (Casterly Rock). fafnir Murdered his father upon refusal. Tyrion Murdered his father in light of multiple grievances. tyrion will end up helping dany with her dragons and/or riding one so what if jaime kills tyrion

Hi megashadowdragon and thanks for the question.

I realized I didn’t meta in quite a while, but ohwell, real life calling and all.

First of all, I am impressed that you still rememberor found a way to dig up that comment I made… years ago. Anyway, I had to revisit my own post to check, butreally, the main intention of that post was to point out the many similarities thatcan be drawn between Jaime and Brienne and Sigurd and Brynhild, less so aboutmaking predictions about how those similarities may foretell the outcome of thestory. I hope that this came across and that I didn’t make it seem like I wasfirmly believing in Jaime and Brienne fulfilling the Sigurd/Brynhild saga frombeginning to end.

After all, GRRM uses tropes and themes rather thancopying word-for-word the narrative upshots of the story he takes from. Like,JB builds on the Beauty and the Beast trope in order to subvert it, but thatdoesn’t mean it’s going exactly congruent to the original tale in terms oftrajectory (I can’t seem to recall zombie!Cat to have been amongst the ensembleof Beauty and the Beast, LOL). So Itry to be cautious when it comes to making predictions based on mythologyparallels I can spot in a narrative. After all, GRRM mixed in a lot of mythology, Norse mythology *atlarge* being the first idea that comes to my mind, wherein Jaime fits multiplecharacters. Like, you can easily parallel Jaime with Norse gods like Tyr, amongothers. Or Christian mythology with the Jacob parallels. So… I am very carefulon that territory, which is why I dare not predict future outcomes based onother story’s equivalents. It’s far too tempting to just go down the rabbithole because every story parallel you choose will give you a potentiallydifferent outcome based on the trajectory of the story itself. I am much moresold on the BatB trope and trajectory because a) GRRM has affirmed that hebased JB on that trope, and b) tropes are not the same as following a storyfrom beginning to end along the exact same lines.

However, as you rightly point out, there are greatparallels to be drawn between Tyrion and Fafnir, both taking part in patricideand developing a certain greed (hence the dwarf turning into a serpent as they aresymbols for greed) for gold, which again plays well into the Lannister gold andred theme. And I am thankful that you brought it to my attention because – alsodue to my clear JB focus – did not even think about how Tyrion very well fitsinto the Volsunga Saga in that regard, and it may well be that GRRM drewinspiration from Fafnir when creating Tyrion’s character.

Yet, strictly following that analogy (for the sakeof the argument here), Regin is the brother of Fafnir who orders for hiskilling and enlists someone else to do it (Sigurd). Now of course, we caneither substitute Regin for someone to fill into that role and order Jaime todo it or we cut out the middleman for the sake of maintaining that parallel.

But anyway, perhaps we ought to see it not so strictin terms of how the characters are related and more in terms of what they doinstead. Again, the trajectory for Tyrion maps neatly on Fafnir, as you assert,even more so in the books wherein he has embarked on a much darker route thanin the show (I won’t dig too deeply into the matter as my knowledge remainslimited on book!Tyrion, not having read those chapters in their entirety justyet).

Though that in itself should be telling, I think, withregards to Tyrion’s outcome in the overall series. I think the general themewill be that most characters will move into a gray area in terms of morality(safe for the clear villains that we have… like, Euron won’t become a graycharacter, Cersei won’t either, I daresay). Characters like Jaime are movingtowards the lighter spots whereas supposed heroes have become/are becomingmorally corrupted or at the very least tested in their morality and balancingit with the need to maybe do acts of dishonor for the sake of the people atlarge. The show did away with the dark tidbits of book!Tyrion’s journey why? We will only know once the finalseason airs, of course, but as others have put forward before me (and far moreeloquently than I do here), it may well be that show!Tyrion will move into moremoral grayness towards the end, whereas book!Tyrion may well get a redemptivemoment of some kind to move him back towards gray.

I tend to think that the show wants to link Tyrion’shaving to make tough choices between his family (Jaime) and the woman of nametitles to the grayness of his character. This has already been party exploredin season 7 wherein Tyrion was kind of hoping for Jaime not to be offed byHighgarden and looking completely devastated when he had to see what the womanwith many titles could do with a flying nuke and a bunch of Dothraki in an openfield. It was surely not without purpose that a) she questioned his loyalties beforeand after that and that b) Tyrion looked so clearly devastated and was made tobear witness of the apparent horror that the woman he chose as the one he meansto support can cause to see the overall goal of her ascending to the IronThrone being achieved. They also could have chosen to have Tyrion stay atDragonstone to await the news, but the fact that he bore witness to both thehavoc a dragon can cause on a battlefield plus the barbecuing of the Tarlys wassurely not without purpose. Which was now a long way of saying that I wouldn’tfind it farfetched if his loyalties were to become ultimately tested in season8, and further, that he will ultimately have to choose between his brother andthe mother of nukes.

While characters are supposedly uniting for thegreater purpose of fighting against the White Walkers now, I am by no meansconvinced that this is smooth transition from war to the Star.garyenRestoration Period towards the end of the series, which is to say that it maywell be that we are headed for conflict among the factions and that maincharacters who offered their support last season may still find their loyaltiesquestioned in their wish to seek power and may or may not ditch the groupeffort at least for a certain amount of time. Now, I don’t want to dig intothat whole matter because that is something people have sent plenty about and Ihonestly can’t be bothered too much about either the fandom-favorite theoriesregarding the restoration period or the hype of the characters mostlyassociated with said theories. I don’t discount their overall importance to thenarrative, I am just saying that I personally have zero shits to give besidethe plot purpose they fulfill for the overall narrative, but I have no personalinvestment in the lady with many names beyond her arc contributing to theoverall series.

But I derailed now again, sorry, I suppose I justwanted to position myself so that I don’t then get questions about a character Iam not invested in and don’t want to be bothered to bash on because, really, Ijust don’t care. The point I was heading for but kind of got away from is thatI am not entirely sure whether Tyrion *will* remain Team Lady of Many Names bythe end of the series. The fact that Tyrion’s and Jaime’s conflict has not beenwholly resolved just yet (while they wereon friendlier terms again, Tyrion did only so much as dodge the big questionsstill standing between the two – namely the consequences of his killing Tywinthat had direct impact on people Tyrion did not intend to harm with that, e.g.Jaime, Tommen, etc., for his own purposes of getting revenge on his father andI think the narrative set it up in such a way that when they met again for thefirst time in the vaults of the Red Keep that it was meant to show that Tyrionwas giving Jaime the same old argument as always instead of owning up to it)has me sold on the idea that something else is still coming with regards to thequestion of where his loyalties will eventually lie.

Now, to come back to the Volsunga Saga and theparallels to GoT/ASoIaF: I would also suggest another thought experiment justto explore the many ways of looking at it: Trade in Fafnir for the woman ofmany names (undeniable, the dragon connection is strong with her… and while sheis certainly no dwarf… she is not exceptionally tall, LOL, but now I digressfor sure). She had Khal Drogo kill Viserys with gold (hence, arguably, substituting Hreidmar, the father of Reginand Fafnir, for it), hence also having the gold aspect on her side and the ideaof greed being potentially subsumed in her ongoing quest for power even aftershe achieved to establish herself as Boss in Essos. Now fast-forward to (forthe show here) season 7 and Spoils of Warand have Sigurd (Jaime) go up against Fafnir (the woman of many names) afterreceiving orders from Regin who wants to see Fafnir gone (Cersei). Yet again,gold also plays a large role, and while Jaime is not successful in killing her,he was definitely going for it right there.

So, you see, I think that you can spin this manydifferent ways (which is the wonderful thing about literary analysis that Ilove so very much) and arrive at similar results. It neatly fits with GRRM’smode of paralleling and mirror characters. So the woman of many names does wellfit Fafnir the same way you can find reasons to see Tyrion being paralleledwith the serpent/dragon.

Now, to go back to the suggestion that Jaime may killTyrion… within the narrative, I just fail to see how he would pose such a*threat* that would make it necessary for Jaime to kill him. Tyrion… is only asdangerous as is the power he is granted. If Tyrion were to go completely rogue,hotwire a dragon and ride it into battle against his brother et al., then thatwould require some… serious turnaround and it would still make the dragon the more immediate threat to get outof the way.

Now, he could use wildfire to trigger Jaime into goingagainst Tyrion and make an attempt on his life, but I have my doubts regardingthe matter. I think wildfire will be vital to the plot in defeating the WhiteWalkers, and that it won’t be only limited to being at Cersei’s disposal,because let’s be real, it kind of loses effect and is in itself a gun she issitting on, waiting to be fired. And while Jaime will certainly be triggered byit, I think it makes much more sense for him to either then help evacuate thecity or help set up the trap for the White Walkers to walk into, seeing thenecessity. Now, if we spin this into the woman of many names going rogue andwanting to torch the capitol to thus blow shit up in red and green, then Jaimewould still have more incentive to be mad at her than at Tyrion.

If we spin it in such a way that Tyrion commits utterbetrayal towards Jaime a second time and Jaime found himself in a position ofauthority in the post-war times, then this would come close to Jaime having tosentence Tyrion to death, which I don’t really see happening, to be honest. Atleast I can’t come up with scenarios that would map with what we have been setup for in terms of character development over the past few seasons. While Jaimesaid that he would kill him, he evidently did not whenever he had a chance forit (if he was serious, he could have offed Tyrion in that vault with even justone hand and a tourney sword). Because just as evidently, Jaime loves hisbrother still, which made Tyrion’s betrayal burn ever the harder for Jaime, butthe more organic conclusion to such a conflict is that they talk it out or that Tyrion makes good onhis promise of when Jaime freed him from the prison where he said that he owedJaime his life, which makes him indebted to Jaime.

So I can actually see self-sacrifice to a certainextent far more prominently being one possible upshot of Tyrion’s arc than himgoing rogue on a dragon to require Jaime to slay his own brother instead ofhaving Jaime go through the motions of committing an additional act ofkinslaying. Generally speaking, I just don’t see Jaime offing any more of hisfamily members (and yes, that includes Cersei, the whole valonqar thing beingJaime and then going into suicide for *reasons* is nothing I am getting behind,but yet again, I digress and, yet again, I think people have written enoughabout that by now, so I would much rather focus on literally anything else). Because it would be sovery repetitive for Jaime and the Lannister clan at large. Cersei killed Lanceland Kevan and the in-laws Margaery, Loras, Mace… and kind of gave rise toTommen’s fall by making him watch that shit show *ahem*… Tyrion killed Tywin. Jaime(at least for the show… for *reasons*) killed a cousin and in-law Olenna uponCersei’s order. Like, honest to the Seven above, I don’t see the Lannistersdoing any more internal family murder. I think another family can well take aturn now.

So… to somehow tie those loose threads of thought togetherthat I have been spewing out now, anon… I think the parallel of Fafnir andTyrion most definitely fits, and I think there is a lot to be said about thesymbolism and even potential trajectory of the overall story, especially if youlook at book!Tyrion and his dark journey which neatly maps on Fafnir’s fallingfor the gold/greed. However, such analysis only ever takes us so and so farbecause, as I hope to have highlighted, we can recreate similar parallels byexchanging the players and it still matches. Because that just correlates withGRRM’s way of writing, which heavily builds on involving themes andpre-existing tropes, mythology, and narratives. That doesn’t mean we can takeone narrative and go to the end to determine future outcomes for GRRM’scharacters, though. It may well be that it will turn out eventually to be truefor one case, but at this point of time, it is simply too hard to guess whichone he may pick or subvert or abandon.

Though more on a sidenote, I will say that I would notfind it entirely unlikely if Tyrion ended up riding a dragon, as you pointed toin your ask. In fact, I would find that muchbetter than Jesus I mean King in the North riding one because Tyrion has builtup a significant relationship with those scaly nukes and I would much rathersee the dragons being okay with being ridden by a guy they learned to trustthan one that has the right Targ smell to him. But then again, I think dragonsare dicks, so maybe that is why they are more sold on the King in the North orthey just really want their mom to bang her nephew… so, who knows?

Now, speaking more in terms of *just* the show/books,I don’t think Jaime will kill Tyrion because I just don’t see where they would getthe conflict if the show has already hinted at it that there is more things toconnect them than keep them apart. If the woman of many names is supposed to bethe reason why, then Jaime should direct his anger towards *her* rather thanTyrion, and I do think that Jaime canmake that kind of rational decision, even with all those feelings involved. Thenarrative would have to make some true 180° to go back to where we basicallywere in season 5 to have Jaime be again all “I will murder him first chance Isee him.” And all atrocities I can come up that may trigger Jaime would almostalways relate to the woman of many names instead of his brother.

So, in sum: Tyrion and Fafnir parallels are awesome and I am grateful that you brought it to my attention because I missed the connection before. Ithink Jaime and Tyrion will pull themselves back together. I hope that Tyriongets to ride a dragon to prove that you don’t have to smell of Targ in order toearn yourself a ride on a nuke. And I most certainly hope that Jaime’s andBrienne’s narrative will end on an entirely different note than that of Sigurdand Brynhild because I remain sold on the idea that they are, against whatseems to be commonly believed by many people, headed towards a happier endingthan most will have in mind. Naturally, I may be totally proven wrong on thematter, but for now I reserve for myself the luxury of being in the hiatus ofsweet, sweet oblivion, wherein I can imagine all kinds of scenarios where Jaimeand Brienne live happily ever after, to finally get started on the Braime Bunch™,and that if Tyrion is meant to live till the end of the series, will spend his daysin good companionship with his brother.

*flies away*

#anon #ask #game of thrones #jaime lannister #tyrion lannister #jaime x brienne #meta #got meta #essay #kind of #it's long enough to be one lol #thanks for the question

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naminearuno · 6 years

Text

Diary Entry #2

January 27, 2018

It’s been 11 days since my last entry and so much has happened. I’m not gonna talk about it in any specific order.

First of all, Lexi’s mom found out about her stick-n-poke tattoos (After they had already faded, too) which led to further investigation and she told her mom that she’s been using Maya’s phone to talk to me. That was obviously a big deal because that’s the way it is with the Lesch’s. So now Lexi is supposed to have to move out on May 3rd, but I doubt they will hold her to that because they want her where they can most easily control her. She went a night without being allowed to sleep in her bed. She was supposed to quit her job, but she still has it for now. She’s still on guard. We’re still talking since it wasn’t really Maya’s phone to begin with and I’m not a fan of Maya anymore… Lexi is doing alright for the most part. Her grade in AP stats is really high and I’m impressed because I’ve heard a lot of crap about that class.

I didn’t go into my sociology class thinking that I would personally get anything out of it. But then we talked about depression. We talked about how as societies rely more on consumer capitalism and individualism increases, so does depression. When people have as much freedom as we do, they can also have excessive hope. That can make people feel even worse when they fail or still pretty awful even if they’re doing fine because they know better is possible. And as we become less and less reliant on others to make decisions for us we can feel more alone and more to blame if our lives don’t work out the way we intend. Basically, he explained that community is extremely important toward mental health. This got me thinking. First of all, it reaffirmed my belief that I should push my children to get involved from a young age. But it also got me thinking… I do believe community is important for mental health. I think that’s why my life got so much better when I joined guard. I don’t want someone telling me how my life is gonna go and who I’m gonna be, because I grew up in an American society after all :P, but it led me to a conclusion… about something I’ve thought about before. Maybe I would be happier if I went to church or another religious institution. I feel like I’m too open to follow a religion the way religious people typically do. I’m too skeptic of accepting a truth with no proof behind it and too open to the possibilities. I do think I might be able to get behind the values a religion preaches without believing in their God and their stories. I think I might enjoy being apart of a community like that… assuming I can find one that is positive. I look at people like Dani and Hannah Beer and I see how happy church makes them. Maybe I could benefit from it, too. Maybe it would help me feel like I belong. Probably not. I’ll feel like an outsider because I don’t believe. But still. It would also be interesting to learn about a religion first hand like that. I don’t know… This will most likely be next year adventure if it happens at all. Next year… When Amber and I are hopefully living in an apartment and transitioning to veganism… And hopefully I see my girlfriend regularly and finally lose my virginity (Lol do I /really/ belong in a church? Probably not…)

I’m not sure what I believe. I believe in something… I identify as Agnostic. I’m sure there is something more than us, whether it is a higher power the way people typically envision a higher power or something completely different we haven’t thought of… Or maybe that we can’t think of because we can’t understand it. I don’t know. I don’t know what happens when we die and I’m scared of the possibilities. I’m scared of everything just stopping and I’m scared of being eternally miserable and I’m scared of being reincarnated as a fly or bee or wasp or an even more messed up human. Humans fear what we don’t know. I don’t know and I am afraid.

Moving on to a lighter topic… I finished Dreamfall Chapters and started playing Remember Me. It’s a really interesting game, but also frustrating.

I also ordered a charger that should be here on Monday and my books better be here Monday because they were supposed to be here last Wednesday.

I’m still trying for straight As though I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t need to review my chem notes EVERY day. Whether I get straight As or not, I’m not overwhelmed by the workload this semester… yet. It all seems doable. I haven’t turned anything in late yet. There aren’t a lot of grades in the gradebook yet, but I only have 100s so far… It will not stay that way lol.

Amber and I have been sticking to our goal of going to the gym at least twice a week. We started the bluecoats training regime yesterday and I’m super excited. We’ve also decided that we’re gonna try to go Mon, Wed, Fri, and Saturday. Friday and Saturday are really good gym days because not a lot of people are there. We have yet to go on a Monday… heheh.

There’s been drama with Drew and his family. His mom has been bashing Jordan on his profile… on public posts. He’s still trying to contact Jordan and even messaged Zoe and accused Jordan of being a pathological liar. Speaking of which… his hickass mom sounds a lot like one of those what with her “degree in law” and her daughters husband that there have been no previous pictures or mention of… Anyway, it’s all been very annoying but also kind of hilarious. I think his mom needs to learn what the definition of “intelligence” is.

I don’t have time for these people to be honest. (Drew and his family). I’m too busy trying to better myself. I’m going to talk about some of my goals, values, and general things I’ve learned:

I now know what it means to invalidate someone’s feelings and why even if those feelings are irrational, that’s not okay. Feelings are real. Calling them “just chemicals in the brain” doesn’t devalue them. Chemicals in your brain are a very real and powerful thing. If you understand anything about science and the human body, you know that chemicals in your brain are responsible for a lot of physical and mental traits. For example, chemicals in your body determine how tall you are. Growth hormone, specifically. It is secreted by the pituitary gland in the brain. Growth hormone deficiency causes dwarfism. That is a very real thing that you can see. It being caused by a chemical in the brain does not make it any less real. Feelings and mental illnesses are also caused by chemicals secreted by the brain. You just can’t always see the effects. Anyway, this is turning into a very different point…. The point I wanted to make is that feelings are real and therefore you cannot just tell a person to ignore them or that they shouldn’t have them. If someone’s feelings are irrational, you still cannot invalidate them. You must first acknowledge them and the fact that they are not something easily controlled (And often times not controllable at all) and then bring in the logic. I.e. “I know you’re angry because your spaghetti’s on the floor,, but Shanaynay didn’t spill it on purpose.” V.S. “Calm down, it’s not like she did it on purpose.”.

There is a thing called emotional intelligence. I’m very lacking in this department, but I have enough regular intelligence to acknowledge and work on it. I really do think I have a mild form of aspergers or something like it, but I’m glad I came to that realization. I’m bad at understanding social cues and piecing things together. I miss out on jokes and sarcasm from time to time because I honestly just don’t get it. Sometimes I stop to think about things for a long time before coming to a realization that feels like an epiphany, but when I go to explain it to someone else it’s something they picked up on without even having to think about it. I have a hard time understanding why it’s not always okay to say things that are true. Hell, I picked honest as my personality trait for that English assignment in Becker’s class Sophomore year. I also have a hard time understanding emotions that I can’t physically feel. Anyway,, I’m glad I realized I have this problem/these problems. It allows me to prevent a lot of issues and explain behaviors of mine that other people don’t understand.

I enjoy intelligent arguments. I also believe they are an essential part of the modern human experience. People who don’t understand how to engage in intelligent arguments make me sad. I almost can’t comprehend how people think that belittling others and using profanity does anything but invalidate their arguments. When you come out and say that you are intelligent, when you attack for something that doesn’t relate to the topic (especially when it’s something they cannot control), and when you use swears/slurs, you decrease the intelligence of your argument. You significantly decrease the chance that anyone who didn’t already agree with you will even hear the point you’re trying to make. Words can hurt. It’s also important to understand opposing arguments. Your argument is much stronger if you show that you understand the opposition, but still think it’s wrong.

Words can significantly impact a person's emotions, mental health, etc. Words can start wars. Words can make people famous. For a lot of people, stringing words together and/or understanding words is their job. Words are one of the main ways we communicate. Words have power. Without them, our societies would be drastically different. Words can get you into all kinds of legal trouble. Words matter. Expression matters. Communication matters. How someone can dismiss words in favor of violence, I will never understand. Violence doesn’t lead to change or understanding. Words can. Words can hurt. Words can heal. They are not insignificant.

That’s not to say that you should be offended by specific words. Words like “fuck” for example. Yes, it’s not a “nice” word and it’s not a word that is socially acceptable in most professional settings. But hearing someone say it on TV or at a restaurant or in any random context that does not require professional language, should not offend you. If it does offend you, that is your problem. If something someone says, whilst not meaning to hurt anyone, bothers you, that is not their problem. They can say whatever they want. If you don’t like it, it is your job to stay away from them, to ignore it, to reflect on why it offends you and whether or not it’s a feeling you want to hold onto. Words matter but the intention behind them matters more.

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. Everyone in America has freedom of speech. These things don’t mean that you can say whatever you want. Saying hurtful things can get you into legal trouble. Cyberbullying, harassment, stalking, libel, and slander can all get you into legal trouble. You do not have the right to go around and be a jerk to people. You just don’t. A good general principle to live by is to do whatever you want as long as it doesn't hurt others.

You don’t have to cottle people. You don’t have to refrain from talking about things because it offends people. But you do have to keep in mind that the platforms you leave your opinions on have rules and guidelines. You do have to keep in mind that saying certain things in a certain way can be illegal. And if you want people to care about your feelings, you should be sure to care about theirs. There is a balance between being yourself/expressing your opinions and trash talking people, harassing people, etc.

I’ve been putting a lot of effort into becoming a better person. I think it’s important to always be reflecting on who you are and working towards positive changes, especially when you’re not happy with who you are as a person. By coming to college and being in the Bears for a Just Community LLC alone, by surrounding myself with new people and opportunities, I am growing more and more each day. I’ve been actively choosing to be better - to be more conscious of others feelings and how what I say and do impacts them, to put more effort into school, to learn, to go to class everyday, to evaluate myself and my choices, to go to the gym, and to be healthier. I feel more productive. I feel like I’m actually living and participating in the college experience; I didn’t feel like that before. I think being productive, bettering myself, and learning are going to make me so much happier. I’m ready to do the whole “New year, new me” cliche right. I want to always be improving.

There is a lot more I could say, but I’ve been working on this entry for a while so I’ll leave it at that.

#diary #journal #dear diary #personal #vent #rant #march

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tigereye771 · 7 years

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Rumble in the Dragon Pit

Title: Rumble in the Dragon Pit

Notes: Out of all of the ‘alleged spoiler’, one of the stupidest, was the one about the Dragon pit. Here’s about the only way I would enjoy seeing that happen.

“Of all the stupid, asinine…” Sansa’s voice trailed off as she set down Jon’s letter and looked up to see her siblings and Brienne looking inquiringly at her.

“Jon,” she said his name in a tone of exasperation and weariness, “Is off on a wight hunt because Daenerys and Cersei demand proof the Others exist.”

“Cersei? When did we start treating with the Lannister Bitch?” Arya scowled.

“Apparently Daenerys has been fighting her for that ugly chair and somehow they’ve managed to stop fighting long enough to all agree to meet in some dragon pit when Jon comes back with a wight.”

“Doesn’t Daenerys have dragons? Why is she negotiating?” Brienne frowned.

“Guess she sucks in battles, despite her superior fire power or Cersei is just way better at it. They’re at a draw for now. And it sounds like Jaime Lannister managed to take down one dragon.”

The Starks are all impressed as is Brienne who says something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, “Stud.”

“So Jon’s reduced to an errand boy?” Arya bit out in annoyance.

“Apparently,” Sansa replied dryly. “Guess he took one look at Daenerys and couldn’t refuse. They say no man can resist her.”

“Well, there go his Stark creds,” Arya muttered.

Bran cleared his throat. When they all turned to look at him, he stared sheepishly back at them. “Actually, Jon isn’t really a Stark. He’s a Targaryen. His parents are our Aunt Lyanna and Rhaegar Targaryen.” He launches into a fantastic story about time travel and using the weirwoods as some type of communications system. Strangely, everyone believes him.

“What are we going to do?” Arya asked. “If Jon doesn’t get himself killed trying to capture and bring back a wight, which honestly, the woman has dragons, if Daenerys wanted proof, she just could have done a fly over, you know Cersei will kill him because look what happened the last time Cersei got all of her enemies together in one spot.”

Sansa sighed. “I know. We’ve got to save Jon from his own stupid decisions. Brienne, I’m going to need you to go ahead and make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid. Can’t trust Davos because you know, his track record with Stannis, not so great.”

“What will you be doing, milady?” Brienne asked.

Sansa looked at Bran and Arya who nodded back to her. “We’re getting ready. We should be preparing to fight the Others, but until those idiots get it through their thick heads we’re all going to die if we don’t fight the Night King, it means we’re going to have to knock some sense into their heads.”

*/*/*/*/*

Jon shifted uncomfortably, having not adjusted to the warmer temperatures in the South. To his left sat Dany whom he sent an affectionate look. Their night of passion helped ease the ache he felt in knowing he couldn’t have Sansa because she was his sister and Jon didn’t do incest. Nope, not an incestuous bone in his body. They may have been half-siblings, but that was too close. Siblings, parents, aunts, uncles, that type of relationship was off the table. Cousins were fine or perfect strangers like Dany.

However, Jon’s discomfort was not simply weather related. He remembered that Cersei had killed thousands when she used wildfire on the Sept. It was how she seized the throne. Right now, they were seated in a deserted stadium, separated from their troops who were stationed outside the walls, waiting for their leaders. A dragon pit and a battle area was before them and he could hear the Daenerys’ two remaining dragons shuffling about uneasily.

Jon suddenly spotted two people entering the arena and became instantly alarmed. He recognized Brienne and Pod and hurried forward. “What are you doing here? Is all well? Sansa?”

“Everything is fine at Winterfell, Your Grace,” Brienne assured him. “Your brother and sister, Bran and Arya, have returned as well.”

Jon smiled widely. “Arya and Bran are home? Gods be praised! I cannot wait to see them!”

“Well, if you had gone home like a sane person, you would have,” Brienne muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

Jon led them up to the box that had been reserved for the three leaders. Brienne saw that Cersei was there with Jaime, Bronn and a few other Lannister men. Daenerys was with Tyrion, Varys, and two dark skinned foreigners, a man and a woman. Davos, Tormund and the Hound were with Jon. No one had weapons. They had been confiscated at the entrance by a Queensguard. Before the viewing box they all sat in was a large pit and Brienne could hear the roar of dragons in it. Why Daenerys agreed to keep her dragons in that pit, Brienne didn’t understand.

Cersei eyed the newcomer suspiciously especially when Jaime greeted her warmly.

“Milady, Brienne,” the lion said. “What are you doing here?”

“I represent, the Queen of the North, Sansa Stark,” Brienne said in a loud clear voice.

Every gaped at her in surprise.

“Queen of the North?” Dany asked in surprised. She turned to Jon. “I thought she was your sister. How can she be the queen?”

“Er, you know, not that I have a problem with it, but uh, Brienne, what’s going on?” Jon stammered.

“It’s a long story and I’ll explain later, but long story short, Northern Lords had a change of heart when some new information came their way.” Brienne replied. “Sorry!”

“So the Little Dove is now a Queen,” mused Cersei. “Who cares? More wine and let’s get this show on the road!”

At that moment, Gendry and another man began pulling the wight Jon had captured out near the dragon pit. It took the two of them, yanking on the chains that bound the creature to bring him forward and before the assembled leaders.

“Gods, it’s true!” Daenerys breathed out. “Jon, I’ll never doubt you again. We must band together to fight this threat!”

“Bullshit!” Cersei yelled out. “How do I know if he’s real or not? You could have just used makeup on him.” She took a healthy swig of wine. “Let’s see how strong he really is. Mountain!”

At her command, a tall, muscular man wearing a helmet strode forward. Gendry and the other man holding the wight backed away. The wight seemed confused for a moment but then shrugged off his chains and faced off with the Mountain. The two circled each other for a moment and then both launched themselves at each other. It was a furious and bloody fight. The Mountain had size on his side, but the wight was fast and possessed a great strength.

As everyone watched the fight, Cersei began to ease herself away from everyone else. When she turned to leave the box, she found her way blocked by Brienne.

“Your Grace? May I be of assistance to you?” Brienne asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Wine, I’m off to find more wine,” Cersei replied.

“But you’re missing the fight,” Brienne gestured towards the battle between the Mountain and the wight.”

“I’m not much for blood sports. Look, Brandy-,”

“Brienne.”

“Brienne, I really have to go. As queen, I demand you step aside.”

“You’re not my queen.”

“Move!”

“No!”

As they argue back and forth, Cersei becomes more agitated and nervous until she tries to bodily move Brienne aside. She did not succeed. Their arguing drew everyone’s attention just as the Mountain finally dispatched the wight by crushing its head. It is his preferred modus operandi.

“Cersei?” Jaime asks. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave?”

Cersei is nearly frantic by now and starts to claw at Brienne to try to get past. The knight simply shoves her backward into Jaime’s puzzled arms.

“You don’t understand!” Cersei cries frantically. “We have to go or we’ll all die!”

“Has she become hysterical because of the wight?” Daenerys asks.

“No,” Tyrion’s eyes narrow as he watches Jaime try to soothe their sister. “There’s something-,” His eyes widen. “Gods! Wildfire! You’ve placed it all around us!”

Everyone gasps and for a moment they can only stare at each other before there’s a scramble to try to get out of the box and the stadium. Before they can do more than shuffle their feet, they hear screams from outside of the stadium. Before entering the stadium, the Lannister and Targaryen armies were stationed outside, an agreement between the two warring sides. Now they could see a tell-tale plume of green flame shoot into the air and the ground rumbled.

Dany whirled on Cersei. “You lied to us!”

“Of course I did, you stupid Targaryen bitch!” Cersei cried out, struggling against Jaime who held her fast. “And if we don’t get out of here now, we’ll suffer the same fate.”

Suddenly, the sky darkened and they heard the flapping of the wings of thousands of ravens as they blocked out the sky and flew overhead. Above the screams of dying men they heard clearly, the long, loud howl of a wolf.

The gates that closed off the entrance to the stadium suddenly burst open and a pack of wolves stormed in followed by a woman riding at the head of an army. A woman with hair the color of molten copper and wearing the armor where the Stark sigil was proudly displayed. Sansa Stark, Queen of the North, has not come to parlay, but to take charge.

She was flanked by Arya and Bran on their own horses and also wearing Stark armor. Behind them as they filled the arena where members of the North, Vale and Riverland armies including the Blackfish who had miraculously survived and swore fealty to his niece, Sansa.

“Sansa! Arya! Bran!” Jon cried out. He tried to leap out of the observation box, but he didn’t have enough room to do so and really, clambering out ungracefully didn’t feel like a good option. “Get out of here! Cersei has booby-trapped the entire arena with wildfire!”

Sansa maintained her serene expression. “Brienne?”

“Pod?” Brienne replied. Her squire suddenly materialized from under the grandstand and nodded his head.

“All taken care of, Your Grace,” Pod replied as he dusted off his hands. “I’ve removed all of the fuses.”

Sansa nodded and gestured for several men to go to Pod. They disappeared again under the grandstand and then Sansa turned her attention to the so-called great leaders of Westeros. What a waste, this senseless arguing and all these people dying, for what? An ugly chair and a life of constantly worrying someone will come and try to take it away from you. Sansa had once thought she wanted to be queen, but she knew better now. She knew what was important. Her family, her people, living and loving and being happy. It wasn’t pretty dresses and crowns and power.

“Are you convinced now that Jon Snow was not lying about the threat of the Others?” Sansa asked the assembled group.

Daenerys stood. “Yes. And in return for my armies and dragons in helping you in this cause, I demand the Iron Throne. As the last Targaryen, it is my right.”

“First,” Sansa began. “You don’t have much of an army left. Cersei saw to that. Second, you can have the throne, but the North and any land that wishes to join us are free and independent.”

“The Riverlands!”

“The Vale!”

“Third,” Sansa continued as she smiled at the representatives of these lands, “You’re not the last Targaryen. Jon is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark.”

Everyone gasped and stared at the man they had assumed was Ned Stark’s bastard. Jon looked dazed and confused and turned to look at Dany. “That means, you’re my aunt.”

“And we-,” Dany began.

Jon suddenly bolted for the side of the viewing box and vomited.

“Slept with her,” Arya said in a flat tone.

“Predictable,” replied Sansa. “Jon, if you’re done tossing your cookies, we’ve got more important things to do.”

“I accept none of this! None!” Cersei screamed. “Mountain! Kill that red-headed bitch!”

The Mountain turned and started menacingly towards Sansa who remained still. Jon, seeing the threat to her, made to grab Longclaw, but cried out in frustration realizing it was still outside of the arena. However, it was not necessary as suddenly five wolves leapt onto the Mountain, clawing and tearing and reducing the behemoth to a bloody, and finally dead corpse.

“Now, can we talk about the really important thing, like the Others,” Sansa asked again.

“No! You need me! I will not give up the throne to a bastard nor will I lose more than half of my kingdom. Dracarys!” Daenerys screamed.

A loud screech could be heard and the two dragons in the pit began to flap their wings and rise into the air. Daenerys screamed again, pointing to the Starks as Jon cried out fruitlessly for her to stop because just yelling at crazy is so effective.

Sansa, Arya and Bran remained unfazed and Jon could only sob out, “Noooo!!!!” as both dragons opened their mouths to bathe the Starks in their deadly fire.

Only, they did not. Instead, they swayed, almost drunkenly for a moment and then flopped over on their bellies in a manner similar to what a dog would do when asking for their bellies to be rubbed.

“Very good, Bran,” Sansa murmured. She turned to a shocked Daenerys. “You do not even have dragons now, milady. My brother Bran is in control of them and he will make them hurl themselves into the sea and drown if he wishes.”

Dany sank slowly down. “My children! Don’t hurt my children!” she whimpered.

Sansa sighed wearily. “I have no desire to hurt them or deprive you of them. I know what it feels like to have something you are so connected to cruelly taken away.” She swallowed hard, thinking of Lady. “However, I will not let you use them as a weapon on us.”

“How do you expect to fight the Others without them, mi-, er, Queen Sansa?” Davos asked. Jon looked at him but the older man simply shrugged.

“Bran?”

After putting the dragons back into their pit and calming them down enough for them to take a nap, Bran’s eyes once again went white and the ravens that had flown over the arena earlier made an appearance. Suddenly, men carefully holding trays that contained small canisters went to the birds and began attaching them to their legs. They worked quickly and efficiently and soon the sky was once again filled with the flapping, black wings of the ravens as they headed North.

“Each canister contained a small measure of wildfire,” Sansa explained. “We were not able to save the Wall from falling, but we will be meeting the Others with weapons of our own. We will rain wild fire on them and we will win this war.”

“How can you make certain they’ll drop them on the Others?” Tyrion asked, impressed by the plan.

“Because I can control them too,” Bran replied. “We will win this war.”

“There will need to be other things we will have to do to ensure victory. While you’ve been fighting or going on stupid wight hunts, in the North we’ve actually been coming up with strategies. Will you join us now in this fight or shall I leave you here to continue bickering among yourselves?”

Jon was the first to step forward. He was still shaken by the knowledge he was not a Stark by a Targaryen and still a little queasy realizing he had sex with his aunt. But the upside was that Sansa was truly his cousin and he could already feel the stirrings of desire for her, the mantle of command bringing another appealing aspect to her already comely self. “I may no longer be King, but I pledge to seve you Queen Sansa, until the end of my days. In whatever way or capacity you see fit. In WHATEVER way you see fit.” Jon stared intensely at her.

Sansa’s cheeks pinked and Arya looked at the two of them in disgust. “I think I may throw up now,” the younger Stark muttered.

Soon, everyone else began to pledge to fight with Sansa and House Stark against this great threat until only Cersei and Dany remained. Everyone looked at them. The Lannister lioness scoffed. “Have fun fighting. I’m just going to have more wine!” She grabbed a goblet and drained it, signaling for a servant to refill it.

Everyone looked to Daenerys who stood there, furious that all she had worked for had come to naught as this traitor’s daughter stood to take everything from her: her lands, her people and Jon. Unlike Jon, Dany was fine with the incest thing.

“I am Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt Queen of the Andals, Queen of Meereen, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons- arrgggh!!!” She broke off in a screech as she realized a large white direwolf was pissing on her hem of her dress. “What is this?! Get that mangy dog away from me!”

“Ghost! Stop that!” Jon scolded. He looked apologetically at Dany. “Sorry, he’s never done anything like that before.”

As Dany sputtered in indignation, Sansa shot Arya a look and then looked at Ghost. Her sister was grinning and while she knew it wasn’t possible, Sansa could have sworn Ghost winked at her.

“Come!” Sansa called out in a voice that cut through all chatter. “We have a war to fight. My father always said, when the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. The time for being the lone wolf is over. We fight as a pack!”

She pulled on the reins of her horse to turn it around and rode out of the arena, followed by Bran and Arya and the rest of the forces ready to fight the coming darkness.

And together, they did and they won. Not without great losses. While the wildfire dealt a devastating blow to the Others, it was not enough to completely defeat them. They still had to fight with men, many who died. Entire houses were wiped out in this war and the wars before. No more where the Martells, the Greyjoys, the Lannisters and countless other. Daenerys herself perished with her dragons as she attempted to fight the Night King on her own. It was not fated that she succeed. It would be Jon, the only other surviving Targaryen who would drive his sword into the heart of the beast and vanquish him forever.

With the Night King’s death, the air became warmer and the snows began to recede. The earth began to renew itself and the long night faded for the great dawn. In these war torn lands, the people began to rebuild not only their homes, but their lives. Hope began to grow. Love was made and children were born.

A child, with his mother’s blue eyes and his father’s dark curly hair was born to the great joy of his parents and the lands they ruled, Eddard Jon Stark, son of Queen Sansa Stark and her consort, Jon Stark. There would be many more children, each born to a family that loved them and each knew that no matter what happened, if they stayed with their pack, all would be well.

The End

#jon x sansa fic jonsa fic got s7 spoilers fic starks in charge

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

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Hey! Wat are your opinion on Dany fertility? When rhaego was born some says it is same as rhaenyra but it involves blood magic. Do you think next she becomes pregnant there are chances of Shadow baby? Also do you think jon possibly sterile after Resurrection?

I don’t think Jon will be sterile after the resurrection. We don’t know how he will be resurrected, etc etc. I am no kind of expert on the subject, though. It’s merely my certainty that Jon is destined to be a father.

I also don’t think Dany is sterile so much as she has trouble carrying a pregnancy to term so shortly after a traumatic birth at a young age. It’s heavily implied (though perhaps it’s a misdirection) that she had a miscarriage in connection to her affliction with dysentery while wandering the grasslands in her final ADWD chapter.

Am I dying? Then she saw the pale crescent moon, floating high above the grass, and it came to her that this was no more than her moon blood. If she had not been so sick and scared, that might have come as a relief. Instead she began to shiver violently. She rubbed her fingers through the dirt, and grabbed a handful of grass to wipe between her legs. The dragon does not weep. She was bleeding, but it was only woman’s blood. The moon is still a crescent, though. How can that be? She tried to remember the last time she had bled. The last full moon? The one before? The one before that? No, it cannot have been so long as that. “I am the blood of the dragon,” she told the grass, aloud. Once, the grass whispered back, until you chained your dragons in the dark. “Drogon killed a little girl. Her name was … her name …” Dany could not recall the child’s name. That made her so sad that she would have cried if all her tears had not been burned away. “I will never have a little girl. I was the Mother of Dragons.” Aye, the grass said, but you turned against your children. Her belly was empty, her feet sore and blistered, and it seemed to her that the cramping had grown worse. Her guts were full of writhing snakes biting at her bowels. She scooped up a handful of mud and water in trembling hands. By midday the water would be tepid, but in the chill of dawn it was almost cool and helped her keep her eyes open. As she splashed her face, she saw fresh blood on her thighs. The ragged hem of her undertunic was stained with it. The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it’s only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow. Could it be the water? If it was the water, she was doomed. She had to drink or die of thirst. (ADWD, Daenerys X)

It’s clear Dany is struggling herself with the idea that this might be a miscarriage.

There is no way to be certain whether or not Dany even has fertility issues at all, considering that - IF she is miscarrying - a bout of the bloody flux would easily explain it. For all we know Dany has no fertility issues at all. If she has them, there are plentiful “normal” explanations for them. Dany is so focused on the curse, on being barren, that I am pretty sure she isn’t. Or that’s just what GRRM wants me to think. Right?

Reading all this and considering her history of pregnancy --> failed poison attempt --> birth/miscarriage during dramatic conflict --> Waking the Dragon, it is easy to suspect her eventual descent into full-on murderous and violent destruction (and her death) will be tied to pregnancy as well.

I just always wondered how that was supposed to work.

“When your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. Then he will return, and not before." (AGOT, Daenerys IX)

That’s pretty specific. Her womb quickens again. Bear a living child. But if Dany bears a living child, that’d probably be the one thing to STOP her from going all inferno on everyone. And a miscariage would contradict this condition. Dying IN childbirth with a living child would just be lame. I mean, the drama comes from Dany choosing to be a monster, not from Dany dying in childbirth and her dragons going nuts.

So if the cycle is to be repeated, either a living child is killed or there is a twist that makes it all work.

The shadow baby might be a huge twist.

“Yes. Beneath. But we can go no farther. The portcullis goes all the way to the bottom. And the bars are too closely spaced for even a child to squeeze through.” There was no answer but a soft rustling. And then a light bloomed amidst the darkness. Davos raised a hand to shield his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Melisandre had thrown back her cowl and shrugged out of the smothering robe. Beneath, she was naked, and huge with child. Swollen breasts hung heavy against her chest, and her belly bulged as if near to bursting. “Gods preserve us,” he whispered, and heard her answering laugh, deep and throaty. Her eyes were hot coals, and the sweat that dappled her skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. Melisandre shone. Panting, she squatted and spread her legs. Blood ran down her thighs, black as ink. Her cry might have been agony or ecstasy or both. And Davos saw the crown of the child’s head push its way out of her. Two arms wriggled free, grasping, black fingers coiling around Melisandre’s straining thighs, pushing, until the whole of the shadow slid out into the world and rose taller than Davos, tall as the tunnel, towering above the boat. He had only an instant to look at it before it was gone, twisting between the bars of the portcullis and racing across the surface of the water, but that instant was long enough. He knew that shadow. As he knew the man who’d cast it. (ACOK, Davos II)

Next chapter: Jon.

This doesn’t sound very like a living child. It sounds like a monster. Like Dany’s dragon children. Like Drogon, who keeps being described as a shadow.

(It also sounds like a metaphor for Jon’s birth. The mother, whose body is not ready (possibly to narrow in the hips) for childbirth, the massive shadow (i.e. power) cast by the child that comes forth. Jon’s shadow. The shadow that is destined to stabbity stab someone.)

But back to Shadow Baby Targ.

Considering all the lovely speculation surrounding Dany and Euron lately, (read everything by @shieldofrohan !), as well as Euron’s massive magical aspect, as well as this plans for Dany, methinks he would be central to that:

"And who are you, child?" "Falia Flowers, Lord Hewett's natural daughter. I am to be King Euron's salt wife. You and I will be kin, then." Aeron Damphair raised his eyes to hers. His scabbed lips were crusted with wet porridge. "Woman." His chains clinked when he moved. "Run. He will hurt you. He will kill you." She laughed. "Silly, he won't. I'm his love, his lady. He gives me gifts, so many gifts. Silks and furs and jewels. Rags and rocks, he calls them." The Crow's Eye puts no value in such things. That was one of the things that drew men to his service. Most captains kept the lion's share of their plunder but Euron took almost nothing for himself. "He gives me any gown I want," the girl was prattling happily. "My sisters used to make me wait on them at table, but Euron made them serve the whole hall naked! Why should he do that, except for love of me?" She put a hand on her belly and smoothed down the fabric of her gown. "I'm going to give him sons. So many sons..." "He has sons." "Baseborn boys and mongrels, Euron says. My sons will come before them, he has sworn, sworn by your own Drowned God!" Aeron would've wept for her. Tears of blood, he thought. "You must bear a message to my brother. Not Euron, but Victarion, Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet. Do you know the man I mean?" Falia sat back from him. "Yes," she said. "But I couldn't bring him any messages. He's gone." "Gone?" That was the cruelest blow of all. "Gone where?" "East," she said, "with all his ships. He's to bring the Dragon queen to Westeros. I'm to be Euron's salt wife, but he must have a rock wife too, a queen to rule all Westeros at his side. They say she's the most beautiful woman in the world, and she has dragons. The two of us will be as close as sisters!"

(…)

"Brother," he said, "you look forlorn. I have a gift for you." He beckoned, and two of his bastard sons dragged the woman forward and bound her to the prow on the other side of the figurehead. Naked as the mouthless maiden, her smooth belly just beginning to swell with the child she was carrying, her cheeks red with tears, she did not struggle as the boys tightened her bonds. Her hair hung down in front of her face, but Aeron knew her all the same.

(TWOW, The Forsaken)

But Euron doesn’t care about heirs, methinks.

Falia is his “Lady”, i.e. a sacrifice on the command of an Evil monarch like Lady the direwolf? And she and Dany will be close as sister? Like, share a fate kind of close?

Balon was mad, Aeron is madder, and Euron is maddest of them all. Victarion was turning to go when the Crow’s Eye said, “A king must have a wife, to give him heirs. Brother, I have need of you. Will you go to Slaver’s Bay and bring my love to me?” I had a love once too. Victarion’s hands coiled into fists, and a drop of blood fell to patter on the floor. I should beat you raw and red and feed you to the crabs, the same as I did her. “You have sons,” he told his brother. “Baseborn mongrels, born of whores and weepers.” “They are of your body.” “So are the contents of my chamber pot. None is fit to sit the Seastone Chair, much less the Iron Throne. No, to make an heir that’s worthy of him, I need a different woman. When the kraken weds the dragon, brother, let all the world beware.” “What dragon?” said Victarion, frowning. “The last of her line. They say she is the fairest woman in the world. Her hair is silvergold, and her eyes are amethysts … but you need not take my word for it, brother. Go to Slaver’s Bay, behold her beauty, and bring her back to me.” “Why should I?” Victarion demanded. “For love. For duty. Because your king commands it.” Euron chuckled. “And for the Seastone Chair. It is yours, once I claim the Iron Throne. You shall follow me as I followed Balon … and your own trueborn sons shall one day follow you.” My own sons. But to have a trueborn son a man must first have a wife. Victarion had no luck with wives. Euron’s gifts are poisoned, he reminded himself, but still … “The choice is yours, brother. Live a thrall or die a king. Do you dare to fly? Unless you take the leap, you’ll never know.” (AFFC, The Reaver)

Euron manipulates Victarion beautifully. Victarion is the one who cares about wives and heirs. Euron considers his progeny to be excrement. He wants Dany, but hardly in order to make trueborn drakens to inherit an uncomfortable chair.

I think IF Shadow Baby Targ is going to be a thing with Dany and the twist around the “Living Baby” clause, I think Euron will be involved in that, and the whole nightmare potential of that is scaring me already. It may not even matter if she is truly infertile or not if that level of dark magic is involved. Or Euron just wants to sacrifice a baby, Craster-style.

If Jon is involved, I really don’t think it would be a willing participation. Yikes.

Brr.

Seriously, that stuff gives me the absolute creeps.

#daenerys targaryen #jon snow #euron greyjoy #asoiaf

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