#Arya was terribly written but at least we /saw/ her training in a way we never did with Sansa | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ficsilike-reblogged · 4 years

Text

Blood in the Rivers: VII

A/N: I apologize for the wait. I hope you guys still like this little story of mine.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x F!Reader (Tully)

Rating: T (Maybe M??) For Blood, allusions to smut, my continued overuse of italics, poorly written, soft confessions of feelings

Word Count: 8.3k (Someone please take my computer away)

Read Chapters I-VI here! Or on Ao3!

Chapter Seven: The Price of Happiness

All of Dorne was a delight to the senses. The food was better, the wine more tart, the air itself smelled sweeter and punctuated with the scent of salt of the ocean and the heat of the sun-warmed walls. It was paradise. Never in her life had she met a family more loving and open with their affections—or their squabbles. The Sand Snakes welcomed her with open arms and quelled most of the fears that turned Y/N’s stomach.

And having the company of Sansa and Arya gave Y/N an immeasurable amount of joy. Simply knowing they were alive and well and within her reach let a small bit of weight lift from her shoulders. All of them melded together into a strange camaraderie that Y/N quickly grew accustomed to. Arya trained with Obara, Elia, and Obella—and little Dorea would sometimes sneak away from her mother and Septa to try to keep up with the older girls. And Arya was insistent that Y/N join them at least three times a week. Sansa would sup with Nymeria and Tyene and would drag Y/N along when she wasn’t occupied with Ellaria and Oberyn. They would read to little Loreza to help her sleep. Sarella was still in Oldtown but had sent a raven with a kind word, welcoming Y/N into the fold.

All of it was…perfect. So perfect that Y/N was waiting for something terrible to happen to knock her from the pedestal of the happy life she’d created at Sunspear.

“You are quiet, My Tully,” Ellaria said as they sat together on the sand of the strip of beach just outside the fortress’ walls. A handful of handmaidens waited to be called, standing in Sunspear’s forgiving shadows, with a half dozen guards. Ellaria had stolen Y/N away from Manfrey Martell’s lessons. Oberyn’s cousin was the current Castellan of Sunspear and had been teaching Y/N the proper way of keeping the household and surrounding city running smoothly, as it had for centuries.

“I am enjoying the view,” Y/N replied as she watched Ellaria tie her skirts a little high around her waist as she wanted to wade into the water. Her four daughters were all laughing and splashing a few paces away, without a care and nearly infectious with their joy.

“We agreed to not lie to each other, My Tully. Nor keep secrets.” When she was finished tying her own, Ellaria pulled Y/N to her feet and made quick work of tying her skirts, too. She grasped her hands and led her out to the lapping water.

It was warm and clear—a far cry from the usually-muddy waters of the rivers around Riverrun. Ellaria continued to lead her in until their bundled skirts were in danger of getting wet from the shallow waves but did not release her grip even as they slowed to a stop. She pulled Y/N a little closer and brushed a kiss against her shoulder, exposed in the Dornish style dress Nymeria’s favorite seamstress had tailored especially for her in a pretty sky blue. The ugly scars from the arrow were exposed but very few paid them any mind.

“Tell me what is burdening you.”

“You will think me foolish,” Y/N murmured.

“Never.”

Y/N sighed and squeezed at Ellaria’s hands before wrapping her arms around herself. “Everything here is so…lovely. A paradise.”

“Just as I told you all those moons ago at that wretched wedding; I knew you had the right heart to make Dorne your home.”

It was almost as if Ellaria was trying to banish whatever gloomy thought Y/N had with kisses as she stole one from Y/N’s frowning mouth and then another as she started to smile. “And I am grateful to be here, to have you in my arms now—you and Oberyn both. To be welcomed to happily by your family. But I am worried…the gods have only afforded me this happiness to rip it away from me. Surely I cannot be this happy for the rest of my days.”

“Why do you think that your happiness must have limits? The gods delight in their creations. Why should we not delight in them as well?” Ellaria smiled and looked like a goddess herself in the sunlight and surrounded by clear, sparkling water. “Your happiness does not have a limit because the gods deem it so. Only you can determine how happy you are in this life. I have chosen to take every opportunity to seize happiness, joy, whenever I can. You have brought me such joy, My Tully. I want you to have the same—but you must let yourself.” Ellaria pulled Y/N close again and pressed another kiss to her mouth. “Will you let yourself?” She asked against her lips.

“I will try,” Y/N answered with a laugh.

A sudden splash of water had her sputtering and Ellaria chuckled. “You will,” Ellaria stated, wet fingers trailing against Y/N’s cheek.

Ellaria tasted like saltwater and sunshine when Y/N kissed her again. “I love you,” Y/N said, the words bubbling out of her throat before she could even think to stop them.

“My heart has been shared between you and Oberyn since I saw you at the market. I love you, sweet girl, and I will remind you of that fact every chance you give me.”

“You travelled through the Kingswood during a battle?” Y/N could feel her throat tightening with each passing word. Word had come to Oberyn that the Lannisters knew Sandor had been seen in Dorne. Ellaria’s words about embracing joy—and the fact that Ellaria loved her—had lifted her mood for the past handful of days but the news had quickly soured her disposition. She asked plainly what had happened on the way to Dorne with Sansa and Arya and expected to hear that he had taken the most benign route possible and then be on her way. That was not the case. “I told you to take her to safety-”

“The little bird’s alive, ain’t she?” Sandor griped. “She’s fine.”

“Thank the Seven,” she retorted, face still contorted with rage. “I cannot fathom your reason for endangering her—you know the Stone Crows-”

“Aye, the Stone Crows,” he mimicked, remembering the Mountain Clan men Tyrion had brought to King’s Landing and used as reinforcements around the castle during the Battle of the Blackwater. “Stupid bunch of brats with swords. They bleed just like the rest of the Lannister’s cunt forces.” But he dropped his voice and leaned close, letting the scent of blood orange he had on his tongue waft over her. “You were right to leave her care to me. I would never let any hurt come to her. Do not doubt that again.”

Y/N scowled. “And Arya? You were just letting her run about, killing people?”

“She is a little beast. There is no taming that one. You’re lucky I got her here without gagging her.” His burnt face twisted. “I’m sure you taught her that.”

“The only thing I tried to teach Arya was how to use a bow.” Y/N grumbled and rubbed at her temples. “But, thank you for seeing them here—safely. It means a great deal to me.”

“Did you truly kill Gregor?”

The question surprised her, as did the soft tone (as soft as Sandor could be, anyway). “I did.”

“Was it quick?”

“Not as quick as I would have liked.” Y/N sighed. “I am sorry I took that from you, your revenge.”

“You did what you had to do. He deserved what he got.” He glanced at the door to Sansa’s chambers. He had been assigned, by a smug Oberyn who knew that Sandor wanted to leave, to be Sansa’s sworn sword. “The Little Bird would say the gods were kind or some other stupid shit.”

“Are you certain seeing his rotting head would not quell some of that rage? To see he is truly dead? The Silent Sisters haven’t taken it for cleaning just yet.” It was still sitting in a box in one of the fortress’ undercrofts. (Arya had poked at it with the end of a quill and Sansa had steadfastly refused to look at the decomposing lump of flesh when Y/N had told them about her own ‘adventure’ in King’s Landing.)

“No,” he said, final and direct.

“Very well. But I am sure you will lay your eyes upon it eventually. Oberyn has said he wants it dipped in gold and strung up in chains within the throne room once it is clean.” Y/N looked at Sandor, truly looked at him. “Please, be kind to Sansa. While she is learning the ways of the world at Prince Doran’s behest, she still has a gentle heart. And she is very fond of you even if you and I both know nothing will come of this childish infatuation of hers.”

Sandor’s eyes narrowed but he did not say anything.

Y/N took a small step forward, knowing she needed to say this if only to sate the small bit of fear she had in her heart. “But if I ever catch you breaking her heart or using her as your brother intended to use me, I will make sure your skull sits next to his.”

“My lady!” Daisy dashed into the hall and barely cast a glance at Sandor. “Prince Oberyn is waiting for you in his solar.”

Y/N nodded and looked one last time at Sandor and received a half-hearted glare in return before she let Daisy lead her through the gilded, warm halls even though she had traversed this path too many times to count, often in the dark of the night. She tried to shake off the foreboding feeling of the Lannisters knowing Sandor was in Dorne and the annoyance that the swordsman also put Sansa and Arya in harm’s way with minimal success. Daisy left her side with a smile as they reached the opened door and Y/N sighed as she spied him sitting at his desk intensely focused on whatever task was set in front of him. Bits of parchment were scattered about. A well of ink was precariously perched near the edge. The entire room was draped in shades of ruby red and highlights of orange that shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in from the large windows, opened to let in the salted air from the ocean below. Sumptuous cushions were piled beneath the western window and a small table with a cyvasse board was set up across the room near the door that led to his bedchamber. He almost seemed to be a work of art she was fortunate to look upon—a god at rest captured by the finest artist the world had ever known. While she had readily admitted her love to Ellaria, she could never seem to find a time to say it to Oberyn. She knew she loved him, loved him like she loved Ellaria. But it seemed inappropriate to blurt it out over a meal or in the heat of some tryst. (And Ellaria found the entire situation hilarious.)

His head snapped up as he heard her footfalls and his lips pushed up into a smile as he set down his quill and waved her over. “Come here, my moonlight.” He reached out to her with ink-smudged fingers and pulled her into his lap as she laughed.

“What are you working on?” She asked, pulling the bit of parchment he was scratching at off the desk. It looked to be a correspondence to his brother Doran—at least that is what she assumed before Oberyn took it from her grasp and flung it over his shoulder.

“Nothing of importance.” He pressed a kiss just below her ear just to hear her laugh again as his grip squeezed around her waist. “I do have something from home for you though.” He patted at her thigh to have her stand and then he strode over to the single trunk in the corner and opened it. Something blue was clutched in his hand and his smile was contagious as he turned toward her. “Come, my moonlight. Let us see if it will suit you.”

Y/N did as she was bid and walked to his side. Blue velvet unfurled from his grip and she unconsciously reached out for it and let her fingers trace over the delicately embroidered, inky black trout at the center of the cloth. Small, red Pentoshi towers lined the hem in sparkling thread. As she pulled it closer, the faded scent of evergreens and her mother’s perfume met her nose.

Oberyn carefully pulled the cloak from her grasp and then set it upon her shoulders and fastened the aged silver clasps, fashioned to look like fish scales, onto her dress. It fit perfectly. He smiled as he said, “your father said it was the cloak he had made for your mother when they were married. Her bridal cloak—now your maiden’s cloak.”

Y/N flung her arms around his neck and held him tight. “Thank you. Thank you for this.” She knew exactly what it was when he had first pulled it from the trunk. Her mother had always wrapped her in the cloak when the air turned cold within the halls of her father’s keep. It would drag behind Y/N’s little legs to the delight of her mother who would then chase after her and scoop her daughter up into her arms. The cloak would be wrapped around her tightly to escape the chill by her mother’s careful hands. It was like she could hug her mother again in a strange sort of way.

Oberyn laughed as he returned the embrace. He pulled back just enough to press his lips to hers, delving his tongue into her mouth with ease and delighting in the happy sound it coaxed from her throat. His sneaking fingers slid to grab at her ass and smiled against her mouth as he did so.

“But I have a question for you.”

“And I shall answer.”

Oberyn looked at her, dark eyes shining in the sunlight but…the smallest bit of trepidation also seemed to color his face, too.

“What is it, my prince?” Y/N asked, voice soft.

“Is this truly what you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“I realize that I have pressed this all upon you like a man half-crazed. I did not even ask if you wanted to be married—or if you would prefer a life like Ellaria—or a life outside of Dorne and free of me when this war is over. I only had the agreement drawn up after you told me of Tywin’s intentions. I could have stolen you away after your betrothal to him was made public but I knew it would cause bloodshed—and you, my moonlight, have a gentle heart.”

Y/N smiled as she looked at him, heart squeezing. Knowing he further delayed his want for vengeance because he cared for her meant more than words could say. Her thumb swept across his cheeks and she savored the warmth he exuded. “You have a gentle heart, my prince. And I am blessed by the gods to know it.”

Oberyn kissed her softly. “My own mind can be a cruel place. And Stark—Robb—had mentioned how you never spoke of marriage when you were young. It was not something you ever wished of.”

“I was blessed by parents who loved each other fiercely. And Uncle Hoster knew he could never bring a match forward that my father would approve of so he did not try. A child loved as much as I was would only demand the same love in a marriage. It was made increasingly apparent that a loveless marriage was what most women had, especially women of my station. I would not marry if I did not love them. If I was not sure that my heart was safe.”

She could almost taste the words bubbling on his tongue as he opened his mouth, “and I know that I have hurt you-”

“I want to marry you, Oberyn.” She said with a smile, feeling silly, happy tears sting her eyes with Ellaria’s words once again ringing in her head. “I want to call you my husband and I want to be your wife.” Her heart was light and singing in her chest. It was true. She knew that with every fiber of her being.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“You love me,” Oberyn breathed. And then he was smiling at her as if she had hung the sun and stars.

“I love you.” And it was so easy to say.

Oberyn’s warm hands cradled her face and he pressed his mouths to hers. This kiss was the softest he had ever given her, almost reverent. “You love me,” he whispered into her panting mouth as he pulled her ever closer. “Tell me. Tell me again.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” The words were hummed, happy. “I will love you forever.”

And she believed him.

Y/N woke when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Y/N,” the voice whispered on the other side. “Are you awake?” The door creaked open and a small figure slipped in. Arya climbed into her bed and slipped beneath the silk sheets when Y/N waved her forward.

“What is wrong, Arya?” Y/N asked, pulling the younger girl close and trying to keep her eyes open. Dinner with Oberyn and Ellaria had lasted well into the night and was filled with sweet wine and spiced foods and heated kisses that seemed to eat time. The realization that they all loved each other left them drunk on each other’s presence and the wine certainly did not help. Her throat was sore from overuse and she could still feel phantom fingers between her thighs. She must have only been asleep for an hour before Arya knocked.

“Bad dream.”

Y/N hummed and pushed her fingers through Arya’s hair. If she was being honest, Y/N was almost surprised it took Arya this long to crawl into her bed. Sansa had done it at least a dozen times since Y/N had arrived at Sunspear. But Arya, genuinely, kept her hurt close to her chest so Y/N did not blame her for taking the time she needed.

“I keep seeing the Freys toss Mother’s body into the river.”

Y/N instinctively tightened her hold. She had not realized Arya had witnessed the Red Wedding. Sandor must have taken her to The Twins in hopes of reuniting Arya with Robb and Catelyn—a bloodbath greeted them instead.

“I see it over and over when I close my eyes. I want them dead. All of them. Every single Frey needs to be dead-”

“They will be. I’ll make sure of it.” Y/N pressed a kiss to Arya’s forehead. Despite her exhaustion, she meant her promise. All of them would meet The Stranger for their crimes. The joy Ellaria spoke of, that Y/N was quick adopting, seemed to have stretched to vengeance. There would be joy to see their enemies bleed. There would be joy to see them dead. “Even if I have to do it myself.”

“The Boltons, too,” Arya said, voice starting to tighten with unshed tears.

“Oh, yes. We’ll rip them out. Root and stem.” The traitorous Northern house would see a gruesome end, too. No matter if they were holding Winterfell or not.

Arya let herself cry then, curling farther into Y/N’s hold and Y/N rubbed her back with soft hums, letting the young girl finally express her grief. But, eventually, Arya’s sobs quieted to even breaths. She had fallen asleep on Y/N’s chest just as another knock came at the door. Sansa slipped into her room and Y/N found herself between the Stark sisters as the moonlight shone through the balcony opening. “A bad dream?” Y/N whispered as Sansa snuggled into the overstuffed pillow beside her.

Sansa shook her head. “I am happier than I have been in a long time. And I owe it all to you.” She reached out to grasp one of Y/N’s hands as it still rubbed at Arya’s back.

But Y/N shook her head. “You survived because you are strong, little one.”

“It is because of you that Arya is here, that we are alive. We are safe. Together.”

Y/N squeezed her hand. “You and your sister both have been through great and terrible trials. You must be there for each other.”

Sansa pressed closer and tightened her grip on Y/N’s hand. “Can you sing to us? Like you did when we were children?”

Y/N wanted to say that she and Arya were still children—just grown too quick by the terrors of the world. “What would you like to hear, little one?”

“Jenny’s Song. You sang that the night before you left Winterfell.”

“That is a sad song. Are you certain?”

Sansa nodded.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts…”

Daisy flittered about her chambers, gathering a handful of dresses and chemises and folding them neatly into a pair of saddlebags. Prince Doran had sent Y/N a raven and requested that she, Oberyn, and Ellaria travel to the Water Gardens so he could make her acquaintance. “Truthfully, I have written Oberyn several times inquiring when I would meet you but he has taken it upon himself to hoard your time. If you are agreeable, I would have you visit the Water Gardens and would host a feast in your honor. Lords and ladies are already arriving so I hope to see you soon.” He signed the missive with a flourish.

When Y/N asked Oberyn about ignoring his brother’s requests to visit the Water Gardens he smirked and kissed her. “It is not a crime to want you all to myself.”

Y/N chided him with a smile and said she’d already sent a raven back to Doran stating that they would be there the following night. The palace Doran called home was only three leagues away along a pleasant, coastal road. Oberyn knew it well as he usually visited his brother once every fortnight. (“But I have been preoccupied, my moonlight!”)

“I can pack my own bags, Daisy,” Y/N said, noticing a strange rigidity to her friend’s posture as she went about her unnecessary task. She tugged at Daisy’s skirts like a child, slowing her from her quick pace. “Something is troubling you.” And then poor Daisy nearly collapsed in tears and Y/N hurried to wrap the other woman in her arms, shushing her sobs. When her cries quieted, Y/N held Daisy’s wet face between her hands. “Tell me. Let me help you.”

Daisy sniffled. “Daemon wants to marry me.”

“But that is happy news?” Y/N asked, genuinely confused. Daisy and Daemon seemed more in love than ever since coming to Dorne.

“Father will never allow it.” More tears trickled from Daisy’s eyes.

Seeing her dear friend so distraught pulled a heated type of anger from her chest and Y/N curled her hands tighter around Daisy’s face, making sure she listened. “Your father didn’t say anything when we were trapped during the Battle of Blackwater. He did not send a raven to see how you fared. He did not inquire after you after I moved you to Dorne out of a selfish desire to keep you by my side, to keep you safe. Tell me: do you want to marry Daemon?”

“I do,” she hiccupped. “More than anything. He even sent a raven to his lord father for his approval.”

“And he gave it readily, did he not?” she asked, already knowing the answer and watched as Daisy nodded. “Then you have no barrier. If Lord Allyrion requires a dowry, I will pay it. I will pay for the entire wedding if it means you smile again.” If Y/N was allowed to be happy then surely Daisy was, too. Her good, sweet Daisy.

“But Father-”

“Your father can come to Sunspear and speak to me if he thinks to stand in the way of your happiness.”

Daisy sniffled again and pushed out a shaking breath. “I would never ask you to-”

“You didn’t ask, Daisy. But I am telling you that I will not allow your father to keep you from being happy.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Daisy’s forehead and felt a bit of tension leave her shoulders. “You and Daemon are traveling with us to the Water Gardens. We can celebrate your betrothal alongside mine.”

Daisy’s smile was watery but sincere and she suddenly lunged forward to wrap her arms around Y/N in a tight hug. And Y/N was simply happy to see Daisy relieved of her turmoil—at least for a moment. And she meant what she said; she would fight Daisy’s father for her to marry Daemon. And she knew she would win.

The Stark sisters and the Sand Snakes met them at the gates of Sunspear and wished them a pleasant journey. “Please give Prince Doran my regards,” Sansa said before they departed. Y/N knew she missed Doran’s company and teachings, he had sent her away from the Water Gardens to Sunspear when he’d been given word that Y/N was coming to Dorne. And while Sansa liked not having to sneak through the halls to avoid Myrcella, Y/N knew she adored Doran and everything he taught her.

The ride was enjoyable and short and Y/N took the opportunity to let her mare run through the shallow waters. The horse was a gift from Oberyn, a traditional Dornish betrothal gift. Sand Steeds were a point of pride for the Dornish; could run for a night, a day, and another night without tiring or floundering. Most were treated as dotingly as children. The horse was as dark as night with a burnt orange mane and tail—Y/N had named her Qēlos, the High Valyrian word for star. She was the most beautiful horse that Y/N had ever seen and the smoothest ride she’d ever experienced.

But soon the palace of the Water Gardens crested on the horizon, rising from the sand with white and yellow stone and brining the scent of blood orange groves. Lush greenery spilled over the walls as did the sound of trickling water. The golden gates were opened by a pair of hooded guards who bowed as they passed. Servants lined the courtyard to welcome them and handle their horses and bags, each of them bowing in turn as well. Y/N barely had time to admire the beautiful, arching architecture of the palace before Oberyn and Ellaria both grabbed at her hands and all but pulled her inside. She craned her neck and looked everywhere she could as she was pulled this way and that, down a hall, around a corner, further into the shadowed halls by her eager betrothed and paramour. The entire palace seemed to hum with life. Chambers and apartments were filled with visiting lords and ladies. Servants were slipping by, arms filled with dresses or linens or food. Music whispered from around some other corner.

They eventually slowed in front of a beautiful white door banded with bronze and two guards nodded at Oberyn before pushing it open. The solar was filled with more white marble and fluttering white curtains that overlooked the manicured gardens and a handful of pools and fountains. The furniture was a warm, golden wood and every surface had a bowl of some sort of berry or wine or golden trinket or statue. A man in a wheeled chair was sitting behind the perfectly organized desk and looked up from his work with a smile as he heard the door open. His face was kind and greying black hair was cropped to his shoulders. Robes of orange hugged his thin shoulders and sparkled with golden thread.

“Doran, this is-”

Doran waved a hand and dismissed Oberyn’s introduction. “Lady Tully. We meet at long last.”

Y/N quickly curtseyed and placed her hand in his when he reached for her, smiling when he pressed a quick kiss to her knuckles. “It is wonderful to meet you, Prince Doran.”

He patted her hand and then wheeled himself around the desk. “You are early. I would have met you at the gates.”

“We never keep your time tables, brother.”

Doran chuckled affectionately. “I know. But you are all here now. I will make the proper introductions at the feast tomorrow. I want you to enjoy my home before the wedding.”

“You will come to Sunspear, won’t you?” Ellaria asked with a smile.

Doran nodded. “I will be there next month for the festivities. I would not miss my only brother’s wedding. I would have preferred to have it earlier,” there was a pointed look at Oberyn who only smiled, unperturbed, “but I understand that Oberyn wanted you to be ‘settled’ in Sunspear before making you a Martell.”

Y/N smiled at Oberyn without thinking. It had been Oberyn’s idea to hold off on the wedding and she was grateful. Having the stretch of time, letting her heart settle, before her life changed again in another way was a quiet kindness that she would always hold dear.

“Did little Loreza enjoy the book I sent for her nameday?” Doran asked.

“She did,” Ellaria answered, “insisted on having Sansa read it every night.”

“Sansa sends her love,” Y/N quickly added.

“She is a fine lady. I was lucky to have her here despite the unfortunate circumstances.” It was said so earnestly that Y/N couldn’t help another smile splitting her face.

A quick knock at the door revealed Daisy, escorted by a beaming Daemon, carrying a familiar wooden box. They both curtseyed or bowed in turn before carefully setting the box on the edge of Doran’s desk and then excusing themselves, Daisy winking as she went and letting Daemon curl his hand around hers right before the door shut in its frame again.

An anticipatory silence stretched through the room as they all looked at the box. It was simple. No embellishments or special cuts of wood. It was just a box. But Doran reached out and dragged a finger across it like it was made of something precious.

“I shall like to speak with Lady Tully for a moment,” he said quietly without taking his eyes off the box.

“Of course,” Oberyn said before pressing a kiss to Y/N’s cheek. “We shall just be at the pools,” he added, mostly for Y/N’s benefit so she could know where to find them.

Ellaria also kissed her cheek before following Oberyn out, providing some comfort, and soon Y/N was left alone with the ruling Prince of Dorne.

Doran rolled back around his desk and gestured for Y/N to take a seat in the ornately carved chair across from him and she quickly settled onto the white linen cushion. She was equal parts nervous and hopeful as Doran gave her a soft look she couldn’t quite decipher. “I will admit that I had my reservations when your raven first arrived. Fostering your little wolf was not a part of my plan but it was a welcome surprise. Lady Sansa is quite the student. She would have made quite the formidable Princess of Dorne.”

Y/N cocked her head to side at that, wondering what he meant, but he pressed on.

“And now you have brought me a wonderful gift.” He opened the box, sliding the wooden cover off with ease and then reached inside. The oversized skull had been dipped in gold only a few days prior and glittered in the bright sunlight as Doran held it aloft. “To know he is dead has brought my soul a small reprieve of the ache it has felt for decades.” The sound of the skull hitting the desk as he set it down was low and heavy. His fingers spanned over the cap and his nails bit into the gold. “Oberyn has always been the viper in the grass—ready and willing to strike at a moment’s notice. A willful little brother who seemed to outshine the sun whenever he was happy and burn anyone who tempted his wrath.” Doran fixed her with his dark gaze. “But I am sure you have seen that firsthand.”

“I have,” Y/N answered.

Doran nodded and did not move his hand from the dead man’s head. “You are like him, aren’t you? A burning rage just simmering beneath your skin. But you are able to hold your wrath and ruin back to play the game.” He hummed and Y/N tried not to fidget in her chair like a child. Doran was more perceptive than almost everyone she had ever met and she was waffling between being impressed and being innerved. “If you can kill a beast like this and still be gentle, you will be a fine Martell.” His fingers finally lifted from the skull to reach out toward her again and Y/N readily placed her hand in his and smiled as he squeezed her hand. “Whatever you need, simply ask. I will make sure you receive it.”

The feast was a decadent affair. Filled with food and wine and music to delight every sense. And the assembled crowd had roared when Doran introduced her as, “Lady Y/N Tully—Slayer of the Mountain!” Oberyn kept a hand over her leg, dragging his fingers against her thigh and growing more and more bold as the night continued on until he was all but cupping her through the flowing blue silk of her skirts. Ellaria pressed berries against Y/N’s smiling mouth as she laughed, knowing exactly what Oberyn was doing.

The sticky night air had her pulling off the thin cloak she had about her shoulders, letting the golden Myrish lace pool around her waist. A few of the guests let their eyes linger on the scars on her exposed chest and back—or the thin bit of scarring across her cheek and then asked if she’d be willing to tell her story. Stating “I was shot by a fool” was infinitely less riveting than “I was able to evade The Mountain’s blade” but both stories gained her a bit of fanfare regardless. The golden skull was displayed in front of her on the table like a shining beacon of how she, a lady, brought a small bit of vengeance on behalf of the ruling family of Dorne.

“The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children.” It was something Manfrey had told her during her studies, face solemn and sad. And Y/N watched almost every person revere the gold-dipped skull in a sort of wicked appreciation before they were formally introduced.

The only person who seemed unnerved by it was Princess Myrcella, tucked into the arm of Prince Trystane. She was too polite to wrinkle her nose at the display of carnage and vengeance but pointedly did not look at it even as Trystane marveled at how large the skull was.

“Dorne suits you, Princess,” Y/N said to Myrcella knowing the young Princess was just as much out of her element as Y/N had been in King’s Landing.

“You as well it would seem,” Myrcella said with a small smile. “I hope to speak with you about…about your duties here. Prince Doran has said you’re very capable.”

Y/N nodded with a smile of her own. “I shall answer any question you may have, Princess.”

Trystane, heir to the throne of Dorne, was definitely his father’s son but seemed to have inherited a bit of a flirtatious streak from his uncle as he managed to snag a berry from Ellaria’s bowl while getting Y/N to agree to a dance. He winked as he walked away with a furiously blushing Myrcella still on his arm and Oberyn laughing into the night air.

“Careful, my prince, it seems Trystane is trying to steal our Tully,” Ellaria mused with a sly smile.

Oberyn leaned close to press a kiss against Y/N’s throat and smirked when she shivered. “Is it true, my moonlight?”

“Oh, yes. You’ve found me out. It was all a ruse to marry a too-young prince and have the Riverlands invade Dorne.” She gasped as Oberyn pinched at her inner thigh, pleasant ripples shooting up her leg and coiling in her stomach.

“Careful. Careful.”

The mischief that sparkled in his eyes made Y/N smile and she placed her hand over his and squeezed, for herself more than him she supposed, and she grasped Ellaria’s hand, too. “The gods could not take me from you both. I promise you that.”

But then Harmen Uller then swept her into a dance, not necessarily waiting for her to accept his hand before pulling her out of her seat, and drew a hearty laugh from her throat as they nearly bowled over other dancing couples. Ellaria then stole her for a dance of her own and then Trystane proved himself to be a graceful dancer, too.

It was all so…perfect.

Y/N pressed a kiss to Ellaria’s cheek as Oberyn danced with little Lady Coryanne Uller, Ellaria’s niece. She was a girl not but five and already named the heir to Hellholt after her father.

“I just need a moment to catch my breath, my love.”

“Do not be too long. I do believe Lord Allyrion is waiting his turn for a dance,” Ellaria said with a chuckle.

Y/N smiled and promised she would be back soon and then started toward one of the side doors of the grand hall, passing Doran as she did and squeezing his shoulder as she went. A servant opened the door with a soft smile and a small bow, letting her out into one of the halls. She slipped through and heaved a sigh when the door closed behind her. The music was muted and the air cooler against her heated skin.

A soft noise caught her attention in the quiet of the hall and her curiosity led her to peek around the corner to see Daemon and Daisy wrapped around each other. Again. Y/N stifled a laugh and turned away, continuing down the hall in the opposite direction. A handful of guards were stationed along the wall, each of them acknowledging her presence in one way or another as she found her way out onto a portico overlooking the still water pools. The blood orange trees swayed in the cool night breeze and brought the scent of citrus to her nose. She leaned against a carved column with a hum, resting for just a few breaths.

“My lady.”

Y/N stood straight and looked out into the night.

A short figure emerged from the shadows, dressed in a hooded cloak and walking with a limp. They reached up to pull off the hood and-

“Tyrion?” The name was pushed out of her in a rush.

The Lannister cautiously moved closer to her on the pink marble of the pools’ terrace. “My lady, I have come to warn you-”

“Warn me? Your family would be insane to think they could come to Dorne and leave unscathed.” Tyrion pursed his lips—it was then that she noticed how bruised his face had become. Molted purple and blue skin covered half his cheek and arced over his eye. “What did she do to you?”

“Cersei has never been fond of me,” that was all he said. “I am sailing for Essos. But I needed you to understand—they know.”

“Know what? Now is not the time for riddles-”

“They know that Dorne has sided against the Crown.” His bruised face flushed with a vibrant blush she could see even in the dim light. “They are coming. And Cersei and my father are determined to hurt you.”

“They won’t make it through the Bone Way. If the Targaryens and their dragons could not conquer Dorne, a tired army from the Westerlands cannot.”

“My lady, please, listen to me. They are not coming with an army—not yet. I told you—they want to hurt you.”

“Let us help you. Oberyn can-”

“My lady?” Daisy’s voice echoed in the hall and reverberated out into the night air. “My lady?”

Y/N turned. “A moment, Daisy!” But when she turned back, Tyrion was gone.

Daisy stepped out onto the portico with a frown, lips swollen from her rendezvous with Daemon. She glanced out into the dark, looking for what Y/N had been seeing. “What is it, my lady? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Y/N cast one last glance out into the dark terrace and saw nothing. Tyrion was gone. “It must have been the wine.” She needed to speak to Doran. Now. But she refused to spoil Daisy’s happy night. News of her betrothal to Daemon had been met with joy and cheers just before the feast had begun and Y/N wanted to let her friend have as much happiness as she could.

“Prince Oberyn is looking for you.”

She nodded and let Daisy lead her back to doors of the grand hall before shooing her way. “Go. I know Daemon is waiting for you in the shadows.” The happy and embarrassed blush that bloomed on her cheeks made Y/N laugh before she skittered away, back into the arms of her love.

Y/N sucked in a deep breath and smoothed her skirts. It would do no good to run in screaming that the Lannisters were coming. She had the most tenuous grasp on belonging here, in Dorne.

“Are you well, princess?” One of the servants asked, hand on the door and ready to let her in. He was young, she could tell. Probably no older than Arya.

“Not a princess just yet,” she said with a smile and trying to ignore how her heart was in her throat. “But I thank you, yes. I am still acclimating to the heat, I am afraid.” It was an easy explanation.

“Shall I fetch you some water?”

Her smile grew. “No, no thank you. What is your name?”

“Gyles, princess,” he said with a tip of his head, dark hair shorn short.

She chuckled. He seemed insistent on the honorific. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Gyles.” She turned to the other servant, not wanting to be rude. “And you? What shall I call you?”

“Ilyn, my lady.” There was a sickly sweetness to his tone and his smile a bit too wide for his face.

Something about him turned her stomach within an instant but she smiled regardless, the perfect lady. “Pleased to meet you, Ilyn.” She turned to Gyles and nodded, letting him push open the door. Y/N slipped in and quickly moved to find Doran but was swept up into a familiar embrace.

“You mustn’t slip away without a word, my moonlight. You are the guest of honor.”

She turned in Oberyn’s grasp and felt a small bit of relief at the sight of his smiling face. “My prince, I must speak to you and your brother.”

His smile faded. “What has happened?”

She shook her head, letting her hands slide across the golden brocade of his robes to grab at the leather of his belt as if that would keep her mind from spinning. “I cannot tell you here. Please, my prince, please.”

Oberyn’s lips drew into a thin line and he nodded once before grabbing her hand and leading her toward Doran.

She did not sleep.

Ellaria had to pull Y/N from Doran’s solar and put her to bed like a child when she had started to sway on her feet. But all of them, every single one of them, were so sure that the Lannisters could not touch them.

But Y/N could feel a terrible, creeping sensation engulfing her entire body. She wanted them to be right. She wanted the Lannisters to be too weak or foolhardy to actually hurt the Martells. But something in her stomach told her to be wary.

So, she sat on the edge of her featherbed and looked out the open window and into the night sky. Watched the water lap in the pools while the air smelled of the lush gardens. She hadn’t readied for bed aside from kicking off her golden sandals, staying in the blue silk dress Oberyn and Ellaria had insisted she wear tonight. They liked her in blue. “We will have all the time in the world to dress you in our colors, My Tully. For now, we shall see you in blue.”

The din of the feast eventually faded as guests retired to their chambers or fell asleep in their seats in the grand hall, bellies full of good food and drink. None of them knowing of the threat of the lions. As the dark sky started to turn pink with dawn, she heard it.

Someone was whistling.

And she knew the tune.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low? Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all the truth I know.

She slipped off her bed and over to the door, taking care to open it slowly to avoid the creak of the hinges.

In a coat of gold or a coat of red, a lion still has claws, and mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

She stepped out into the hallway and listened. There was nothing. Nothing except for the whistle.

And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that lord of Castamere, but now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.

Y/N followed the sound across the fortress, hearing it grow louder with every step. Her heart roared in her ears. Her knees knocked together like a newborn foal. She was not brave.

She was scared.

Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall, and not a soul to hear.

A figure slipped around the corner and she pumped her shaking legs, willing herself to go faster, to please go faster as she followed and Y/N realized with a terrible sense of dread that the only door in that hallway led to Prince Doran’s personal chambers.

A scream rang out.

Y/N pushed open the door in time to see Ilyn standing over Doran, bloody knife in hand. Trystane was huddled behind his father, sitting in a pool of blood. Doran was clutching at a gushing wound across the top of his chest, eyes hard and defiant.

Before she could even think to do something rational, Y/N ran at Ilyn and tackled him to the ground. The marble was unforgiving to her legs but she barely felt it as she struggled with the man over the knife, climbing over him in an attempt to gain the upper-hand, to keep him subdued. Her hand closed over the blade as he shoved it toward her throat and she felt it cut through her palm, tearing skin and muscle from the bone. She hadn’t even realized she was screaming until Ilyn slammed his other fist into her throat and rendered her silent for just a moment. The blow shoved her backward and off him just enough for the would-be assassin to scramble up to his feet and dart back out into the hall.

Y/N scrambled over to the Dornish princes, trying to see if they needed help but Doran waved her on, pressing a fist against his wound. “Go!” He said through gritted teeth. “Get him.”

And Y/N did as she was told. By now, the halls were filling with people—some wondering why people were screaming and others seeming to know exactly what happened.

“Stop him!” She screamed, pointing her bloody hand at the fleeing Ilyn as she continued to give chase. “Stop him!”

Ilyn heard her scream and sneered at her over his shoulder just as he made it to the entry hall.

She wouldn’t catch him. She knew it. He was too fast but she could run until her legs gave out. “Stop him! Stop him!” She continued to scream, praying someone would.

Just as Ilyn stepped into the growing sunlight, he stumbled. A choking, gurgling sound escaped him and Y/N ran to see what had stopped him. It was Oberyn—the head of his spear buried deep in Ilyn’s stomach.

Oberyn’s mouth was moving, she could see it. He was coaxing something from Ilyn even as blood dripped from his mouth and spattered against the marble floor. But all she could hear was the thump-thump-thump of her heart and the blood pumping through her veins.

Y/N jumped as Daisy grasped at her uninjured hand. The poor girl held up her hands with a shaking smile, like she was trying to help a feral cat. “My lady, I need to tend to your hand.” The words were muffled.

Y/N let Daisy lead her back into the great hall where the remnants of the feast had not yet been cleared away and slumped into the chair deemed hers the night before. She barely winced when Daisy started to clean her angry wound. She barely noticed when the maesters came in to help.

What she did notice, however, was a box placed atop her forgotten dinner plate. Her name was written on a bit of parchment in a familiar scrawl.

Her fingers shook as she reached out for it.

“Don’t, my lady,” Daisy hissed. “You don’t know what’s inside!”

But Y/N unlatched it and pushed open the lid. Her scream choked the air from her lungs.

Sitting inside the box, on a golden cushion, was the head of her father.

A/N: Welp. Please let me know what you think. :)

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @roxypeanut @lostinwonderland314 @fandomreblogsnoshame @arianawills @nyrnerosmartell @5hundreddaysofsummer @honestlystop @huliabitch @youhavemyfantasticbeasts @karmezii @thesadvampire @sarcasmisakindofmagic

#Oberyn Martell x Reader #Oberyn Martell Imagine #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand x Reader #Oberyn Martell x Ellaria Sand #Game of Thrones Imagine #asoiaf #game of thrones

254 notes · View notes

eeyore101247 · 5 years

Text

Study Date

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Request from @flower-child2021: Hey I saw that your request were open and that you would do smut.. so I was wondering if you could do one where the reader is kinda like Tony's child but she's adopted (she is 16 like Peter) and they were supposed to be studying but they wind up dry-humping and F.R.I.D.A.Y tells on them which leads to Tony almost cathcing them.. (I'm sorry for making this so long.)

Warnings: Smut and fluff

1,481 words

Masterlist

You laid sprawled out on your bed, pen between your teeth as you read over the same words for the thousandth time. You were studying for your college finals, which were coming up fast, and your boyfriend, Peter, had offered to help. You had thought being a Stark would have made it easy, but it didn’t. You knew you were going to pass your Chemistry and Calculus finals with flying colors, but your English 101 and American History classes not so much.

“Y/N, what year was the Pendleton Act signed and what was its purpose?” Peter asked from his place beside you. You groaned in response, wracking your brain for the answer. You were horrible at remembering dates.

“Uh, 1885 and something about government jobs being awarded based on merit and competitive exams.” You answered, looking over your shoulder at him. Peter gave you a sad smile as his eyes met yours.

“You were close. It was signed in 1883 and made government jobs be awarded based on merit, government officials were selected based on competitive exams, and made it unlawful to fire or demote an employee based on political reasons.” Peter said as he looked back at your notes. He gently squeezed your thigh as his eyes met yours once more. “You’re getting better.”

You huffed in response, turning your attention back to the English notes you were reading over. “At this rate, the best I’ll get is a C.”

“A C is still a passing grade, love.” Peter said softly, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your thigh. You pinched the bridge of your nose, struggling to keep your frustration at bay. Peter didn’t understand the expectations that came with being a Stark. The strive for perfection and straight A’s to please your father.

“But it’s not the grade of a Stark.” You huffed in frustration, dropping your face in your English notes. You knew your dad would kill you if you got anything less than an A, blaming Peter for always distracting you. It wasn’t his fault that you could recite the entire periodic table forwards and backwards, but couldn’t remember the important dates in America’s history. You could barely remember everyone’s birthdays, having resorted to keeping a calendar on your wall with their birthdays written inside.

“C’mere.” You heard Peter say softly. You turned your head, seeing him pat his lap with a gentle smile gracing his lips. You let out a sigh as you sat up, crawling onto his lap and burying your face in his neck. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, fingers sliding under the fabric of your shirt to rub circles into the bare skin beneath.

“My father’s gonna kill me.” You muttered into the warm skin of his neck, closing your eyes as you let his touch calm and relax you. You felt at home in his arms, and you drank it in as you sat there. If you didn’t manage to pass history with at least a high B, you would be forced to spend hours with Steve in the training room as he drilled America’s history in your brain while you did push ups.

“No he won’t cause I won’t let him.” Peter said softly into your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple as you pulled away to look at him. Your eyes met his, his love for you swirling around in his honey speckled chocolate gaze. You admired him as you sat there, gently reaching up and trying to smooth out his unruly brow with your thumb.

He gently grabbed your wrist, placing kisses along your palm as his gaze bore into yours. You felt your cheeks grow warm, your heart swelling with the love you felt for the man in front of you. You let out a giggle as his lips traveled up your arm, slowly pulling you close to him once more. His soft curls tickled your skin as he buried his face in your neck, a groan leaving your lips as he left his mark on the sensitive skin.

Your fingers tangled into his curls, other hand gripping at his shoulder as his tongue swirled around the reddened skin. You knew it was going to leave a bright purple mark that you’ll have to cover up, but you didn’t care as he left open mouthed kisses up your neck and along your jaw. His fingers slid underneath your shirt, hot against your skin as his eyes met yours once more, dark and smoldering.

“Pete, you know we can’t.” You muttered, your stomach twisting pleasantly under his gaze. Your noses brushed against each other as he leaned in, his lips ghosting against yours. “Dad has cameras all over the tower.”

“He won’t know if we don’t take our clothes off.” He whispered, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. It was sloppy and needy, but still perfect as his tongue danced with yours. You weren’t sure if Peter’s plan was going to work, but it would help you relax and get rid of some built up frustration if it did.

You rolled your hips against his, your shorts a barrier between him and your growing wetness. You knew this was a terrible idea, but with your growing stress and the fact it had been weeks since you could last be intimate with your boyfriend, you gave in with ease.

His grip on your waist tightened as he groaned into the kiss, feeling his cock hardening through his jeans as you continued grinding your hips against him. He bit down on your bottom lip, drawing a moan from you as you pressed against him.

“Fuck, it’s been too long.” He muttered against your lips, breaths mingling as your lungs burned for air. You nodded against him, hands traveling down the front of his shirt. You slid your fingers underneath, exploring the toned muscles beneath. His shirt rode up with your hands as your fingers explored his chest, tracing along every dip and definition they came across.

His lips pressed against yours once more, swallowing each others moans as his hips bucked up against yours. You wanted nothing more than to tear your clothes off and feel his skin against yours as he fucked you into the mattress, but you knew if FRIDAY caught you, she would tell Tony and you’d be in for a world of hurt. So you settled with grabbing one of Peter’s hands and guiding it to your core.

“Peter.” You moaned against his lips as his fingers slipped under the waistband of your shorts. He groaned as his finger slid between your folds, swirling your arousal around his finger as you continued rolling your hips against his.

“You’re so wet, Y/N. Shit.” Peter mumbled, his lips trailing across your jaw as his finger circled around you clit. You gasped, hips stuttering against his as the knot in your core grew impossibly tight. His other hand gripped your waist tighter, most definitely leaving bruises as he guided your hips against his.

“Fuck, s-shit, Peter.” You moaned, your fingers finding their way to his hair, tugging on the brunette curls as he moaned against your skin. You could feel yourself quickly approaching the edge as Peter’s fingers worked their magic against your core. “I-I’m getting close.”

“Come for me baby girl.” He moaned in your ear, his hips bucking up against yours. His words sent you over the edge as you cried out his name. You soaked his fingers in your juices as you bucked your hips against his, his lips moaning your name against your skin as he hit his high not long after you.

Your bedroom door swung open minutes later, Peter quickly pulling his hand out of your shorts and hiding it between you. Your dad stood in the doorway, his eyes narrowed as he looked at the two of you.

“FRIDAY told me you two were up to some funny business.” Tony said as he crossed his arms over his chest. Your heart hammered in your chest as you wracked your brain for an excuse. You felt Peter fumble around beneath you before producing your history notes.

“I-I was just helping her study Mr.Stark.” He stuttered out, eyes wide as he stared at Tony. Your father just sighed and shook his head.

“You’re a horrible liar Parker. You hurt her, I’ll hunt you down.” Tony said before walking off, closing the door behind him. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as you looked at your boyfriend, his eyes still wide as they met yours.

“That was close.” You muttered softly, unable to contain the giggle that slipped past. “If he had come in minutes earlier, he would have most definitely caught us in the act.”

Peter nodded as he chuckled, placing a sweet kiss against your lips. “Come on. Let’s finish studying.”

AN: I hope you enjoyed this hun! I’m sorry it took so long to write, but here it is!

Also, I HIT 300 FOLLOWERS! AHHHHHH!

Celebration coming soon!

Thank you for reading!

~ LoLo *^-^*

If you wish to not be tagged, shoot me a DM!

Want to be added to my tag list?

Send me any questions, what you thought, or if you have any ideas!

My Beautiful Mutuals: @spidey-waffles11 @parkerpuffwrites @unholyhaz @louistwinslover @starlight-fires @marvelrreigns @softspideyboy @tyemmamarvel @harringtonsholland @marichatisfam @mybabyboytony @ptersparkers @spidey-holland7 @mlt2000 @loveme-hollandx @starenemy @devin-marie @hollandsosterfield @saysomethingspiderman @moonstruckholland @hazssouthernbelle @spideyboipete @neverlandparker

Strikethrough means I can’t tag you!

Taglist: @moonwarriorx3 @itseightbeats @stretchkingblog97 @legendsofwholock @ad-iuficium @miss-mcbotty @theparkerindustries @house-arya @tutuabby28 @megabobtastic @infamous-taylor @vlut @flymetothemoon0522

#peter parker fanfiction #peter parker #peter parker smut #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #eeyore101247 #tom holland #thomas stanley holland #tom holland fanfiction

134 notes · View notes

7deadlycinderellas · 5 years

Text

The Starks at War, ch3

Ao3 Link

1940 begins. At the end of January, Arya turns fifteen, and along with her birthday comes the start of food rationing.

Hot Pie is outraged. He says nothing of quality can be baked with the butter and sugar they are allotted. Bran misses bacon terribly. But the day before her birthday, the greengrocer in the village has apples in stock, and Hot Pie whips up a fairly decent apple pudding.

Even the things that aren’t on ration seem to be getting harder to get. Shopping involves waiting endlessly in long lines.

And with the end of winter, comes the first casualty of the war.

It doesn’t really seem right to call it a casualty, but that’s how it feels. After Old Nan doesn’t show up for a few days, Arya rides down to the church to check on her.

Her sister says it looked like an apoplexy, in the night.

It’s a blow to the whole family.

“Nan was our nurse when I was a child too,” Ned says when they leave the church after her memorial. “I knew she was old, but I didn’t ever really think this would happen.”

“What are we going to do about Rickon?” Cat wants to know.

Rickon, the youngest, who less than ten minutes after the memorial has already taken off to play football with the evacuee boys.

Cat gazes after him.

“Gilly seems to be good enough with him, but I don’t know if there’s really anything we could do about Rickon that would change him,” is Ned’s take on it.

“I know I used to worry about Arya,” Cat muses, “too much probably. But I never worried she might slip away, just one day sneak away through a spot in this world and slip free.”

Slip free, Ned thinks, does sound like something that might explain Rickon.

As soon as the ground starts to thaw in early spring, Catelyn throws shovels at all of them with packets of seed and pamphlets on digging for Victory.

Arya groans. Some of the Guides in her patrol had helped type and print those.

Bran rolls himself outside to watch them dig up the roses and rhododendrons to replace them with potatoes, and carrots and turnips.

He reads the back of the packet of carrot seeds and tosses it to Gilly to take a look.

“It doesn’t say that there are other colored carrots too. We mostly eat the orange kind in tribute to William of Orange.” he comments.

Gilly laughs at him,

“I don’t know how you remember all of this.”

“Well it’s more interesting than remembering who William of Orange was,” Bran insists. Bran has been spending more time with Gilly in the new year. The realization that the girl was borderline illiterate had been a shock to him he had desperately wanted to correct.

“I don’t understand, don’t they make you go to school in London?” he asks her.

“No one really pays attention,” Gilly says, wiping her brow with the back of her hand, “And it’s not like I can’t read anything, I can write my name and do all my letters. But I don’t understand how you can look at all those words on that pamphlet and make sense of it.”

And so Bran embarks on a quest.

Ned asks Arya every week what her and the guides are doing. She’s already finished her first aid badge, and her electrician badge, and next week their starting on the signalling badge. She’s been looking forward to that one, she’s still terribly jealous of Meera’s proximity to boats. She doesn’t tell her father that their even talking about doing riflery badges too.

In the springtime, Bran helps her get her telegraphist badge. The requirements are that she build her own receiver and be able to transmit in Morse code at at least 30 letters per minute. Jojen and Bran both manage it easily, and eventually, she can too.

They all listen to the wireless more.

The news of the invasion of Norway is hard to listen to, it’s far too close to Scotland.

“You don’t think Robb and Jon…” Cat starts off.

“I don’t think so, “ Bran comments, “Their more recent letters say their squadrons have only been over France.

Jon in particular, has waxed poetic about how France looks from above. His letters he’s sent to Sansa in Kent are mostly recounts of what he has seen of the country.

Sansa tries not to be jealous when she reads them at school.

“You’ve never been to France?” Margaery asks her one day when she’s recounting what he’s written. They’re stretched out side by side on her bedspread in the dormitory, most of the other girls outside in the warm spring day.

Sansa shakes her head.

“I’ve been to Scotland a few times, but never overseas. Have you?”

Margaery nods.

“My grandmother is French, she lived in Paris as a girl, she spoke French to all of us as children. We’ve gone back multiple times. We can’t anymore, obviously, especially with the way things are going, but..”

Sansa doesn’t really notice her pause. She’s done all the things they say she should to support the war effort, but sometimes it feels like she doesn’t grasp it.

“I’ve been to where my mother’s from, but Suffolk isn’t really anything like a different country.” And no one in the family was terribly close to Uncle Brynden, who was a career soldier, or Uncle Edmure, who didn’t really seem to know what he was.

“Maybe I’ll take you someday,” Margaery tells her quietly. When Sansa turns seventeen in early May, she gives her a pair of gramophone records of a singer her grandmother had spoken to her about being one of France’s greatest.

When France falls, school has already let out for summer, so Sansa doesn’t have to see her cry.

Olenna scolds her for it.

“Don’t get upset, get angry. You should be angry that your homeland has been taken over by those lousy krauts.”

She doesn’t correct her that she was born in Britain and that it is actually what she would call her homeland, but correcting her grandmother has never gotten Margaery anywhere in life so she just wipes her cheeks clean and goes on.

After France falls, Gendry’s letters to Arya transform from belligerent to sorrowful.

There were so many fleeing, the Navy didn’t have enough ships to take them all. We had people piled up on top of each other across the channel. There were fishing boats and cruise ships trying to rescue people who were fleeing, and there still weren’t enough. I saw people trying to swim...I don’t even want to try and imagine if any of them made it. And then we had to go back, again, for eight days straight.

I haven’t felt like this since hearing about Norway. Stories of pilots whose planes couldn’t even take off because everything was frozen. It was only weeks ago,

Our ship was moored early because of a special assignment. We were escorting a small group of civilians, patients from Institut Pasteur. One of them was the ten year old daughter of some high up politician. The girl was there for experimental treatment of leprosy. Leprosy! As if her life wasn’t going poorly enough, there has to be a war on.

Even though we brought the patients on board first, we packed the ship to the gills before leaving. Soldiers packed in like sardines, sweaty, bloodied, scared out of their minds. Don’t tell Robb and Jon, but I heard a lot of men cursing the RAF because the sky was too thick with gunfire to see if the planes were doing anything to help.

The leper girl- her name’s Shireen something- somehow seemed perfectly happy through it all. She has big patches all over the side of her face, and some of the others onboard seem wary of being near her, but she didn’t pay them any mind. She was singing songs and reading from a book she had carried with her the whole trip. Oh to have her heart in the face of horror.

France falls and summer comes, and thank God Sansa’s returned home. Because over the summer comes the bombardment.

Robb not only doesn’t get leave for his birthday, he doesn’t even get to write letters home during it. The RAF is trying to fight off the attacks on the Channel Islands shipping lanes. They aren’t succeeding.

Meera had been stationed in Devonport, near Plymouth, which starting in July, begins to take a beating. She writes as frequently as she can. Her letters from earlier in the year had been mild by comparison. She had spoken of her training, and the other women on her ship. She’s always had a mild temperament, and took orders easily enough. The other women it seems, mostly think of her as distant and aloof, or the more charitable ones, like she has her head in the clouds. The ones who are intrigued by her title are put off when they realize she really isn’t that grand.

I guess I should accept that I never have really felt like I fit in. I don’t pick fights though, so most of others just ignore me. I’ve never thought myself unfriendly, but apparently I keep to myself more than most. It was strange, before the war I didn’t really know who I was. I’m hardly some fine lady, born for a life of theater and socials, and many of the upper class would think me no better than a street urchin. But the working class girls spot my accent immediately, and I have far more schooling than them. Even here. But at least here we’re all Wrens, we know who we are here. My bunk mate, Dacey is nice though. She’s from up north, her father owns a mine. Sometimes when we have time off we ride bikes around the town. I miss swimming, I miss fishing too. It’s hard to remember families use to holiday in Devon. The beaches are blocked off now, with thick rings of barbed wire. We helped place mines there too. I hope we can clear them easily enough when their not needed.

Plymouth begins being struck from the air first. She can’t write as often then. When she does, Jojen begins bringing by pieces of paper marked with just Bran’s name. He doesn’t understand why, and Jojen doesn’t seem to either, fixing Bran with looks that are somehow both curious and suspicious.

Reading them it’s understandable.

I marked these for you Bran because I didn’t really think I should tell some of this to Arya. The letters she writes me are hot blooded as it is. You can share with her if you want.

Seeing the after effects of the bombs is harrowing, both the buildings and the people. I was upset that I didn’t get stationed in Portsmouth at first, but I don’t think I could watch this happen to something so close to home.

I was partially right. We may not be at sea, but as soon as the bombs started to fall, those first ones in Cardiff, they asked for volunteers to learn to crew the anti-aircraft guns.

The guns we have fire so fast you can barely keep track. It takes four of us to fire the damn thing, and if you’re not careful it can knock you on your arse. If we bring any of the Luftwaffe down, I like to imagine it was me.

After Plymouth, Portsmouth is next.

Winterfell’s not that close to Portsmouth, the Stark children had always though, not really anyway. Arya could have made the journey by bike, but her legs would ache and her chest burn with exertion by the time she reached the outskirts.

But now it is somehow both far away and right outside the window.

Every day it seems, the roads are packed with the injured, clutching bundles of possessions, fleeing their destroyed homes. If anyone’s outside when the sirens blare, they can see the sky filling with smoke and fire. Any time of day RAF pilots might pass over head. One morning, when the all-clear blows, Arya sees the red-orange glow of the city on fire over the far horizon, and thinks that it looks frighteningly beautiful.

It’s too far away for most of the volunteers from the village, yet Arya’s guide patrol still makes the journey by bus a few times. They try to clear some of the injured from the first aid stations. She’s growing surprisingly numb to the sight of blood and burns, the sounds of children and grown men screaming. The smell is another story.

Twice, the guides have to take shelter themselves in town, when the sirens announce daytime strikes.

Bran spends his own birthday in the cellar. It’s not like they’re going to be able to have a cake anyway.

They’ve dragged bedding and pillows down, they’re all in the cellar so much. Having been dragged down the steps by both of his parents, and one memorable occasion by Arya and Gilly, Bran’s beginning to think he ought to just find a way to set up a cot or something and sleep down here. Maybe do his schoolwork. Never leave the cellar.

That particular day, Ned is in the village, sheltering at the station where he had gone to refill the petrol with their remaining ration. Cat, Sansa and Gilly are knitting socks, and Arya is pacing.

There’s a loud whistle and a crash that feels far too close. There’s no explosion.

“That was an incendiary,” Arya mutters while pacing, “It won’t explode, it will burst into flames and shoot out bits of metal-”

Bran cuts her off. Sansa is crying and their mother’s face is tight.

“How do you tell the difference?”

“It’s the sound.”

Arya stops herself from telling them about the incendiary charges went off the last time her patrol had been in town. It had set the house next to their shelter on fire, and provided light for the next charge to be aimed at. It had flattened the block. Had they been in one of those pop up shelters instead of a proper underground one, they would have all died.

In the middle of August, Arya is shocked to discover Sansa’s planning to return to school the beginning of September.

“How can you leave? Bombs are falling from the sky!”

“Bombs are falling all over the country, Arya,” This isn’t entirely true, but it remains that the entire southern coast is taking a beating and dogfights are happening over Kent every day as well.

“But if you stay, you’ll be able to be with all of us.” Arya’s eyes are welling up. Her and Sansa were never close, but this whole war has made her heart feel tender in ways it never had. After losing Robb and Jon, and Gendry and Meera, Arya had no desire to let anyone else in her family get away from her.

“It’s my last year of school, I have to finish. If I don’t, it’s like we’re letting the Nazis beat us. It’s not like I can just stay home forever.”

Arya clenches her fists. Is that what this is about? Sansa’s always talked about leaving Winterfell, going to London or Paris or New York, and meeting glamorous people and having some grand romance. Did she still want that, even when she might lose everyone?

“You just want to get away from all of us. We’re not good enough for you anymore are we? You just want to fuck off and leave us all behind.”

Her language is harsh, and her sentiment more so. Sansa has tears running down face, and turns to run away.

Her mother scolds her that night, and when everyone has gone to bed (thankfully, free of air raids for the night), Arya sits up in the parlor by herself.

Ned joins her, offering her a cup of newly rationed tea.

“You were cruel to your sister.”

Arya hangs her head.

“You should apologize before she leaves, or you might regret it.”

“She wouldn’t even care.”

Ned sighs, and wraps an arm around his daughter.

“Sansa loves you, she loves all of us. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have cared what you said to her.”

“Then why does she want to leave again?”

Ned looks at her carefully,

“Arya, what do you want from life?”

Arya tilts her head,

“I don’t really know. I’d like to learn to drive a car. I’d like to swim in the ocean. I’d like to try riding my bike further north, maybe over several days.”

She pauses, for a long time.

“I’d like to get a job, see what it’s like to support myself. I want to go swimming with Meera and Jojen. I want to take rides with Robb, I want Jon to explain everything to me that’s happening in the newspaper. I want to fight with Gendry over Weird Tales, then bring it home and read it with Bran anyway.”

“You want to stay at Winterfell.”

You want things to stay the way they used to be, is what he means, but doesn’t say.

It all sounds strange on Arya’s tongue. She’s always wanted adventure, read stories of jungle expeditions and space flights. Listening to her father’s stories from his days in the Navy as a young child, she’d once asked if she would ever do something so great. Ned had laughed, and the next day brought home a copy of 20,000 League Under the Sea.

The Nazis had stolen that from Arya. Now she longed for the war to end, and for her family to return home. She longed to help bring them home.

Arya nods, eventually. That really is the rub.

“Your mother’s always wanted the same for both you and Sansa what she had. She wants you two to marry well. To marry men of means who love you. For you to be good ladies, who live lives of ease. That would always involve you leaving, and I think that’s one of the reasons you’ve always fought so hard against it.”

Ned suddenly looks very sad.

“I don’t think any of that will happen any time soon. Sansa’s always been more open to the life your mother’s wanted. She’s seen life outside and wants more of it. There’s a lot of wonderful things in the world, outside of Wintefell. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you, or her home.”

Ned leans over the squeeze Arya’s shoulders.

“I’m going on the train with Sansa tomorrow, to spend a few days in London.”

“What? Why.”

“Got a call from the foreman. Emergency he needs me to deal with.”

“Why doesn’t he ever call Robert with these?”

Ned laughs. Robert Baratheon, longtime friend, was part owner in the factory. Part owner, but Ned would be pressed to find if Robert gave it any thought whatsoever.

“Because Robert is all the way out in Cheshire, God’s knows how he spends his days.”

Arya still looks terribly downcast.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can. I understand what you were trying to tell Sansa, but you should still apologize for making her cry. I want to be together with all of you just as much as you do.”

And with that, Ned sends his daughter off to bed.

Sansa and Ned leave the next day on the same train, an hour later disembarking and parting ways.

Arya had watched the two of them leave, and try as she might, couldn’t take her father’s advice. Sansa hadn’t even looked her in the eye over breakfast.

Bombs fall again that night, and in the cellar, Arya feels empty.

The next day, Bran is listening to the wireless and tells her,

“They’re bombing London now.”

Arya feels her insides seize.

A few days he’d said. For once, Catelyn looks as upset as Arya. Ned had telephoned the first day, and the second, but they hadn’t heard from him since.

“They’re aiming for the docks, and the East End,” Bran tells everyone on the third day. “

Gilly chokes a bit, but doesn’t cry.

“My sisters- I hope some of them at least fled.”

“What about your father?” Bran asks.

“He can burn for all I care”.

On the end of the fourth day, Catelyn finally dials the telephone of the factory office.

They haven’t seen Ned since the day before. She tries again the next day. And the next.

Finally, someone gives them the answer.

Arya has never seen her mother collapse before. She’s making noises, like she’s gasping for air. She drops the phone.

Arya picks it up, and demands to know what her mother has just been told.

Parts of her feared, perhaps parts already knew.

Eddark Stark, believed deceased on the 9th of September in structural collapse of the Hotel Guilford….

#game of thrones #a song of ice and fire #gendrya #breera #sansaery #fic

17 notes · View notes

starksinthenorth · 5 years

Text

A Queen and her Counselors: Tyrion, Jon, Sansa, Daenerys and Sexist Writing on Game of Thrones

In Season 5, Tyrion and Daenerys meet in the episode Hardhome. After a meeting in the throne room of Meereen, they have a one-on-one meeting, and Dany asks an important question:

DAENERYS: So have you decided yet? Whether I’m worthy of your service?

The unspoken question is: Have you decided whether I’m worthy of being your queen?

When Sansa and Dany meet, it is obvious to anyone pro-Stark or general audience that Sansa is asking this same question. What makes Daenerys Stormborn a worthy Queen of the Seven Kingdoms? Why should we trust another Targaryen?

Dany opens by giving Sansa somewhat empty compliments about her home and her beauty and doesn’t treat her like the Lady Paramount that she is. This is even though she has already seen the smallfolk glaring at her and cowering in fear of her dragons. Because Jon has told her, Dany should know that the North doesn’t trust outsiders. And yet she is written to blatantly ignore them and demand their respect - specifically Sansa’s - from the start.

Yet when Tyrion meets Dany, she makes an effort to prove her worthiness to him and prove that she’ll be a good queen. They chat for a bit about their horrible families, and we get this interaction:

TYRION: So here we sit, two terrible children of two terrible fathers. DAENERYS: I’m terrible? TYRION: I’ve heard stories. DAENERYS: Why did you travel to the other side of the world to meet someone terrible? TYRION: To see if you were the right kind of terrible. DAENERYS: Which kind is that? TYRION: The kind that prevents your people from being even more so.

The intention is clear: he does not trust her to not be a terrible queen or a Mad Targaryen. He is asking her to prove herself. In some ways, she does: she listened to his advice about what to do with Jorah (banish him instead of killing him) and acknowledging to Tyrion that “I know what my father did.”

Similarly, Dany made an effort to explain to Jon that she is not her father and asks that he not hold her accountable for the actions of her family - killing Rickard and Brandon and “raping/kidnapping” Lyanna. But Dany never makes any of those comments to Sansa, despite her being another powerful ally who doesn’t trust Targaryens.

Sansa’s long glares easily show that she does not like or trust Dany. Tyrion said it point blank and it wasn’t a problem to Dany. To Tyrion, Dany was willing to engage in and admit she had done bad things. She took the time to recognize her own failings, specifically reopening the fighting pits. It’s implied that Tyrion has heard the stories from Qarth and her conquest of cities, and how Astapor and Yunkai are on fire.

Similarly, Sansa has most likely heard by now that Dany burned an entire food train and also her prisoners of war. This is the same woman who essentially imprisoned Sansa’s “brother” and King for we-don’t-know-how-long because he wouldn’t bend the knee to her. She is also in possession of two large dragons that could be turned against Winterfell at a moments notice. If Sansa hasn’t spoken with Jon yet, is it that unreasonable to think that she would be distrusting?

Dany recognizes that he knows the place she wants to rule - Westeros - and that he’s a clever man. She decides to accept him as her advisor to help her get out of Meereen and to her home.

DAENERYS: You’re going to advise me..… [on] How to get what I want. TYRION: The Iron Throne. Perhaps you should try wanting something else. DAENERYS: If I want jokes I’ll get myself a proper fool. TYRION: I’m not entirely joking. There’s more to the world than Westeros after all. How many hundreds of thousands of lives have you changed for the better here? Perhaps this is where you belong. Where you can do the most good…... when you get back to your home, who supports you? DAENERYS: The common people. TYRION: Let’s be generous and assume that’s going to happen….. House Targaryen is gone, not a single person who shares your blood is alive to support you. The Starks are gone as well, our two terrible fathers saw to that. The remaining Lannisters won’t back you, not ever. Stannis Baratheon won’t back you either; his entire claim to the Throne depends on the illegitimacy of yours. That leaves the Tyrells. Not impossible, but not enough.

And then we get the famous “break the wheel” speech, where Dany shares her vision for the future and how she wants to make the world better for the smallfolk. It’s maybe a pipe dream but it inspires awe in both Tyrion and the viewer. This is someone who can be a just ruler, a fighter for the trod-upon little guy. Tyrion decides to follow her after and she decides to heed his advise and, eventually, name him Hand of the Queen.

Similarly, Dany recognizes that Jon has fought more actual wars than her. She asks for his advice about how to handle her enemies. She shows a level of respect for both Jon and Tyrion because of their roles and their experiences in Westeros and war.

Gif credit to: @yocalio sorry for not linking properly but this was the only one I could find.

Now, I will give that Sansa was being incredibly snippy, but Dany didn’t handle it well and snipped right back. When Lord Tyrion or King Jon questioned her, she answered or tried to retain the sass. But when Lady Sansa questions her, what does she do? She snips.

Now I ask you: what is the differing factor here?

Sansa is a woman.

There isn’t an in-character, explainable thing for even show!Dany. She sought advice from Missandei, a former slave woman. However, Missandei is a secondary character in Dany’s plot line. While she has a part in advising her and a B-Plot romance with Grey Worm, Missandei is still a secondary character.

I am going to thoroughly blame this one on D&D. These two women are strong characters. As Dany said, I don’t expect them to be friends. But they should be able to respect each other.

However, D&D don’t have the ability to write women who get along, especially traditionally feminine women with power. The books also have some problems with female relationships but D&D made it so much worse.

Consider:

Catelyn didn’t like Talisa to begin with and really only came around right before they were killed. Comparatively, she does her best to make Jeyne feel welcome.

Cersei is horribly oppositional to Olenna and Margaery. This is true in the books as well but she at least tries to mask it with false friendship and carrying for her daughter-in-law.

Sansa and Arya had a really stupid plot all of Season 7 that could’ve been solved with one conversation. They squabble in the books, but they have a love for each other. Sansa imagines Arya happy and home in Winterfell and Arya wishes King’s Landing swept away by the Blackwater until she remembers Sansa is gone.

Show!Selyse is an abusive mother towards Shireen and doesn’t seem to love her until she’s dying. Book!Selyse loves her daughter and is fiercely protective of her.

Show!Lysa is worse towards Sansa than Book!Lysa

Myranda and Sansa just wasn’t necessary at all?

Ellaria threatening to kill Myrcella when in the books the girl was harmed by accident and everyone felt bad about it because Myrcella is a delight and they don’t hurt little girls in Dorne.

The Sand Sisters are super aggro with each other? I don’t reread Dorne scenes but I’m pretty sure they were pretty caring in the books.

Granted, they did expand on Margaery and Sansa’s relationships and give us protective!Shae, but that’s not enough.

If this were really Dany and Sansa meeting based off their actual characterizations, they would be distrusting but not outrightly against each other. Sansa would be gauging if Dany was as great as Jon and Tyrion claim. Dany would recognize that Sansa has the approval of the Northern lords and that she is the “Key to the North.”

But, alas, D&D don’t seem to understand that powerful women have more nuanced options than just “BFFs without problems” or “snippy enemies who hate each other.”

#asoiaf meta #got meta #sansa stark #daenerys #tyrion lannister

63 notes · View notes

cycat4077 · 7 years

Text

Gods, I Love Her

Summary: Beyond the Wall the boys settle down and Gendry learns Arya is still alive. After the battle, he returns to Winterfell and finds her. ~Your cliche Gendrya reunion before episode 6 airs~

Characters/ships: Gendry x Arya, Jon Snow, Sandor Clegane, Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr, Tormund Giantsbane, Jorah Mormont, Brienne of Tarth, Sansa Stark

More tags: Gendry’s POV, Gendrya reunion, the last few characters in the tags get only a nod really, Beyond the Wall, Winterfell, Jon Snow Still Knows Nothing

Links: AO3, FF.net, or more below the cut

Notes: Basically thought of and written over the course of 2 days. Forgive any errors, they’re all mine. This is my first Gendrya fic, so I hope I do them justice and you enjoy :)

It was a bone-chilling cold that had settled over the lands beyond the Wall. The wind crackled and howled through the trees, swirling up clouds of snow beneath a clear night sky. Ice formed on one’s breath as soon as it was expelled, building up one’s beard as well as on the furs covering the neck. Fingers and toes panged with pain as the damp cold seeped through fur-lined boots and into skin. If not for fire, one would surely perish by the unyielding harshness of winter.

The unlikely band of men huddled around the fire they had built to rest for the night. Tomorrow they would set out to capture a wight, but for now they shared the meat of a roasted rabbit amongst them as they laughed and told stories of their past.

The Hound, though skittish around the flames, tore into his rabbit leg with grateful ferocity. He was first to bring up the Stark girl. “So, Jon Snow,” he said in a mocking tone, “did that little runt of a sister of yours ever make it back North?”

“Who? Arya?” questioned Jon, pausing mid-chew.

To the mention of that name, the young blacksmith perked an ear.

“Yeah, the spiteful one,” affirmed the Hound.

“Apparently so. I received a raven from Sansa while at Dragonstone claiming that she had finally made a safe return,” announced the King in the North with pride.

The Hound chuckled in spite of himself.

“Why?” asked Jon.

“You mean that little rug-rat managed to stay alive?” interjected Thoros.

“What?” blurted Jon, turning to face him.

“She was quite the little devil,” added Lord Beric.

“You knew my sister too?” said Jon with a puzzled look.

“Aye,” answered Thoros. “She tried to take on our men singlehandedly.”

Jon shook his head in confusion, but understood an act like that was most certainly something Arya would have done.

“She stood her ground, threatening to kill each one of us. A lot of talk that little one was. In fact, she was trying to protect some fat boy and that bastard seated across from you,” continued Thoros, pointing at Gendry.

Gendry swallowed hard as all eyes turned to him. Jon looked even more perplexed than before. “You too?” he exclaimed.

“Yes, your grace,” replied Gendry. “Arya and I had been recruited for the Night’s Watch; she of course disguised as a boy. The Lannisters wanted my head and Yoren died protecting us, however we ended up being taken prisoner at Harrenhal until we escaped and ran into the Brothers, your grace.” Gendry said, nodding towards Thoros and Lord Beric. “I haven’t heard word of Arya since I was sold to Melisandre. I’m relieved she has found her way back home.”

There was a chorus of hums in agreeance around the fire. Then Jon spoke up to ask: “She disguised herself as a boy? How did you know who she was?”

“I figured out that she was a girl on my own, but I had no idea who she was. She trusted me enough to tell of her true lineage and I was ashamed for my casual nature around one of such a high-born family. I called her m’lady and she turned angry, pushing me to the ground in a fit of disgust.” Gendry smiled at the telling of this fond memory.

“Sounds just like Arya,” Jon smiled in return. “She’s never been one for fancy dresses or titles. Once she made Lady Catelyn furious by shooting an arrow straight past out younger brother’s head. She hit the target dead on, but ended up confined to her quarters for a week. Arya protested that she wouldn’t have missed, that she was too good a shot to ever miss. She only wished to show Bran the proper way to shoot a bow, never kill him. The only thing her grievances resulted in was making her mother impossibly more angry.” The King laughed and the Hound snorted. Thoros and Ser Beric, grinned widely while Tormund and Ser Jorah chuckled at the nonsense of the young girl. Gendry too couldn’t help a smile from spreading across his face, the anecdote painting a perfect picture of the girl he had left behind.

The Hound quickly spoke up, a piece of rabbit flying from his mouth only to sizzle in the fire. “That’s nothing,” he proclaimed. “When we travelled together, she was pure hell. One night we had stopped to camp under the stars. We had a small bag of silver and some weapons and a few loaves of bread. A thief had come by to raid us but I only found out after being awoken by a loud shriek from the man. The little rat had that Needle of hers pinned to his jugular with his arse backed against a tree. She was cursing at him and threatening to end him right there if he didn’t drop our supplies. I was scrambling to reach them, but she was too fucking fast. The bastard shoved his loot back at us and fucking shit his pants!” recalled the Hound through broken laughter. “I tell you, I’ve never seen a man run so fucking fast in my life, let alone from the threats of a little girl!”

The story had the rest of the men in stitches. Jon’s cheeks were rosy as he sat back and snickered. Tormund, despite never having met the Stark girl, erupted in a deep belly laugh that made his fiery red beard bob up and down. Ser Jorah neither was immune to the tale of such a fierce girl. And though Arya had threatened to kill them on many occasions, Lord Beric and Thoros both took a moment to laugh along with their comrades over the likes of Arya Stark.

But it was Gendry whose reaction was least obnoxious. The way the Hound had described Arya to them had awoke the fondness he had for her. They had endured so much together, yet somehow could still manage to make one another smile. She had trusted in him and he in her and it was a feeling Gendry missed terribly. Hearing the news that she had made it – she had survived even after all this time, filled him with such joy and relief. He truly missed her.

And so, as laughter filled the air around them, Gendry could only smile. He turned his head from the fire to his boots, replaying the memories in his mind before he muttered to himself, “Gods, I love her.”

~****~

His heart began to pump faster with each footfall that drew them nearer to the gates of Winterfell. She would be there and he would see her again…after all these years.

Gendry was tucked in the middle of their little travelling caravan, the King in the North leading the way home. When the great spans of Winterfell’s walls finally stared him down, he reveled in its cold, stony beauty. Snow peaked its trellises while blue-black smoke rose up like a breath from within. The Stark banners flew proudly through the icy wind.

With a holler from Jon Snow, the large wooden gates swung open revealing the belly of the great fortress. Within, Gendry could see men ducking in and out of massive stone arches, shuttling food and supplies to where they needed to go. Stable boys were guiding around unbroken fillies and colts, struggling to train them for the impending winter. A tall redhead clad is fine fabrics, cloaks and furs stood on tall steps, smiling at her half-brother’s safe return. And in the right-most corner of the courtyard sounded the song of kissing steel. A tall, broad woman in lavish armour was pitted against the tiny form of another nimble woman. The small one’s brown hair was slicked into a half-ponytail and she moved with lightening speed. Just as she was about to deliver her winning move, the tall woman stopped suddenly, straightened and lowered her weapon to her side. The younger woman stilled mid-swing, bewildered until she followed the line of sight of her sparring partner. She turned fast on her heels, heavy breaths halting as her face washed over with relief and joy. She dropped her thin sword and in the blink of an eye she was rushing towards the gates.

It was her, Gendry realized. She was there, alive and more than well. She had grown, no longer looking like the little girl dressed as a boy. She was now a woman and even more fierce a warrior than when they had last seen one another.

The King in the North dropped his packsacks, immediately opening his arms to embrace her. She jumped up, wrapping hers around his neck and closing her eyes tightly, as if fearful that he could slip away from her once again. He embraced her lovingly, gently swaying her to and fro. Jon must have whispered something in her ear, for she smiled against him.

Then she opened her eyes and saw him over the shoulder of the King. Their gazes locked and her demeanor immediately changed. Genry’s heart now thundered in his chest. He shouldn’t have been watching the two siblings share such an intimate moment, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the one person he had missed so dearly.

Jon sensed a change in his sister and withdrew from their embrace with concern. Arya’s grey-blue eyes never left Genry’s as her brother spoke to her.

Every emotion was coursing through Gendry. Relief, joy, fear, and something that made his stomach lurch, urging one foot forward involuntarily. Arya shifted slowly, moving around her brother with a gate as agile as a cat. He could almost make out his name, silent on her lips as she began to approach him. She looked unsure and Gendry’s pulse throbbed not knowing what to expect. Her face yielded nothing but disbelief, for the last time she saw him she was certain the Red Witch was going to end his life. He felt ashamed for his ignorance. He wished he had listened to her, wished he had not chosen the Brothers over her. He knew his choice had wounded her, especially after all they had been through and with every swing he used to shape steel over the years, a little bit of this regret fueled the blows.

Arya continued to close the distance between them, her feet softly padding the powdery snow. At last, she was before him, gazing up into his eyes with an expressionless face. He wanted to tell her so many things but simply did not know how. Instead all he managed was “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up!” she spat, furrowing her brow. And then she threw her arms around his middle. She squeezed him fiercely, and he responded in kind, enveloping her in a tight hug and resting his head upon hers. A warmth overtook him, rising from his toes to his cheeks. For the first time he felt at ease; like he had finally found home. They stood like that for a moment longer, uncaring of the many eyes that had fallen upon them.

Finally, they pulled away from each other smiling as their touch lingered. Suddenly and before he had a chance to respond, Arya’s eyes narrowed, her lips crammed together and her nose scrunched as she threw her fist into his stomach. Gendry doubled with a loud ummphh, and looked back to her seeking an explanation. “That’s for leaving me,” she proclaimed, crossing her arms.

“Aye. I suppose I do deserve that,” he conceded.

“Consider yourself lucky! I am capable of far worse!” Her threat was more playful than spiteful as she tried to hide the grin forming upon her lips.

Gendry chucked. “Same old Arya, as fearless and as vengeful as ever,” he smiled.

She no longer hid her grin. “I’m glad to have you back.”

“As am I, M’lady.” Arya’s eyes widened and she raised her fist threateningly. Gendry laughed as he flinched to protect his stomach.

Notes: While I’ve read a lot of great fics featuring Gendry and Arya’s reunion, in my mind I don’t think the first thing she’d do is sock him. She’s mad at him for leaving, but he was her family and security in a time when nothing for her was certain. I don’t think Arya would have forgotten that, and as angry as she was at him, she still cared. So this reunion was probably a little more sentimental for both parties than what others might have written. I hope you enjoyed it none-the-less

#gendrya #arya x gendry #arya stark #gendry waters #got fanfiction #my fanfic #no spoilers please i haven't watched the leaked episode 6

265 notes · View notes

janiedean · 7 years

Note

Do you think Sansa is knowingly poisoning Sweetrobin? I've seen a few well-known blogs making the argument that she's doing it on purpose but I'm not convinced. I don't think she understands how dangerous sweetsleep is. For reference: bluetheon(.)tumblr(.)com/post/165242694491/maidenoftheforestlight-alayne-stonecoldfox and I just saw another pretty popular blog say that she is willingly poisoning him too which bugged me so I thought I'd ask what you think. It's just so unlike Sansa. :/

now, given that I haven’t read anything from TWOW except the theon chapter because I’m weak like that but like I don’t want to form ideas based on pre-released chapters that might or might not get changed when they’re published, so like I’ve just read up what’s in that meta, and like... I think she’s aware on a subconscious level but hasn’t really realized it yet, but that at the same time it ties into a larger theme as in ‘grrm is making the stark children go through a lot of very dark shit and is putting in question a lot of things we should have assumed’. I had written something about it once let me see if I can find it, but anyway, basic background of my Large Starks Theory: they started out as the heroes and they will end up as the heroes, but right now they’re all going through a morally gray/morally questionable moment/phase while the Lannisters are also being turned on their head except for cersei - I mean cersei’s always been herself except she gets more bonkers with time, but tyrion started as a sympathetic figure who had to be on the villain side and now he’s going over to another hero side, jaime started out as OMG SO TERRIBLE (to the not-in-depth-read anyway) and now he’s turning out as one of the people in the series with the most sensed views about anything + one of the few reliable narrators when it doesn’t concern his feelings about being like cersei in asos + a fairly decent guy all things considered. Like, we started with good starks and bad lannisters and now we are with grey starks and getting-better lannisters and we’ll end with good starks and two good-ish lannisters on three. Now, what I mean with the starks are going through their morally gray phase, if I can find that post I made a while ago gdi I can’t find it AH WELL:

arya is training at an assassins’ school where the basic point of it is killing people after renouncing your identity

bran is turning into the westeros big brother pretty much and while I don’t think that in the show they realized that it probably will not turn him into a robot who sends meera off without so much a thank you, I’m 99% sure they weren’t making it up with hodor and like... he’s younger than twelve. that’s a lot of power. on top of that he had done exactly all the things varamyr said in the adwd prologue that wargers should not do (ie warging into people, eating meat while in an animal and I can’t remember the third but back when I checked, he did that as well), that’s not kindergarten material

rickon is being pretty much literally raised by wolves/wildlings on an island known because there’s cannibals on it and he hasn’t seen his family since he was four, as much as osha can be a good influence the moment he goes back to civilization manderly is going to be very wtf at least

jon has died and will come back to life which is most probably going to leave him fairly more traumatized than in the show and his entire arc in adwd was about how he has to do a lot of things that he’d have previously found despicable because he’s a lord commander and he has a duty (do we remember the whole deal with gilly’s baby?)

catelyn is a zombie who only wants revenge and she’s so past morally gray, she’s turned into riverlands!aerys which is why I’m putting my money on brienne killing her to save jaime but never mind that

and lastly.. sansa is stuck with LF who’s using her in his ploys while also being a total creep with her and who wants to marry her because he was in love with her mother (yikes) and who’s made her at least complicit in the whole sweetsleep scheme, which is what would put her in the morally gray column for now

now, I do think she doesn’t realize the extent of what she’s doing and that from what it looks like in the preview chapter she seems very immersed in her alayne part - I mean, again I haven’t read that, but looking at the quotes in that meta,

She put a finger to his lips. “I know what you want, but it cannot be. I am no fit wife for you. I am bastard born.”“I don’t care. I love you best of anyone.”You are such a little fool.

Maester Colemon cares only for the boy, though. Father and I have larger concerns.

now, idk the context, but that doesn’t sound like sansa to me, that sounds like how alayne should sound, but like... that’s the point, that’s not sansa. that’s sansa at her lowest point while she’s being made complicit in the scheme, but who doesn’t fully realize the extent of it yet I think - the second person has a point when it says that LF is also building this so he can frame her but he won’t get his way, most probably because that person is not sansa and sansa wouldn’t do that, so the moment she actually realizes it and puts two and two together she’ll stop it or do something to change the tide. like, LF has to die and he most probably will because he underestimated her (also as the other meta-er said I’m 99% sure she’s gonna run into brienne and jaime so there’s that too), but sansa has to go through the ‘what the fuck are you doing this is wrong WHAT’ moment because that’s what... all of her living family is doing.

I don’t think she can’t know at all because I mean, she’s not an idiot and those conversations with the maester plus LF laying his plan down are fairly obvious - anyone would put two and two together and I think she has but she just doesn’t want to admit it, which is why I’m midway - I don’t think she willingly is doing it but I think she knows she’s doing it on some level.

mind that I think it might go like this also because grrm already did all of that with theon - in adwd if you start from reek you see him knowing things but apparently denying them in the pov/trying to not think about them/saying or thinking the things reek should say or think or do same as sansa is doing above with alayne - a lot of shit theon does/says/thinks in reek 1, 2 and 3 is not him, it’s what he thinks he has to be in order to survive ramsay and like, the concept is exactly the same, but the more adwd went on the more he was forced to realize that he was not reek, he could not be reek and he didn’t want to be reek, and like... he knew that jeyne was jeyne and not arya, he tried to ignore it as long as he could, he knew what was happening to her and tried to block it out, he couldn’t, the moment he puts two and two together and realizes where he went wrong/who he wants to be/what he wants to do with his life and his choices, the first thing he does is saving her hide. it’s the exact same pattern except that we saw sansa going from sansa to alayne and we didn’t see theon going from theon to reek (THANK FUCK), but we’re going to see sansa to alayne to sansa again I think, and that includes her admitting to herself what the hell they’re doing and realizing it’s not who she wants to be or what she wants to be. which would put her back in the good guys camp, though with a lot less naivety I suppose, which is what I think is going on with all her siblings, so... yeah that’s what I got.

tldr: I think she knows what she’s doing on a very deep/subconscious level but doesn’t want to admit it and that she will have to and that it’s part of her family’s overall arc as ‘go from good guys to morally gray and then back to good’ and in order for her to be *properly* grey at least for that chunk of her arc she has to be aware of it on some level. obviously I don’t think it makes her a horrible person also because it was all LF’s ploy and she’s being manipulated/convinced into it by a fairly creepy guy who couldn’t care less about her well-being and only wants to marry her because he was in love with her damned mother so she’s also LF’s victim in all of this along with sweetrobin but it’s another level of it and I think that assuming she has no idea whatsoever.

btw meanwhile I did find that post where I discussed the thing so if you want the more in-depth version http://janiedean.tumblr.com/post/134282706508/hi-i-that-post-you-answered-about-theon-being XDD

#ch: sansa stark #janie writes meta #idk if i should tag this PROBABLY NOT #bluetheon #ask post

24 notes · View notes

wintermell · 7 years

Text

darling, i’ll take you dancing

[ @jonsa-countdown Happy day 12- and sorry about this. Here’s a WWII AU. Enjoy! ❤️, Amelia ]

darling, i’ll take you dancing (ao3)

day twelve : letters

Dear Jon,

I couldn’t find a way to start this letter, but this morning I found Robb’s gloves on the table in the drawing room. Could you ask him if I should mail them? He was so upset when I said goodbye at the station, it didn’t feel right to write to him just now. I trust you far more than I trust Theon.

Are you well? The weather here is terrible and I hope you’ve had safe travels. Stay warm and dry, or else you’ll catch a cold. Tell Robb to do the same.

Write me soon. I want to hear everything about France.

Yours,

Sansa Stark

Dear Sansa,

Robb says not to bother sending his gloves, he has money to buy new ones. He does appreciate the gesture, though.

I told the boys your advice (to stay healthy and be safe). You can rest assured that Robb and I will follow it. Theon- well, he’s Theon.

I’m doing well, even though I miss home. Winterfell was always so beautiful in the cold weather. I’ll send you something from France.

Yours,

Jon Snow

Dear Jon,

It’s so terrible you won’t be here for the holidays. Please tell me if there’s anything I can send as a gift. I wish you could see the snow here. It covers the tops of the old buildings in town and all the trees, too. Bran and Rickon are always playing out in the gardens. We had a snowball fight yesterday- a bad decision on my part. I tripped and nearly fell into the pond. Arya had a laugh about that.

I miss you so much. Christmas won’t be the same without you here.

Yours,

Sansa

Dear Sansa,

We ran into our first conflict today. It didn’t last long, and none of us were hurt. It scared me though, more than I want to admit.

I’m sending you a sprig of holly from a holly bush we passed on our way through the woods. It’s not much, but it made me think of the wreaths your family hung on all the windows at Winterfell.

I miss you too. So much.

Yours,

Jon

Dear Jon,

Merry Christmas! I put the holly you sent me on my nightstand. Uncle Benjen sent a bit of money, and I was able to buy gifts for everyone. Arya got a new shirt, Bran got a new book, and Rickon got a hat (I knitted it myself, but I don’t think he minded).

I scraped together what I could and made lemon cakes. We listened to mother and father’s favorite records and danced all night.

It’s so hard to write this. I wish you could’ve been here. I tried not to cry in front of Rickon- he’s still so young- but Arya and Bran knew that I was upset. It’s just so hard not to worry all day and night.

Wherever you are, I hope you have a safe holiday. Enjoy your presents.

With love,

Sansa

Dear Sansa,

I loved your gift. I keep it in my pocket on my jacket so I can always be close to you. Your embroidery is perfect, by the way. I’m not an expert, but I think it’s almost as beautiful as you are.

Please don’t worry about me. Right now, we’re safe. In a few days, we’ll be in Paris. I’ll get you something when I’m there.

Would it be presumptuous to ask for a late New Year’s kiss when I get home?

Happy New Year,

Jon

Jon,

Are you serious?

Sansa

Sansa,

I probably should’ve told you before I went off to war. Timing clearly isn’t something I’m good with. But I could die any day, so why wait?

You’re beautiful and witty and I was always yours. I remember the first time I saw you. Robb and I were twelve, running around in the gardens at Winterfell. You were sitting near a rose bush with your hair in a braid, reading a book of poetry. You had my heart ever since then.

Please don’t hate me.

Love,

Jon

Jon,

Don’t you dare talk about dying. You’re going to come home to me, because I love you too.

I should’ve told you at the train station. I’m so sorry, Jon. For years, I convinced myself that I could never deserve you. You’re brave and gentle and strong, and I feel like a silly lovestruck girl whenever I’m around you.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

Yours, always,

Sansa

My silly lovestruck girl (Sansa),

When the war is over, I’m going to take you dancing in one of the clubs in Paris. I’ll buy you French perfume and we can eat pastries on a sidewalk cafe with a view of the Eiffel Tower.

Europe would be so amazing if it weren’t in shambles right now. I want to travel with you, Sans, all over the world. Then we can settle down in a little house near the woods. Maybe we can get a dog.

I love you with all my heart, and I hope you never forget that.

Your silly lovestruck boy,

Jon

My dearest Jon,

I’ll do anything as long as it’s with you.

Arya, Bran, and Rickon are back at school. I’ve got a job as a seamstress. It’s exhausting work. Margaery helps when she can. I wish mother and father were still alive, though.

I shouldn’t be complaining, though. Are you sure you’re alright? Robb never writes. Please tell him that I’m desperate to hear from him, and so is Margaery.

When I close my eyes, I like to imagine you’re right here with me. Is that stupid to say? I miss the way you smile and laugh. Life seems so empty sometimes. When the war ends, I’m going to take you dancing in the little club down the road. I don’t need fancy French perfumes, I just need you.

With love,

Sansa

Sansa,

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. There’s been more conflict. Theon took a bullet to the shoulder, but he should recover soon.

I’m sending you something with this letter. It’s my mother’s wedding ring. I want you to wear it for me. It’s far too precious to be here in the middle of a war. And if anything happens to me, I wouldn’t want to lose it.

All of this is getting to my head, Sansa. When we were ambushed, I heard the bullets, but all I could think of was you in the gardens at Winterfell. You had snow in your hair and you smiled brighter than the sun. God, I wish I could be home with you.

Promising a thousand kisses,

Jon

Dear Jon,

I’m wearing your ring as I write this. It’s a beautiful gift, but I’d like to remind you that nothing will happen to you. You’re going to be just fine.

The weather is getting a bit warmer now that it’s March. Arya, Bran, and Rickon always come home covered in mud. Work is tiring, as always, but it gives me a distraction at least.

I’m going to hold you to your promise of a thousand kisses. You know I’ll be counting.

With all my heart,

your Sansa

Sansa,

This is hard to write.

We run into attacks almost daily. Five men in our unit have already been killed. Robb is a bloody fool- he took a bullet for me. It hit him in the side, and luckily the doctor says he’ll be fine.

I’m so scared, love. The thought of being in your arms is the only thing that keeps me fighting. I keep your letters with me, and read them when I have time.

We were going through an empty town yesterday, and a cluster of forget-me-nots were blooming early in the garden. I’m sending you a few and keeping a few. That way, I know you’ll never forget me and I’ll never forget you.

With love,

Jon

Jon, my darling,

I could never forget you, no matter what. I put the flowers next to the holly you sent for Christmas.

Please be safe. Make sure that Robb takes care of himself. I’m worried sick.

When you get home, I want to get married. I know it would be terribly rushed, but I want us to be together always. I can’t promise that I’ll be a perfect wife, but I would love you to no end.

Love,

Mrs. Sansa Snow

To Mrs. Snow,

I would never expect you to be a perfect wife, as I could never be a perfect husband. I can also promise that I would love you unconditionally and protect you against anything. You’re my guiding star in a dark world, Sansa. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that this world could be gentle and beautiful, but how could it be so terrible if you’re in it?

When all of this is over, darling, I’ll take you dancing. Promise.

Love,

Jon

Dear Jon,

How is it that your letters always make my heart flutter? You’re too sweet, my love.

I’ve been tending the gardens here, like I do every spring. Mother was far better with the roses than I am, but I’ve got Margaery to help so I don’t ruin everything. Bran and I put some tomatoes in with the vegetables and basil with the herbs. When you come home, I’ll cook something from the garden.

Tell me everything. Where are you going? Is the weather clearing up? I can’t wait to hear from you.

All my love,

Sansa

Dear Jon,

You haven’t written in a while- are you alright? It’s been raining for the past few weeks. I keep fussing over the gardens. If this weather keeps up, all the flowers will be flooded.

We celebrated Arya’s birthday two days ago. I can’t believe she’s already eighteen. She’s going to work in a factory that makes planes, along with some of her friends. Bran and Rickon are still in school, but they keep the house in order while I’m at work. They miss you terribly.

Write me soon, Jon.

Yours,

Sansa

Jon,

It’s been two months, and I’m worried sick. Where are you? I’ve written to Robb and Theon as well, but there’s no response. If you get this, please let me know that you’re well. I can’t bear not knowing what’s become of you.

I love you, sweetheart.

Yours,

Sansa

Jon,

Please write to me, I don’t want to lose you. You promised to take me dancing, remember? I’ve still got your letters. You promised a thousand kisses, too. Please write back. I love you so much.

Sansa

Dear Ms. Stark,

I am sorry to inform you that your fiancé, Jon Snow, died in the early hours of June 3rd of wounds sustained in battle. Furthermore, your brother Robb Stark was killed in a bombing raid in the evening of June 2nd.

Mr. Snow wrote a letter to you just before he died, which is being sent along with this. He was a good man and a brave soldier. My deepest condolences are with you and your family.

General J. Mormont

Sansa-

Every time I close my eyes, I see you dancing. You’re so beautiful. I will always love you, darling.

Jon

#jonsacountdown #jonsa #jonsa fic #wwii au

24 notes · View notes

turtle-paced · 7 years

Text

GoT Re-Watch: Fine-Toothed Comb Edition

Well, this is it, I guess. One of the most infamous episodes of the whole series. Rightly so.

EXTRA WARNING: this recap contains discussion of a rape scene, as well as more discussion of the relationship between Tommen and Margaery.

5.06 - Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken

Let’s get this out of the way right now. The title of this episode is cruel mockery, referencing not just the words of House Martell but Sansa’s “you cannot scare me” line, which must be interpreted in light of the events that follow. Namely, repeated rapes and abuse to the point where Sansa does not care if Myranda kills her. So cruel mockery at best. At worst it’s self-justifying bullshit meant to promote the ludicrous narrative of “hardened woman making a choice” over and above “prominent underage female character raped for shock value.” Which, one, the rape and abuse is still every bit as bad if it happens to a “hardened woman,” and two, still doesn’t mean the plot made sense, was necessary, or was handled well.

This episode has a previously on. It ends at 1:48.

It also includes juxtaposition of Sansa saying, “I expect I’ll be a married woman by the time you return,” Littlefinger saying, “[Sansa’s] suffered enough,” and Ramsay saying “I’ll never hurt her.” Joke’s on us! Ramsay’s going to rape Sansa by the end of the episode!

(4:00) I’ve always found it bizarre how slowly Arya does this work. I think it’s meant to show care, but good lord, she’s an inefficient mortician’s apprentice.

(5:41) We can also see with this “What are they doing with the bodies?” mystery that the writers have elected to drive Arya’s story with external tension (what’s behind the door? Why is the Waif so hell-bent on kicking Arya out?) rather than internal tension, as Arya struggles in alternately abandoning and keeping her identity.

(7:03) Okay, so there’s a bit of a hole in the story the Waif tells Arya - a young Westerosi girl knows enough about the Faceless Men to want their help with her stepmother? She, a noble Westerosi girl, had the means to seek the help of Braavosi assassins? It’s not super plausible. (More plausible for a rich merchant family that interacts with Braavosi on the regular.) Now, this is absolutely, transparently meant to appeal to Arya Stark’s desire for vengeance and her love of grand adventure stories. Unfortunately you could drive a truck through this hole, and I’m having trouble believing that at approximately thirteen/fourteen (I think that’s how old show!Arya’s supposed to be, though Tommen’s age-up really throws everything into chaos - as far as I can tell he overtook Arya), Arya isn’t picking that up. Either the hole, or the fact the story is tailor-made to her tastes.

It’s a minor case of “only one smart person on screen at a time.”

(8:21) We’re back to this, are we? The Faceless Men of the books don’t hit Arya for lying badly, not as part of standard training for beginners. They give her a list of tells and a list of exercises to help her learn to control her face, and give her regular, structured practice trying to spot a liar’s tells. Only after Arya lies about killing a man for her own reasons and gives her biggest tell (chewing on her lip), does the Kindly Man hit her. Once.

This is child abuse here to be dramatic, is what I’m saying.

(8:44) Arya is pretty much the only character who doesn’t magically know Roose Bolton killed Robb.

(9:28) Go Arya, rejecting these terrible teaching methods! Truly, this scene was written for two reasons: one, to exposit that Arya did not hate Sandor (something she had to be told by a man), and two, to show Arya getting hit several times.

(10:52) Tyrion here has casually fessed up to kinslaying, and Westerosi Jorah, who should have knowledge of that particular taboo, has no reaction for us. I suppose this is an early example of kinslaying only affecting the plot at convenient times.

(11:51) Is anyone going to mention the reason Jorah is in Essos? That little slaving incident? Fleeing the country a step ahead of the death penalty? How about the bit where Jeor thought that death/the Watch was an appropriate punishment for his son’s crimes? No? We’re just going to have woobie Jorah make sad faces? Okay then.

My issue’s not that Jorah’s been changed per se, because goodness knows I don’t think Jorah’s one of GRRM’s best characters. It’s why the showrunners changed him and how. All the writers saw in the story of a middle-aged man exiled for enslaving others, creeping on and attempting to control a teenage girl, was an unrequited love subplot.

(13:21) This extra here knows that it’s time for Arya’s plot to advance, and so he’s walked up to her for no particular reason and started spouting exposition. The writers are capable of better.

(14:21) I resent the fuck out of the fact that the child abuse apparently did teach Arya how to lie. That is not how education works. And even if it did work, is that really an excuse for beating a child?

(15:27) Deaths: 1. Arya’s kill. And I am counting that to her, since her lies induced the girl to drink something she did not know would kill her.

(17:02) What a waste of effort by the props department. I’m sure this set, properly lit, would be stunning. As it is, I can hardly see a thing. The music here is lovely and eerie, though.

(19:27) While we’re talking creepy, though, this speech from Jorah about how he regards Dany as a goddess is creepier in its mundanity than any damn hall of dead faces they’ve shown us.

(20:22) Tyrion’s undermining of Dany’s ambitions here is also making me uncomfortable. Whether it’s “Targaryens are famously insane” (again, there’s a difference between Dany angsting about it on her own terms and Tyrion informing the audience of this as fact), “doesn’t mean she’ll make a good queen,” or here, “so a woman who has never spent a day of her adult life in Westeros becomes Queen of Westeros, that’s justice?” it’s pretty blatantly priming the audience to think, wow Dany needs Tyrion. Needs Tyrion. Not just “a good Westerosi advisor and support from at least one major House.” Tyrion.

(20:27) Tyrion’s also being used as a mouthpiece for audience opinion pretty blatantly, much as he was back in season one with the Free Folk. It’s jarring, because GRRM is very careful to include those moments of values dissonance, such as Tyrion’s utter disbelief that women can contribute to political decision-making, and his dislike of democracy.

(20:39) Much like Valyria snuck up on these two last episode, here they have been snuck up on by pirates. They totally weren’t waiting out of shot, otherwise in plain view. Don’t even think such silly things.

(21:39) Oh-ho, dick joke. This scene was written around the joke “Tyrion might be a little person, but he has a big dick!” The “cock merchant” is not the only way Tyrion could survive this encounter, either: there’s the canon use of a grotesquerie.

(24:10) “The city has changed since you were here last.” You know what would have conveyed this fact much more elegantly than this clunky bit of exposition? Exactly what was going on before Lancel started speaking - shots of Littlefinger walking through the city looking apprehensively at the armed, black-clad Sparrows. I think this is here to remind us that Littlefinger knows about Lancel, but the plot in King’s Landing is going to get a bit confused.

(25:13) “House Tyrell won’t tolerate this insult.” Oh, Littlefinger. You’d be surprised! Loras is going to be in custody until the day Cersei blows him up.

(26:02) “If war comes to Westeros, will the knights of the Vale fight for their king?” This seems to be the question Cersei urgently summoned Littlefinger to answer. And this, well, it’s not something you drag someone halfway across the continent to answer. Littlefinger was sent to the Vale to ensure exactly that. It kind of defeats the purpose to drag Littlefinger back to the capital to ask him this again. Better to send someone there to report on him.

(26:24) Cersei drinks: 1.

(26:38) Why on earth tell Cersei this? It seems to be a means for Littlefinger to send the forces of the Vale North without the Lannisters on their backs. If only there was some enemy of the Lannisters trying to retake Winterfell at this very point of the plot, giving an excuse for military incursion into Northern lands! Perhaps some persistent Lannister foe marching down from the Wall?

(27:08) “Marrying his son to the last of the Starks gives Roose Bolton far more legitimacy in the North than an alliance with a hated southern house.” This is 100% true. But this smart political show has seen no further than this in their rush to write a prominent female character being raped for shock value. Literally nobody in the books believes that a genuine Stark would willingly marry a Bolton post-Red Wedding. They all come to the conclusion that the Stark is fake, the marriage is forced, or both. And then a great many Northerners do something about it. Logically, Cersei should be asking “why would Sansa do this? If she wouldn’t, then how did it come to pass?” This is not a complex train of thought. It is well within Cersei’s intellectual capabilities. (Wouldn’t trust her to come up with good answers, though.)

(27:15) “I would counsel patience, your grace,” says Littlefinger.

(27:39) “That is why it is critical to strike soon,” says Littlefinger. So, if you were wondering about the editing process or the amount of thought that went into justifying Northern plotlines…you can stop. They can’t keep the plans consistent for thirty seconds. Literally. Thirty seconds.

(28:31) Littlefinger asks to be named Warden of the North for his hypothetical services. Again, this is something even (maybe even especially) book!Cersei would not agree to. Even she can say to herself “Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Protector of the Vale, Warden of the North…hm. Too much power.”

(29:15) Who else thought that there was something skeevy going on here when Trystane interrupted Myrcella’s concerns by kissing her without waiting for any sort of indication of yes, and indeed while she was mid-sentence? I don’t think that’s what the showrunners were going for, though…

(29:46) And again, were we supposed to take this as young love when Trystane won’t answer Myrcella honestly about how many other girls he’s walked through the gardens with? A good response here would be “a few, but you’re the one I’m walking with now” or something like that, not the dissembling he gives her. Genuine affection would best be conveyed here by honesty. This seriously looks like a reasonably experienced young man pressuring an inexperienced teenage girl into a commitment she’s not ready for.

(30:15) Alexander Siddig and Deobia Oparei just completely wasted here too. Sorry guys, you’re too good for this mess of a plot, you’re bringing something dangerously close to atmosphere and sensible motivations to this scene!

(30:24) Didn’t mention it before, but there’s some serious geography failure here. The landscape Jaime and Bronn are travelling through is gorgeous, but it’s also a very unconvincing Dorne. It’s all the more noticeable because they went from the bright sunshine and warmer filters of Sunspear to grey, green, and fog.

(30:59) You know it’s a desert city because right there, right there, is a donkey carrying a bunch of bananas.

(31:19) Just in case you didn’t see the donkey with bananas before, here it is again! It’s exotic. Isn’t it great how the plot goes to all these exotic foreign-ish locations? It’s worth mentioning again because we know the show is capable of far better work - compare the gorgeous establishing shots of Braavos, Volantis, and Meereen to this crap.

(31:53) These masked individuals walking through the gardens in broad daylight certainly are not very suspicious. Seriously, do they think this will fool anyone for a hot second?

(32:00) Likewise these two masked men. Completely legit. Definitely regular guards.

(32:32) Check out Trystane’s non-reaction to Myrcella identifying Jaime. He barely blinks and just casually strolls up behind her. He’s acting like this is a normal introduction, and not, you know, what the fuck is the fucking Kingslayer doing here in a Martell guardsman uniform unannounced. Again, this is how you can tell this storyline was rushed and botched - the showrunners did not put even a tiny bit of effort into thinking “how would Trystane react to this?”

(32:51) In more contrivance, Jaime and Bronn have been in possession of these uniforms for how long now? And they did not think to maybe wash the blood off. It’s not one of the classic scenarios where someone grabs a stolen uniform under time pressure; they got these a while back and had ample opportunity to launder them. They did not, because the plot demands Trystane sees the blood. (As if the fact Jaime and Bronn are there in fake uniforms isn’t suspicious enough already.) Can’t say what’s shoddier, Jaime’s plan or the writing.

(33:10) It’s Attack of the The Sand Snakes. And you better believe I’m thinking of what MST3K said - they just didn’t care.

I am absolutely serious when I say I have seen high school theatre productions with higher choreography values than this. I know they only had about a day to film this scene, but here’s the thing - the showrunners prioritised the rule of cool (filming in this beautiful historical site) over filming a good action scene and ensuring the plot that made it to screen made sense. It’s shocking, I know, but when there’s a fight scene the audience tends to focus on the combat, rather than the gardens in the background obscured by quick cuts and motion blur - and yet while people might pardon the coincidence of two separate parties trying to kidnap Myrcella at once, they won’t look past the fact this happens in broad daylight.

This becomes a sadly common feature of the show, prioritising “cool” over the bread-and-butter mechanics that cool things must be built on.

(34:28) Note how Areo Hotah is surrounded by a bunch of loyal guardsmen, unmoved by Obara’s “yay revenge!” appeal.

(35:05) Bronn says, “You fight pretty well for a little girl,” and Tyene launches herself at Bronn screaming. Truly we are getting some strong female characters in this plot. Also worth mentioning is that I don’t think Bronn’s casual sexism is supposed to affect our view of him, much like his casual racism earlier in the season. He’s down-to-earth and cracks wise! Why ruin a character like that pointing out the fact that he’s racist and sexist?

(35:33) The leader of this carriage has called a halt.

(35:41) Olenna Tyrell immediately makes a crack about how King’s Landing is smelly and asks why they stopped. I too am asking why they stopped. It looks like they stopped literally so Olenna could say that King’s Landing is smelly.

(35:52) Much like Bronn, Olenna’s reference to “pillow-biters” isn’t supposed to prompt us to reexamine anything. Olenna is consistently and casually homophobic, but since she expresses it with jokes and dismissiveness rather than labelling homosexuality perversion, we’re still supposed to like her and laugh at the jokes.

There’s a similar thing going on with Olenna and sexism. Much like Olenna loves her grandson whilst casually throwing out slurs about gay men in general, Olenna loves and educates her granddaughter whilst demeaning, condescending to, and occasionally threatening other women. If this was deliberate, written with full awareness that Olenna is homophobic and sexist, and her tolerance for gay people and women in politics extends only as far as her family tree does, we’d have a pretty excellent character on our hands here still. As it is, what we have is an unacknowledged double standard.

(36:00) Renly and/or Loras is gay: 1. Been a while since I had to bring this out for reasons of people being homophobic! It’s the verbal version of Loras’ affair with Olyvar in season three: Renly was gay, so of course he had sex with a lot of men.

(36:14) “She wants to drag our name through the dirt. Put us in our place.” I’d be more sympathetic if Olenna hadn’t planned the murder of one of Cersei’s sons, and Olenna and Margaery together hadn’t planned the rape of Cersei’s other son. These two Tyrells aren’t exactly blameless, here, they’ve done plenty to Cersei personally - so why are we seeing this scene of Olenna and Margaery being all indignant that Cersei’s successfully imprisoned one of their family members? What a nerve Cersei has, wanting the woman who is raping her son, along with the family who gives her the platform from which she achieved the ability to rape Cersei’s son, out of power.

It’s fine to criticise Cersei for being bad at governing, and for targeting Loras as a means to get to Margaery, but this depiction of Cersei as somehow unreasonable just for wanting Margaery nowhere near Tommen is disgusting. The depictions of sympathetic and unsympathetic characters in this arc depend on the writers’ refusal to acknowledge that Margaery raped and abused Tommen. Accept that, and this arc changes drastically.

(36:37) “Put the pen down, dear, we both know you’re not writing anything.”

There are two layers of stuff going on here, one good layer, one bad layer. The good layer is in pointing out how Cersei is imitating her father’s techniques for controlling meetings with pretty much zero success. The bad layer is in how, unexamined, sexism plays into Olenna’s ability and willingness to call it out. Cersei is doing the same job as Tywin was back in season three; she has every bit as much reason to write things as Tywin did. Not only does Olenna use the reductive dear to address the Dowager Queen, Cersei gets no benefit of the doubt.

(36:42) Woman called slut/harlot/whore: 1. (Calling Cersei a tart counts.) Let’s look at how this conversation has gone thus far.

OLENNA: You ever going to speak to me? CERSEI: I didn’t invite you. OLENNA: You’re not even doing anything important. CERSEI: That’s a bit rude. OLENNA: Whore.

We’re supposed to find Olenna funny because she just called Cersei a slut. Witty.

(37:23) “Do you expect our alliance to continue after you’ve thrown our future into prison?” Do the writers expect us to look past the fact that Olenna murdered one of Cersei’s sons and arranged the rape of the other? Yes! Yes they do! Olenna shot first in this little confrontation of theirs.

I just find it utterly bizarre that we’re supposed to be on the Tyrells’ side here. I can understand being on Loras’ side - dude’s done nothing but practice with swords and have sex with Olyvar in the past few seasons, certainly nothing he deserves to be thrown in a dungeon for. But while he’s been having a good time, his grandmother and sister have been up to some seriously shady things, as bad as anything we see Cersei do. One premeditated murder and several strategically planned rapes, against Cersei’s abuse of the justice system. I can understand preferring Margaery and Olenna’s competence (though we haven’t seen Margaery even try to do any governing) over Cersei’s incompetence, but I fail to see much morally better about these two in show-verse.

(37:43) Ah, the Lannister-Tyrell alliance, bringing peace to a war-torn country. Not in the books, on account of a lot of survivors being outraged at the atrocity committed to bring an end to the bulk of the conventional fighting. In the show the surviving Northerners and Riverlanders (well, I think, but the Riverlanders may not exist this season) just put their feet up for a season or two.

(39:01) Loras refused to leave Renly’s bedside even as Stannis’ army closed in? That sounds like a scene I would have liked to see.

(40:15) The High Sparrow went and boned up on legal procedure specifically for this, I guess. Dude’s got talent!

(41:15) I understand the logic of bringing out Loras’ lover to testify against both him and Margaery, but again there’s a plothole. It’s called he-said-they-said. Both Loras and Margaery managed to lie just then with perfectly straight faces; all they need to do is continue lying. The queen and her brother. Both are of good reputation. Their word should be preferred.

When Cersei was stacking Tyrion’s trial, in both versions, she brought out a whole bunch of real incidents to make the central falsehood go down easy. She made sure she proved means (Pycelle’s testimony), motive (well-documented animosity between Joffrey and Tyrion), and opportunity (lots of wedding guests saw him handling the chalice). One random saying “I saw Tyrion poison the cup” could be ignored. It’s the same here, or it should be. One random saying “oh no, I totally had gay sex with Loras” can - and should - be ignored.

(41:37) Olyvar here says he squired for Loras.

(42:21) Cersei says outright that Loras’ and Margaery’s word should be preferred to Olyvar’s account.

(42:25) Which is where the “smoking gun” comes out. It’s supposed to be a smoking gun. It’s more confusing. Olyvar already said he squired for Loras, a task which involves dressing him. It is utterly unsurprising that he would have seen Loras naked or nearly so. The only surprising thing is that nobody says, “uh, High Sparrow, you do know that squires help people dress, right?”

Again, this is an obvious patch job. The showrunners so wanted Margaery to rape Tommen, that they couldn’t adapt the flimsy adultery charge Margaery was originally on the hook for. And hey, they could make the Sparrows topical by having them persecute a gay man, too! That saves them having to adapt Loras’ subplot!

(42:30) So there we are. Loras lied barefaced about his relationship with Renly, only showing the slightest bit of disquiet (good job, Finn Jones!), but as soon as Olyvar mentions he saw a thing he could have seen in the normal course of his duties, he loses it and flings himself across the room.

(42:50) Indeed, bearing false witness before the gods, as we shall see, is far more serious than adultery and murder.

(43:09) Yeah. I feel real bad for Margaery, being dragged away from the child she raped while attempting to use the connection between them she manipulated into existence, and just terrible for Olenna, watching her plan to have a child raped backfire due to the efforts of that child’s mother. My sympathies here are firmly with Loras and Tommen.

(43:15) Sansa is still proactively sitting in her bedroom doing nothing. The writers literally cannot think of anything else for Sansa to do except get raped.

(44:08) Myranda here just says that Ramsay gets bored easily. This is clearly a callback to the fact Ramsay hurts women when he’s bored. We know this number of women includes Myranda.

(44:34) We get the names of some of Ramsay’s other victims here. They don’t matter. No, seriously, they don’t matter. They will never matter to this show. They are mentioned here to demonstrate Ramsay’s cruelty and nothing else. They’re sketches of women that exist only to be brutalised.

(45:40) “And how long have you loved him, Myranda?” This is presented as perceptive on Sansa’s part, but the audience really, really needs to remember that last week we saw Ramsay threaten Myranda with death if she got boring.

(45:58) “I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and you can’t frighten me.” That is a bald statement of identity and power, and it is almost immediately undermined. Undermined in the worst way possible. That sentiment is raped out of her. Nothing else would do.

(47:06) The writers keep doing it, too. Ramsay says Theon’s to take Sansa’s arm, Sansa immediately says no, because obviously she’s in charge of her body and gets to say whether someone touches her and how, right? They are building up Sansa’s agency in these few minutes only to cut everything out from under the viewer. It’s a cruel punch line to a worse joke.

(47:16) Could do without things like “you think I care what he does to you?” Book!Sansa would, and I feel pretty confident in saying that because of how she reacted to Joffrey’s death. Book!Sansa has violent thoughts from time to time, but when faced with violence and the suffering of human beings she more often moves to alleviate it, and is horrified by it.

(47:55) This set of the godswood is also stunning. Just saying.

(49:08) A shot of Myranda here, in a cleavage-exposing black dress. I’m sure any contrast with Sansa’s long-sleeved high-collared white dress was coincidental. Good thing this show isn’t having any Madonna-Whore complexes, hey!

(49:29) Nothing but praise for Alfie Allen’s acting.

(50:09) Of course, the minute Sansa says, “I take this man,” Ramsay gives us a slasher smile. Oh, poor Sansa, what a huge mistake she has made!

(51:21) While it makes an amount of sense for Ramsay to mention Tyrion, I do find it distasteful how the conversation detours off. Yes, even for ten seconds. We have the obligatory ableist remark from Ramsay (we didn’t understand Ramsay was evil, you see), and three (short) sentences from Sansa on Tyrion’s merits. Leave it at “he was kind” and don’t reemphasise something we already knew. If this is going to be Sansa’s plot (and it shouldn’t have been), this scene must put Sansa first and foremost. This it fails to do.

(52:20) Here Theon becomes the focus of the scene, as Ramsay directs Theon to stay and watch, appealing directly to Theon’s emotional pain at watching this violation. Ramsay’s done talking to Sansa, and she’s now just another means for Ramsay to demonstrate his control of Theon. The last dialogue of the episode emphasises how this is causing trauma to Theon.

(53:46) It’s not like I don’t get the logic of cutting to Theon’s reaction. It makes perfect sense to show Theon’s reaction to this…if the story is first and foremost about Theon. As it was in the book.

The problem is that this was billed as Sansa’s story, her plotline was mutilated to get it to this point, and at this critical moment the show looks away and puts the emphasis on someone else.

Rape: 1.

And now I recommend going to watch MST3K’s take on Attack of the The Eye Creatures, because that’s a far more enjoyable example of “they just didn’t care,” and the riffers actually know when the movie’s depiction of sexuality is awful.

Game of Numbers S05E06

For such a lousy episode, there’s not much to count.

Deaths: 1. Arya’s kill.

Rape: 1.

Consensual sex: 0.

Woman called “slut/whore/harlot”: 1.

Man called “slut/whore/harlot”: 0.

Renly and/or Loras is gay: 1.

Cersei drinks: 1.

#anti got #fine toothed comb edition #cw: violence #cw: rape #cw: abuse #talk about failing a spot check #couldn't have picked a lovelier day to film a night scene #season five

85 notes · View notes