#brienne’s sword is still burning

[ilynpilled]

“We all dream of things that we cannot have.”

Instead of closing the shutters he threw them wide. The yard below was covered by a thin white blanket, growing thicker even as he watched. The merlons on the battlements wore white cowls. The flakes fell silently, a few drifting in the window to melt upon his face. Jaime could see his own breath. Snow in the riverlands.

#it all adds up to me guys #i might be losing my mind #but it all makes sense #they all left #only brienne’s sword burns #shes warm #the weight of his conscience and the lannister legacy is crushing him #thats his darkness #but he wakes before it can strangle him #the flames didnt fully go out #brienne’s sword is still burning #he only has one hand #this is not a dream #listen. #Jaime jerked awake before the ghosts could have strangled him. #his heart is pounding #jaime lannister

[milfsloverblog]

Oooh. How about a fic where the reader gives Brienne her favor at every melee and Brienne is just clueless

Tokens of Devotion

Brienne of Tarth x Fem!reader

A/N: I started writing this so many weeks ago, sorry it took so long anon! I hope you’ll enjoy what I did with your request, it was a lovely idea!!<3

Brienne could hardly believe it the first time she’d seen you waving a ribbon at her, calling her name in the hope of catching her attention.

“Me?” She mouthed, pointing at her breastplate.

“Yes, you!” You nodded and waved the blue ribbon more vigorously.

The woman hesitated. What if this was some sort of sick joke? What if once she’d get close to you, the whole crowd started laughing at how much of an imbecile she was for thinking a lady would ever give her, Brienne the Beauty, her favour.

“Please!” You insisted, knowing the mêlée was about to start.

After a few more seconds of hesitancy, Brienne eventually made her way to you. She kept her head up and her shoulders straight, readying herself for the inevitable mockery.

“Thank you,” you said when she was finally close enough. “For a second I thought I would have to give my favour to another knight…And I really did not want to.”

The tall woman dared to look at you then and the beauty of her features nearly made the ribbon slip from in-between your fingers. It took everything within you to tear your eyes away from her face and tie your favour to her pauldron.

“I should be the one thanking you, my lady. I will fight for your honour.” The blonde said, letting her eyes roam on your face while you looked down at your working hands.

You knew it was simply a polite way to address you, but your heart fluttered anyway. Oh, to be her lady.

Your fingers lingered on the steel of her armour for a couple of seconds too long before you eventually pulled away.

“May it bring you luck.” You gestured to the ribbon.

“It already did.” Brienne said, giving you an awkward nod before walking away back to the field, her heart beating loudly inside her rib cage. Her very first favour. She would carry it proudly, and she would make sure to be victorious.

The mêlée lasted for over an hour, men falling left and right, some being disarmed and others simply yielding to their opponent.

“Yield!” Brienne barked at the last man standing, still firmly holding her sword in front of her.

It had been the two of them for a moment now, Brienne’s muscles burning and begging the knight to let go of her sword. But she wouldn’t give up, she didn’t want to disappoint the lady in the crowd who was rooting for her.

“I yield.” The knight spat the words out after another couple of minutes, being too exhausted to keep fighting even if it meant losing to a woman.

You loudly cheered when Brienne was announced victorious, louder than anyone else in the crowd did. Butterflies bloomed in your stomach at the thought that maybe your favour had given her the strength to win. Not that you doubted she would have won anyway.

Brienne removed her gauntlets and her helmet, slicking her short blonde hair back before she made her way over to you again.

“I knew you would be victorious!” You said excitedly, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your dress to prevent them from reaching for the tall woman.

“Well, I had to fight for both your honour and mine, didn’t I?” Brienne pushed a shy smile and offered you her hand to shake. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Thank you, Brienne of Tarth.” You smiled and gently grabbed her hand, bringing it to your lips to press a kiss on it instead of going for a simple handshake.

Brienne was left at a loss for words, her cheeks taking a pinkish colour as you let go of her hand. No one had ever done that before, certainly not a woman.

“Well, I suppose there will be people waiting to celebrate with you at the tavern. Until we meet again!” You winked at the knight, disappearing into the crowd before she could say anything else.

Brienne stood there for another minute, dumbfounded by the whole scene that had just happened until she was practically dragged to the tavern to celebrate.

She found that drinking did not help to forget the feeling of your lips on her hand, if anything it only made it worse.

When she showed up to the next melee a month later, Brienne wasn't expecting to see you. Not that she wasn't wishing to see you again; she simply didn't think you would come back for her. Why would you?

How wrong she was, she realised when she heard the familiar voice calling her name. There you were, a smile that reached your ears as you waved something that, from afar, looked like a piece of fabric.

Four long strides were enough for Brienne to be standing right in front of you, your heart once again starting to beat uncontrollably fast when you noticed that your previous favour was still tied to her armour.

“Well, will you start collecting my favours then?” You joked, showing her the piece of fabric that you were holding.

Brienne looked away for a second, desperately trying to hide the blush on her cheeks. She had thought about removing the ribbon from her pauldron, but couldn’t find the courage to do it. Not when she was reminded of your face every time she’d look at it.

“It was only a joke. Although I would not mind seeing a collection of favours on your armour. Only mine, though, or I might get jealous.” You smiled at the blonde. “Will you accept my favour, Brienne of Tarth?”

“Of course, how could anyone decline such an offer?” She nodded and took another step closer. Looking down at your hands she noticed that the piece of fabric matched your dress, raising an eyebrow to silently question you.

“I lost my ribbon on the way here.” You admitted. “So I ripped a piece of my dress.”

“My lady, you didn’t have to! You shouldn’t have!”

“Oh, but I wanted to.” You looked up into her blue eyes and pushed a soft smile.

Have you ever been told how beautiful you are, you wanted to ask, how looking into your eyes feels like swimming in Tarth’s sapphire water?

“The mêlée is about to begin, my lady.” Brienne snapped you out of your thoughts, her hand gently wrapping around yours.

“Yes, yes of course. I apologise, I was…” You shook your head and chose not to finish your sentence.

You quickly tied the piece of fabric to her pauldron, right next to your previous favour. And it felt right, seeing a piece of your dress on her armour, knowing that you two were now matching.

“Think of me.” You whispered and let go of her before taking a step back.

Brienne swallowed thickly and quickly walked back to the battlefield, her mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you. She wondered for a second if you had cast a spell on her, if the ribbon and fabric tied to her armour were enchanted with a love spell.

The woman was brought back to reality by the tip of an opponent’s sword nearly poking her breastplate. She quickly parried the sword away, moving swiftly to avoid a counterattack.

You watched her fight for what seemed to be hours, cheering every time she landed a successful strike or avoided a blow. It almost looked like a perfectly rehearsed dance, the way she moved around effortlessly.

You could only imagine what she looked like under her helmet as she fought, snarling and groaning from all the effort. Your mind wandered and for a second you imagined her on top of you, groaning and sweating from another kind of effort.

It was only a silly girl crush, something that would pass in no time. At least you hoped it was. You’d heard about the rumours saying Brienne had had some sort of intimate relationship with Jaime Lannister. You knew you could never compare to the most handsome man in Westeros, if he was her type, you simply had no chance with her. It was only a silly girl crush anyway, it would pass in no time.

You were lost in your thoughts when Brienne was declared victorious, the crowd loudly cheering for her.

The knight removed her helmet and immediately turned to look at you, her eyebrows knitting together when she couldn’t find your face anywhere in the crowd.

-

“So, Brienne, tell us about the girl?” Tyrion asked, taking a sip of his drink.

“What girl?” Brienne huffed a little too defensively.

“The girl.” He insisted. “Don’t act like you have no idea what I’m talking about, you’ve been fidgeting with that piece of fabric since we’ve sat down.” He said, pointing at the favour on her pauldron.

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“Is it about my brother?” Tyrion smirked.

“Tyrion-“ Brienne warned him but to no avail.

“Oh come on! He chose Cersei’s cunt, you will have to get over it someday.” He shrugged.

“Shut your mouth!” Brienne barked and slammed her hand on the table, the whole tavern going quiet for a couple of seconds. “This has nothing to do with Jaime. I don’t know what you think you saw about that girl and me. Nothing is going on.”

“Oh, really? Is that why she always is the loudest cheer in the crowd? Or why she is the one you immediately looked for after your victory?” Tyrion cocked an eyebrow.

“I said I would not be having this conversation with you.” The tall woman hissed and emptied her cup before storming out of the tavern.

She almost felt like ripping the ribbon and fabric from her armour right there and then, grabbing them and being about to yank them off when she suddenly remembered how bright your smile was every time she’d acknowledged you.

She didn’t want to feel these things again, not after Jaime. She never wanted to feel these things again, and yet...

Love, what a disease.

“Brienne?” The tall woman’s back immediately straightened when she heard her name being called.

“My lady…” She turned around, her hand still firmly gripping your favours.

“Are you alright? You look…upset?” You took a step closer, gently wrapping your hand around hers. It was almost comical how small yours looked next to hers. “Would you like me to take these off for you?”

“No, no, I-“ Brienne closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Why are you doing this?” She asked looking at you.

“I’m sorry?” You frowned, confusion painting your features.

“This,” she said. “Acting like you care. Acting nice. How long will you keep the joke going? How long until you admit that you’ve been taking the piss out of me?!”

“Taking the piss out of-“ You huffed loudly. “You think I’ve been mocking you? Why on earth would I do that?! Why would I rip a piece of my most beautiful dress to give you as a favour? All for a joke?!”

“If not for a joke, then why?!” You could hear the pain in her voice, how it slightly trembled no matter how hard she tried to keep her composure.

“Because I like you.” You admitted in a whisper. “And I’m no Jaime Lannister, I’m no prettiest woman in Westeros, I’ve got nothing to offer you but those silly little favours. Those, and my devotion. I would never, ever be cruel to you.”

You barely had time to register Brienne’s hand cupping your cheek and pulling you into the softest kiss, her body trembling as if she was still fearing that this was all a joke. So you kissed her back with all you had, arms thrown around her neck to hold her close.

“It’s enough,” Brienne whispered when she pulled away, her forehead pressed against yours. “Those silly little favours and your devotion, it would be more than enough.”

“Good.” You smiled, taking her hand in yours. “How about we share a drink, mh? To celebrate your victory.”

Brienne nodded, her fingers intertwining with yours as she led you back to the tavern, holding the door open to let you in.

Tyrion grinned like the right imbecile he was when you sat down in front of him with Brienne. He introduced himself before turning to look at the woman by your side.

“Much more pretty than Jaime, if you ask me.” He smirked and pointed his chin at you.

You saw Brienne nod in agreement and looked down to hide the blush creeping on your cheeks.

Isn’t it crazy, you thought as you fidgeted with the ripped fabric of your dress, what those little tokens of devotion could lead to?

#gwendoline christie #brienne of tarth x reader #brienne x reader #ser brienne #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #no beta we die like larissa

[pandolfo-malatesta]

Two observations: 1. Brienne knows Jaime.

He is probably the man she knows best, of all the men she knows--better than Renly, much as she may have wished otherwise, and likely better than her father.  Jaime even remarks upon how well they know each other; the feat is greater on her part, since he is the better at hiding his true nature from the world.

She learns that his reputation as a great swordsman is not exaggerated. Even weak and in chains he's nearly able to beat her. It's one of the things that she can't help but admire about him, no matter how poorly she at first thinks of him.

They’re quite literally forced into proximity, where she must clean him and care for him. She is with him at his lowest, when he's lost that which he thinks defines him and gives him purpose, and she keeps him from succumbing to despair. She's able to say the thing he needs to hear to keep him fighting.

She’s the only person who knows the truth about why he killed Aerys. It is the secret he was never supposed to reveal and he entrusts it to her. She carries that knowledge with her, and it changes her, as knowledge is wont to do.

Brienne knows Jaime, and he’s still the one she cries out for in the delirium of her most grievous injury.  She knows him, and she still refuses to condemn him until the threat of a truly terrible injustice forces her to.

2. Jaime chooses Brienne.

True, in some cases he acts merely as any decent human would to another: he uses the oar to help her back into the boat, rather than clubbing her over the head and leaving her to drown, as he thinks he should; he counsels and lies and shouts and is beaten to protect her body and mind and honor from assault.  And early on in their acquaintance he claims no control over the way his body reacts to hers, and over the way his thoughts turn to her.

But time and again he acts to aid her.  He thinks that she is stupid and stubborn and that she deserves whatever happens to her; and he does all he can to prevent it.

It's not enough that he merely returns to Harrenhal for her. He offers Vargo Hoat gold and sapphires in exchange for her safety; when that fails Jaime jumps into the pit to protect her, with no plan and no thought for his own safety. Acting in her defense and protecting her good name becomes a habit.

He gives her what she's always wanted: a sword. But it's not just a sword; it's a priceless weapon and a quest and a chance to do what's right and good and honorable. It's his belief in her.

When Cersei pleads for his help, he burns the letter.  When Brienne tells him she knows where Sansa is, he follows her without question.

#*Gym Class Heroes voice* if that ain't love then I don't know what love is #love is a VERB #so have some other verbs #Jaime x Brienne #Braime #Jaime Lannister #a paragon of unreliability as a narrator #Brienne of Tarth #I thought of quoting the books but chose not to #asoiaf #it's all well and good sharing screenshots of the actual books but I'm apprehensive about putting my own thoughts out there! #especially in such a huge and well-established fandom

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Seven, Brienne thought again, despairing. She had no chance against seven, she knew. No chance, and no choice.

She stepped out into the rain, Oathkeeper in hand. “Leave her be. If you want to rape someone, try me.”

- Brienne VII, AFFC

“I know the cost! Last night, gazing into that hearth, I saw things in the flames as well. I saw a king, a crown of fire on his brows, burning … burning, Davos. His own crown consumed his flesh and turned him into ash. Do you think I need Melisandre to tell me what that means? Or you?” The king moved, so his shadow fell upon King’s Landing. “If Joffrey should die … what is the life of one bastard boy against a kingdom?”

“Everything,” said Davos, softly.

- Davos V, ASOS

Ned had heard enough. “You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least.”

[…]

“I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it.”

For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Ned. “You are the King’s Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I’ll find me a Hand who will.”

“I wish him every success.” Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. “I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king.”

Robert’s face was purple. “Out,” he croaked, choking on his rage. “Out, damn you, I’m done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I’ll have your head on a spike!”

Ned bowed, and turned on his heel without another word.

- Eddard VIII, AGOT

“I know what I swore.” Jon said the words. “I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. Were those the same words you said when you took your vows?”

“They were. As the lord commander knows.”

“Are you certain that I have not forgotten some? The ones about the king and his laws, and how we must defend every foot of his land and cling to each ruined castle? How does that part go?” Jon waited for an answer. None came. “I am the shield that guards the realms of men. Those are the words. So tell me, my lord—what are these wildlings, if not men?”

- Jon XI, ADWD

Them 🫶🏽

#jon snow #brienne of tarth #davos seaworth #eddard stark #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #yeah it’s about defiance #you have tradition of trampling over people who are lesser or weaker #but each of them said no ❤️ #Brienne could’ve left the children on their own but decided to make a stand #Ned is told that one must do terrible things for the good of the realm but he refuses because this little girl’s life is important #davos is told that he must sacrifice one child to save an entire kingdom but he thinks this one child’s life matters #Jon is told that to save the watch he must leave the wildlings to their doom because who will feed them and the watch but Jon says #I swore to protect all men I will not sacrifice some to save others #it’s love and empathy and compassion and the defiance that comes with it #at the great personal cost of one’s own life

[asimperingswannsong]

A Spouse for a Ser?

Brienne of Tarth/Lady Lyla Mooten (OFC)

Notes/Warning/Summary: @holymymolly I started a part 4 and realized it would be a part 4 and 5. Canon typical violence, hurt/no comfort (for now), smut, oral, tribbing. I beat up on poor sweet little Brienne bun bun in this one and honestly I feel a kinda bad about it. I will try to make it up to her in 5...

————

Brienne hit the ground hard. She'd succeeded in killing the two men who were hampering her guardsmen's escape but at cost to herself. As her men made their way back to King's Landing she lay on the ground where she'd landed after being struck from behind.

She felt the darkness closing in from the edges of her vision and she felt a cold fear in her chest as she recalled the wedding ceremony with Lyla.

Until the end of her days, this cannot be that. She can't die at the hands of a pack of vandals who'd been robbing and murdering their way through town before fleeing to the hills to avoid arrest.

Brienne struggled to remain conscious. She forced herself onto her belly as she heard the boots of her opponent touch the ground. She crawled toward her sword. Her lungs burned from having the wind knocked from them on impact.

She stretched reaching for her weapon with all of her remaining energy. She heard him drawing nearer. Then a rough laugh and a hard kick and the darkness swallowed her.

------

Lyla stood on the balcony of their shared quarters with a look of worry on her face. The scene before her was beautiful. The flowers in the flower boxes Brienne had mounted to their balcony danced lightly back and forth in the gentle breeze wafting their delicate perfume to her.

The birds sang happily. There was a clear blue sky stretching out over the tranquil waters of the bay before her. She heard the laughter of children playing below her and the gentle melody of a woman singing idly to herself while going about her day, but Lyla was immune to the peace around her.

She always worried when Brienne's duties took her away from her, but today was different. Lyla felt a cold weight in her belly, and she felt nauseous. She couldn't understand why. She placed her hands over her stomach hoping the sensation would soon pass.

She felt her eyes filling with tears and the intensity of her body's reaction to her worry caused her to worry more. She was beginning to panic, and she didn't know what to do. She left the balcony and walked into their bedroom.

She stopped and stared at Brienne's side of the bed. She reached up and slid the thin straps of her gown from her shoulders. She let the dress pool at her feet and stood nude. She pictured Brienne happily watching her disrobe before snapping out of the daydream to see the empty space before her.

She turned and went to the closet. She dug through the clothes in Brienne's basket and pulled out her undershirt she'd worn in yesterday's training exercises. She slipped it on and returned to their bed getting in on her side and laying down on her pillow.

She inhaled deeply trying to calm herself and she smelled Brienne's scent still lingering on her pillow and the sharp tang of her sweat from the shirt she'd worn while working.

She'd helped her remove that sweat from her body when she'd returned home yesterday evening. Brienne had sat in the bath between her legs as she'd sponged her neck, shoulders, and arms gently.

Bathing with Brienne was one of Lyla's favorite rituals. She'd come home exhausted from her work and Lyla would relish being allowed to care for her; washing her, massaging her, kissing her, listening as Brienne recalled the events of her day.

Yesterday as she washed her wife, she had listened worriedly to Brienne's account of a rogue group of murderous thieves she meant to stop, Lyla had wrapped her in her arms and held Brienne close as she finished bathing her. Brienne turned her head to kiss Lyla and they'd languidly explored each other's mouths before Lyla had held her cradled to her breasts until the water began to cool around them.

They'd eaten a seafood stew Lyla had prepared and Brienne had "helped" her wash up after. She did manage to dry the dishes off, but she also supplied a healthy amount of distraction from the task as she pressed herself against Lyla's back and peppered kisses along her neck and shoulders. Lyla was throbbing by the time they finished.

Brienne had intended to retire to bed but Lyla had reached up running her hands through her hair and pulling her down into a fierce kiss. Brienne had lifted her, and Lyla wrapped her legs around her waist. They were on the way to bed, but Brienne stopped in the living area, kneeling on the rugs in front of the fireplace and bending to gently place Lyla on her back there.

She couldn't wait any longer, so she broke the kiss and moved downward undressing Lyla as she went. Kissing and caressing Lyla's shoulders and chest before engulfing her breast in her mouth causing Lyla to arch her back and roll her hips.

Brienne placed her thigh between her legs to give her the contact she desired, and Lyla took advantage pressing her core down onto Brienne's leg and moaning as Brienne continued kissing and sucking at her chest.

Lyla felt her orgasm building so she huffed in frustration when Brienne removed her thigh. "Patience my love," she said as she dropped lower pulling the dress down more as she kissed along Lyla's hips and belly before leaning back to fully remove the dress.

Lyla looked up at her with a pleading look in her eyes. Brienne smiled sympathetically at her before leaning down to kiss her quickly and then dropping down to kiss the top of her mound and each of her thighs. "Please," she begged.

Brienne licked the length of her folds, teasing her entrance with the tip of her tongue; back and forth she licked hungrily at her causing Lyla to arch further back and grab Brienne's head on either side with both of her hands. She held her closely in place. "Yes, please. I love you so much sweetheart."

Brienne licked up to Lyla's clit and hummed gently against it. "Mmh, I love you too my beautiful wife," she said with her lips still placed against the sensitive bud. The vibrations from her speaking made Lyla's eyes roll back as she felt Brienne penetrate her.

She groaned as she felt Brienne curl her finger inside her fucking against her inner walls as she continued to kiss and lick gently at her clit. She felt Lyla losing control and she added a second finger continuing to fuck her. Her hips started to stutter, and she came. Brienne removed her fingers and devoured her essence on her tongue as it flowed from Lyla's core.

They finally succeeded in reaching the bed when round two started. Lyla had climbed atop Brienne fully nude. She hastily untied her top and trousers and impatiently slid them off before positioning herself in that way that drove Brienne crazy when she ground down on her and pressed their cores together.

Brienne laid back and enjoyed the view of her wife's curves as she rode her. She caressed her breasts, hips, and belly and she felt pleasure coursing through her every time Lyla made contact. Brienne never tired of this view and this feeling. They came together and Brienne had held her gently as she recovered before rolling her over onto her back and moving back down between her legs to continue their earlier fireside activities.

Lyla could almost feel Brienne's mouth on her core as she lay on her pillow lost in the memory. But she wasn't here now, and Lyla was worried about her.

------

Brienne woke in a makeshift hovel in the mountains. Her wrists were bound in shackles and the attached chain was buried under an enormous rock. Her legs were hobbled together with rope. She lifted her face from the dirt.

One of the thieves saw her moving and stood walking over to her. He took a swig of beer and spit it into her face. Brienne shook her head in disgust. "You bitch. That was for the two you killed." "You're under arrest," Brienne said. "I will take you back to face charges for the murders of the Wynn and the Schuster families you robbed and killed."

The man threw his head back and laughed harshly before the laugh was cut off by his wheezing and coughing. "Under arrest? You dumb bitch. We have you, not the other way round. And no wonder you can't control the city with a half man for a king and a confused woman in charge of their army. I heard rumors you think of yourself as a husband and you keep a woman in your chambers. Keep your fucking mouth shut, or I'll show you what it really means to be a man."

He started kicking her repeatedly and Brienne curled in on herself to guard her core from his attacks. She felt ribs cracking under the impacts. He soon tired from the activity and began wheezing. He briefly resorted to hitting her around her head with his fists before finally giving up altogether. He turned and went back to sit by the fire.

Brienne felt blood flowing down the side of her face and she tried to position herself with her weight off of the damaged ribs. She tried to form a plan through her pain. She reached down and untucked her undershirt from her trousers. She opened and removed the decorative hair pin she wore on her shirt tail that reminded her of Lyla.

She began trying to work the lock of her shackles with the pin's point. She worked furtively trying not to draw the attention of her captors.

#my fic #brienne of tarth #game of thrones #original female character #wlw love #gwendoline christie #got fanfiction #fluff

[esther-dot]

I was gonna ask about "you don't have to love me" but it sounds like that's coming soon. So: "Feathers" bc I have *no* idea what that could be!

Ask game

That's a fic I began years ago, and I couldn't finish it, couldn't bring myself to delete it either. It was set right after the Battle for Winterfell, and in this AU, the dead Starks rose from their graves so Sansa did have to kill an undead Rickon. At the time, a lot of people said that should have happened in GoT, and I thought it was a great idea -- for suffering purposes. So, she is absolutely traumatized and a little bit injured due to a cave in, so it's called Feathers in part, due to most of the Jonsa interactions taking place in her bed:

He walks away without answering. He’s not going to her room, if that’s what Davos was insinuating. He isn’t her brother anymore, it wasn’t appropriate to begin with, not seeing her that way, not without her knowing. He wasn’t going to her room, not intentionally, but he finds himself walking past his door, nodding at Brienne, entering her room anyway. He stands there, one step in, and isn’t sure he should move forward, that he can. She clung to him, wanted him near, but she doesn’t know, and what would she want if she did? He thinks of Daenerys, feels bile in his throat. Thinks of Rhaegar, feels the same. Dragons want wolves, take them to their lairs, but what do the wolves want? Sansa stirs, murmurs something intelligible, so he walks closer, allows her fingers to grasp his wrist, pull him to the bed. He sits there, shuddering, knowing this is terribly selfish, even if it is what she wants, but her fingers are still wrapped around his wrist in a silent request, so he lays the sword next to the bed, pulls off his boots, and turns to her. The firelight dances in her eyes, the flames drown in unshed tears. “Wasn’t he beautiful? When he was little, he had curls and his laugh--if you heard it, you had to laugh too.” Jon doesn’t need to ask who, and now, he couldn’t speak if he tried. Her little gasp as she turns her face into her pillow to hide her tears is the only other sound either makes for the rest of the night. She sleeps again, eventually, but he can’t close his eyes without seeing Rickon running across the battlefield to him, without thinking he nearly has him, without hearing the arrow hit, watching him fall. His hands are shaking again, and he hears the thunder of hooves, feels the press of bodies, is suffocated by mud. Sansa is buried in stones he cannot lift. The dead surround him. The dragon opens his mouth to burn him alive. As he lays in the feather bed in his father’s—uncle’s—castle, he is dying.

Lots of pain. :)

Thank you for the ask!

#dot chat #dot fic

[jimblejamblewritings]

snow falls hot | end.

Summary: (Y/N) Snow isn’t a Snow at all. She’s a Targaryen— Rhaegar’s child. Taken in by the Starks, she leads her life as another on of Ned’s bastards. Will she be able to live in Westeros comfortably? More importantly, does she have any ambition to see herself one day on the Iron Throne?

Warnings: it’s game of thrones…

Pairing: gendry x reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Previous Part | (Series Masterlist)

The air was tense between the Unsullied and the retreating Lannister men. Northerners had been called off. The scent of smoke lingered in King’s Landing as the fires started to slowly put themselves out. Sansa and Eddard were on Shadow, who was carefully balancing on one of the buildings trying not to topple it. Daenerys sat across from them atop of Drogon. Jon and Tyrion, the center of everyone, and the only people keeping the scene from erupting.

They had gotten Daenerys to stop setting the city ablaze but weren’t having luck convincing her that the city was not her enemy. Eddard quickly slipped from Sansa’s grasp and slid down Shadow’s tail to reach the ground. He ran to Gendry who scooped him up. Jon watched Daenerys’ eyes flit to Eddard and soften for a moment.

“Daeny,” Jon said. “Don’t do this, destroy your people. Your family’s people. Cersei is who you are against not everyone else.”

“Everyone else that sat by and didn’t throw their support.”

“They didn’t know you,” he tried to reason. “Until you came to Winterfell no one even knew if you were able to provide for them. The North came to see your resources, let the South have the same chance.”

Daenerys got off of Drogon— Sansa hesitated but eventually did the same. The doors to the Red Keep opened. You shivered, with wide eyes, as you stood in front of everyone. Your hands were bound with thick rope, crown nowhere in sight. No one could tell if the blood running from your temple down your face was yours or not. Jon made a step but stopped as you yelled.

“Don’t! Th-there’s an archer. Cersei says if you move too suddenly… if you continue to burn King’s Landing, she’ll kill me. An arrow through my heart before you could even reach me.”

Jon nodded and returned both hands to his sides and away from his sword. “What does she want?”

“She requests a council with the Dragon Queen and her advisors, with the Warden of the North and his advisors… to discuss your surrender.”

Daenerys scoffed, but not too loud as if fear her disapproval would cause you to die. “Our surrender? Tell Cersei we will agree to her council. Does she have any other demands?”

You shook your head.

“Alright,” Daeny said. “We are slowly entering the keep.”

The others followed behind her with slow and calculated steps as you led them into the castle. Faces contorted in anger at seeing Cersei stand in front of the throne— a few Lannister men that they thought surrendered now stood by her.

“Your weapons,” Cersei said passively.

Her men dropped their swords in the center of the room first. On good faith, Gendry took out his axe and placed it in the pile— Jon followed suit. Grey Worm, Brienne, Ser Davos relinquished their weapons next. With much hesitation, the few Unsullied, Dothraki, and Northernmen in the room let go of their swords as well. Cersei extended a hand.

“Jaime.”

He squared off his shoulders and stood firm by Brienne. He began to pull out his sword but Cersei chuckled and told him no.

“I want you here, by my side,” she said but he didn’t move. “Jaime. Magic is madness, you can’t tell me you still want to serve your Mad Queen who hears ringing. Hears death.”

The smallest change flickered across Jaime’s face. He shook off Brienne’s hand and ignored the dirty looks of everyone as he walked to Cersei. She smiled wickedly and looked at the others again.

“(Y/N).” Her eyes moved from you to Jon. “I want her by me, so you think twice before attempting betrayal.”

Tension exuded from your family as you slowly shuffled towards Cersei. Cersei looked at Jaime and then nodded her head in the direction of Grey Worm. Jaime removed his sword and used it to direct not just Grey Worm, but all of the men, further to the side and away from the pile of weapons. Lannister men moved to stand behind every one of them. His job done, Jaime moved to stand in front of the closed doors— effectively trapping you all inside the throne room.

Gendry set Eddard down and tucked the boy’s head into his side to shield him from witnessing whatever might happen next. Eddard had already seen more than a child his age should have— all the children of Winterfell had with the Long Night. Cersei looked at you but it was clear her words were to Daenerys.

“We’re here to discuss your surrender.”

“I think you are mistaken about who is bending the knee here,” Daenerys said. “We’re here to negotiate for (Y/N) back.”

“Negotiate? Okay, let us negotiate. What do you think is the proper punishment for your crimes?”

“My crimes, what crimes?”

Cersei took your crown off and placed it back on your head. The others stared on as you sat on the Iron Throne. You removed the ropes from around your wrist and sat up straighter.

“Your crimes against the Realm, and not just of Westeros. You have been a very busy woman. Conquering cities in Essos and not taking care of the people you conquered. Burning Dothraki leaders alive because you simply thought you were better than them— they didn’t touch you. They laughed at your tenaciousness to want to rule them, a people that did not know you and whose customs you first thought savage. They didn’t harm you and yet you killed them because they didn’t want to cross the salt sea and fight for land they didn’t know or care about. A land you, yourself, don’t know. The land of my people where you have burnt innocents despite their surrender. Those crimes, Aunt Daeny.”  

Arya removed the Cersei mask as she began her descent down the steps. She stalked Daenerys like a dire wolf, her small sword Needle pulled out.

“My sister wanted to exile you, send you back to Valyria or leave with the Dothraki and Unsullied if they’ll have you. I wanted to kill you. What do you feel is the proper punishment… oh wait, I don’t care.”

The blade of Arya’s sword found its way into Daenerys’ body, piercing the heart. Arya removed the sword as the woman slumped down to the floor. Roaring could be heard outside and your eyes suddenly flashed white. You were looking through Drogon for a moment before staring at yourself. He had crashed through the large windows of the throne room until he was inside. Your eyes returned and Drogon looked from you to the floor where Daenerys was.

Another roar and everyone ducked as fire streamed out of his mouth. You didn’t move as the flames burned around you— only patted your hair to keep the flames from touching the black curls. The Iron Throne melted around you until it was more of a stool than a large chair. Your dress burned off of you as well. Drogon finally ceased his roaring only to drop to the floor, his eyes losing any light in them.

“Gendry,” you called.

He was up before anyone else. With one look at you, he left Eddard with Jon and quickly rushed to wrap his cloak around you before the rest of the room could look at your naked form. He closed the clasps and clutched the rest of the fur to keep it shut. Gendry shook his head with a laugh and pressed his lips to yours. They were rough from fighting but, nonetheless, you enjoyed the feeling of him against you.

“You are mad,” he said with another peck to your lips. “You know that? You are absolutely a mad queen.”

“A family trait.”

“Is it dead?” he motioned to Drogon.

“Yes. Whether she knew it or not, Daenerys’ bond to her dragon was strong. Stronger than any of us, she wasn’t just connected through a warg. Their souls, for whatever reason, were tied to one another.”  

Eddard ran from Jon to the two of you. You bent down to hug him, only sticking a hand out of the fur as the other kept it closed. You kissed his forehead and then rested your heads against each other. Both of you closed your eyes and just breathed for a moment. Your hand rubbed his head and played with the short curls.

“We are fine now, Eddard. You are safe.”

You stood up and left the destroyed throne to stand in front of the others. Jon shook his head with a smile. In that moment you two looked each in the eye and acknowledged something. You were truly Rhaegar’s children— an innate recklessness was something your father seemed to have passed on. He couldn’t stay still any longer. Jon practically knocked you off of your feet as he hugged you. Sansa and Arya quickly followed. When they let go, you were left to face Dothraki and Unsullied.

“She needed to die and you all know that.”

Grey Worm started to move when a Dothraki man caught his arm. Their culture remembered, you had earned their respect. And your words made them think about what had truly happened to them.

“Take your men home, Grey Worm. You are done fighting, truly free,” you said. “You are welcome to stay if you would like.”

Grey Worm puffed out his chest. He spit at your feet before walking out of the throne room. Many of the Unsullied followed, only handfuls remaining. You turned to the Dothraki man in front of you— the one with the longest braid there. His face morphed into pleasant surprise as you spoke in Dothraki to him.

“The offer is the same. Take your men home or you may stay here.”

He nodded but none of them moved, their decision apparent. The Khalasar no longer existed in Essos. They would start over here. You nodded and switched to plain tongue.

“The Tyrells used to look over Highgarden but their House is no more. It’s flatland, perfect for your horses. The Reach is now taken care of by the Dothraki.”

The men bowed. The one who you had spoken to looked up. “Yes, Khaleesi.”

You looked over your shoulder to Sansa. “Is Bran on his way?”

“They should be here in a few days.”

“Good. Until they arrive let us focus on bringing the people back into the city… and then rebuilding it.”

When Bran arrived with the others, there were two pressing issues. Allocating new lords to various lands and your wedding. The new lords were fairly easy. The Dothraki taking the Reach, Robyn was still alive to lead the Vale, your Uncle Edmure had the Riverlands, the Martells watched Dorne, Yara the Iron Islands. Casterly Rock was offered to Tyrion who wanted to continue advising instead of playing lord. So Casterly Rock was given to the farming family that took care of you and Eddard.

King’s Landing was just to become another city in Storm’s End. And because the Baratheon line was over, Storm’s End was absorbed by Dragonstone. Dragonstone was empty to begin with but Edmure agreed to watch over it as well. Winterfell was the new capital of Westeros, the Targaryen-Starks its new family. Your council of men was headed by these lords and ladies as well as a few others.

“I’ve never been married before. Should I be this nervous?” Gendry asked as Jaime adjusted his robes on him.

All the men were in Gendry’s chambers while the women were in yours. King’s Landing was where the wedding was being held— the last celebration of the kingdom’s capital before it became just another city. Shadow, the only dragon alive that was big enough, ferried Northerners and others alike. Soon, King’s Landing was filled to the brim with citizens excited for something pleasant to exist for once. The knight chuckled.

“I don’t know,” Jaime said. “I’ve never been married before. But the Queen has.”

“That makes me more nervous.”

Jon chuckled. “She already likes you. I don’t think there’s much to be nervous about. Just look at her, repeat the right words.”

“I would say consummate the marriage at the end of everything,” Tyrion started.

“But we’ve heard you two before. Nothing to doubt,” Tormund finished.  

Gendry cleared his throat and looked away while they laughed at his expense. He covered Eddard’s ears.

“My son is in the room.”

“Too young to know,” Tormund defended.

The men laughed even harder. While Gendry was a bundle of nerves, you were anything but. Sansa was doing your hair while Arya and Brienne just watched. Yara reluctantly let the young girls from the farm family play in her hair as well. When your hair was finished, you stood up and looked over yourself in the mirror. Brienne opened the door after someone knocked on it. Jon stepped inside.

“Rhaegar and Ned aren’t here so…”

You turned away from the mirror to face your brother.

“Jon Aegon Targaryen-Stark, are you here to give me away to my betrothed?”

He rolled his eyes at your teasing. You both smiled before your lips downturned. Jon watched your eyes slide past him.

“I think our queen needs a moment to herself,” he said.

At his words, the others started to clear out. Jon gave you one last look before turning to leave himself. He paused when his eyes caught a flash of blond, the older man smiling patting his shoulder— a woman with dark hair held the man’s hand and stroked Jon’s cheek. Two more figures and Jon looked from them to you. You nodded at him before your little brother shook his head, finally tapping into more of his magic.

“What are you all doing here?” you asked in confusion.

“Bran told them to bring our bones from the crypt on the journey with him,” Ned said.

“Mother?”

Neryssa’s ghost stepped towards you. You had never gotten a chance to know her. There wasn’t anything to say between the two of you, you barely knew each other. But she hugged you nonetheless and you could feel the love radiating from her. Rhaegar let go of Lyanna’s hand to hug his old childhood friend before hugging you as well. He picked up one of the white braids that Sansa had done.

“You have become a marvelous woman.”

“Where were you buried? How are you two h—”

“We were buried secretly in the crypts of Winterfell. Lord Stark has always been a good man.”

You chuckled and looked over at Ned. “That he has been. You’ll be watching the wedding won’t you?”

Ned and Catelyn smiled at you and nodded. You looked at Robb and the other ghosts seemed to have gotten the hint and left. Robb stepped to you. His fingers played with the hair, admiring all the tiny braids.

“Sansa will kill you if you mess it up,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow and both of you laughed. “I spoke to Eddard earlier, he is a bright boy… it’s a girl.”

“What?”

“Your baby. You should let Gendry name her, let him have a name of his own.”

You nodded in agreement with him. Gendry didn’t get to name Eddard, his last name was yours and your family’s. His daughter’s first name was something you could give him. Robb’s lips lightly grazed your forehead and then the tip of your nose. With slight hesitation, for only a few seconds, he lightly pressed a kiss to your lips.

“You would have been happier with him from the start. I’m sorry you never got to say goodbye to me properly, that it ended in such a way. I’m letting you go now, beloved.”

Robb’s hands cupped your face. He raised your chin to look up at him and smiled. He didn’t say another word. His arms dropped to his side and you watched your first love walk away to head to the ceremony. Jon reappeared in the doorway.

“Are you ready?”

You crossed the small space to grab your brother’s arm, letting him lead you to Gendry. The cheers, music, shouts meant nothing to you. You could barely hear them as you looked only at Gendry. While you both went through the motions of repeating the vows, all the emotions behind them were in the moment and very real. No one else existed, only each other. You weren’t in the Red Keep but the blacksmith shop. Two bastards content on running away together now ran an entire kingdom. Gendry pulled you closer to him and kissed you passionately. Your hands rested on his chest, attempting to grip at his robes as his lips pressed against yours. When you pulled apart he rested his forehead on yours, a bright smile on his face. You looked at him cross-eyed.

“You’re a king, now,” you whispered.

Samwell, who had officiated since he had the title of being a maester, turned you both to face the crowd. He closed the book and spoke loudly to everyone.

“I present to you all, Gendry of House Targaryen-Stark. First of His Name, Descendant of the Andals, Warden in the North, and King of Westeros. And Enith of House Targaryen-Stark. First of Her Name, a Khaleesi, Commander of Beasts, Shadow Rider, and Magic Entertainer. Queen of the Andals and the Rhyonar and the First Men. Azor Ahair, the Lady of Winterfell, rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms now turned one. Queen of Westeros.”

~~

“Are we done?” Jon asked.

Tormund looked over the artist’s shoulder at the portrait. He looked back at you all and nodded. You were getting the royal portrait done. But instead of you and Gendry it was the entire Targaryen-Stark family. You and Gendry sat on your thrones, Eddard in your lap and your newborn baby in Gendry’s arms. Bran’s chair was sat next to yours. Jon, Arya standing in front of him, stood to the side of Gendry’s throne. Sansa was behind Bran. Ghost and Grey Wind laid down at your feet and Shadow’s large head filled the empty space right above the chairs.

You all sighed in relief and shed the heavy fur cloaks. You stayed in King’s Landing until after the birth of your daughter— Gendry chose the name Reylana. You were still in the warm Southern city but the portrait was meant to represent the House and that included representing the North. So you all donned the heavy fur cloaks with the dual dragon and wolf head clasps and tried not to die of sunstroke as your portrait was done.

“These furs were not made for down here. I can’t wait to be back in Winterfell,” Sansa muttered. “We really fare better up North don’t we?”

Tyrion stood next to his brother, Ser Davos and Brienne next to them. They watched the family in front of them laughing. Understanding was amongst them. The saying was nothing short of true. The lone wolf dies and the pack survives. A pack that not only survived but adapted. Almost all of the siblings still there. You all began to clear the room. They came to full attention when you and Gendry stopped in front of them.

“We are seeing Arya off and then finally headed back to Winterfell. Are you staying a little longer or coming with us?” Gendry asked.

“We will be with you right away, Your Grace.”

He looked at the city outside the window. “The rebuilding has come along great.”

“The people are happy. There were some talks, they have ideas to run by you in terms of smitheries. This seems to be your area of expertise.”

You pressed a hand to Gendry’s chest.

“Arya’s boat,” you whispered.

“Right. Can we look at those later?”

When Tyrion nodded, Gendry and you left to head down to the ports. Final hugs were given. Arya stepped back and adjusted her weapons while she looked at you. The men and her dragon were already on board the ship.

“I promised to stay to see my niece born. I’ll be back sooner than you know it.”

“Where will you go?” Sansa asked.

“What’s west of Westeros?” Arya asked with a smirk and got on board.

“Arya!” you yelled and watched her head appear back over the side of the ship. “There is nothing west of Westeros. But past Essos, they call it the Shadow Lands. That is all we know.”

She smiled widely and ducked out of view. When her boat was no longer in sight, you all knew it was time to leave the docks. Bran was set into his special saddled horse. Jon, Sansa, and the others all saddled their horses as well. Ghost stalked beside Jon’s horse. Eddard sat with Gendry on his horse. You sat on top of Grey Wind, Reylana swaddled in a wrap so she was pressed against your chest.

“It is time to go home,” you said with a smile as you all stared down the King’s Road on the path to Winterfell.

The horses and wolves began their journey back North. No one jumped as a large roar broke the quiet and fire blasted overhead. You simply looked up to see Shadow soar over you all and smiled at your dragon before going back to staring at the path ahead.

#game of thrones fic #asoiaf fic #gendry x reader

[melrosing]

Do you think the "we don't choose who we love" theme is present in the books too and something Jaime believes in? (re Cersei)

Well firstly I dislike that line, because whilst it's true you can love someone against all better sense and never truly stop loving them.... the implication of the line in the show was that your loyalty to that person is therefore a given - you can never choose otherwise. Probably don't need to break down why I find that a damaging concept but hey GOT's a damaging show

Also Jaime equating his love for Cersei to Renly's entire sexuality (as implied by the context of the line) is like.... ludicrous lmao. Possibly something ludicrous enough for pre-ASOS Jaime to believe, but then the show really treats it as a wholeass thesis statement for the character and uses the final notes of his 'arc' to validate it.... god. anyway

So besides the fact that the line isn't in the books, I don't think it would hold any resonance there, either. Loving Cersei is a choice Jaime has made. As his twin sister I do truly believe that he would always love her in some shape or form, but the level of devotion we see in AGOT is absolutely a choice Jaime has made several times pre-ASOS, and then ceases to make post-ASOS.

This isn't necessarily to criticise the character for making those choices or to say he's 'got himself to blame', not least because how informed he is in those decisions can really vary: for example, pre-ASOIAF, he chooses Cersei over Casterly Rock - there's a considerable level of manipulation involved here and he's only a teenager. But GRRM is stressing here that the relationships we see in AGOT wasn't a foregone conclusion that just happened. Meanwhile, in AGOT, we know Jaime repeatedly chooses Cersei over like... the greater good lol, and this is a substantially more informed decision that he makes several times over. Still less informed in the sense that Jaime doesn't fully understand how unbalanced that devotion is, but with what info he has, and what mindset he's in, these are the decisions he makes. In short, the reasons he makes these choices are hugely complex, but they are there - the relationship isn't innate.

Which is why Jaime's feelings and decisions around the relationship can and do change. In ASOS onwards, Jaime stops choosing Cersei when he A) abandons his return to Cersei to go risk his life rescuing Brienne, B) refuses Cersei in the White Sword Tower, C) hides things from Cersei inc. Operation Rescue Sansa & Operation Rescue Tyrion, D) burns her letter in AFFC and E) abandons House Lannister and Cersei's orders to join Brienne (plus probably more I'm forgetting lol). The complete lack of agency Jaime has in his relationship with Cersei in the show just isn't present in the books.

For show Jaime, everything has to come down to Cers, because it treats their relationship like an affliction present in everything he says and does, that he has no choice in and cannot grow beyond. In the books, it's explored as an actual relationship that can be strengthened or weakened and healed or broken by the way each behaves and grows and the things happening around them, and how these rises and falls influence the choices each makes in how they carry their relationship forward. It's a relationship that Jaime chooses to abandon in AFFC/ADWD, and that Cersei, in her own way, has abandoned a hundred times over.

Like there's something involuntary about everyone's attraction to anyone, you can't force every aspect of it - but it's not simply a given that this is your person and nothing they say or do could ever come between you because that's just how it is. People can and do end up believing such things and many can suffer horribly for it, but it's not for any narrative to try and validate that kind of belief - and I don't think ASOIAF does. That's definitely GOT's thing, not GRRM's.

#ask #asoiaf #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #anti got

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AFFC: Brienne I (Chapter 4)

Brienne, my beauty!

"I am looking for a maid of three-and-ten," she told the grey-haired goodwife beside the village well. "A highborn maid and very beautiful, with blue eyes and auburn hair. She may have been traveling with a portly knight of forty years, or perhaps with a fool. Have you seen her?"

Is that the greatest opening of any chapter ever?

I realize I'm biased.

+.+.+

"If she's on the roads these days she won't be no maid for long," said the older man. The younger wanted to know if the girl had that auburn hair between her legs as well.

Brienne, you have my permission to kill them.

+.+.+

"I will find the girl and keep her safe," Brienne had promised Ser Jaime, back at King's Landing. "For her lady mother's sake. And for yours." Noble words, but words were easy. Deeds were hard. 

That's why she's the best. She walks the walk.

+.+.+

She had to have gone elsewhere . . . but elsewhere is a big place. If I were a maiden newly flowered, alone and afraid, in desperate danger, what would I do? she had asked herself. Where would I go? For her, the answer came easy. She would make her way back to Tarth, to her father. Sansa's father had been beheaded whilst she watched, however. Her lady mother was dead too, murdered at the Twins, and Winterfell, the great Stark stronghold, had been sacked and burned, its people put to the sword. She has no home to run to, no father, no mother, no brothers. She might be in the next town, or on a ship to Asshai; one seemed as likely as the other.

Think, think!

Sandor knew where to ransom Arya, and Shadrich knows where to find Sansa. Come on, Brienne! You've got this!

+.+.+

The girl could go by sea if she had the coin, but the harbor at King's Landing was still in ruins, the river a jumble of broken quays and burned and sunken galleys. Brienne had asked along the docks, but no one could remember a ship leaving on the night King Joffrey died. A few trading ships were anchoring in the bay and off-loading by boat, one man told her, but more were continuing up the coast to Duskendale, where the port was busier than ever.

It was possible, Brienne! It was possible!

+.+.+

A young septon galloped past upon a palfrey as fine as any lord's, and later she met a band of silent sisters who shook their heads when Brienne put her question to them. 

Brienne. . .

+.+.+

Jaime would not do that. He was sincere. He gave me the sword, and called it Oathkeeper. Anyway, it made no matter. She had promised Lady Catelyn that she would bring back her daughters, and no promise was as solemn as one sworn to the dead. 

Groan.

+.+.+

"We have trout enough for three, ser," he called out.

Sometimes trout is just trout. I think this is one of those times.

+.+.+

Had Brienne been a man, she would have been called big; for a woman, she was huge. Freakish was the word she had heard all her life. She was broad in the shoulder and broader in the hips. Her legs were long, her arms thick. Her chest was more muscle than bosom. Her hands were big, her feet enormous. And she was ugly besides, with a freckled, horsey face and teeth that seemed almost too big for her mouth. 

+.+.+

The nearsighted hedge knight scratched his head. "I recall no such maid. What sort of hair is auburn?"

"Browny red," said the older man. "No, we saw her not."

More like dark honey.

+.+.+

"Come, dismount, the fish is almost done. Are you hungry?"

She was, as it happened, but she was wary as well. Hedge knights had an unsavory reputation. "A hedge knight and a robber knight are two sides of the same sword," it was said. These two do not look too dangerous. "Might I know your names, sers?"

Ha ha, get it? It's funny because her ancestor is Ser Duncan the Tall.

+.+.+

Ser Illifer crooked a bony finger at her shield. Though its paint was cracked and peeling, the device it bore showed plain: a black bat on a field divided bendwise, silver and gold. 

She's wearing the Harrenhal shield! Bran's Harrenhal!

+.+.+

"You bear a liar's shield, to which you have no right. My grandfather's grandfather helped kill the last o' Lothston. None since has dared to show that bat, black as the deeds of them that bore it."

[...]

"A barefoot man looks for a boot, a chilly man a cloak. But who would cloak themselves in shame? Lord Lucas bore that bat, the Pander, and Manfryd o' the Black Hood, his son. Why wear such arms, I ask myself, unless your own sin is fouler still . . . and fresher." He unsheathed his dagger, an ugly piece of cheap iron. "A woman freakish big and freakish strong who hides her own true colors. Creigh, behold the Maid o' Tarth, who opened Renly's royal throat for him."

Should I care about the Lothstons? Is this important?

+.+.+

"That is a lie." Renly Baratheon had been more than a king to her. She had loved him since first he came to Tarth on his leisurely lord's progress, to mark his coming of age. Her father welcomed him with a feast and commanded her to attend; elsewise she would have hidden in her room like some wounded beast. She had been no older than Sansa, more afraid of sniggers than of swords. They will know about the rose, she told Lord Selwyn, they will laugh at me. But the Evenstar would not relent.

Damn, I totally forgot about Brienne's history with roses. We need to fix it.

+.+.+

She had never slept easily in the presence of men. Even in Lord Renly's camps, the risk of rape was always there. It was a lesson she had learned beneath the walls of Highgarden, and again when she and Jaime had fallen into the hands of the Brave Companions.

Am I forgetting something?

+.+.+

She wondered whether Sansa Stark was cold as well, wherever she might be. Lady Catelyn had said that Sansa was a gentle soul who loved lemon cakes, silken gowns, and songs of chivalry, yet the girl had seen her father's head lopped off and been forced to marry one of his killers afterward. 

She's still a gentle soul, Brienne. 🥺 They can't break her. 🥺

+.+.+

If half the tales were true, the dwarf was the cruelest Lannister of all. If she did poison King Joffrey, the Imp surely forced her hand. She was alone and friendless at that court. 

I love hearing the public's opinion of Tyrion Lannister.

Enjoy those history books.

+.+.+

In King's Landing, Brienne had hunted down a certain Brella, who had been one of Sansa's maids. The woman told her that there was little warmth between Sansa and the dwarf. Perhaps she had been fleeing him as well as Joffrey's murder.

Would that be Renly's former maid? Maybe you should have asked her a few more questions.

Brella was serving Varys, so Varys could now know Brienne's searching for Sansa. Does this matter? No, I doubt it.

+.+.+

As Brienne mounted up again, she glimpsed a skinny boy atop a piebald horse at the far end of the village. I have not talked with that one, she thought, but he vanished behind the sept before she could seek him out. She did not trouble to chase after him. 

x

"Did anyone pass by during your watches?" Brienne asked them.

"Such as a maid of three-and-ten, with auburn hair?" said Ser Illifer the Penniless. "No, my lady. No one."

"I had a few," Ser Creighton put in. "Some farm boy on a piebald horse went by

Who could that be? He he.

+.+.+

Ser Creighton was lost. "Sparrows?"

"The sparrow is the humblest and most common of birds, as we are the humblest and most common of men." The septon had a lean sharp face and a short beard, grizzled grey and brown. His thin hair was pulled back and knotted behind his head, and his feet were bare and black, gnarled and hard as tree roots. "These are the bones of holy men, murdered for their faith. They served the Seven even unto death. Some starved, some were tortured. Septs have been despoiled, maidens and mothers raped by godless men and demon worshipers. Even silent sisters have been molested. Our Mother Above cries out in her anguish. It is time for all anointed knights to forsake their worldly masters and defend our Holy Faith. Come with us to the city, if you love the Seven."

"I love them well enough," said Illifer, "yet I must eat."

"So must all the Mother's children."

"We are bound for Duskendale," Ser Illifer said flatly.

One of the begging brothers spat, and a woman gave a moan. "You are false knights," said the big man with the star carved on his chest. Several others brandished their cudgels.

The barefoot septon calmed them with a word. "Judge not, for judgment is the Father's. Let them pass in peace. They are poor fellows too, lost upon the earth."

Boy, that escalated quickly and for no reason whatsoever.

The High Sparrow being introduced so close to Aeron Dam-phair's first chapter is perfect. Should have thrown Melisandre in here somewhere.

+.+.+

"A man would need to be a fool to rape a silent sister," Ser Creighton was saying. "Even to lay hands upon one . . . it's said they are the Stranger's wives, and their female parts are cold and wet as ice." He glanced at Brienne. "Uh . . . beg pardon."

That's. . . weird. I'm holding on to that one.

+.+.+

The merchant produced a crossbow, the knight a blade. "You will forgive me if I am suspicious," called the merchant, "but the times are troubled, and I have only good Ser Shadrich to defend me. Who are you?"

Fuck.

+.+.+

"I am searching for my sister." She dared not mention Sansa's name, with her accused of regicide. "She is a highborn maid and beautiful, with blue eyes and auburn hair. Perhaps you saw her with a portly knight of forty years, or a drunken fool."

SHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhh!!!

+.+.+

"You're a strapping healthy wench, I'd say."

Ser Jaime's mockery had cut her deep; the little man's words hardly touched her. "A giant, compared to some."

He laughed. "I am big enough where it counts, wench."

Hello, Braimes? Is anyone home?

+.+.+

Ser Shadrich was a wiry, fox-faced man with a sharp nose and a shock of orange hair, mounted on a rangy chestnut courser. Though he could not have been more than five foot two, he had a cocksure manner.

[...]

"Ser Shadrich of the Shady Glen. Some call me the Mad Mouse." He turned his shield to show her his sigil, a large white mouse with fierce red eyes, on bendy brown and blue. "The brown is for the lands I've roamed, the blue for the rivers that I've crossed. The mouse is me."

Rodents we don't like.

+.+.+

Ser Shadrich laughed. "Oh, I doubt that, but it may be that you and I share a quest. A little lost sister, is it? With blue eyes and auburn hair?" He laughed again. "You are not the only hunter in the woods. I seek for Sansa Stark as well."

Brienne kept her face a mask, to hide her dismay. "Who is this Sansa Stark, and why do you seek her?"

"For love, why else?"

She furrowed her brow. "Love?"

"Aye, love of gold. Unlike your good Ser Creighton, I did fight upon the Blackwater, but on the losing side. My ransom ruined me. You know who Varys is, I trust? The eunuch has offered a plump bag of gold for this girl you've never heard of. I am not a greedy man. If some oversized wench would help me find this naughty child, I would split the Spider's coin with her."

[...]

"I know no Sansa Stark," she insisted. "I am searching for my sister, a highborn girl . . ."

". . . with blue eyes and auburn hair, aye. Pray, who is this knight who travels with your sister? Or did you name him fool?" Ser Shadrich did not wait for her answer, which was good, since she had none. "A certain fool vanished from King's Landing the night King Joffrey died, a stout fellow with a nose full of broken veins, one Ser Dontos the Red, formerly of Duskendale. I pray your sister and her drunken fool are not mistaken for the Stark girl and Ser Dontos. That could be most unfortunate." He put his heels into his courser and trotted on ahead.

Even Jaime Lannister had seldom made Brienne feel such a fool. You are not the only hunter in the woods. 

FUCK.

Alayne turned abruptly from the yard...and bumped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall. "My lady. My pardons if I took you unawares."

"The fault was mine. I did not see you standing there."

"We mice are quiet creatures." Ser Shadrich was so short that he might have been taken for a squire, but his face belonged to a much older man. - Alayne I, TWOW

+.+.+

"I can pay for the three of us." Brienne did not lack for coin; Jaime had seen to that. In her saddlebags she'd found a purse fat with silver stags and copper stars, a smaller one stuffed with golden dragons, and a parchment commanding all loyal subjects of the king to assist the bearer, Brienne of House Tarth, who was about His Grace's business. It was signed in a childish hand by Tommen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.

Damn, she's packing.

Last time we saw the Hound he was broke, and carrying around a worthless piece of paper. Bwah!

+.+.+

She ordered goat for Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer as well, since they had shared their trout with her. The hedge knights and the septon washed down the meat with ale, but Brienne drank a cup of goat's milk.

Big girls drink their milk.

+.+.+

"You come from King's Landing," one of the locals said to Hibald. "Is it true that the Kingslayer's been crippled?"

"True enough," Hibald said. "He's lost his sword hand."

"Aye," Ser Creighton said, "chewed off by a direwolf, I hear, one of them monsters come down from the north. Nought that's good ever come from the north. Even their gods are queer."

False. A wolf never maimed him.

She's getting a second chance though.

+.+.+

Jaime had done many wicked things, but the man could fight! His maiming had been monstrously cruel. It was one thing to slay a lion, another to hack his paw off and leave him broken and bewildered.

Okay, but consider this: it's funny.

+.+.+

Her scabbard was a plain thing, wood wrapped in cracked brown leather, and her sword was plainer still. She had bought it in King's Landing, to replace the blade the Brave Companions had stolen. Renly's sword. It still hurt, knowing she had lost it.

She's moved on. New sword, new purpose.

+.+.+

But she had another longsword hidden in her bedroll. She sat on the bed and took it out. Gold glimmered yellow in the candlelight and rubies smoldered red. When she slid Oathkeeper from the ornate scabbard, Brienne's breath caught in her throat. Black and red the ripples ran, deep within the steel. Valyrian steel, spell-forged. It was a sword fit for a hero. 

Yes.

+.+.+

When she was small, her nurse had filled her ears with tales of valor, regaling her with the noble exploits of Ser Galladon of Morne, Florian the Fool, Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and other champions. 

Aww, she's starting to sound like someone else we know. :)

+.+.+

Each man bore a famous sword, and surely Oathkeeper belonged in their company, even if she herself did not. "You'll be defending Ned Stark's daughter with Ned Stark's own steel," Jaime had promised.

Kneeling between the bed and wall, she held the blade and said a silent prayer to the Crone, whose golden lamp showed men the way through life. Lead me, she prayed, light the way before me, show me the path that leads to Sansa. She had failed Renly, had failed Lady Catelyn. She must not fail Jaime. He trusted me with his sword. He trusted me with his honor.

[...]

Her candle burned out. Darkness settled over the Old Stone Bridge, and the inn grew so still that she could hear the murmur of the river. Only then did Brienne rise to gather up her things. She eased the door open, listened, made her way barefoot down the steps. Outside she donned her boots and hurried to the stables to saddle her bay mare, asking a silent pardon of Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer as she mounted. One of Hibald's serving men woke when she rode past him, but made no move to stop her. Her mare's hooves rang upon the old stone bridge. Then the trees closed in around her, black as pitch and full of ghosts and memories. I am coming for you, Lady Sansa, she thought as she rode into the darkness. Be not afraid. I shall not rest until I've found you.

I believe you!!

Guys, Brienne gets me so in my feels. I just love her.

Final thoughts:

A knight on a mission to rescue a princess.

Now this is a hero's journey!

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #affc #brienne i

[seoness]

Hey, question here! Do you think Sandor is self conscious about his appearance / scar? He seems to mostly have a tough / brooding idgaf attitude, but there are times when he brings his appearance, especially his face, into conversation when talking to other characters. He seemed hurt and pointed out how Sansa was unable to look at him on multiple occasions. When he first starts traveling with Arya he notes that she can “at least look” at his face. The most interesting imo is when he speaks to Gendry the night he tries to get his gold back from the Brotherhood. I don’t have the book on hand, but he says something along the lines of: “Why trust them and not me? Could it be my face?” He seems to bring it up with a good handful of characters, so I wonder if this still bothers him into adulthood. Side question adding onto that one haha- how would Sandor feel about someone that is very casual / comfortable around him from the start? Someone who looks him in the face, takes his snarky comments with good humor, casually rubs his shoulder or back, etc. Since Sandor notices that his appearance has an effect on people, I can’t imagine how he would react to someone that consistently approaches him without judgement.

Salutations!

The way that example with Gendry made me run to A Storm of Swords 🏃‍♀️💨

"The boy has a mouth on him, I see. Why believe them and not me? Couldn't be my face, could it?"

This is something I'll touch on in the writing guide as well, but with the Hound I think it's easy to be distracted by what he presents. The image he keeps. But here and there, like this quote, we get hints of the inner self seeping through the cracks.

He never healed from his childhood trauma. His only true stated goal is to kill his older brother. When Gregor rides for King's Landing and attends the same tourney as him, Sandor drinks far too much which results in him trauma dumping on a little girl that could just as well have been him growing up.

I wouldn't go so far as to say that all his toughness and rough edges are a front for his hurt, but the world he lives in fuels that side of him. People don't like to meet his gaze. Making them have something to fear is easier, but the fact remains that Sandor Clegane could be as harmless as a butterfly and kind as a kitten, and people would still not meet his gaze. I think he's self-conscious about his burn in the way that he is acutely aware that it's why people don't like to look at him, and the hurt has gotten stale. A part of him is used to it, bored, and with it he is annoyed. The hypocrisy of it all. An outlaw untrusting of him when they ride around expediting "justice" of a dead King?

So yes, he's self-conscious but at the same time very much used to it. Bitter.

Answer to the second question:

Fucking suspicion. If you're used to everyone treating you one shitty way and suddenly there's someone that doesn't? Nah. Something is up. He'll entertain possibilities like:

A spy that's been sent to get some sort of information or lure him to do something that will make him a head shorter.

Doing it on a dare. (Think how there was a dare amongst some Reachern nobles on who could take Brienne of Tarth's maidenhead?)

Some sick form of sarcasm.

Dim-witted.

Blind.

Drunker than a skunk.

Delerium.

Basically, anything else than "Oh, this person might actually be nice?" If the person is consistently kind and meets his gaze and has decent morals? An honest to the gods' good person? He'll tell them to get the hell out of King's Landing. It would be like accidentally landing a consulting contract with a security firm. He'll definitely be at risk of striking warmer feelings for that person, but unless they also show want for something like that, he'll try to contend with his hand and a visit or two to the brothels.

There's a reason why I made Sandor Clegane tells my OC a gazillion times to get the hell out of dodge. 😂 Basically if someone treats him like that:

Spirit is them, and Little Creak is Sandor Clegane.

[ilynpilled]

Something so sexy about Jaime’s most heroic act being doomed from the get go in every way. It damns him for one, like there is no action to take in the situation he is in without huge cost. So many vows yadda yadda, you are damned either way. But in general, a nuke being under the city is something you cannot come back from. It is meant to be a death sentence to the place, the culmination of the trajectory the kingdom was on. Aerys doomed the city with that. The logistics of removal is not all that simple. If you tell Ned and he even believes you? Great! Now who else will have to know? Who can be trusted with it? How will you remove it? We do not even know all precise locations, we had to kill all the pyromancers. How do you make sure it is not accidentally set off? On top of that, the city is filled to the brim with corruption. Full of players who would love to use and exploit that kind of power. The information itself is dangerous. The wildfire functions as a great metaphor as a result. It is festering corruption. You cannot erase the caches at this point. The closest you can get to that is bury the knowledge. He is still haunted by an endless stream of burning bodies. An event that never happened: “In his dreams the dead came burning, gowned in swirling green flames. Jaime danced around them with a golden sword, but for every one he struck down two more arose to take his place.” When he hears that Tyrion made use of it, he is immediately reminded of his greatest fear: “Jaime saw green flames reaching up into the sky higher than the tallest towers, as burning men screamed in the streets. I have dreamed this dream before.” His faith in institutions is also below ground by then, like you see it in his weirwood dream, he tells the truth to his heroes and it does nothing. It is not about Ned, he is not the one that comes out, even though he assumed he would be. “It was never him.” They damn him to darkness anyway for his act and prioritize feudalistic moral constructs. All these contradictions are what makes his fire go out in the dream. But the belief that you can bury all this, and therefore prevent the existence of an Aerys 2.0, does nothing but stall the inevitable. KL’s supposed savior, Robert, the man leading the rebellion, who would slay the “evil dragon”, just led to stagnation. He did not wash out the corruption in it, he just sat on top of it and let it fester. He rues Robert, he says so. One bad king to another. The wildfire problem is more complicated than a single mad man. Its tragedy is rooted in enablement and escalation. There is a reason the pyromancers are more emphasized in the confession. I read it as symbolic of the systemic issues permeating the city, because those are what allowed it to get to the point that it did in the first place. Brienne knows about the wildfire now too, but she also does not comprehend what a volatile ticking time-bomb it is. They do not know how it works, and how it becomes more dangerous over time. Jaime might even save that damn city twice with the Cers and valonqar set up, but both times it is gonna be ultimately “pointless”, bc KL cannot be saved. But that does not matter, because the fact that someone acted back then has meaning. Thematically, that action itself is a triumph.

#valyrianscrolls #jaime lannister #me when i am trapped by the meta bc one of my most defining acts is a chekhovs gun #but i stll think there is meaning in the action. like there is meaning in the attempt #things are not only about the result #something something jaime always guarding something doomed in his narrative #worst knight in shining armor oat 💔 #his family his children etc etc #his kings #the city itself #so many vows and u will keep breaking every single one of them

[jedimaesteryoda]

Jaime’s story losing his hand in A Storm of Swords is effectively Samuel Coleridge’s long narrative poem “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner.” The poem follows an old sailor telling a tale to a random stranger about his trials after impulsively killing a friendly albatross his ship had come upon when trapped in ice. Jaime’s journey follows after killing Aerys, his noted sin among Westerosi society. However, at the start of the series, Jaime had impulsively pushed a child out the window at Winterfell, a sin akin to killing the innocent seabird. Both their acts change the course of their lives.

'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay, That bring the fog and mist.

- The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

"He swore a vow to protect his king's life with his own. Then he opened that king's throat with a sword." "Seven hells, someone had to kill Aerys!" Robert said, reining his mount to a sudden halt beside an ancient barrow. "If Jaime hadn't done it, it would have been left for you or me."

-AGOT, Eddard II

The fellow crew of the ship though initially condemning of the Mariner’s act of killing the albatross, later condone his actions. His actions mark him as a cursed man while his crew’s condoning of that action end up cursing them as well. Robert and House Lannister condone Jaime’s action of killing Aerys and the murder of Rhaegar’s children by Tywin. 

The Mariner’s sin results in him and his crew being cursed, and Jaime’s actions result in himself, the kings he raised up and his family being cursed.  The crew dies condemned as a result while Robert is gored by a boar, Tywin is killed on the privy by his son, Cersei and Jaime’s kids are fated to die and House Lannister’s regime is doomed to fall.

Instead of the cross, the Albatross About my neck was hung.

. . .

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on a wide wide sea! And never a saint took pity on My soul in agony.

. . .

But oh! more horrible than that Is the curse in a dead man's eye! Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse, And yet I could not die.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

His hand burned.

Still, still, long after they had snuffed out the torch they'd used to sear his bloody stump, days after, he could still feel the fire lancing up his arm, and his fingers twisting in the flames, the fingers he no longer had.

. . .

His hand was always between them. Urswyck had hung it about his neck on a cord, so it dangled down against his chest

-ASOS, Jaime IV

Like the Mariner, Jaime carries the hand he used to kill Aerys and push Bran out a window as an albatross around his neck. The people he remembers from when he was inducted into the Kingsguard are all dead while he lives in agony both literal in the pain from losing his hand and figurative with the turmoil and marginalization from being labeled “Kingslayer.” 

The Mariner found himself in “life in death.” He is stranded on a cursed ship alone, having lost God’s grace to the point he cannot pray and seemingly hopeless. Jaime himself felt truly alone after killing Aerys. He couldn’t confide in anyone, not his fellow brothers of the Kingsguard nor even his sister-lover Cersei or his brother Tyrion. His act of kingslaying isolated him.

'O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!' The Hermit crossed his brow. 'Say quick,' quoth he, 'I bid thee say— What manner of man art thou?' Forthwith this frame of mine was wrenched With a woful agony, Which forced me to begin my tale; And then it left me free.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

The Mariner confesses to a Hermit on his journey home, and in doing so relieves him of his guilt. Jaime ultimately feels compelled to tell his story to another like the Mariner does, and tells his story behind killing Aerys to Brienne. 

Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs Upon the slimy sea.

. . .

O happy living things! no tongue Their beauty might declare: A spring of love gushed from my heart, And I blessed them unaware: Sure my kind saint took pity on me, And I blessed them unaware.

-The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

"Blue is a good color on you, my lady," Jaime observed. "It goes well with your eyes." She does have astonishing eyes.

-ASOS, Jaime IX

What allows the Mariner to gain salvation is by “blessing unaware” the creatures he originally derided as “slimy,” recognizing the beauty in them. Jaime sees the beauty and worth in the woman he originally derided as “ugly” and “stupid,” thinking she has beautiful eyes, gives her his Valyrian sword and goes in to rescue her at risk to his own life like a knight rescuing a fair maiden in a song.

#asoiaf #samuel coleridge-taylor #rime of the ancient mariner #jaime lannister #the rime of the ancient mariner #brienne

[that-banhus]

First lines/last fics x10

Tagged by @landwriter​ - thank you :) (Also, yesssss, more Oaths soon.)

Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway.

Complete fic:

1 - Settled (The Sandman)

On the evening of June tenth, nineteen-sixteen, Roderick Burgess’ circle of magicians, charlatans, opportunists and hanger-ons draw the final runes on the floor of the basement at Fawney Rig.

2 - And Not Ask Leave of Any (The Sandman)

The unfortunate thing about the marches in October - the one unfortunate thing, Hob thought, because of all God’s lands the marches were created beautiful enough to still a man’s heart, and wild enough to set it running again - was that the air was sobering cold at night.

3 - King of Infinite Space (The Sandman)

They sat at the New Inn until the afternoon melted into evening, the sunlight thickened to a rich orange, and the late crowd began to trickle into the inn in chattering groups.

4 - Runs a Joy with Silken Twine (Good Omens)

The summer of the almost apocalypse sloped into a late autumn, and nothing much changed until it did: the weather tipped into heavy rain and dark evenings as suddenly as a seesaw coming down, and Crowley did something new with his hair.

5 - All the Kingdoms of the World (Good Omens)

The thing which stuck with Crowley the most, from the little-Apocalypse-that-couldn’t, was how close it had all been. If the nuns hadn’t accidentally shuffled the antichrist to Tadfield, if Agnes Nutter hadn’t been exactly right, if Adam had loved humanity just a little less, in the end - well, they’d been very, very lucky, was all, and after several thousand years of doing Aziraphale’s job on occasion, he had a natural suspicion of luck.

6 - The Dead and the Living (Game of Thrones)

When she was twelve, Brienne had broken her leg. She’d taken a quick step forward toward the training master, gotten her foot twisted on an uneven cobblestone, and when his blunt sword came at her low it hit her shin with a sickening snap she felt all up her spine. That hadn’t been the worst of it.

WIP:

7/8 - A Local Habitation (The Sandman)

Cheating outrageously and counting it as two lines, because it essentially ended up being two seperate stories:

Dream went to Hell on a Monday, and barely gave Hob an hour’s notice.

and:

In the morning, Hob woke to the doorbell chiming. It was a beautiful sunny day outside, and the two chopsticks he’d taped over his window in the shape of a cross had burned themselves onto the glass in a sooty, smeared blur. 

9 - Untitled Missing Scene/Coda from King of Infinite Space for @chubsthehamster (The Sandman)

Hob Gadling’s unconscious body presented a problem.

10 - To the Strongest (Star Trek: Discovery)

“Do you sometimes think that T’Kuvma got himself killed on purpose, so he wouldn’t have to deal with all this?” L’Rell gestured at the stack of datapads, maps and scrolls, a delightfully petty touch from House Antaak.

Tagging (optionally as always, and apologies if I am re-tagging) @willowcrowned, @tharkuun, @just-add-butter, @moorishflower, @chubsthehamster @mathomhouse-e

[nicklloydnow]

“For the Hound, violence is the only semblance of pleasure that remains. He has little interest in women, nor in starting a family. But at least he’s self-aware – he fully understands how twisted he is, and explicitly warns Arya not to be consumed by revenge during “The Bells.” It’s good advice; Arya’s “kill list” is a warped fantasy that has weighed heavily on her, and letting go of her bloodlust might just allow her to live a happier life.

The Hound’s journey has sometimes meandered, but it always seemed as though he was searching for a release of some sort, an end to his suffering. And he almost met his end by the blade of Brienne of Tarth; after his recovery, he looked as though he might even find peace.

For the Hound, violence was a crippling addiction that granted the temporary illusion of power, the man dominating his victims the way his brother once dominated him. Surely, letting that toxic lifestyle go, finally putting down his sword, would have been a truly happy ending for Sandor Clegane.

But the fans had other ambitions. “Cleganebowl” was an ongoing meme throughout the series, the fans picturing an epic showdown between the two warring brothers. The idea was satisfying, sure, but a surface reading of the brother’s twisted relationship.

The two men didn’t really have the rivalry imagined by the fans; they hated each other, undoubtedly, but the Mountain had moved on. The scar he left on his little brother was psychological, the Hound’s propensity for violence forged in fire – murdering the man who’d turned him into a murderer wasn’t going to heal him.

(…)

The Mountain’s enraged reaction upon seeing Sandor wasn’t organic; it was certainly what the fans wanted, but it didn’t have a solid foundation in the story.

After all, the Mountain died long ago, a literal zombie puppeteered by Qyburn. This is the tragedy of his story, an agent of violence transformed into a walking dead man. The Hound threw himself into the fire, just so he could burn his brother’s corpse.

It was a stunning visual, and at the time, genuinely felt like a win for Sandor. But really, it was a victory for the Mountain. Sandor never managed to escape the effect of his elder brother’s abuse; he followed him into the flames of self-destruction. From beginning to end, Sandor’s story was desperately sad.

(…)

My ideal ending for Sandor would have seen him retiring, enjoying a peaceful life, backing down from bar fights and munching on chicken, finally strong enough to ignore his worst instincts.

Though admittedly, it wouldn’t have been quite as cinematic.”

“There are no seeds for this fight planted in Martin’s books. “Cleganebowl” is just something fans cooked up when it looked like both the Hound and the Mountain had, against all odds, survived death in the last book, A Dance with Dragons. Positing that the Hound was secretly a character named “the Gravedigger” and the Mountain was secretly a character called Ser Robert Strong, some readers wondered, “and wouldn’t it be cool if they fought each other?”

The cyclical nature of all of this is satisfying on one level. Fire is the reason Sandor left King’s Landing in the first place—he infamously spat “fuck the king” when asked to rush into the wildfire-lit melee of the Battle of Blackwater.

And so he returned to the city, braved the fire, and ended his brother in the flames. Sure, the Hound technically died doing something heroic in eliminating Cersei’s bodyguard, but is it a satisfying conclusion for Sandor? Especially when his brother, Gregor, is actually long dead. The show made some attempt to humanize the Mountain in his final moments by having him disobey Cersei, but this still felt like a sad ending for Sandor. A vengeance mission to eliminate a zombie lacks the soul this particular redemption arc deserves. Especially when Rory McCann’s best scene of the entire series is a tender, surprisingly sensitive reckoning with the emotional wounds his brother left on him.

However, as a lesson for Arya on how to move past vengeance and abandon her kill list, the encounter is chillingly effective. The Hound told Arya to leave and abandon her murderous purpose in the city. “You come with me, he says, you’ll die here.” The action later cuts back and forth between the Hound getting battered by his brother and Arya being battered by the crowd. Arya, who was in King’s Landing to kill Cersei, decides in the episode’s final moments to leave. (She doesn’t know Cersei is already done.) She mounts a horse and rides out of King’s Landing leaving the fire and blood in her rear view. Arya learns the lessons that Sandor couldn’t and, in that sense, he saves her again. So, where is she going now? It seems unlikely she’ll ever return to Winterfell. Much like her direwolf Nymeria running off to be wild in Season 7, Arya isn’t meant to go live in the comfort of the Stark family home.”

#game of thrones #song of ice and fire #sandor #clegane #cleganebowl #the hound #the mountain #violence

[agentrouka-blog]

"The commons realized in the same instant as Ned that the blue of the flowers came from sapphires."-Ned(AGOT VII). "So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling."- Sansa(ACOK VII). Loras was wearing sapphires and Sansa was enchanted with him. Symeon was another hero Sansa like who wore sapphire in his eyes. Both are knights. Brienne is most associated with Sapphires.

She is. But it is a deception! Tarth is not, in fact, rich in sapphires. 

"Is every word you say a lie, Kingslayer? Tarth is called the Sapphire Isle for the blue of its waters." (ASOS, Jaime III)

Eyes of the sea, not of gemstones.

"You have your mother's eyes. Honest eyes, and innocent. Blue as a sunlit sea. When you are a little older, many a man will drown in those eyes." (AFFC, Sansa I)

Honest and innocent. Astonishing.

"Blue is a good color on you, my lady," Jaime observed. "It goes well with your eyes." She does have astonishing eyes. (ASOS, Jaime IX)

But they are her own eyes, and decidedly not sapphires. She is a true knight. 

**

The actual Symeon Star-Eyes is a little reminiscent of the wights, actually. 

The first wight we see outside the Prologue has eyes likened to sapphires.

Blossoms of hard cracked blood decorated the mortal wounds that covered him like a rash, breast and groin and throat. Yet his eyes were still open. They stared up at the sky, blue as sapphires. (AGOT, Jon VII)

We know that the wights may have memories retained of the people they used to be, but their artificially blue eyes see for a different master, and their actions are not their own:

The things below moved, but did not live. One by one, they raised their heads toward the three wolves on the hill. The last to look was the thing that had been Thistle. (...). Pale pink icicles hung from her fingertips, ten long knives of frozen blood. And in the pits where her eyes had been, a pale blue light was flickering, lending her coarse features an eerie beauty they had never known in life.

She sees me. (ADWD, Prologue)

Does she? Or is someone else seeing for her?  She has blades on both hands.

Same with Waymar Royce:

His fine clothes were a tatter, his face a ruin. A shard from his sword transfixed the blind white pupil of his left eye.

The right eye was open. The pupil burned blue. It saw. (AGOT, Prologue)

For whom?

The Other halted. Will saw its eyes; blue, deeper and bluer than any human eyes, a blue that burned like ice. (AGOT, Prologue)

The same eyes. Blue ice, ice that burns.

The blind (or even the seeing) making use of others is established in the books, primarily through warging. There’s Orell’s eagle, taken over by Varamyr. Bran seeing through summer or through birds. Jon seeing the wildling host through Ghost. 

And a blind Arya, fighting through the use of artificial sight:

"Yes. I know that you're the one who has been hitting me." Her stick flashed out, and cracked against his fingers, sending his own stick clattering to the floor.

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?"

I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she. (ADWD, The Blind Girl)

This is eerily reminiscent of Symeon, fighting with a stick and replacing his eyes.

"There was a knight once who couldn't see," Bran said stubbornly, as Ser Rodrik went on below. "Old Nan told me about him. He had a long staff with blades at both ends and he could spin it in his hands and chop two men at once."

"Symeon Star-Eyes," Luwin said as he marked numbers in a book. "When he lost his eyes, he put star sapphires in the empty sockets, or so the singers claim. Bran, that is only a story, like the tales of Florian the Fool. A fable from the Age of Heroes." The maester tsked. "You must put these dreams aside, they will only break your heart." (AGOT, Bran VII)

Notably, conscious and self-determined quasi-wight Coldhands is not afflicted with the blue eyes, at least they are never mentioned.

My suspicion is that either Symeon is related to the power of warging (like Arya and the other Starklings), therefore his Star-Eyes might be Stark-eyes, and he could correspond to any of them (save Sansa of the Winter Rose imagery, who is waiting for Symeon and Aemon both).

Or he is related to the not entirely dissimilar concept of the wights - or to those who control them. 

In either case, it places his significance in the North, tied to the Long Night and the magic of the Children of the Forest. 

Brienne herself is tied to the Northern plotline through her commitment to House Stark, carries part of Ice, and has been dragged to a weirwood cave in front of a vengeful undead person, with unnatural eyes:

The woman in grey hissed through her fingers. Her eyes were two red pits burning in the shadows. She spoke again. (AFFC; Brienne VIII)

 I imagine she will at the very least mirror some of that ancient Long Night storyline, before she becomes embroiled in the current one. Though if she’ll touch on Symeon Star-Eyes or someone else, we’ll have to see.

#sapphire imagery #symeon star-eyes #brienne of tarth #long night #warging #wights #others #blindness #rouka queue

[serceleste]

Back to working on this fic! (With an audience of only me, perhaps?? LOL. I broke 4000 words! \o/)

-

After the tourney at Bitterbridge, Loras sits inside his pavilion, dazed and woozy and still angry about losing. To that ugly giant, no less. His cheeks burn when he remembers the shame of it, lying in the dirt with her on top of him, spitting blood from his mouth as he was forced to yield.

“Hold still,” Renly commands, as Loras keeps twitching away from him.

“You didn’t have to give her the cloak.”

Renly sits back. “Is that what this is about? You’re still pouting over Brienne of Tarth?”

“I’m not pouting.” Loras scowls because he knows he is, in fact, pouting. 

“I’m sorry your pride is wounded because she beat you but Loras, she beat you! Why wouldn’t I want her sword? In any case, I promised, and that’s what she wanted.”

“She wants you to fuck her,” Loras mutters, and Renly laughs.

“Jealous of Brienne the Beauty?”

Loras pushes Renly away as Margaery glides through the opening of the pavilion. She tuts when she sees Loras.

“You look terrible! Let me.” She holds her hand out for the cloth Renly was ineffectually trying to dab at Loras’ wounds with.

Renly gives it up without a fuss, moving away. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck. He’s in a mood.”

“My brother does hate losing.” Margaery presses the cloth to a cut on his temple and Loras hisses.

“And it was quite a spectacular loss.”

“She wrestled me off my horse!” Loras exclaims. “It was a dishonorable trick, and you –”

Renly is laughing and Loras fights back a growl. Margaery presses her free hand down onto Loras’ thigh as though to hold him there. 

“Do be still,” she says, cleaning blood from his hairline. “We need no more blood spilled tonight, least of all yours, Loras. There is quite enough on your face already.”

“He’s so feisty when he’s embarrassed,” Renly says, and Loras makes himself ignore him. 

Margaery finishes her ministrations and presses a kiss to his cheekbone, her lips near his ear. “You fought well, brother,” she murmurs. “Do not be ashamed.”

Loras blinks his eyes closed and makes himself nod, just the barest movement. Margaery kisses him again.

“Come,” she says, standing. “I’m having a bath drawn in my chambers. You’ll feel better once you’re clean.”

#renly x loras x margaery #a song of ice and fire #celeste9 writes #fanfic