#jon pov

[feyhunter78]

Chapter Four - Jon goes to visit Old Nan and sets his future in motion.

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Jon dreams of you again, and again, and again, night after night, your back against the wall, bleeding out in his arms as you beg him to protect you. The time for him to set off for the Wall grows ever near, not too close, but not far enough away he can forget its approach. It plagues his mind, his desire to join his uncle, to prove that he is worth something, warring with an inherent need to be near you, to protect you from the horrors that live within his slumbering consciousness.

He has other dreams as well, smaller, less gory dreams, and when they start to bleed into his waking world, he turns to the only person alive he believes will have some semblance of an answer.

“Greendreams, they run in your blood.” Old Nan says simply, once he has finished telling her of his plight. Her needlepoint is in her lap, her frail body wrapped in thick blankets, even with the fire roaring beside her.

“Greendreams? But I am not a warg, Ghost, and I do not share a mind.” He protests, half serious, half humoring the old women.

“You need not share minds to have the dreams, nor do you need to be a greenseer to possess greensight, they are not one and the same.” She explains, her voice growing stronger as she speaks. “You must listen to these dreams, prevent the horrors if you are able.”

“I am to go to the Wall, but Lady y/n will return to King’s Landing, how am I to protect her?”

She fixes him with a look, one that he knows means she thinks him simple.

Jon stares into the fire, a silent prayer to the gods. He cannot protect you from his place on the Wall, he must make a choice, though he’s unsure if it is fully his to make. He alone cannot choose to return with you, he is a bastard, he has no place in King’s Landing.

Old Nan dismisses him without sparing a moment for his internal turmoil, and in his meandering, he runs directly into your father.

Tyrion looks up at him frowning, and Jon already fears he has spoiled his chances.

“My apologies, Lord Lannister.” He says, taking a quick step back to give the man room.

Tyrion scans him, searching him for weaknesses, his piercing green eyes, picking him apart. “My daughter, she is beautiful.”

Jon says nothing, only nods.

“Speak boy.” Tyrion snaps, glaring up at him with the might of a man three times his size.

“Yes, Lady y/n, is very beautiful.” He shifts his weight imperceptibility, hoping someone will come and save him from this encounter.

Tyrion nods. “She grows more beautiful each day, I worry for her, as all fathers do.”

Jon nods again.

“I know the circumstances of your birth are not…conventional, but they are many ways for a bastard boy to earn a name for himself in King’s Landing.”

Perhaps the gods had been listening to his prayer. “My Lord?”

Tyrion clasps his arms behind his back. “I have spoken with your father, he is to join my good-brother as Hand to the King and return with him to King’s Landing, he is bringing Lady Sansa with him, and you, if you agree to my proposition.”

Jon knew his father wouldn’t be able to deny King Robert anything, but to think…

“If you come to King’s Landing you shall come as my daughter’s guard, her sworn-shield, you will not leave her side, you will give your life for hers, and in return you get to escape your dreary life here.” Tyrion continues, giving him an expectant look.

“I am not a knight.” He says dumbly, the implications of what Lord Tyrion is asking him weighing heavily on his shoulders.

“Not in this moment, but my good-brother would be more than happy to knight the son of his dearest friend.”

“Why?”

Tyrion scoffs. “I offer the boy the chance of a lifetime, and he asks why? Because boy, I have seen you fight, and I know how deep loyalty runs in Stark blood, I will not worry for her safety if you are at her side. Besides, she is…fond of you.”

His heart sings, pushing all worries and tortured thoughts aside. She’s fond of him, his lovely lady is fond of him. “And my father approves, truly?”

“Yes, boy, he does, now will you give me an answer, or will we stand here all night while you ruminate in brooding silence?”

Old Nan’s words fill his head, accompanying the sounds of your sobs, of your pleas for him to promise you, to save you. “I will go.”

Tyrion nods. “Good, now we need to get you knighted, and some better clothing, my daughter shall not be seen with such a rumpled looking sworn-shield.

Jon looks down at his tunic. “I was asleep before this, Lord Lannister.”

“Still.”

It’s a blur, Arya’s anger then tears, Sansa’s distance, Robb and Theon’s claps on his back, Lady Catelyn’s strained smiles, and his father’s genuine one as he kneels before the king to be knighted.

The Great Hall of Winterfell is nearly empty, the bannermen returned to their homes, the servants busy cleaning or helping load the luggage of various royal family members back onto the monstrous wheelhouse Queen Cersei travels in. The sconces lit, his family and yours in a half circle surrounding him, King Robert at the center, Lord Stark beside him, Queen Cersi on the other. Prince Joffrey leers at him, but Jon ignores him, keeping his head bowed.

Ghost sits by his side, a red kerchief tied around his neck, a gift from you, one Jon was surprised Ghost allowed you to tie around his neck. It’s darker than the normal Lannister colors, more crimson than ruby.

He knows you and your father don’t have a personal coat-of-arms, but he has noticed your gowns, and your father’s doublets tend towards darker, more cool toned shades of red and gold. A small act of rebellion, a way to set yourselves apart? He’s unsure, but now he knows he’s part of that act, willing or unwilling.

It matches his eyes. You had said, smiling up at Jon as you smoothed down the fur between Ghost’s ears, the crimson fabric stark against his snow-white fur.

Kneeling before the King, Jon doesn’t feel he truly deserves to be knighted. He has won no battles nor performed any great feat of valor, he has trained, he has studied, he has been loyal, but he hasn’t done anything the bards sing about, or anything detailed in those books Sansa reads.

“Rise Ser Jon, shield of the Lady Y/N Lannister, bound before the gods, and your King.” King Robert commands once his sword has left Jon’s shoulders and returned to its sheath.

He does as he’s commanded and bows to the King before turning to you, bracing himself for the regret in your eyes. Surely this is a jest taken too far, he will look into your eyes, those verdant eyes, bright as spring, and see you realize you’ve made a mistake, see you ready to cast him aside.

“Lady y/n Lannister, daughter of Lord Tyrion Lannister the third son of House Lannister, my sword and shield are yours.” He says, taking a knee once more and finally summoning the courage to meet your gaze.

The persistent voice in his head that whispers how unworthy he is goes quiet. You’re looking at him with such reverence, such excitement, there is no sign of regret or jesting.

All that ran through his mind as he knelt before you now was this: he was not a poet, and he could not call himself a lover. For he did not have the skill with words others did. He could only say that he was yours, even if you did not want him, even if right now you fled across the continent, returned to the South, and cursed his name for all to hear. He would be yours until the day his breath escaped him for the final time.

“I am grateful for your sword and shield, now arise Ser Jon Snow, my sworn sword, my protector.”

When you bid him to rise, addressing him by his name, calling him yours the air that fills his lungs tastes sweet, and he presses his lips to your hand, clasping it a moment too long, evident by Tyrion’s sharp cough.

“I will serve you well, I swear before the old gods and the new, my life is yours.” He says, keeping his voice steady, his face set in an expression he hopes reads as serious but not stern. He’s always had trouble walking that line, finding he often looks far more sullen than he feels.

“As mine is yours, Ser Jon, I entrust it to you.” Your words are clear, ceremonial, and he would easily believe the words are typical of a sworn sword ceremony if not for the way King Robert’s eyes flicker to your face.

The next days fly by, and soon he is standing outside your door, red cloak marking him as a guard of House Lannister, hanging from his shoulders. It’s one that’s not darker than the others, which makes him feel odd. Did you not wish him to match you? Was he not deserving of your crimson fabrics? His armor is new and shined to perfection, his boots new as well, and slightly stiff, his sword hangs at his side as Ghost sits patiently waiting at his feet.

Lord Tyrion exits first, dressed in finery, a small satchel at his side. He looks up at Jon and nods. “Red suit you, do not make me regret this.” Then he brushes past him, heading down the hall and towards the main gates.

You appear next, form wrapped in dark red velvet, a white fur lined cloak folded over your arm, your gown belted with a chain of gold, that accentuates your waist and hips. Your hair is down in a Northern style he finds quite familiar, it looks beautiful on you, framing your face just so.

Jon jerks his eyes away before you can notice his stares and bows his head. “My Lady.”

You smile at him, your bracelets jingling as you reach down and hold your hand out for Ghost to sniff. “Are the others ready to depart?”

“Yes, My Lady, all but Lady Sansa.” He says, offering his arm to you.

You take it and begin to walk through the halls with him, your brows furrowed in concern. “Is Sansa alright?”

He thinks through his words, speaking slowly. He doesn’t want to give you a bad impression of Sansa, you seem fond of the younger girl. “Lady Sansa is…upset at the addition of Lord Theon.”

You snort, then hide your smile with one hand, embarrassed. “She did not expect your father to let him remain here, did she? He is an assurance the Iron Islands will not revolt, if he is not within Lord Stark’s grasp then what danger would he be in?”

He hadn’t thought of it that way. While Theon was an outsider like him, he existed in a space entirely different from Jon. Theon was Robb’s closest companion, the two shadowed each other, fought together, jested, and patronized brothels together.

“I think it is less that he is accompanying us and more that he is to be her guard.” Jon continues, half entranced as the scent of jasmine rises from your hair when you toss it over your shoulders.

“But he is not her sworn sword, so she will not have to spend every moment with him by her side. Besides, it is not as if he is unpleasant to look at.” You say nonchalantly, as if you two are simply friends having a casual stroll, your lips quirking up as you bite back a laugh.

You have perfect lips, plush and soft looking, stained a light red color by the berries from your morning meal, for a moment he wonders if you would taste of them.

“You find Theon handsome?” The words spill out before he can stop them, and he fights a rising blush when you fix your emerald eyes on him, taking him apart the same way your father did those few nights ago.

“Perhaps…” You stop right as you both reach the gates and turn on your heel, making a show of adjusting the fastener of his cloak. “Why? Do you feel threatened my sworn sword?”

“I—Theon is not a threat; he would never turn his sword against our house.” He cannot stomach the thought, though they weren’t close, he would never doubt Theon’s loyalty. The older boy had proven himself time and time again, in fact he believed Theon would turn his sword on himself before he turned it on Robb.

You pat his armored chest smiling up at him with a mischievous smile, before returning your hand to his arm and beginning to walk through the gate and towards the others. “We shall see how he feels once he and Sansa are stuck in the wheelhouse together for several hours.”

It’s begun to rain, the temperature dropping, and he wonders who will remain on their horse instead of taking shelter inside the wheelhouse. “Will we not ride alongside the wheelhouses?” Jon asks, scanning the crowd gathered outside the gates.

“You may if you so desire.” Your answer is vague, but your grip on his arm tightens and when he sees the assembled groups outside the Queen’s wheelhouse he understands why.

You, Myrcella, Joffrey, Theon, and Sansa along with the Queen, and Tommen seem to be relegated to the wheelhouse. King Robert and Lord Stark remain on their horses, the two in deep conversation, their heads bowed towards each other.

Jon has never spoken directly with you regarding your cousin, the eldest prince, but he has seen your thinly veiled contempt for the boy many times, seen the way you shrink back when he becomes overly excited or angry.

You stop on the edge of the crowd, scanning it for your father, a pout appearing on your lips when you see him next to his horse. “And of course Father will wish to ride his horse, but he never allows me to ride alone unless we are within the bounds of Lannister land, so I cannot even use that as an escape.”

“It will be safer for you in the wheelhouse.” Jon says, nodding gratefully at the servant who brings him his own horse.

“For whom?” You grumble miserably as your father climbs onto his horse, ignoring Joffrey’s calls.

“For you, there is no other’s safety I care for.” It’s not a full lie nor a full truth, he cares for his father, Sansa, and Theon’s safety, but he has sworn himself to you, so outwardly your safety takes precedence.

The rain picks up, no longer a sprinkle, and he lifts his cloak, stepping forward to shield you from the rain. You are so much smaller than him, delicate, your hands are soft, your skin unblemished by scars, and you move closer to him, further into the safety of his cloak.

You coo at his words, your lighthearted spirit returning. “Do you care for me Ser Jon? I am flattered, truly.”

He brushes your teasing aside and begins to walk towards the wheelhouse, keeping you within the confines of his cloak. “Please allow me to escort you aboard, Lady y/n.”

You go with him, albeit begrudgingly, your frown reappearing as you draw closer to the wheelhouse. “Ser Jon, can I not ride with you? I promise I am a very good rider, and I will not bother you at all.”

“You know her father has quite the appetite for whores, I would not be surprised he had hired some to give his daughter lessons.” Theon had jested, elbowing Robb as you passed by, heading towards the library tower.

Robb rolled his eyes but laughed, which only encouraged Theon.

“What must it be like to have a lioness in your bed? Do you think she bites as she rides a man’s cock? Are lions not known for their teeth?”

“Their claws, they are known for their claws.” Jon snapped, unable to hear such vile words spoken of you, even if Theon’s questions did spark something in the recesses of his mind.

“Ah, see Jon is in on it as well. She scratches, mystery solved.”

“No, My Lady, I am sorry, but it is not proper.” He says, dropping his cloak and gesturing towards the stairs.

The disappointment in your eyes pierces him through, and he almost gives in, but Theon’s voice rings out from further inside the wheelhouse, and he steels himself.

You nod and release his arm, traveling up the steps without looking back at him.

“Lady y/n.” He calls before he can think better of it. “If you have need of me, call out my name.”

You give him a smile and pick up your skirts, your steps looking considerably lighter, until the door closes behind you, and you are lost from his sight.

Jon TL: @mostclevermiss, @solacestyles, @2valentines

#meg's writing #jon snow x reader #jon snow x you #jon snow imagine #jon snow imagines #jon snow #theon greyjoy #sansa stark #theon x sansa #got fanfiction #Jon pov #lannister!reader

[marydublinauthor]

Shot in the Dark releases May 14, 2024!! EXCERPT BELOW 👇🏼

After all these years, Jon Cliff and Sylvia are getting a NEW debut in this 4-6 book series where fairies, hunters, found family and forbidden romance collide. If you’ve read our shorts over the years here and even enjoyed the original 2013 release, you will LOVE this. @kendsleyauthor and I worked so hard on making it epic and more polished than ever before.

I know we’ve been more quiet on here as we struggle to keep up with all our platforms and personal life (mental health struggles suck y’all lol) BUT we truly can’t wait for you to read this.

Updates:

Preorder coming later this month!

If you review books, sign up to be an Arc Reader and help boost our book’s visibility! You get to read a free electronic copy of the book before official release in exchange for an honest review

Add to Goodreads and Storygraph now (also helps us!)

More to come— But for now, enjoy this juicy excerpt from JON’S POV! 💕

“Every non-human I’ve ever met only causes pain and death,” I said. “They want us to bleed by their very nature. But… you haven’t tried anything. You haven’t tried to kill us, seduce us into selling our souls, or trap us in an eternal nightmare. I don’t understand you.”

The fairy’s eyes widened, and she scoffed at me. “Well, forgive me for confusing you by not being a murderer. How can someone like you be remotely afraid of me?”

“Looks can be deceiving.”

“And sometimes, they’re exactly what they are,” she fired back.

I didn’t wrestle off the tired, wry smile that came to my lips. “For someone the size of a mouse, you’ve got a lot of spirit.”

Her green eyes flickered, raking me up and down. Her posture softened like she was slowly seeing less of a snarling animal in me. “If you weren’t a hunter,” she said. “I might actually accept that as a compliment.”

“That’s a shame, then.”

“It is.” She sniffed, looking away pointedly.

The tug in my chest resurfaced—I couldn’t let her sleep thinking I might smother her before she awoke. She had to know we were going to release her. Somehow, it mattered to me that I wouldn’t stay a complete monstrosity in her eyes.

“I lied to you,” she announced, halting my train of thought.

I drew in a sharp breath and leaned away from her slightly. She didn’t appear to be priming herself to attack, but I stayed wary all the same. “What is it?” I asked.

“I…” She wet her lips and wrestled with herself. “I was there the night before you caught me. There were two humans. They didn’t see me, but I heard them. They… mentioned that hunters might be after them—”

“What?” I blurted, crowding toward her.

She cringed away, casting a wild look around the room for an escape.

“Hey.” I lowered my voice. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Look at me.”

Hesitantly, she did.

“You can tell me,” I assured. “It’s alright. What did they look like? What’d they say? Any names?”

“I couldn’t see their faces, and I don’t think I heard any names, but… I’m starting to think one of them was your monster. I’ve never been near one before, but something felt horribly wrong.”

“What does that mean?”

“There’s this… ability I have. A sort of instinct.” Each word fell from her lips hesitantly as though any one of them might set me off. “I can sense non-humans and other beings that you would consider unnatural. It’s meant to help my kind steer clear of those things. Maybe I could point you in the right direction if you take me back to that old house. But if I do that, you’ll have to let me go. Does that sound like a fair deal?”

Desperate hope painted her face. It was a little heartbreaking. I considered telling her I planned to release her regardless of what she offered, but it was a tempting ability to make use of.

“Why didn’t you say something about this earlier?” I asked.

Fresh, uncertain tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you’d kill me if I told you everything. You wouldn’t have a use for me anymore. And then, I thought if I admitted I lied…”

“You thought we’d kill you for that,” I finished. “So why admit it now?”

She shrugged, mumbling, “You didn’t lock me in the microwave. That counts for something, I suppose.”

After pondering her offer, I nodded. “Okay. We have a deal. You help us at the house, and you’re free to go.”

“Free to go immediately after,” she said, pointing a finger at me. “Swear that you won’t enslave me.”

I scoffed. “That didn’t even cross my mind.”

“Not even for a second?” She frowned suspiciously. “When was the last time you negotiated with a non-human? Stars, when’s the last time you spared a non-human?” When I couldn’t come up with an answer, she made a small noise of contempt.

“Fine,” I said. “I promise there’s no strings attached after you help us. But we’re not going anywhere until Cliff comes back with the car, so we may as well get some rest.”

#shot in the dark #gt #g/t #gt writing #support indie authors #fairies #giant/tiny #indie authors #jon and sylvia #Jon pov

[mormontdacey]

don’t mind me, just obsessing over the complete tonal change in catelyn before/after bran falls from the tower. oh boy.

#jon pov #jon snow #catelyn tully stark #bran stark #agot lb

[reneewalkersknives]

one egregious thing the game of thrones show misses out on is that the stark kids are CONSTANTLY thinking abt each other!! there isn’t like a single POV chapter from any of them where they don’t long for their siblings!! Jon wants to have a son and name him Robb!! Bran wants to be a bird so him and his siblings can live in a nest together!! Sansa prays for her siblings every night and makes the Winterfell castle and then gets upset bc there’s no one to throw snow at!! Needle IS Jon!! Arya’s list is her own prayer for her siblings, she doesn’t care that Joffrey is dead bc Robb is too!! Every single one of them believes that their big brother will come to save them!! there’s sm love and tenderness there and GOT missed out on lots of it bc it tries too hard for the grimdark angle without realising that the center of the stark’s story is their love for each other. anyways.

#a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #game of thrones #anti game of thrones #starklings #robb stark #jon snow #sansa stark #arya stark #bran stark #sorry Robb and rickon Ik ur love ur siblings too but I only did ones with POV chapters😭 #stark family

[jesncin]

Tell your children this was Supersons era trinity

#supersons #damian wayne #robin #superboy #jon kent #k'hym j'onzz #martian manhunter #jl remix #my art #pov you're the villain of the week they're facing #get them snacks they look hungry

[visenyaism]

I’m SO glad you called Ned an “enabler”.

Ned gets so much praise (and hate ??) for warning Cersei before wanting to sell her out to her rapist but I disagree with that praise. No one looks at the patriarchal violence lurking beneath. You know exactly the nature of the man you’re dealing with, you saw him slapped Cersei so hard she fell to the floor and threatening to slap her again, and you think giving one flimsy warning will be enough ?? Ned is absolutely a misogynistic fool. When Robert comes back from his hunt he’ll tell Robert the truth and he thinks Cersei will have enough time to flee with her guard and children and retinue ??

“Wherever you go, Robert’s wrath will follow you”, Ned knows that sooner or later (in a few weeks, a few months), Cersei and her children will be slaughtered, he just postponed their deaths. Ned would have received a letter informing him that Robert eventually murdered Cersei and her children and think “how could this have happened ? At least, I wasn’t the one holding the knife so I don’t have their blood on my hands.”

@translannisters and @kristevanstark have much more coherent thoughts about this than me on their very fun deeply excellent asoiaf podcast but yeah in AGOT ned ends up taking this almost wife-like role (stay with me here) with robert where he’s trying to gently guide robert into doing the right thing without ever setting hard boundaries or really flat-out saying no. And ned resents cersei for not being as good at this with her abusive husband as he is. you can really see it in that conversation with cersei where he straight up says well anyone (like me) would’ve been happy to marry robert why couldn’t you have just been better because as a fellow robert baratheon dickrider he refuses to acknowledge that there IS no “doing better” at gently guiding this chaotic abusive man with absolute power into doing the right thing when he does not want to.

ned stark is a HUGE enabler of robert with a big case of “i refuse to see it” syndrome. him watching robert hit cersei and not intervene is like when stannis watched robert hit joffrey and didn’t intervene or all of the standing by as atrocities happened that people like Jaime Lannister and Arthur Dayne did. It’s absolutely an essential part of his character but i think it can be hard to see because we only see him through his wife and children and vassal house’s eyes who still very much see him as a perfect martyr figure.

#wow is this ANOTHER thing cersei pov gets right. just like her based Baelor and Jon Arryn hating #asoiaf

[ookamihanta]

Dear John Letter

HEAVILY INSPIRED BY THIS AKESHU POST. IT DRIVES ME INSANE/POS

#dc #jonathan kent #damian wayne #supersons #super sons #aj art #jondami #damijon #listen to peace by taylor swift if you wanna know what i had playing on repeat while making this bc its so jondami coded #also this is mainly in the pov of damian letting go of jon after his timeskip journey but its not easy

[onomatoseeyah]

The Encounter with the Archivist

|"He was looking at me as if he ate a really good steak"|

#tma #jonathan sims #jon sims #mag 142 #tma spoilers #tma fanart #This episode was really really cool cuz I like that it gave us what other people saw Jon as #Since most of the podcast is from his “pov” #Also an excuse to try 3 point perspective #Once I figured how to set it up in CSP it got better lol #onomatodoodles #edit: just saw someone tag for eyes and being watched and realized i probs should have done that too ;^; #cw eyes #cw scopophobia

[nightswatchdisbandmentera]

Am I the Asshole for correcting a child by letting him know that since his family members were criminals, they deserved to die?

I (36M) work for the government and recently went on a long work trip. While there, I met a new coworker (16M). Let’s call him Jon. We immediately hit it off and started talking about work and stuff. Since his family has a long history of government work and I even knew his dad, we began talking about some of the recent political events that have impacted his family a lot. To make a long story short, his dad was supposedly involved in a coup to oust the king and was later beheaded in front of a lot of people. His brother got super mad about that and tried to rebel, but he also died at a wedding hosted by some allies of his. This is where I might have been the asshole. I told Jon that his brother was a criminal by rebelling against the crown and so he deserved to die. I even said that his dad was overrated, and I didn’t care for him much. The mood immediately shifted after this and while he didn’t really react much outwardly, our conversation became very curt. It’s almost like he stopped liking me at that very moment. I really wasn’t trying to hurt his feelings on purpose. He’s a hardworking kid and I even offered him an internship because I believe that he can go really far. But he ended up rejecting my offer, quite rudely if I may add, and our conversations aren’t as warm as they were before this. I don’t have the best social cues so I’m afraid that I may have accidentally hurt his feelings. I want to talk to him more normally but don’t really know how. However, I did stress in that moment that I don’t actually hate his family members and was just talking about the technicality of the law. So AITA?

#im really starting to feel bad about it but i didnt actually say anything incorrect #they wouldve died anyway #but im just asking for other people’s pov because he seemed really hurt by my comments #asoiaf #stannis baratheon #jon snow #jon logs onto reddit and sees this post first thing and to make it worse everyone votes NTA ☹️ #valyrianscrolls

[la-pheacienne]

After the avalanche of bad takes inspired by got and hotd I would just like to say that the point of asoiaf is not "feudal power corrupts" and it is not "no one can save Westeros because feudalism bad". I would like to remind you what the function of feudalism in the story actually is, as stated by GRRM:

The medieval setting has been the traditional background for epic Fantasy, even before Tolkien, and there are good reasons for that tradition. The sword has a romance to it that pistols and cannon lack, a powerful symbolic value that touches us on some primal level. Also, the contrasts so apparent in the Middle Ages are very striking -- the ideal of chivalry existed cheek by jowl with the awful brutality of war, great castles loomed over miserable hovels, serfs and princes rode the same roads, and the colorful pageantry of tournaments rose out of a brown and grey world of dung, dirt, and plague. The dramatic possibilities are so rich. ( Source)

Now his notorious statement about Aragorn's tax policy (as much as I vehemently dislike that statement concerning Tolkien, it is still very insightful for GRRM's work) :

Ruling is hard. This was maybe my answer to Tolkien, whom, as much as I admire him, I do quibble with. Lord of the Rings had a very medieval philosophy: that if the king was a good man, the land would prosper. We look at real history and it’s not that simple. Tolkien can say that Aragorn became king and reigned for a hundred years, and he was wise and good. But Tolkien doesn’t ask the question: What was Aragorn’s tax policy? Did he maintain a standing army? What did he do in times of flood and famine? And what about all these orcs? By the end of the war, Sauron is gone but all of the orcs aren’t gone – they’re in the mountains. Did Aragorn pursue a policy of systematic genocide and kill them? Even the little baby orcs, in their little orc cradles? (Source)

Moral relativism right? Nihilism, pessimism, every symbol is doomed to fail, every effort for a better future is doomed to fail because the feudalist structure is inherently rotten. Should we even try then? What is the point in showing a ruler genuinely try? If every leader is doomed to fall victim to external opposing forces and/or corruption or other moral flaw, what is the point in trying? Let's see another statement by GRRM where he explains what asoiaf is actually about:

"In a very basic level winter is coming for all of us. I think that’s one of the things that art is concerned with: the awareness of our own mortality. “Valar morghulis” – “All men must die”. That shadow lies over our world and will until medical science gives us all immortality… but I don’t think it makes it necessarily a pessimistic world (...) the important thing is that love, compassion and empathy with other human beings is still possible. Laughter is still possible! Even laughter in the face of death… The struggle to make the world a better place… We have things like war, murder and rape… horrible things that still exist, but we don’t have to accept them, we can fight the good fight. The fight to eliminate those things.There is darkness in the world, but I don’t think we necessarily need to give way to despair". (Source)

The combination of these statements speaks for itself to someone who has read GRRM's work: the sword has a romance that pistols lack, the dramatic possibilities of the medieval setting are rich, ruling is hard, we can fight the good fight, we should not give way to despair. From that to "No one can save Westeros" the distance is huge and the endpoint is extremely deceptive and also deeply reactionary. If no one can save Westeros, then there is no point in trying to save Westeros. Characters that try to save Westeros, or Essos, or the Wildlings, or anything bigger than their own ass, are not morally superior to others that just benefit from the current status quo or passively tolerate/enable it, since no one can actually do shit and every effort is doomed to fail. Yet this goes directly against the point of asoiaf that can be summed up in the phrase: "ruling is hard". It is hard alright, but the thing is, someone has to do it. Whether that someone has been chosen by the people, or by the gods, or by destiny, or by circumstances, and regardless of the political system that allowed them to yield that power, the point is that someone has power ad hoc at any given time, and power equals responsibility. What do you do with it? How do you govern? How do you choose between two equally grievous alternatives? Who do you listen to? Who do you trust? How can you learn? What if everything you've been told was a lie? How do you move on from there? What if the promises you made contradict each other? What if you fail? How do you live with the guilt, how do you go on? How do you instigate a structural change? What if you try to do that and people die? What if you try to do that and it kills you? Was it worth it? How do you use the power you have? How do you fight the good fight? What makes a fight good?

"Feudalism bad" and "no one can save Westeros" are not just incredibly uninspired catchphrases, they are something much worse: a very nice way of avoiding to answer the real, hard, uncomfortable questions that are the driving force of asoiaf, and a very neat way to justify those who tolerate, enable or reinforce the status quo. Coincidentally, these questions remain the same in every single political system. They are universal. That's why this is a good, relevant, applicable story, that's why we give a fuck even if the context is foreign to us. So spare us the moralizing bullshit please, and thank you for coming to my Ted Talk.

#All of these questions are actually stated (and occasionally answered) almost verbatim in the text of certain POVs btw #and y'all would know about it if you gave a fuck about those POVs #but you don't #because your investment in asoiaf starts and ends in certain characters that have nothing to do with all of the above #but don't make it our problem! #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #aspa rambles #daenerys targaryen #jon snow

[15-lizards]

#asoiaf #asoiaf shitposting #this is just if you took every POV character and put them in a blender #could apply literally all of these to Dany and Jon

[rabbotspg]

POV: The Jon: Ohh! Saaam!

#thejon #steam powered giraffe #spg #Sam #meme #pov #sandwich #the jon spg

[babybells123]

do you think the jonsa reunion will be from jon or sansa’s pov? i’m literally always so stuck on which i would prefer

Hey anon :)

I’m completely the same . I’ve read fics from both of their POVS and they always hit, every time 😫.

I think in canon, there’ll be a Sansa chapter (or a few) where she begins her travel to the Wall (which is where I believe they’ll reunite, not much different from the show) This travel could also occur over the course of one chapter ; depends on George !!

Though I believe the actual reunion will be from Jon’s POV so it coincides with the “girl in grey on a dying horse” vision . Except Jon won’t expect that it’s Sansa, so it’ll be more profound from his POV in my opinion!

I believe the show’s version of the reunion is a perfect scene that’ll likely go identical in the books ; disbelief, desperation, but above all - love. There may be some reluctance (as we know , they were never close) but it’ll only make it all the more interesting!!

Thanks for the ask 🌹

#Jonsa #Jonsa reunion #Jon x Sansa #Jon’s POV

[braedenhales]

MY KASTLE PLAYLIST [ALL I ASK]

#kastleedit #kastle #frankcastledit #karenpageedit #frank castle #karen page #the punisher #jon bernthal #jonbernthaledit #deborah ann woll #deborahannwalledit #dont boo me im right #i stand by these and i will be proving my point #only doing the ones i did not do before #except for pov

[winterprince601]

considering how often they have to go chasing after him in canon, i just KNOW modern au snow patrol are tired. someone has to be on jon-watch every time they go clubbing because one sip of alcohol activates his stark wolf hindbrain and he's off. sam then spends the next two hours in escalating panic as dolorous edd lists every dangerous and terrible thing that could be happening to him. eventually grenn always finds him drunkenly trauma dumping on a complete stranger (this is how jon makes 90% of his friends) and drags him home by the scruff of his neck. there's a betting pool on when pyp will snap and buy one of those toddler leashes. pyp tried this once. jon gnawed through it.

#night falls and my watch begins #it will not end until jon is safely deposited back in the dorms #LET JON BE CHAOTIC #he's the biggest menace on the wall no question #pov you're just trying to carry out your life sentence #and this endearing yet brainless lordling won't stop launching himself at things wielding a sword #jon snow #samwell tarly #pyp #grenn #sam tarly #dolorous edd #the night's watch #snow patrol #the snow patrol #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #asoiaf shitpost #alcohol mention #clubbing mention #edd tollett

[fridayyy-13th]

💛 jmart? 👀

💛 reunion kiss / relief

coming right up!! it uh, got a bit long, i don't think nearly 900 words counts as a "snippet"...but i had a little idea and ran with it lol.

[ask game]

Martin woke up.

He was…not expecting to do that. Not when just moments ago the Panopticon had been crumbling around them, debris raining down as he’d clutched Jon’s dying body close, trying to shield him from further harm as he awaited his own end. “Somewhere else” had been Jon’s final, clumsy attempt at comfort, yeah; it hadn’t been anything serious. A nonsensical, end-of-the-rainbow wish in a universe that didn’t get those sorts of happy endings.

And yet.

He lay sprawled across the ground, now, in a place he did not know and did not care to understand. Jon was gone from his arms, and that was all that mattered.

The love of his life was dead by his hand. That mattered, too.

Maybe his body was nearby, so Martin would at least have something to bury.

Every part of his body protested as he rolled himself over, pushing up to hands and knees. There. Blurry through his fractured lenses, a Jon-shaped heap lay just a meter away.

No, wait. Not just lay. It—Jon’s body—Jon was shaking. Curled up in a fetal position, back to Martin, sobbing quietly.

Alive.

Crossing the distance between them, Martin hardly noticed the several dozen tapes scattered across the rough carpet, the would-be-familiar stacks full of unsorted files on either side. He was far too focused on the man before him.

“Jon,” he managed, afraid of what he would see if Jon turned to him. The knife, still buried to the hilt in his love’s chest? His face twisted in rage at the sight of the man who put it there? The final sliver of light fading from his eyes?

Jon froze. Martin heard his breath catch. He turned slowly, so slowly, like he was working through the same fears as Martin, until he faced him fully and their eyes met. His clothes were soaked with blood, but his eyes were bright and alert—wide as saucers in shock, before his expression crumpled once more. “Martin,” he sobbed, reaching for him.

Something in Martin’s own chest dislodged as he reached back, and soon they were both crying in earnest. He pulled Jon up to him, marveling at each shuddering breath, pushing aside the ragged tear in his shirt to inspect the bloody skin underneath.

A single, thin scar lay over Jon’s heart, looking as though he’d had it for years. Martin’s stomach churned—I did that. Oh God, I gave him that.

Jon’s hands cupped his jaw, tilting his head up and away from the mark. “Don’t,” he whispered, “I asked you to. ‘S okay.”

It’s not, Martin wanted to scream, I killed you. You should hate me. I want you to hate me. His throat was too choked to let the words out, though, and he instead sobbed harder. Damn you. I love you. Why did you go against the plan? Don’t ever do that again. Leave before I hurt you even more. Stay with me, please, please.

Jon, wonderful Jon, simply cried with him, a solid weight in his lap that gently thumbed away his tears until finally, they began to subside. His thoughts were still roiling through his chest, but—Jon was here. He was alive. The rest could all come later.

Jon tipped their foreheads together. Martin leaned into the touch with a sniff.

“I love you,” Jon croaked.

Martin let out one last sob, nodding fervently. Me too. I love you too.

Jon seemed to understand.

He still asked, before kissing him. A hesitant “May I?” that reminded Martin of their first days in the safehouse, of that same shy question before Jon kissed him for the first time.

“Please,” Martin said, and Jon’s dry, gentle lips met his own. He tasted of salt, ash, and blood, and all the things Martin was certain he’d never get again. Martin kissed back like Jon might shatter, gripping his jacket like he might disappear, and time slipped away as he embraced the man he thought he’d lost for good.

His world was nothing more than this kiss.

(Neither noticed the twin footfalls passing. An amicable conversation stuttered with a “Hold on, Martin, did you see—?" A sheaf of papers fluttering loose-leaf to the ground.)

Parting for need of air, Martin took in the gorgeous sight of Jon’s private little smile, like they’d just shared a secret, tempered though it was with the burden of how they’d hurt each other, of what they’d done.

Martin didn’t care about that right now. Now, he simply wound his arms around Jon’s shoulders and smiled in turn. “I love you, Jon,” he said softly.

Jon’s smile caught, and his expression shifted—Martin thought for a moment he’d said something wrong, but Jon simply turned his head, looking at something down the way. What had caught his eye, Martin wondered, turning as well to look at…oh.

Two figures stood at the end of the shelves, staring back at them in shock. One was a tall, bespectacled woman with curly hair tied back into a high bun.

The other, blushing a furious shade of red, was a three-years-younger copy of himself. Whatever papers he’d been holding in his slack hands now lay scattered across the floor.

Oh, Martin thought distantly, finally taking in his surroundings. I know where we are.

#also: holy shit y'all i wrote a tma fic not from jon's pov for once woahhh #ask game #beloved mutuals #magpie tag #friday's fics #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims