#doom legacy of suffering

[m39]

Doom WADs’ Roulette (2009): Legacy of Suffering

Hey, kids. Ya wanna play some Deum 3 on Doom 2?

…

Okay, it’s not really Doom 3, but… eh… that will do.

G5: Legacy of Suffering

Main author(s): Logan MTM

Release date: November 28th, 2009 (original release)

Version(s) played: updated

Required port compatibility: GZDoom

Levels: 10 (8 regular ones, 1 post-credits and something called LOSINV01)

Now here is something weird from Brazil – Legacy of Suffering, AKA another one of those WADs that released its first part, and nothing else after promising more. In the case of this stillborn WAD series, we also have mixing original Doom games with elements of Doom 3. That, and the shotgun with four barrels (I’ll get to that in the longer moment).

This project started as a combination of two old projects, one from 2006 by Logan himself and 2007’s Dark Base by Maurício Rocks. The plot was different from what we got, there was supposed to be more artwork and even some 3D stuff; so basically, typical stuff that was changed in production.

The plot, meanwhile, happening right after Doom 3, focuses on a super soldier bloke, who got arrested because he was going insane, is now on a moon base, and that base ends up attacked by demons.

Since we will be tackling one of those ZDoom WADs that likes to use a huge chunk of the source port’s features (you know, those smelly wankers), I can only hope that it won’t annoy me as much as many others before it. Let’s take a look.

Disclaimer: Review based on two playthroughs without secret hunting.

You know how Doom 3 was around 75% walking through some dark tech base with occasional trips outside and in hell? Well, in this WAD, it’s, without counting the post-credits map along with taking place on the Moon instead of Mars, always walking through some tech base crap, except it doesn’t feel as dark as the original release of Doom 3.

That doesn’t mean the base looks bad; it looks good, and it has some nice details here and there, I especially like the sixth act with a monorail. I just wish it had more map styles.

The music is… good, I guess? I recognized tracks from Painkiller (I need to replay that game one day) and the remix of Sign of Evil at Act VIII fits like a glove; I just wish it wasn’t that loud (turn down the music volume just in case). Also, and it’s a more personal problem, I listened to so many great MIDIs from the past and future WADs that listening to the music with actual instruments in Classic Doom mods feels off. It doesn’t boil my blood as much as MIDIs.

The design of the levels doesn’t really feel that complicated. Even though the automap doesn’t show the layout (yep, it’s one of those), it was still a far cry from some of the bigger moon-logic crap I’ve played. I still recommend using IDDT on the map (at least on your second playthrough); I don’t think there is a shame in doing that in cases like this.

Our protagonist has regenerating health, so if you want to, you can wait in the corner like it’s another Gears of War or Call of Duty to come back to full health (although it’s kind of slow). I don’t really mind it.

I feel like the ZDoom cutscenes might be the least obnoxious ones I have experienced in ZDoom WADs. Sure, there are moments where it takes control out of you, but these are rather short, there is no annoying, pretentious dialogue, and most of the time, these are rather dynamic; they actually show stuff. You can even outright skip some of the longer cutscenes. It’s like the cutscenes evolved into being passable at worst, and if they are worse, then they almost evolved into this state.

As I mentioned earlier, there is a secret map that you can play after the credits roll. It’s good, I guess? It kind of reminded me of the first trip to hell in Doom 3 (maybe it inspired that map).

Despite its name, Legacy of Suffering won’t really let you suffer with its difficulty. It is challenging, don’t get me wrong (mostly because projectiles are now faster -_-), but it’s not really a ball buster.

It gets interesting since the enemies have some new moves on their sleeves. Shotgunners and Chaingunners can now dash-attack after being hurt (luckily, the latter start firing much later), Pinkies barely feel pain and have a chance to ram at you (spectres don’t get these bonuses), Revenants fire two missiles instead of one (and can fire after throwing a punch), Barons have a chance to shoot three fireballs instead of one, Arachnotrons drop cells after they completely disappear (like all of the other demons), and Lost Souls have reduced health (and new, more annoying sound effects).

The WAD also adds three new enemies to the roster. One is the regular mob – Super Shotgunner, wielding its namesake and having more health than any other zombie (from what I’ve experienced).

The other two enemies are bosses; there is a super Hoovy that has an upgraded chaingun that occasionally fires rockets as well. The other is called Shadow Guardian, which is basically a digitalized Hell Knight from Doom 3, that can be only hurt by plasma, and fires a deadly AOE attack after getting hurt.

Typically for such WADs, you also get new weapons. I mentioned a shotgun with four barrels at the beginning of the review, and that’s what the cannon shotgun is. You can fire from one barrel or from all four at once with the alt-fire; it is also the only weapon that requires manual reloading.

The second new weapon is launcher chaingun (or what the fuck is it called), which you steal from the uber Hoovy. It’s basically a chaingun on steroids with a small rocket launcher attached to it.

Like the old enemies, the old weapons get some changes. You reload the super shotgun slightly faster; there is a small delay before the regular chaingun starts firing; you punch faster but weaker (you can also kick); you can swing your chainsaw now with the alt-fire; and the plasma gun now fires a blue BFG ball with the alt.

Legacy of Suffering is an interesting specimen. Out of all of the ZDoom WADs from the 2000s that sacrifice the fun and gameplay to focus more on the source port’s features, this one feels like it could age the least poorly.

Do I still recommend it? Kind of? It’s worth taking a look at it but not for more than one or two playthroughs at once.

The next WAD on the list is an interesting case since it requires Skulltag to play. I’ll see what I can do with it. If the first map breaks down, I’ll let you know and probably cancel the review of the next WAD.

We will see.

[felidacy]

Batfam meets dead boy detectives agency

Shenanigans of ghosts Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian set in an alternative universe where they never met as brothers, having died long before that, but become family all the same. While following around young, poor psychic Bruce Wayne and tormenting him into staying alive through finding purpose in solving cases and bringing justice.

Bruce Wayne nearly dies alongside his parents on that fateful day when they are shot when the Dead Boy Detectives were close by, solving the case of a victim from the Joker. Impulsively, because he saw himself in Bruce, Jason possessed the body of a young police detective by the name James Gordon and followed the instructions of Tim to save the boys life before the ambulance arrived. They were now at risk of being discovered for breaking a rule by the Lost & Found Departement, but none of the boys could find themselves to regret the decision to help Bruce.

Against their better judgement they stick around, using the excuse of solving cases to keep an eye on the boy. They see how he is consumed by grief and got into more and more reckless situations as if he was daring death to take him. Bruce was unable to live with the fact that he was spared and his parents weren't. Dick saved Bruce from falling to his death by appearing in front of the boy and screaming, neither prepared to the fact that Bruce can see ghosts. They think at first it has something to do with his near death experience, but Bruce then reveals that he is a psychic and because of that always seen as an outsider and bullied regardless of his wealthy status.

It was then decided by the Dead Boy Detectives that in order to remind Bruce that he still has purpose in living, they will show him how he can thrive through justice and that his gift isn't a curse. Some more reluctant than others bring him into the agency and together they go through many shenanigans and cases, all the while Bruce grows in age and talent alike under their tutelage. And before they know it they are a very unlikely and supernatural family.

And family always likes to help Bruce even when he becomes Batman and gets the title of greatest detective, takes in his own children and becomes a mentor. They love him forever, but that does not stop them from absolutely tormenting him as big brothers should.

In a bittersweet way it gets way less awkward to explain the strangeness of Bruce Wayne when his own wards go through near death experiences and finally meet their uncles.

~

~

What I think the boys would have died of and their circumstances as ghosts. While tempting to just give backstories from Edwin and Charles to two of them, I thought it would be more appropriate to give them their own version.

Dick was killed in 1936 at a concentration camp after having been separated from his family because of his Romani ancestry that made people (Nazis) believe him to be dirty. He died nameless, one of many, and with no grave for his body as he was left to carelessly rot away. His family lived, but they never knew what happened to him and were unable to follow through with their funeral rites to guide him to the afterlife. He found himself unable to move on however as he wished to bring justice to all those that were killed and merely labeled casualties in war like he had been.

It was Dick that started the Dead Boys Detectives Agency, hence the awful name as everyone proclaims with his terrible naming skills.

Damian was the youngest when killed and not too far back in time too, the 1970s. He had grown up under the restricting rules of his family back in Arabia Peninsula when he discovered plans of his grandfather that wanted to rip Damian of his own future plans. Still a young boy, he wanted none of that and after packing his things and stealing some money he ran away to the land of America where the TV always told him it was the land of the dreams. Anyone could become wealthy there. Damian wanted to show his grandfather that he knew better and would bring honour to their family, in his way. But Damian soon found himself without money, stranded and in a country where he barely understood the language. Then one day he was too desperate and despite his instincts telling him not to, he followed a man and trusted him. Later on he was killed by John Wayne Gacy. Damian only wished to stay around until the man was discovered and his family took his body back, but instead his family rejected him despite recognising the body.

Damian was a rage full and miserable ghost for a long time after his death and being discarded by his family as he couldn't understand why he was seen as dishonorable when he had been the victim, his family never once blaming the killer. As he wandered aimlessly and wished to bring misfortune on everyone, it was Jason that found him then when a witch wanted to use him for power and slowly got his trust after being rescued as the older boy taught him tricks to stay safe. Damian kind of just stuck around after that.

Tim despite not looking the part, is the oldest of the four, having been accused of witchcraft back in 1692 for simply wishing to heal people and yearning for more knowledge. His methods were unfit in their eyes and he was also seen as witch for looking too naturally feminine, blaming him to be putting up a false front and using bodyshifting to allure men. He was burned at the stake in Salem without ever having been listened to for once in his short life. This settled his resolve and he refused to move on, too stubborn to listen to death and instead find his own path.

In a strange way, Tim did not miss living as he soon realised. He had endless time now to learn whatever he desired. If it be science, languages, politics, autonomy or actually witchcraft now. Hah. He had so much to learn and he was delighted to just learn the laws and tricks in the world of the supernatural. This made him the expert in the Dead Boys Detectives Agency and he was called 'Old man' by the others for his behaviour and wisdom.

Jason just like all his brothers had been wronged. His death in 1950 was not out of the ordinary itself, a cop that shot him for the colour of his skin when he had done nothing wrong. It was an injustice and an action of racism, but in the grant scheme of things that just made him one of many and his family was able to mourn him for one thing. Unlike his brothers conflicted history. What truly wronged Jason however was when a careless necromancer came around and played with his body, just after he thought he was finally at peace and could move on. Instead he was yanked back into a body that was his but also not and he had no control over himself, left spiraling, as the body attacked others and gnawed at their skin. It sickened him and this time around he was glad when he was shot again. Murdered twice by the same man, one injustice one a saving grace. Jason from then on decided to never let others carelessly harm the innocent again.

Jason held some anger issues that he always attempted to hide away from others. Having grown up under heavy scrutiny of his father and the eyes of society that saw him as a dirty rat he had a lot of it bottled up inside. This makes him the most vicious ghost.

[jazforthesoul]

EPIC PRO TIP!!

IF YOU DO NOT WATCH ANY EPISODE OF JRWI RIPTIDE YOU CANNOT BE HURT !!! DO NOT !!!

[truuskn]

it's so interesting to see evil done unintentionally. when a really good person makes a mistake, a serious terrible mistake, and becomes the cause of someone else's grief and pain... it's moments like this that give you a glimpse of their true nature. give you a new perspective of them. the way they try to make amends with all their might, try to justify and explain themselves, the way they suffer, regret what they have done and dream of turning everything back... life journeys like this, especially solo journeys, that's what i love. and, oh, jazz had it rough

you know, after everything cybertronians have been through it's hard to stay that way. sympathetic. after centuries of violence, brutality and fear, after endless battles and losses it's truly hard to sincerely feel compassion or guilt, hard to feel sorry for anyone but yourself. you want to be selfish, you want to finally let go of the past and live the damn life, you want to forget all your sins and enjoy the well-deserved victory, the home, the precious peace for which you went through hell. but jazz can't do that

he's done a terrible thing. he killed a human. many in his place would just accept that "little inconvenience" and move on. again against the backdrop of everything that had happened to them this event really meant nothing. a few lines in the giant book of their history. a few heavy seconds in the flow of the thousands of years of their lives. nonsense. trifle. the death of a bad person who deserved it. a cruel decision of fate. an accident beyond their control. so many ways to justify themselves! but jazz can't do that. shame for what he has done haunts him. he tries to put it aside, tries to start over, but he keeps getting pulled back, to the heat of battle, to the darkness of his former life, by the hands of those closest to him and by his own efforts. it's this event that fundamentally changed something about him. changed the way he looks at the world and himself

he can't forgive himself. he can't forget. he wakes up every night with nightmares, reliving that day and hundreds of other days over and over again. why is he reacting this way? he became a bad man a long time ago. so much blood on his hands, so many murders, so many ruined fates at his mercy, but the bitter sharp shame still stubbornly follows him. he can't move on knowing what he and his people have doomed the earth to by involving it in their conflict, he can't move on knowing that in the eyes of the earthlings they are far from heroes, far from fighters against injustice. for humans there is no much difference between an autobot and a decepticon, they are all murderers, they are all destroyers of their home. if this is his legacy, if his struggles and sacrifices have led to this outcome, doesn't that mean he's been wrong all his life? was it all for nothing? what was even the point? is the only thing he's actually good at is destruction? it can't be true. it can't stay that way!

he wants to understand what he means to others, he wants to make a difference, he's really trying, but the scary truth is... nothing will change. no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, there's no going back. he'll remain a monster in their eyes and he'll remain a monster in his own eyes. they won't forgive him and neither will he forgive himself. he'll have to live with that. he accepts it eventually. it will never get any easier, but he will live through it

[yandere-wishes]

Currently obsessed with the Damian x stray writing and had a very angsty thought about it (not a request, not meaning any pressure just wanted to share)

Stray feels suffocated by his attention. Maybe one day she might want him back but it’s all too much. She fakes her death (as her vigilante persona) and Damian morns and rages and turns cold, all of that delicious stuff.

Only one day the Catfam/Selina end up in hot water and she has to come back. He freaks the hell out.

oooohhhh I really love this, there's something so progressively dark about it. About Making Damian suffer so deliciously until he finally snaps.

Damian's love for Stray/Catgirl is complicated or rather it's easy but Damian likes to make it complicated by tying it to fate and legacy. He practically sees reader as his destiny as an omen and a good luck charm, heavenly insurance of sorts.

But should his darling, his comfort be stripped from him.

Well, destiny will still play out, but it won't be as kind.

Damian's life, his legacy, will be marred in ebony and rage.

⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆🐾°⋆

The hands wrapped around your shoulders are suffocating. Same for the fingers currently squeezing your cheek, you angle your mouth right, trying to bite and gnaw at his flesh and bones. Damian just laughs, he still thinks the two of you are playing.

He always thinks you're playing. What can you expect from the little assassin boy whose first toy was a knife, who swung swords instead of playing catch. He loves the way your claws scratch at him, the tiny scars they leave. He likes to wrestle you along the harsh pavement, enjoys the punches he throws and receives. It's all just a game to him.

But you, you can't take it anymore, the sky itself is closing in. You can't breathe in his presence can't think when his arms are coiled like vines around your body.

The world is growing dark as his lips ghost across your lips...

Your mother notices your depression. The dark gloom that follows you across the rooms. The sharp snaps at your sisters, the endless screaming when someone gets too close.

She's already lost one daughter, she refuses to lose another.

Selina holds your funeral, pays for the coffin, and signs the invites.

She plays the role of grieving mother like an actress on the silver screen.

But despite the desperation in her action, her throat still hitches with fear when she sees the rage in the youngest Wayne's eyes.

She can't help but feel like she's doomed the world with her selfish little stunt.

In Star City you can breathe, see the sun as you walk across the dewy grass. There is hope here, sprinkled through the air.

You mind not the heroes that swing by. You even laugh at the stray arrows and masked family arguing on the rooftops.

In Star City, you can finally breathe...

Until the Gotham gloom creeps in once more.

He prowls the streets, cowl crown wrapped tightly around his head. Here he is vengeance he is law, Gotham bows at his feet.

He doesn't notice the family heirlooms shattered across the city streets,

The morals and legacy rotting away under the moon's mournful gaze.

Damian Wayne

Batman

The protector of Gotham.

And also it's jailer.

He doesn't have his father's mercy.

Doesn't carry his borthers' oaths.

He kills the monster that lurks between the shadows.

That fester in the darkness.

No crime goes unpunished.

There is no mercy for the wicked, no hope for rehabilitation.

There are only graves now.

His father would be disappointed...

Damian stalks towards the zoo,

He knows he's going to enjoy tonight's trifle.

Catwoman picks the lock on the new exhibit. She recoiled in disgust as her eyes scan the plaque by the cage.

*Lion cubs saved from the wild brought for restoration*

Lies she thinks bitterly. These little cubs were stolen, brought here from their homes across the sea. Imprisoned for the crule's amusement and the rich's greed. She sends her own kittens to rescue the lion cubs. But just as they go to make their escape. A dark figure descends from the sky, tearing through them and binding them.

Selina fights, but she's come to learn she is no match for the new bat. The vampire out for blood. He drags them back to the manor, once such a lively place now reeks of sorrow and mourning.

"This has nothing to do with crime and you know it! You know who's really guilty here. You just want an excuse to get rid of us. You still blame us, blame me for her death." Selina screams as the bat throws them into a dark chamber.

Damian says nothing he just locks the door and leaves.

After all the blood of the greatest detective still courses through his veins.

Your old suit feels too tight, cutting off your circulation. Still you jump from rooftop to rooftop vying for Wayne manner. You got the picture of your family tied up and starved, a few days ago. You hate how long it took you to gather the courage to return.

You shutter thinking of the image. Of the windowless cement room.

Your family may be infamous for breaking free.

But even a cat can't escape a cinderblock.

You crawl through the shadows. Sticking to the walls of the manner, the maze is endless, unrelenting. It refuses to be breached. The lights come on one by one as if catching a rat in a trap. You recoil at the blinding light when finally your eyes open once more you see Damian descending the stairs face painted in soft surprise, body covered in his father's suit.

"I knew you couldn't be dead." he's grown, face molded into a softer Bruce. But his rage still flickers relentlessly in his emerald eyes. Of couse he's finally cracked the case.

"Let them go" you beg tears cascading from your eyes "Please!".

"I see the civilian life has made you soft kitty. Not a difficult matter to resolve, I'm sure." You shake your head, stepping back trying to run away.

But the years have made him even stronger and Damian catches you before you can flee him again. His arms wrap around your waist, face buried in the crook of your neck, intoxicated by your scent.

He can't believe he's holding you once more. Your body is so solid within his grasp. He missed your sweet voice and even sweeter whimpers. He missed the erratic thump of your heart whenever he was near.

He'll never let you go, ever again.

Damian vows it on his father's grave.

He kisses your neck, your cheeks.

Finally reclaiming your lips.

You can't breathe...

[keferon]

Does Shockwave ever have conflicting thoughts about the legacy he’s left behind? Because on the one hand, it must be one of the main things (in addition to Orion) protecting his students and everything he tried to build for them. But on the other hand, given Shockwave believes he’s been cursed by Primus and doesn’t know exactly when that line was crossed — would he see leaving a legacy as a potential risk to anyone that might associate too closely with that legacy or follow in his footsteps as well?

Oh he has SO MANY conflicting thoughts and feelings. Because. It doesn’t even matter if he was right or wrong when he started the Academy, what matters is that Primus punished him for it. And punished really fucking hard. So he has to keep living and wondering if what he was doing actually helped those kids or doomed them to the same fate as his? There’s a new mech being a director of the Academy right. Are they gonna end up suffering just like he does? And Orion who literally shared the same beliefs and goals? Is he in real fucking danger now because he listened to Shockwave and trusted him?

[novaursa]

Legacy (the north and the south)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: homesick

- Next part: sisters

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril

The raven arrived early in the morning, its cries echoing across the stone corridors of Dragonstone. The castle was shrouded in mist, the waves crashing relentlessly against the cliffs below. You were sitting in your chambers, cradling Maelor in your arms while Damon played with wooden soldiers on the floor. The warmth of the fire contrasted with the chill that lingered outside, but the peace of the morning was soon interrupted by a knock on the heavy oak door.

A servant entered, carrying the sealed letter. "My lady," he said respectfully, offering the parchment.

You handed Maelor gently to his wet nurse and took the letter, the seal unmistakable—the direwolf of House Stark. Your heart quickened as you broke it open, your eyes scanning the words written in Jon’s unmistakable hand.

“From Jon?” Tywin’s voice came from the doorway, calm yet piercing. He entered the room, his keen green eyes narrowing as he studied your expression.

You nodded, rereading the letter before speaking. “Winterfell is his again. Sansa is safe.”

Tywin approached, standing beside you. “And?”

A shadow passed over your face as you continued. “Rickon… he’s dead. Killed by Ramsay Bolton.” Your voice caught, and you paused to compose yourself. “Jon says there is still no word of Bran or Arya.”

Tywin remained silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “The boy was a casualty of war. The North would have suffered greater losses had the Boltons not been stopped.”

You turned to him, your eyes sharp. “He wasn’t just a casualty. He was a child. My family.”

Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his tone softened slightly. “I do not diminish his loss. But this is the cost of reclaiming Winterfell.”

Your fingers tightened around the parchment as you continued reading. “Jon plans to come here. He wants to meet Damon and Maelor.” You paused, the next part of the letter weighing heavily on your heart. “And he intends to speak with you, Tywin.”

A flicker of something crossed his face—curiosity, perhaps, or annoyance. “To what end?”

You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Jon says he will demand justice for what has been done by your family to his.”

Tywin’s expression hardened, his features a mask of control. “Justice,” he said, the word laced with cold amusement. “The Starks have always had an idealistic view of the world.”

“Jon is no idealist,” you countered, your voice firm. “He’s been through too much to cling to fantasies. If he seeks justice, it’s because he believes it’s owed to him.”

Tywin exhaled slowly, his hands clasped behind his back as he turned to the window, gazing out at the misty sea. “He may demand what he wishes, but justice is not so easily defined. What does he expect? For me to undo the past?”

“He expects accountability,” you replied, your voice softer now. “He’s lost so much—almost his entire House. He blames you for what Boltons did and for the death of his father.”

Tywin turned back to you, his gaze piercing. “And do you?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You met his eyes, your heart torn between loyalty to your husband and the pain that lingered for your family. “I don’t know. Roose followed your orders for the Red Wedding, the rest of it was done by him alone,” you admitted quietly. “But Jon deserves to be heard.”

Tywin regarded you for a long moment before nodding once. “Very well. Let him come. I will hear what he has to say.”

You nodded, your shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thank you.”

Tywin’s gaze softened, and he stepped closer, his hand brushing against your cheek. “I understand what this means to you,” he said quietly. “But do not let sentiment cloud your judgment. The world is not built on fairness.”

You placed your hand over his, your heart heavy but grateful for his understanding. “I know.”

As the day stretched on, the letter weighed on your mind. You found yourself watching Damon and Maelor more closely, their innocent laughter a reminder of what was at stake. Tywin’s words lingered, but so did the promise of Jon’s arrival.

The North and the South would meet again, but this time, it would be in the halls of Dragonstone.

The war council convened in the Great Hall of Dragonstone. The dark stone walls, lit by flickering torches, seemed to absorb the heated conversations as lords and knights debated the many pressing issues facing the realm. At the head of the long table sat Tywin Lannister, his presence as commanding as ever. Beside him, you occupied a seat of equal prominence, your gaze steady as you listened intently to the discourse.

Maps and reports were spread across the table, but the topic dominating the room was not one of politics or armies—it was the juvenile dragon that had made its home in Dragonmont. The beast had eluded every attempt at capture, growing bolder and more dangerous with each passing week.

Tywin tapped his fingers against the polished wood of the table, silencing the room. “The creature cannot be ignored any longer,” he began, his voice cutting through the tension. “It is a liability, one that poses a threat not only to this castle but to our control of the realm.”

Ser Jaime Lannister, seated further down the table, leaned back in his chair, his golden hand resting on the edge of the table. “A liability that breathes fire,” he quipped, though his tone lacked his usual humor. “If we can’t trap it, how do you propose we deal with it?”

Varys, standing near the shadows as was his custom, interjected smoothly, his hands folded before him. “Perhaps the question isn’t how to deal with it, but rather how to use it.”

All eyes turned to the spymaster. Tywin’s gaze narrowed. “Explain.”

Varys stepped forward, his silken voice carrying easily across the room. “The dragon is young, yes, but it is still a dragon. A creature of power, a symbol of strength. Instead of attempting to subdue it through force, perhaps we should consider… nurturing it.”

The suggestion drew murmurs from the lords, some of them uneasy. Tywin raised a hand, silencing them once more. “Nurturing a creature that has already killed men? Do you expect it to be tamed?”

“Not by just anyone, my lord,” Varys replied, his eyes brilliant with calculated intrigue. “But there are two in this very castle who share its blood. Your sons, Damon and Maelor.”

The room fell silent, the weight of Varys’s words sinking in. You stiffened slightly, your gaze darting to Tywin. His expression remained unreadable, though his fingers stopped their rhythmic tapping.

“You propose I send my children into a lair with a creature that has killed grown men?” Tywin said coldly, his voice dangerously low.

Varys inclined his head. “Not immediately, of course. The creature is still young, impressionable. Dragons have always responded to those with Valyrian blood. The sooner a bond is forged, the greater the control. If one of your sons were to claim it, my lord, it would no longer be a liability—it would be an asset.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, though some lords exchanged uneasy glances. Tywin’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes searching your face. “What is your opinion on this?”

You hesitated, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on you. “I won’t deny that Varys has a point,” you said carefully. “But Damon is only three years old, and Maelor is barely out of the cradle. It’s too dangerous.”

“And yet your ancestors bonded with their dragons at a young age,” Varys pointed out gently, his gaze sliding to you. “Your blood allowed it. Why should your sons not have the same potential?”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line, his focus returning to Varys. “You suggest we gamble the lives of my heirs on the whims of a dragon.”

“I suggest you secure your house’s future,” Varys countered smoothly. “Two dragons are better than one, my lord. And with a Lannister’s hand on their reins, the realm will bend the knee without question.”

Jaime, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. “You’re assuming the dragon will accept either of them,” he said. “What happens if it doesn’t? If it sees them as prey instead of kin?”

Varys spread his hands in a gesture of feigned helplessness. “All things in life carry risk, Ser Jaime. But this is a calculated one.”

The room fell into a tense silence as Tywin considered the spymaster’s words. His mind weighed the potential benefits against the undeniable dangers. Finally, he turned to you once more. “You are the only one here who understands the bond between dragon and rider. If this course is pursued, it will fall to you to guide them. Can you do that?”

You took a deep breath, your heart heavy with the implications of what he was asking. “I can,” you said quietly, “but only when the time is right. Damon and Maelor are too young now. Forcing it would be a mistake.”

Tywin nodded once, his decision made. “Then we will wait. The dragon remains undisturbed for now. But preparations will be made. If the creature cannot be bonded to one of my sons, it will be dealt with.”

The lords murmured their agreement, the tension in the room easing slightly. Tywin dismissed the council with a curt wave of his hand, and the men began to file out. Varys lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable, before offering a slight bow and disappearing into the shadows.

When the room was empty save for Tywin and Jaime, the latter rose to his feet, a faint smirk on his lips. “A dragon bonded with the blood of Lannister. It’s a strange thought.”

Tywin glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Strange, perhaps. But necessary.”

Jaime shook his head, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Let’s just hope it doesn’t see Damon as dinner.”

Tywin said nothing, his gaze shifting to the door as if already contemplating the battles yet to come. You placed a hand on his arm, drawing his attention back to you.

“This isn’t just about the dragon, is it?” you asked softly.

“No,” Tywin admitted, his voice quieter now. “It’s about ensuring the legacy of this house—whatever the cost.”

The sea breeze swept across the battlements of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the promise of change. You stood beside Tywin atop the castle's walls, your eyes fixed on the horizon where ships emerged from the mist, their sails bearing the stark grey direwolf of House Stark. The sight filled you with a strange mixture of pride and apprehension.

“They’re here,” you said softly, the words almost lost to the wind.

Tywin’s gaze remained steady on the approaching fleet, his expression unreadable. “Punctual,” he remarked, his voice carrying its usual commanding tone. “As expected of the North.”

You turned to him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate Northern punctuality.”

“I appreciate men who understand the value of time,” Tywin replied, his eyes never leaving the approaching ships. “Your adopted Stark child appears to have that much sense, at least.”

Your gaze returned to the sea, the sight of the ships stirring memories of Jon—his determination, his sense of honor, his quiet strength. “Jon isn’t like most men,” you said, almost to yourself. “He’s been through so much, and yet he’s still standing.”

Tywin’s silence spoke volumes, his mind likely dissecting every possible outcome of Jon’s arrival. “The question is whether he’ll remain standing after this meeting,” he said finally. “The North has a tendency to act before thinking.”

You shot him a look, your amusement tinged with exasperation. “Jon isn’t Robb.”

“No, he isn’t,” Tywin agreed, though his tone carried a note of caution. “But he is still a Stark. And Starks are ruled by their emotions.”

“Perhaps,” you conceded. “But Jon’s emotions are tempered by experience. He’s seen things most men couldn’t imagine, let alone survive.”

Tywin’s gaze shifted to you briefly, his green eyes seeing through you. “You seem eager to defend him.”

“I’ve raised him,” you said simply, meeting his gaze without flinching. “And he’s been through enough betrayal for one lifetime.”

Tywin’s expression hardened slightly at your words, though he said nothing. Instead, his attention returned to the ships, which were now closer, their banners fluttering in the wind. The soldiers aboard could be seen moving about, their armor shining faintly in the sunlight.

“Cersei won’t like this,” you said after a moment, breaking the silence. “The idea of a Stark setting foot on Dragonstone—of all places—will drive her mad.”

Tywin’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Cersei’s opinions are of no consequence. She can seethe in King’s Landing while I ensure this house’s future.”

You folded your arms, leaning slightly against the stone battlement. “Still, she’ll see it as a betrayal. First me, now Jon. In her eyes, we’re all traitors.”

Tywin exhaled sharply, a sound that could have been amusement or irritation. “Cersei has always been blind to the larger picture. She clings to power with the desperation of a drowning woman, never realizing the waters are rising because of her own actions.”

You watched him closely, his words a rare glimpse into his thoughts about his daughter. “And you?” you asked softly. “How do you see this?”

“I see it as necessity,” Tywin replied, his tone measured. “The Boltons are finished, the North is once again Stark territory, and Jon Snow has proven himself capable. If an alliance with him strengthens our position, I’ll entertain it.”

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future. The waves crashed below, their sound a steady rhythm against the silence that stretched between you.

Finally, Tywin spoke again, his voice quieter this time. “Do you trust him?”

The question caught you off guard, though you didn’t hesitate in your answer. “I do.”

Tywin’s gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he turned back to the sea. “Then let us hope your trust is not misplaced.”

You followed his gaze, the ships now close enough to make out the direwolf emblems clearly. The sight filled you with a strange sense of both hope and foreboding.

The wind carried the salty spray of the sea across the rocky shore of Dragonstone as Jon Snow and his men disembarked from their boats. Clad in dark furs and armor befitting the harshness of the North, they moved with quiet purpose, their eyes scanning the formidable fortress looming above them. Davos Seaworth stood at Jon’s side, his steady presence a stark contrast to the tense expressions of the other Northern men.

At the head of the welcoming party stood Tywin Lannister and you, flanked by Jaime, Varys, and a host of household guards and attendants. The Lannister crimson and gold stood out prominently against the dark grey skies and the volcanic black stone of the island. Tywin’s eyes were fixed on Jon, assessing the young man with the cold precision he was known for.

As Jon and his men approached, you stepped forward, breaking protocol with a determined stride. Jon’s grey eyes widened slightly as you closed the distance, your pale hair catching the light of the overcast sun. Before he could say anything, you enveloped him in a warm embrace, your arms wrapping tightly around him.

“Jon,” you said softly, though your voice carried enough for everyone to hear. “It’s been too long again.”

Jon stiffened, clearly uncomfortable under the gaze of so many powerful men. “It has,” he replied awkwardly, his arms hesitantly returning the embrace. His gaze darted to Tywin, whose expression was as unyielding as stone.

Davos cleared his throat, stepping forward to save Jon from further discomfort. “May I present Jon Snow, King in the North,” he announced, his tone formal but respectful.

At this, Tywin’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line. Jaime’s healthy hand rested casually on his belt, his expression unreadable, while Varys watched with quiet curiosity.

You, however, seemed entirely unbothered by the title. Pulling back from the embrace, you took Jon’s face in your hands, your violet eyes scanning his features with a motherly intensity. “You’ve lost weight,” you said, your voice laced with concern. “And you’ve been fighting again. I can see it in your eyes.”

Jon’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he shifted on his feet. “I’ve had… responsibilities.”

“And you’re not taking care of yourself,” you replied firmly, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulder. “It’s just like when you were a boy. Always too serious.”

The Northern men behind Jon exchanged uneasy glances, unsure how to respond to the unexpected display. Even Davos looked slightly amused, though he wisely kept his expression neutral.

“Mother,” Jon said quietly, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “There are… people watching.”

You smiled warmly, unbothered by his discomfort. “Let them watch.”

Finally, you released him, your hand lingering briefly on his arm before you gestured for him to follow. “Come,” you said, turning back toward Tywin. “There’s someone you need to speak with.”

Jon’s gaze shifted to Tywin as he approached, the older man standing tall and unyielding as ever. Tywin’s piercing eyes locked onto Jon’s, his expression betraying nothing but a cold, calculating air.

“You must be Jon Snow,” Tywin said, his voice calm but edged with authority.

Jon nodded, his posture straightening under Tywin’s scrutiny. “I am.”

“You’ve come a long way,” Tywin remarked, his tone neither warm nor hostile. “And for a purpose, I presume.”

“I have,” Jon replied evenly, his gaze unwavering. “There’s much to discuss.”

Tywin studied him for a moment longer before nodding curtly. “Then let us not waste time.”

As Tywin turned and began walking toward the castle, Jaime fell into step beside him. Varys lingered near the back of the group, his watchful eyes taking in every detail.

You walked alongside Jon, your hand resting briefly on his arm as you leaned closer. “You handled that well,” you said softly, a faint smile playing on your lips.

Jon glanced at you, his expression softening slightly. “I’m not sure I did.”

“You did,” you assured him. “Tywin respects strength. Show him that, and he’ll listen.”

Jon nodded, though his shoulders remained tense. “And what about you? Will you listen?”

“I always have,” you replied, your voice gentle but firm. “And I always will.”

As the group ascended toward the fortress, the sound of the sea fading behind them, the weight of the impending discussions loomed heavy over everyone. But for now, Jon was here, and you were determined to stand by him, no matter what the future held. The North and the South were about to collide, and the world would never be the same.

The Painted Table in Dragonstone’s council chamber was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its intricate carvings depicting every mountain, valley, and river of Westeros. The torchlight cast light over the map, making the painted seas shimmer as though alive. It was around this table that warlords and kings had planned their conquests, and now, another pivotal moment was unfolding.

Jon Snow stood at the far end of the table, his posture straight and resolute. Beside him, Davos Seaworth hovered silently, his experienced eyes scanning the room. Across from them, Tywin Lannister sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and unreadable as ever. To his right, you sat with quiet grace. Jaime Lannister leaned casually against a pillar nearby casually like always, while Varys stood in the shadows, his hands clasped before him, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Jon’s eyes swept the room, taking in the power gathered before him. He drew a deep breath, his voice steady as he spoke. “I came here for justice.”

The room stilled, all eyes on him. Tywin’s gaze didn’t waver, though his fingers tapped idly on the edge of the table. “Justice,” he repeated, his tone carrying a faint edge of mockery. “A vague term, often misused. What form of justice do you seek, Snow?”

Jon’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground. “For the deaths of my family,” he said firmly. “For my father, who was betrayed and executed. For my brother, murdered at the Red Wedding. For my stepmother, who died defending him. House Lannister’s hands are soaked in Stark blood.”

The accusation hung heavy in the air. Jaime stiffened slightly but said nothing, his eyes flickering briefly to Tywin. You reached out and placed a hand on Tywin’s arm, a subtle gesture meant to steady the mounting anxiety.

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his expression as cold as steel. “Your grievances are well known,” he said coolly. “But war is not won by clean hands, nor by mercy. Your father, Eddard Stark, chose to defy the crown. Your brother, Robb Stark, declared himself King in the North and took up arms against the rightful king. The consequences of their actions were inevitable.”

Jon’s voice rose, a spark of anger flashing in his eyes. “The rightful king was a tyrant who murdered innocents. You chose to stand by him until it served you to betray him. Don’t speak to me of rightful kings, Lord Tywin.”

The room grew colder, the tension palpable. Tywin’s gaze narrowed, but his voice remained calm. “Mind your tone, boy. You stand here as a petitioner, not an equal.”

Before the tension could escalate further, you spoke, your voice gentle but firm. “Jon, this is not a battlefield. It’s a council chamber. Speak plainly, and let us find a path forward.”

Jon’s shoulders relaxed slightly, though his resolve didn’t waver. “Very well,” he said, his voice steady. “The North has bled enough for the South’s wars. We’ve fought for kings who’ve betrayed us, and we’ve been punished for our loyalty. I’ve come to demand two things: justice for my family and recognition of the North’s independence.”

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Jaime arched a brow, his expression one of faint amusement, while Varys’s smile widened ever so slightly.

Tywin’s lips thinned. “Independence,” he said slowly, as though tasting the word. “You seek to break the Seven Kingdoms apart.”

“The North is already apart,” Jon replied. “We’ve always been different—our customs, our gods, our way of life. The Iron Throne has brought us nothing but suffering. Let us govern ourselves, as we did before Aegon’s conquest.”

Tywin leaned forward slightly, his gaze piercing. “And what will you offer in return for this independence? Loyalty to a crown you no longer recognize? Trade agreements? Military aid? Or will the North retreat into its icy wasteland, leaving the rest of the realm to fend for itself?”

Jon met his gaze evenly. “The North will not retreat. We’ll fight for our survival and for the survival of the realm. But we won’t bow to a king—or a queen—who sees us as nothing more than a tool.”

You watched the exchange carefully, your heart torn between the two men. Jon’s words carried the weight of his father’s honor, but Tywin’s pragmatism was undeniable. Finally, you spoke again, your voice calm but resolute.

“Perhaps there’s a compromise to be found,” you said. “One that ensures the North’s safety and autonomy without severing it entirely from the realm.”

Tywin’s gaze flickered to you, his expression thoughtful. “Compromise is not my preferred method,” he said, though there was no malice in his tone. “But I am not blind to the value of the North.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, but he inclined his head slightly. “Then let’s find that compromise. But know this—I will not leave here without securing my family’s future. The North remembers, Lord Tywin.”

The room fell into silence once more, the weight of Jon’s words settling heavily over everyone. Tywin’s strategic mind was already turning over the possibilities, while you sat quietly, your heart heavy with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of a long and difficult road.

The Painted Table had seen the plans of conquerors and kings, but today, it bore witness to something far more uncertain—the hope for a future where the North and the South might find common ground, however fragile.

The day’s negotiations ended in stalemate, the members of the war council disbanded, each retreating to their respective quarters with heavy thoughts. No agreement had been reached between Tywin Lannister and Jon Snow, their views seemingly irreconcilable. Though composed, Jon’s frustration had been evident as he left the Painted Table, and Tywin’s silence spoke volumes about his unwillingness to compromise without gaining something in return.

As the sun set below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the Dragonstone courtyard, you sought out Jon. He was standing near the cliffs, gazing out at the crashing waves. His shoulders were stiff, his posture rigid as he appeared lost in thought. Beside him, Ghost sat vigilantly.

“Jon,” you called softly as you approached, one hand resting on Damon’s shoulder while the other cradled little Maelor against your chest. Damon walked beside you, his small feet padding softly on the cobblestones.

Jon turned at the sound of your voice, his brooding expression softening slightly as he saw you. His gaze flicked to the two children, his brow furrowing with curiosity.

“I thought you might like to meet your brothers,” you said warmly, gesturing toward the boys.

Jon’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but he quickly composed himself. “Brothers?”

You nodded, kneeling beside Damon to encourage him forward. “This is Damon,” you said, ruffling the boy’s silver-gold hair. “And this little one,” you added, lifting Maelor slightly, “is Maelor.”

Damon eyed Jon curiously, his eyes wide as he clutched a small wooden lion in his hands. Maelor gurgled softly, his tiny fists waving in the air.

Jon knelt to Damon’s level, offering a small, hesitant smile. “Hello, Damon,” he said gently. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Damon tilted his head, studying Jon for a moment before stepping closer. “You’re big,” he observed matter-of-factly, his voice innocent.

Jon chuckled softly, glancing up at you. “He’s observant.”

“He gets that from his father,” you replied with a faint smile.

Jon’s expression shifted at the mention of Tywin, though he quickly turned his attention back to Damon. “Do you like it here on Dragonstone?” he asked.

Damon nodded, his grip on his toy tightening. “It’s loud. The waves are loud. But I like Viserion. She’s big too.”

Jon’s brow arched in mild surprise. “You’ve seen her?”

“Seen her?” Damon echoed, his tone incredulous. “She’s my dragon!”

Jon glanced at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Your dragon, is she?”

You laughed softly, adjusting Maelor in your arms. “He’s not entirely wrong. She’s protective of him. And of Maelor.”

Jon’s gaze softened as he looked at Maelor, who was now babbling happily. “They’re… beautiful,” he said quietly. “Both of them.”

“Thank you,” you said, your voice tinged with emotion. “They’re the reason I fight, Jon. For their future. Just as you fight for yours.”

Jon’s expression grew somber, his dark eyes meeting yours. “Do you think Tywin understands that?”

“He does,” you said after a moment. “In his own way. But he’s also a man who doesn’t give without taking something in return. It’s how he’s survived this long.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “The North isn’t something to bargain with. It’s my home. My people.”

“And Tywin sees it as a key piece of the realm,” you replied gently. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no hope. These things take time, Jon. And you’ve already proven yourself stronger than most.”

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his dark curls. “It feels like I’m fighting against a mountain.”

“Mountains can be moved,” you said softly. “But it takes patience and persistence.”

Damon tugged on Jon’s sleeve, drawing his attention. “Do you have a wolf?” the boy asked, pointing to Ghost.

Jon smiled faintly, reaching out to scratch Ghost’s ears. “I do. His name is Ghost.”

Damon’s eyes widened. “Can I pet him?”

Jon hesitated, glancing at Ghost. The direwolf stared back, his gaze calm and steady. “He won’t hurt you,” Jon said finally. “Go ahead.”

Damon stepped forward cautiously, reaching out to pat Ghost’s thick white fur. The direwolf remained still, his ears flicking slightly as the boy’s small hand stroked his side. Damon’s face lit up with delight.

“See?” you said, your smile returning. “Even Ghost knows you’re family.”

Jon chuckled softly, standing and watching as Damon continued to pet the wolf. 

You and Jon Snow continue to stand on the edge of the courtyard, watching as Damon eagerly followed Ghost, his small feet pattering on the cobblestones as he giggled with delight.

Jon’s expression remained thoughtful, his eyes fixed on the horizon. “Do you truly think he’ll listen?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking the silence. “After all this—will Tywin Lannister agree to anything?”

You sighed, folding your arms as the weight of the question pressed on you. “Tywin is… complicated,” you admitted, your gaze shifting to the keep where the man in question likely sat in calculated thought. “He doesn’t respond to emotion or appeals to honor. He needs something tangible, something he can’t deny. Proof.”

Jon frowned, his brow furrowing. “Proof of what?”

“That the North’s independence won’t destabilize the realm,” you replied. “That the sacrifices he’s made to secure the Iron Throne’s dominance won’t unravel. Tywin’s a man who weighs everything in terms of power and legacy.”

Jon’s jaw tightened, his frustration evident. “How do you prove something like that? Winter is coming, the Long Night is coming—and if we’re not prepared, there won’t be a realm left to fight over.”

You turned to him, your expression softening. “I’ve tried to make him see that. I’ve told him about the things I’ve seen, the threats that are coming. But Tywin doesn’t believe in visions or warnings. He believes in what he can see and touch.”

Jon exhaled slowly, his hand running through his dark curls. “Then we’re already at a disadvantage. By the time he sees what’s coming, it’ll be too late.”

You placed a comforting hand on his arm, your voice firm but gentle. “Then we’ll find another way to prepare. Tywin may be slow to believe, but he’s not a fool. If he sees the North as an ally in what’s to come, he’ll act.”

Jon turned to you, his gaze searching. “And do you believe he’ll act in time?”

You hesitated, the weight of your own doubts pressing heavily on you. “I hope so,” you said finally. “For all our sakes.”

Damon’s laughter drew your attention, and you smiled faintly as the boy ran toward Jon, clutching a small stick in his hands. He held it out triumphantly, his violet eyes gleaming with excitement. “Jon! Look! I found a sword!”

Jon crouched down, taking the stick from Damon and examining it with exaggerated seriousness. “A fine weapon,” he said with a faint smile. “You’ll make a fierce warrior one day.”

Damon beamed, clearly pleased with the praise. “Can you teach me?”

“Damon,” you interrupted gently, your tone light but firm. “Jon has more important things to do than play swords with you.”

Damon’s face fell slightly, but he turned back to Jon with hopeful eyes. “Will you?”

Jon hesitated, glancing at you before returning his gaze to Damon. “Maybe later,” he said, his voice kind. “But for now, I need to talk to your mother.”

Damon nodded solemnly, though his excitement quickly returned as he turned back to Ghost, who was lying nearby with an air of patient tolerance. The boy reached out to pet the direwolf, his small hands running through the thick white fur.

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “You’ve made an impression on him,” you said to Jon. “Don’t be surprised if he follows you all over the castle now.”

Jon smiled faintly, his eyes softening as he watched Damon. “He reminds me of Robb when he was little,” he said quietly. “Full of energy, always curious.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the mention of your late nephew. “He’s a lot like Robb,” you agreed. “And like you. Stubborn, determined, always asking questions.”

Jon’s gaze returned to you, his expression serious once more. “I’ll stay,” he said firmly. “I won’t leave until Tywin hears me out—until the North has what it needs. I owe it to my family, to the people who died for it.”

You reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “And I’ll stand by you, Jon. Whatever happens, you’re not alone in this.”

The two of you stood there for a moment, the weight of the coming battles heavy on your shoulders. Behind you, Damon’s laughter echoed through the courtyard as Ghost licked his face, the innocence of childhood a brief reprieve from the storm that loomed on the horizon. The North and the South were converging, and the future of the realm hung in the balance.

[ladyofchroyane]

lysa and lyanna are, in a sense, two sides of the same coin—both victims of their father’s ambitions (and their society) who share some very important parallels: they dared to get pregnant out of wedlock. they dared to want their bastard child. they dared to (try to) pick the man they’d share their lives and bodies with.

they committed the grave and oh so terrible offense of being active agents in their own lives. and for that, they were punished. women are commodities in westeros—their value resting in their marriageability, and their marketability for marriage depends on a few important factors: their virginity, their beauty, their status, and their fertility.

so a highborn woman having a bastard in this world is a massive f u. it disrupts an entire system dependent on women’s submission and forced participation where men benefit from their oppression and the idea that women exist to secure alliances through their bodies. it shakes a patriarchy that relies on control—control of bloodlines, inheritance, and legacy.

the tragedy of lysa and lyanna is that they were always doomed by the narrative—they were part of the generation that couldn’t overcome their rotting and oppressive society. theirs was the generation of the false spring, not the true one—their fates are ones the next generation is meant to overcome.

but what truly interests me is the way lysa and lyanna contrast.

both characters belong to the bael/stark maiden archetype. lyanna and rhaegar fit this mold almost perfectly. but lysa and petyr are a failed, mismatched version. petyr wanted catelyn (who became lady stark), but ended up with her sister instead. lysa wanted petyr, a bael-ISH figure, but he never loved her.

their failed reiteration of the archetypal relationship was solidified by these facts: petyr thought he’d taken catelyn’s maidenhead, not lysa’s. their first time wasn’t even consensual. and their child was killed in the womb. it was no romance—it was never real the way lysa wished for it to be.

and yet, the most significant contrast between lyanna and lysa lies in their relationship with their fathers.

lysa trusted her father. she told him about her pregnancy, hoping it would mean she could marry petyr. i doubt she ever imagined he would harm her, but that’s exactly what hoster tully did—he gave her moon tea to abort the child, to preserve her value, promising her trueborn children. then he married her off to jon arryn—a man even older than hoster himself—who married lysa for duty, for the swords of house tully to win the rebellion for his boys (ned and robert), and because he needed a fertile wife to get children on. lysa had made a grave mistake by trusting her father, her patriarch.

lyanna, on the other hand, clearly understood that her father would never prioritize her happiness over what he could gain by marrying her off. her clear lack of trust in the men of her family is paramount to understanding why she escaped.

but lysa stayed, and went from her father’s hands into jon arryn’s. lysa married for politics and suffered for it, losing child after child. so when jon arryn tried to take her last child from her, she did what was once done to her: she poisoned him. lysa reenacted the violence of her past to protect her son.

lyanna ran, and later died giving birth to her son. it was a gendered death, but it was also her choice. love didn’t save her, but duty wouldn’t have either. and at least she died in the tower of joy, surrounded by winter roses, making ned finally see, forcing him to not ignore her wishes, forcing him to promise her... in the end, she still had to rely on another man—on the new stark patriarch—but this time, she was heard. basically, she got lucky here.

the themes explored through the bael/stark maiden archetypal relationship are about agency, loss, and how the westerosi patriarchy twists the relationship between fathers and daughters—a mesh of love and objectification as this is a system that demeans women to a life of commodity.

lysa and lyanna’s stories are having a conversation about the violence of the patriarchy and the risks it poses to women if they trust or defy it. these two female characters are reminders of what happens to women who dare to want, and their ends are ones the current female protagonists are meant to avoid and overcome—to prevail where lyanna and lysa lost.

if lyanna’s defiant choice to run helped spark robert’s rebellion, then lysa’s trauma fueled actions helped spark the war of the five kings (to be clear: i don’t think either of them actually caused these wars). i’d say the critical focus of the narrative is on the world that made lyanna and lysa’s choices fatal and catastrophic in the first place. and the fates of these two female characters were direct consequences of the commodifying of women.

[notdefendingtaylor]

i find it so funny when swifties go "taylor is not a reader :((" like no shit sherlock- you're telling me the woman who called herself "a scarlet letter", talked about romeo and juliet like they are a kind of love that is to be idealised, unironically calls herself a tortured poet etc etc is not a reader? groundbreaking

her lit references are so embarrassingly surface level:

the best of times, the worst of crimes - shallow Dickens reference that really undercuts the ACTUAL nobility of the hero in that book sacrificing his life for the woman he loves so she can be with someone else. humiliating Tom Hiddleston hardly stands up to that standard.

feeling so gatsby for that whole year - gatsby was a notoriously deeply unfulfilled character, so using it about herself in a positive way seems odd

so it goes... - using a Slaughterhouse Five quote about death in a love ode to Joe is sure something

let's not even talk about her Greek mythology references ("Cassandra" is just another way for her to call herself a genius Doomed by the Narrative instead of her own actions) or the appalling invocation-by-association of Virginia Woolf. Woolf was both sapphic and married to a deeply devoted male partner. She co-founded a publishing company with her husband and together they cultivated a literary community with an enduring legacy. She suffered from bipolar disorder. Virginia was NOT just sad about a situationship.

[divine-motion]

the thing about Handler Walter (his full christian name) is that he's a really horrible guy. he's a guy who's decided that he needs to be an extremely cold, pragmatic, paranoid man willing to use anyone and anything to "right the wrongs of the past" (which is to burn it all down and commit genocide, even if he doesn't know that Coral is sentient that is still what he's doing, plus i imagine every Rubiconian dies too in the Fires ending or are at the very least heading towards a slow death of starvation and such)

but

he's also really sentimental, something he's tried really hard to bury to be the man he feels he needs to be in order to fulfill the legacy passed onto him and Carla. this is why he ends up caring a lot about C4-621 aka Raven (aka G13 aka... the list goes on) and probably all his previous hounds too. he doesn't want to do what he's done to them - using them as slave soldiers, attack dogs to throw into the meat grinder as necessary sacrifices even though he himself is at least capable as a pilot. he lets 617, 618, 619, 620 and who knows how many others get killed because he thinks it's better that they die than that he dies before he can finish the mission. this then likely changes with 621 as he determines that they have a better shot at finishing the mission than he ever did and makes sure that they escape rather than him (also maybe pragmatically thinking "if Arquebus re-educates 621 then everyone loses forever" bc he has at this point discovered that he pulled god's greatest killing machine out from the bottom of the bargain bin) in addition, while i think him wanting to get 621 Raven to "buy their life back" and "undo the surgery, become 'normal' again" is a genuine desire for them to attain some happiness or so, i think it is also, mainly, a way for him to feel better about what he's done to them. a way to wash the sins of his father from his hands - sure, the blood of every other hound is on his hands, and there are still plenty of old gens suffering similar fates to 621, being treated like dogs and machines that can just be switched on or off whenever their Handlers want to, but at least this one made it out, at least this one could escape the Coral

and yet. asking them to burn Rubicon. is dooming them. history knows them as the monster who burned the stars from then on. there is no peace for a hound that chooses to carry on his legacy that he imparts to them.

sure, Walter is kind of, textually, Raven's dad. and he's kind of a bad dad. well-meaning and caring in his own gruff way, but still not great. i think he puts it himself best in the post-credits message, where he says "I'm sorry... and I'm grateful." he knows what a burden it is. and despite the fact that he gives Raven a lot of choices in what they do, it doesn't really change that Raven never got to choose to even go to Rubicon, the legacy is still something thrust onto them with little say in the matter. they were switched off by the cerebral Coral control device when they were being transported to Rubicon, and Walter holds the power over them completely since he decides when or even if Raven gets to be awake and about. i think it is very telling that Raven can and will take jobs that are specifically behind Walter's back, and that it's only once Walter's gone that they dare to go against him directly (or when offered protection by ALLMIND, who proves themself to be able to circumvent Walter's watchful eye).

that's not even to say that i think that 621 Raven hates Walter or anything! the fact that in the liberator ending, after he puts the gun down with the "you found a friend" line, Raven is backing away at first, keeping their eye on Walter as long as they can before turning to escape the Xylem being pulled down by Rubicon's gravity, all that i think means that they do care. the emotional core of that ending hinges on the fact they don't want to fight Walter. it's like how you kind of inevitably love your parents even if you know how they've mistreated you (not saying this is universal but it's what i know from personal experience and from a lot of friends i have that have been in similar situations to me).

but anyways. the point is. i really like walter. he kind of sucks! and i think we should explore the side of Raven that isn't slavishly loyal to him, because they very obviously aren't, or else they wouldn't be so comfortable repeatedly going behind his back. Fires ending is an exception tho since, as i've pointed out in another post, the one where you actively choose to remain nothing more than Walter's faithful hound

[oltammefru]

HG loves hiding things in trailers that are only revealed years later and they pull another one with Episode 14, specifically with the Episode 8 trailer.

The text in it is framed as a conversation between Theresa and Amiya that makes the most sense specifically in the context of Ep14:

"Amiya, when heroes die, for a lot of them it's not unlike a landslide. Those who stand to benefit from their fall, or their legacy, are either corrupt, or doomed. Amiya, I don't believe in the superficial. The heart beats despicably within its lofty casing. An unsolved problem hides beneath the clumsy lies. Amiya, we are fated to lose so much. All we have suffered and all of our traumas tear us apart, and these wounds will never heal. Amiya, the protectors must also be the attackers. What we gain, we take from others. Creatures tend to avoid harm. Life is selfish and uncaring. Amiya, I believe these trials and tribulations, this boredom and frustration, will never end. These people have nowhere to go. All we do, we do in vain. Amiya, to change a man is to make him believe. To make him believe is to destroy his faith. Nothing can save such a lost soul. And yet, Amiya, everything I have said to you… You may yet be able to overcome it all. You can predict, you can prepare, you can endure, and you can overcome misfortune. Amiya, there should be no such thing as "fate."

Both the "the protectors must also be the attackers" line and the "Amiya, there should be no such thing as "fate"" line are direct quotes from Ep14 (up to slight differences in translation).

In particular, the part of "All we do, we do in vain. Amiya, to change a man is to make him believe. To make him believe is to destroy his faith. Nothing can save such a lost soul. And yet, Amiya, everything I have said to you... You may yet be able to overcome it all. You can predict, you can prepare, you can endure, and you can overcome misfortune." makes me feel so so bad for Theresa, especially since she is pretty clearly talking about herself here.

She's suffered so, so much, being brought back from the dead and experiencing for herself how terrible and agonizing the existence after death for the Sarkaz is. Becoming resolute that she must do what she can to free the Sarkaz from the Originium, even if it means trampling on her own ideals. Because she believes she is a failure who gave into her despair, a victim of fate, the thing that must destroyed to build a ladder, and in the end, it is Amiya who will overcome her.

[hailturinturambar]

The Seduction of Power: Sauron and Celebrimbor's relationship

This analysis is not thought of in a romantic or human way. But it follows the patterns of elven and more powerful creatures who have feelings like us, but guided by greed and power.

As in my previous analysis, to understand the full extent of the relationship between Sauron and Celebrimbor, we must return to the Beginning of Days, the First Age. Our story begins in Valinor.

When Eru's eldest sons, the Firstborn, awoke, the Valar assembled a company to lead the Elves to safety in Valinor. Many were lost on the journey, and many went on to live among the gods.

And the Valar loved the Elves dearly, and the Elves loved them. When the Valar brought war to Melkor and overcame him, he was taken captive and the Elves lived in peace. For nine ages Melkor was under the dominion of Mandos, and the Elves knew peace.

As the ages passed, Melkor's imprisonment ended and the Valar fulfilled their promise. Melkor asked his brothers for forgiveness and humbled himself, promising to heal the evil he had caused and to live in peace with the elves and gods. But in his dark heart, Melkor envied the elves, who were the cause of his capture.

However, not all the Elves trusted Melkor's words. And the Teleri, most beloved by Ulmo, trusted the Valar and turned their backs on Melkor. Despite this, not all were against Melkor. Especially the Noldor.

In this age, Finwë was king of the Noldor and loved his eldest son deeply. Fëanor was a powerful Noldor prince, rich in knowledge and power. A great smith and master craftsman, he forged the Silmarils, and Melkor desired them. And these same jewels would doom countless Elves and Men to their doom. And even Celebrimbor would see his ruin at their hand.

Melkor poisoned Fëanor with his lies and greed, and the Elves turned against the Valar. Departing Valinor with the ships of his murdered kin, Fëanor took his children and followers with him to Middle-earth. And much sorrow came from his choice.

Fëanor had seven sons, seven sons who swore never to rest until they had obtained their jewels again and destroyed Melkor. Curufin, his fifth son, had a son named Celebrimbor.

Elrdon calls Celebrimbor the Greatest Elven Smith. But Celebrimbor is not just that. According to the accounts in the book, Celebrimbor is a handsome Noldor prince, who fought in Gondolin, who fought strongly against Morgoth in countless battles and was present in the War of Wrath.

The weight of his grandfather's legacy still weighed heavily on his shoulders, no matter how powerful and learned he was. Fëanor's legacy would always cast a shadow over Celebrimbor.

It's hard to draw a correct parallel between Celebrimbor's story in the series and the books. But I do wonder about Celebrimbor's relationship with his father, Curufin. Celegorm and Curufin in the tale of Beren and Lúthien, well, they didn't seem very friendly.

And this makes me think that perhaps Curufin was not an extremely loving father, although Fëanor seemed to be attached to his children and to have loved them, despite everything.

When Celebrimbor talks about "true creation requires sacrifice", did he think about how the Silmarils cost his family? How the jewels and the oath destroyed everything good in them and condemned them to eternal suffering?

Elrond's comment about the beauty and destruction of the jewels brings out Celebrimbor's insecurity. There again is the shadow of his grandfather over him. He does not trust his creation, believing that it will never be on the level of his predecessor.

The parallel between Elrond and Celebrimbor is very interesting. When Celebrimbor talks about Elrond's father and how their destinies were intertwined. Sons of powerful men who were present in their legacy. And continue to dictate how their lives should be, always determined to make those who left them proud.

Desperate to save Middle-earth, Celebrimbor and Gil-galad hide their true intentions from Elrond towards the people of Khazad-dûm. Elrond had his trust betrayed and unknowingly lied to his great friend. For me, this is the first sign that Celebrimbor would do anything for power.

Could this gaze, blinded by the value and power of Mithril and its composition, the way it could save the elves, be a foreshadowing of his greed for the creation of the Rings of Power?

Middle-earth is made up of many points of no return. Durin III's choice not to aid the Elves in their struggle for survival, and Halbrand's arrival in Eregion.

It is now that Celebrimbor's story changes forever. He meets this man, this mortal, who fought alongside Galadriel and nearly died at the hands of the Orcs. Halbrand's vulnerability and purity is Sauron's first deception.

When Halbrand asks if Galadriel is there, in the forge, I don't believe he was genuinely looking for her. After all, why would she be there? He knew whose kingdom it was. It's all part of the illusion.

Celebrimbor beams when Halbrand speaks of "The Celebrimbor." This inflames Celebrimbor's ego. Yes, the elves know of his legacy and the legacy of his family. But for a mere mortal to meet him?

It is a treat, no doubt. He was recognized for his craft, not his grandfather's. And Halbrand speaks of his master who taught him his craft and spoke so much of Celebrimbor. Of course Morgoth would speak of Fëanor grandson!

Halbrand appears humble and ashamed of his lack of knowledge before Celebrimbor. When Halbrand talks about the ways to combine metal and jewelry, Celebrimbor is enchanted by his knowledge. Halbrand becomes indispensable at that moment.

How did a mere mortal clear up an elf's doubts? He must surely be important.

"Call it a gift."

With these simple words Sauron's deception was laid and he knew that he had tricked Celebrimbor. Sauron's seduction is there, when Galadriel, Elrond and Celebrimbor talk about the salvation of the elves with Gil-galad, we see the beginning of the poison in Sauron's words.

A crown? Gil-galad is too pure to consider carrying such an artifact of power without suspecting its corruption. But Celebrimbor looks at him madly, intoxicated by all the power they could achieve. And it is his words that alert Galadriel. A power not of the flesh, but over flesh. Words spoken by Adar, but which he learned from Sauron.

And from whom else could Celebrimbor have heard those words? He had been so close to Halbrand alone lately. And his presence had overwhelmed him. The gentle, caring elf was frantic and agitated, raising his voice and nearly losing his temper.

The chain behind Celebrimbor? That unusual shadow on the ground? It is no coincidence, it cannot be. What if this was the beginning of the bonds Sauron was binding him with? The beginning of his corruption and ruin.

If Galadriel suspected Celebrimbor's words, why didn't she stop him? Why didn't she warn the others? Because, like Celebrimbor, she was desperate to save the Elves and remain in Middle-earth.

And I believe that deep down, she was in denial. She had hunted the terrible and wicked evil Sauron for centuries, how could this human be him? Galadriel trusted Halbrand, enjoyed his company, she could not prevent the forging of the rings on suspicion. And her denial was decisive for Sauron's victory.

Sauron takes advantage of this. He tortures Galadriel, claiming that she helped him and that she can never escape this. No matter what happens, Galadriel's intentions were never evil.

And for this she blames herself, for deep down, she is good. And now Halbrand/Sauron has escaped. The Rings of Power are ready and she asks Celebrimbor to never accept the return of the mortal king.

But why? She never explained, so it was obvious that Celebrimbor could not keep his promise.

Then we have a decisive event. Celebrimbor is inaugurating a new forge, eager for answers from the Three Elven Rings. And that's when his new hope arrives on a white horse. He came to propose a deal, they say. But what could he offer?

We can then glimpse his new deception. The suffering mortal king has returned begging for help, but Celebrimbor refuses to receive him. Sauron then tries to seduce Mirdania. Does she want him to leave? Well, if she doesn't want him to, he won't. So he lets her notice his injuries, as he suffered at the hands of the Orcs.

Unconsciously, like Galadriel, Mirdania takes pity on Halbrand. She takes his side, saying that he looks hurt. That the night is cold. However, Celebrimbor tries to keep his promise; he must be faithful to Galadriel. But Mirdania is softening his heart.

Sauron is the Great Deceiver. He knows the deepest desires of the lustful heart. And he knows what Celebrimbor is desperate to know. Have his Rings of Power worked? Galadriel has kept Celebrimbor in the dark, but Halbrand is there to tell him of the progress.

If the Rings of Power saved the Elves, would they be able to cure all the ills of Middle-earth? Who knows. But Sauron uses these thoughts to convince Celebrimbor. But how could he know of the Dwarves' suffering? That's when he puts an end to the mystery.

Sauron is being truthful. He is not Halbrand, a king, or a mortal. Sauron can be truthful when he wants to be. But his truth is always tainted by his lies and his own tricks.

The breaking point has come. Sauron lays bare Celebrimbor's greatest desire. To be recognized, to be revered. To be remembered as The Lord of the Rings. To escape his grandfather's shadow once and for all. Whether it's Sauron's ethereal appearance, or his manipulative words, the fact is that Celebrimbor wants what he's offering so badly that he ignores his fears.

And Annatar is humble. He is powerful, but he does not seek reverence, or thanks. He is an emissary of the Valar, and he only wishes to share his knowledge with Celebrimbor.

"Annatar. A sharer of gifts."

When he heard these words, did Celebrimbor remember Halbrand's words? Was that all it took to earn his trust?

Celebrimbor accepts Annatar's advice and now they need to help the Dwarves. Celebrimbor is a good person, he is kind and described in the book as a great friend of the Dwarves. And he says this to Durin IV. They helped them before, now, it is time for the Elves to help.

Sauron knows that Gil-galad has sent a messenger in his name. A messenger who would thwart his plans to forge the rings.

Celebrimbor is isolated from the people of Lindon, Galadriel and Elrond are far away. He has Celebrimbor in his hands. The Dwarves do not trust him at first, and why would they? Where did this emissary of the Valar come from?

But Sauron is a clever liar. The Dwarves are suffering and they have no choice but to rely on the Elves to survive. And Sauron must appeal to Celebrimbor's pride. Who does Gil-galad think he is to stop the forging of new rings? Who, indeed? Perhaps the King of all the Elves? Celebrimbor is too blinded by power to reflect.

Sauron, however, is greedy. Rings for the Dwarves are not enough. He always wants more. More power. More servants. If he is to heal Middle-earth, he needs everyone under his control. So he pretends, and talks about how frustrated he is about the suffering of men. How they deserve rings to protect themselves.

It is madness and Celebrimbor knows it. Men are fragile and easily corrupted. Many have followed Morgoth without any effort. Sauron reminds him of all the great men who have ever lived, but it is not enough to convince the elf. Like a child, Sauron refuses to accept no and awakens Celebrimbor's greatest fear. Annatar will make the rings without him, he is no longer needed.

Sauron’s manipulation is nearly complete. Without Celebrimbor’s help, Mirdania see the terrible evil that lies among them, the evil hidden all along. Annatar calms her, gaining an ally to his side. She believes Annatar, and so believes that men deserve their rings.

Durin IV adds to Celebrimbor’s concerns, but he tries not to see them. Power weighs heavily on his shoulders, and accepting the truth is too difficult. Annatar deceives him, claiming that it is the lies of the making that are affecting the rings.

Celebrimbor desperately needs to make amends for his mistake with the Dwarves. He forces himself to accept the creation of new rings, but something seems wrong. While Annatar is kind and caring to the Elves, Celebrimbor is slowly losing his way. His actions surprise even himself.

If things aren't bad enough, they can always get worse, right?

The rings don't work, something is wrong. Who knows, because deep down, Celebrimbor knew that those rings couldn't be created? A part of him could have been suspicious of that creation.

But he's losing his mind, he's angry and unstable. And Celebrimbor has forgotten Mirdania's name, his protégé. How could he do that? I would say, in my humble opinion, that Sauron had his claws deep inside him, subtly controlling his decisions, so that he would only be able to think about the rings and do nothing until he completed the nine.

As the worthy manipulator, Sauron is increasingly isolating his victim. Preventing Celebrimbor from leaving the forge. Most importantly, Sauron is comforting Celebrimbor, giving him support and standing by his side. Who would suspect an emissary of the Valar?

However, Adar is getting in the way of Sauron's plans. The rings cannot be forged if Eregion falls. Sauron does not have much time left and he knows it, he must redouble his efforts.

The Dwarves will not give Sauron peace either. He leaves Eregion, but does not get what he wants. The rings are corrupting the Dwarves, and greed is consuming the king's heart. Did Sauron know about the Balrog? Was it at that moment that he realized he had no need of a people who would find their own ruin?

Whether it is the work of the Valar or not, Celebrimbor senses that something is happening in Eregion and Annatar is not informing him. He does not stop creating the design of the rings, but something is disturbing him. His peaceful and calm kingdom is under attack, is it possible?

When Celebrimbor tries to leave the forge, Sauron is there to stop him. He knows that Celebrimbor will not create the rings if he knows that a siege is underway and his people are being attacked by Adar's army.

Desperate to keep Celebrimbor trapped in his web of lies, Sauron forges the most perfect illusion to confuse the smith's mind. Eregion is safe and sound. Why can't Celebrimbor return to the forge?

This, I would say, is his greatest manipulation. Sauron uses Celebrimbor's greed, his desire to be greater than the creator of the Silmarils, greater than his family's legacy. There is the statue depicting Celebrimbor's insecurities. Everything is fine, Sauron even managed to get the Mithril for the rings. Celebrimbor, blinded by power, seduced by Annatar's words, once again follows him.

While Eregion has been under siege for weeks, Celebrimbor keeps his forge burning and never stops. The world is at peace, ideas are clear, and he only has Annatar to thank.

Was Annatar sincere? That it would be a shame when his partnership with Celebrimbor ended?

Honestly, I would say so. But not for the reasons Celebrimbor imagined. Without Aulë and Melkor, Sauron had no one left to share his craft, his passion that did not abandon him even when he turned his back on Valinor. And Celebrimbor, the greatest Elven-smith of his time, is almost his equal.

However, he knows that Celebrimbor would never agree with him, so he must leave in the end, even though it is a shame for both of them.

The illusion is, however, failing. Sauron is spending too much energy holding back the people of Eregion and preventing the attack of Adar long enough to forge the rings. His mind is not fully devoted to Celebrimbor, and that is his greatest mistake.

Celebrimbor begins to notice the small inconsistencies in the environment. The fire burns the same every day. The little mouse who repeats the same patterns. But he already knew that, didn't he? He knew what Annatar was doing, but he couldn't admit it to himself.

Sauron's mask finally falls.

Sauron tries to convince Celebrimbor of his truth. To Sauron, he was obviously doing the elf a favor, teaching him his knowledge and improving his creation. Sauron genuinely believes he was helping him, in his own way.

"I am the one keeping the storm at bay."

Ding Dong, Sauron and his twisted view of healing is knocking at the door again!

Sauron is confident that he has done everything in his power to make Celebrimbor prove his worth. Did he feel that way about Melkor? Did he believe that all the suffering and pain caused by his master would help him to become more improve? Probably.

I believe that breaking the illusion was more painful. Forcing Celebrimbor to contemplate the destruction of his beloved kingdom, to observe the death of his people and, worst of all, to realize that none of them believe him, not when Annatar is there, claiming that the master blacksmith has gone mad.

Celebrimbor is left to deal with his guilt. Sauron’s revelation is not only cruel, but devastating. Celebrimbor realizes that he helped Sauron, and that is a hard truth to swallow, and Sauron knows it.

For me, Mirdania’s death was Celebrimbor’s greatest regret. She was his ward, and he lost her to Sauron. She trusted Annatar and died believing in him, and she died at his hands.

And the death of Mirdania is the breaking point. There is nothing left for Celebrimbor. Sauron is the Great Deceiver and he has won. Celebrimbor is tired of fighting.

Honestly, Sauron almost fooled me too. When he talks about the suffering caused by Morgoth, I don't think that's a lie, not to him. He suffered at the hands of a Valar because their worldviews were different. Morgoth wanted to destroy and Sauron wanted to heal, but in the end their methods were the same.

The lie is revealed throughout the conversation. Did Sauron want to hurt Celebrimbor? Yes and no. As in an abusive relationship, Sauron believes he hurt him because he had to, but did not want to. As he says, Celebrimbor caused it, and that is his truth.

In a desperate attempt, Celebrimbor tries to destroy the rings. But the Rings of Power are too powerful for the fire. All that remains is to escape with the rings, and there is Galadriel, his beloved friend, as if sent by the Valar.

It's a very difficult conversation, I must admit. Galadriel realizes that Celebrimbor hurt himself to escape Sauron and save Middle-earth. And after so much suffering, she is the only person who trusts Celebrimbor.

Galadriel and Celebrimbor share the same guilt. Focused on their hearts' desires, they were seduced by Sauron's promises and power, and this hurts them deeply. They wish more than anything to make amends for the harm they have caused, even if unintentionally.

Sauron is enraged and Galadriel leaves with the rings, she is the last hope of Middle-earth. Celebrimbor is once again alone, his guards are trapped in Sauron's power and he can no longer escape the hands of the Great Deceiver and his vengeance.

I still get goosebumps when I remember the sound of the bow firing its next arrow.

This is the end of Celebrimbor's legacy, the ruin of his existence. All that remains is his blood staining his forge and his body riddled with arrows. Where did the trail of blood come from, I wonder. Was Sauron cruel enough to drag the bleeding Celebrimbor here?

Sauron tries to break Celebrimbor's spirit one last time. But Celebrimbor has already lost everything, and his solace is that the rings are far away.

And he thinks of the old days, when all was fair in Eregion. I believe it is this memory, of the good times before Sauron's destruction, that strengthens Celebrimbor.

"For soon I shall go to the shore of the morning. Borne hence, by a wind that you can never follow!"

This is Sauron's greatest fear, isn't it? He has lost Aulë, he has lost Melkor. Because of his cowardice and refusal to beg forgiveness from the Valar, he will never be able to return to Valinor. Galadriel has resisted his temptation, and Celebrimbor is dying; there is no one left for Sauron.

Sauron wants to inflict as much pain on Celebrimbor as possible to make up for his words. Would he be able to use his unholy magic to keep Celebrimbor alive? Was it all for the rings, or once again because he would be alone in the world?

"Hear me! Shadow of Morgoth. Hear the dying words of Celebrimbor."

Celebrimbor's prophecy affects Sauron deeply, laying bare his greatest fears. He will be betrayed by his rings, we know that. His own corrupt power will doom him to destruction. And it breaks him, because Sauron must have believed Celebrimbor's words.

Unfinished Tales of Númenor and Middle-earth:

"In black anger he turned back to battle; and bearing as a banner Celebrimbor’s body hung upon a pole, shot through with Orc-arrows, he turned upon the forces of Elrond."

Sauron, it's time to work on all that anger.

Blinded by red rage, Sauron kills Celebrimbor and interrupts his words. Did he realize what he was doing? Always so driven by his seething emotions.

And this is Sauron's moment of breaking. He realizes what he has done. He has murdered his last equal in all of Middle-earth, once again he has fulfilled his fears, and he is alone. Why is he crying?

As I analyzed before, he was alone and there was no one to deceive. Sauron understood his actions and had no way of going back, all he could do was accept the consequences.

Just as Celebrimbor was seduced by power and glory, Sauron was seduced by Celebrimbor’s power and knowledge. Like an Ouroboros, Sauron and Celebrimbor were seduced by power and found their downfall in each other.

Sauron may have been Celebrimbor’s downfall. But Celebrimbor and his rings, and the knowledge they gave Sauron, will be the Great Deceiver’s downfall at the end of the road.

[rainbowdrop]

Joker Junior-brainstorming

I like so much the concept of Joker Junior- like all the trauma that a person had to go trought to get to that point, the future psychological damage, like the scars, the new fears or even phobias, the triggers (like electricity, obv Joker, like could you imagine that he couldn't get into any cases of the Joker gas because he can't look at the smiles of the victims, without replicate them? Without making that nightmare infuel smile? And even if he hate it every moment of it, couldnt stop doing it? Because he was supossed to smile no matter what?)

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Or, or like the hc that he laughs when he is in pain, bc that's what he had to do to survive? What Joker technically teach him and now it's just his normal response and he has to push it down because then he couldn't stop and he would just laught until the pain stopped or he couldn't breath because of how much he laughs?

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Like the concept of the future and actual members of the family in the moment of that timeline are felling because of this?

Like-

Dick seeing a second Robin, the legacy that he accidentally create, being doomed by the Joker again? and that he wasn't there for the two of them, how he was late to found out- he couldn't be there and get in time he was to late (and also angry, angry at Batman, at Bruce, at his mentor, his father, for never telling him, he had to found out about Jason later, and then he never knew that Tim was missing by three weeks- and what happen on those weeks, he wasn't there for any of his baby brothers, couldn't protect them and held them for the danger)

Jason now just not only seeing a replacement in Tim but an equal in many ways, a Robin that also was trapped and torture and changed to a point of not going back, all thanks to the Joker (and also if he is angry at Batman in the og timeline, he would be damn pissed at Batman, because he couldnt understand why he let another Robin, another child, to suffer trought the Joker again, let him wear a doomed cape and let him fight a war to big for any child (but, he would never understand, or maybe nobody would tell him, that it wasnt Bruce choice, that Bruce wasnt in the right mind space to let Tim go- because even if he was a child it was one of few strands that hold Batman as it is together, and nobody at tje moement was able to pull him back together as Tim did))

Barbara seeing a kid that (for what I understand) she sees as a little brother become so broken, so unrecognizable for what he was, the kid, an intelligent and capable Robin, the one filled with determination in becoming what Batman needed... turn apart over and over and over again until there was barely nothing of it, in front of her, when she first saw him, he was a hollow puppet molded by Joker and Harley that then, it becomes an even more broken kid that in that state of mind, tought he killed his father(Joker)

and

Bruce obviously with the guilt of all of it, and more because with Jason he got like the hit of reality, because before that, with Dick, he obviously knew that there was a risk, a chance that Dick could die, but that isn't as powerfull or revealing as actually seeing it happen, knowing what it feeled to be to late, that even him being a billionaire, and Batman and the greatest detective, he was to late to save Jason- and even knowing that... he still let Tim be Robin- (and some deep part of his mind knows that he wasn't the one to put the suit on him, he didnt choose him...) initially, but he let him continue, even when Bruce was getting better mentally bit by bit, he let him continue being Robin, because, the actual stronger voice was telling him to keep him as Robin, he was being selfish for indulging of the idea of keeping Robin, a sidekick, someone who would look at him as if he hold the stars and moon and would protect him for everything and everyone- but he failed- again- and the what if's if he maybe tried harder to stop him to try something different, to push him away harder, it eats him alive (he wasn't in the right mind, but for him isn't an excuse, he is the adult, and he should have acted like it- should have never allow it once he was right back in his own feet- maybe should have never accepted him as Robin (even if it was Tim who keep pushing himself in- he shouldn't accept it- he shouldn't have gone soft and- and start to care for the kid- he should have cut it right then and there- but Tim as he is, manage to push himself in Bruce's hearth and he indulge him- and himself with the idea that a Batman needed a Robin- but he should have knew better))

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I was gonna write like the rest of the family- but damn- this whole thing get out of hand... maybe tomorrow if I have the inspiration.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Villain: The Lauding Worm

Born of hubris and old glories gone rotten, this pallid demon of pride exists to parasite those that consider themselves great; Lurking in the walls of their ancestral estates, whispering in their ear, bloating along with their egos, inevitably driving them to cruelty and ruin as it's appetite and expectations grow ever larger.

Adventure Hooks:

The party are travelling through the wilderness when they encounter a richly attired knight exhausted and on the edge of collapse. After helping her recover, she shares that she is part of a noble family renowned for their legacy of dragonhunting, a life threatening challenge she must exceed if she is to honour her family and claim her inheritance. The expectation of this great and dangerous deed has worn heavy on her shoulders all her life, and has become all too literal now that the demon has invisibly coiled about her neck. Fresh off it's latest incarnation, the Lauding worm is small for the moment, feeding off the knight as she destroys herself for the sake of legacy and will not allow her to be dissuaded from her doomed quest. It may infulence the party to join her however, seeing the potential for gorging on greater glory should the dragon slaying succeed. It the aftermath of the battle, or perhaps some weeks later, the Lauding worm will convince the dragonslaying knight that the great do not share their glory, and that she must eliminate the party so they do not tell of her weakness in needing aid, or her shame in not striking the final blow.

Something is wrong with the king, and the whole realm suffers for it. Obsessed with building expansions to his palace he neglects the welfare of his realm and the stability of his court to empty the treasury into ever more elaborate construction. Brigands run wild, his underlings scheme and attempt to seize each other's territory, and all the while the king pours over the plans of his architects and demands they build more. The Lauding worm has gotten to him, it lives and grows in the castle walls, and the more the king builds the bigger it gets. The servants whisper of rumbling behind the walls, and though it is excused as the byproduct of the constant renovations, it's only a matter of time before the demon's growth exceeds what can be constructed and it breaks free to rampage across the land.

The Lauding Worm has a special reward for those who feed it best, realized only in the rare times it grows bored of gorging itself on the pride of others and seeks to enact its own ambitions. Taking the guise of a mortal necromancer it raises it's favoured hosts from their graves and turns their talents towards Conquest.

Artsource

[novaursa]

Legacy (future of the realm)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Canon events and timeline do not match the plot of the story.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous chapter: dragon in the garden

- Next part: the calling

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi

You sat on a carved stone bench, your hands folded neatly in your lap as you watched Damon. Your son was sprawled on a soft blanket spread over the grass, his tiny hands reaching for a toy carved into the shape of a lion. His eyes were wide with wonder as he cooed at the toy.

Ser Barristan Selmy stood a few paces away, his ever-watchful gaze scanning the gardens. Though Highgarden seemed a safe haven compared to King’s Landing, Barristan remained vigilant. His hand rested lightly on the hilt of his sword, a silent testament to his unwavering dedication to your safety.

The sound of measured footsteps drew your attention. Turning slightly, you saw a man approach—a tall figure with dark hair and a dignified air, his gait steady despite the cane he used for support. Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden, inclined his head politely as he came closer.

“Lady Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm yet respectful. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

You offered a small smile, gesturing for him to join you. “Not at all, Lord Willas. Please, sit.”

Willas settled onto the bench beside you, his cane resting against the edge. His gaze shifted to Damon, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “He’s a striking child. The union of lion and dragon has produced quite the heir.”

You followed his gaze, your expression softening as you watched your son. “He is my greatest joy,” you said quietly. “And a reminder of all that must be protected.”

Willas nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Highgarden is honored to host you and your family. My grandmother speaks highly of you.”

You chuckled lightly. “Lady Olenna speaks highly of few, but I will take that as a compliment.”

“She’s not wrong,” Willas said, his tone sincere. “You’ve endured much and yet remain composed, regal even. It’s... admirable.”

You glanced at him, noting the honesty in his words. “Endurance is a lesson taught early in my family,” you said, your voice steady. “But tell me, Lord Willas, what brings you to the gardens today?”

Willas hesitated briefly, as though weighing his words. “I came to see you, if I’m honest. I’ve heard much about you—your strength, your wisdom. And I wished to offer my gratitude.”

“Gratitude?” you echoed, your brow furrowing slightly.

“For Sansa Stark,” he clarified. “It was no secret that she was to be my bride before circumstances changed. Though the marriage never came to pass, I’ve heard how you’ve looked after her, protected her even.”

You inclined your head, your gaze thoughtful. “Sansa is like a sister to me. Protecting her is something I do not consider a burden.”

Willas smiled faintly. “Still, it is a kindness not everyone would extend. The Starks have suffered greatly, and to know she has someone like you watching over her... it eases the mind.”

You fell silent for a moment, your thoughts briefly drifting to Sansa and the many trials she had endured. “The world has been unkind to her,” you said softly. “But she is stronger than she knows.”

Willas studied you for a moment, his expression contemplative. “And you? Have you found kindness in the world?”

You blinked, taken aback by the question. “Kindness is a rarity,” you admitted. “But it exists, in small, fleeting moments. Sometimes, that is enough.”

Willas nodded, his gaze once again shifting to Damon, who was now babbling happily as he tried to roll onto his side. “Perhaps he will grow up in a world where kindness is more than a fleeting moment.”

You smiled faintly, hope flickering in your chest. “Perhaps.”

Ser Barristan cleared his throat subtly, drawing your attention. You turned to see him watching you closely, his expression unreadable. “Is everything well, my lady?” he asked, his tone polite but firm.

“Everything is fine, Ser Barristan,” you assured him, though you noted the slight tension in his stance.

Willas rose to his feet, retrieving his cane. “I won’t keep you any longer,” he said, his tone courteous. “Thank you for indulging me, Lady Y/N.”

“Thank you for your company, Lord Willas,” you replied, inclining your head.

As he walked away, you turned your attention back to Damon, who had finally managed to grasp the lion-shaped toy. His delighted giggle brought a smile to your lips, even as the weight of Willas’s words lingered in your mind. 

The afternoon sun streamed through the windows of Highgarden’s solar, casting dappled light on the polished wooden table where Tywin Lannister sat. Across from him, Lady Olenna Tyrell reclined in her chair with an air of practiced ease, her sharp eyes shining with amusement. Lord Mace Tyrell, seated to Olenna’s left, was all smiles, his boisterous tone filling the room as he gestured animatedly.

“Such a fine boy, Lord Tywin,” Mace was saying, his voice carrying a note of pride as if he had somehow contributed to Damon’s existence. “A true union of two great houses. The talk of the Reach, I assure you.”

Tywin’s expression was as composed as ever, his piercing green eyes fixed on Mace with faint disinterest. “The boy is six moons old, Lord Tyrell. Talk of him should concern his health and upbringing, not idle gossip.”

Olenna smirked, her gaze shifting between the two men. “Ah, but idle gossip is the lifeblood of noble houses, isn’t it?” she remarked dryly. “And it seems your son is quite the subject of fascination, Lord Tywin. Already, several of our bannermen are inquiring about potential matches.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened slightly, though his voice remained measured. “The boy is an infant. He will not be bartered away like a commodity.”

Olenna leaned forward, her cane resting lightly against her lap. “Bartered? Goodness, how harsh you make it sound. We’re speaking of alliances, Tywin, not cattle. Surely you understand the value of securing the boy’s future.”

“The boy’s future,” Tywin replied coolly, “is not a matter for speculation. It will be decided when the time is appropriate—by me and his mother.”

Mace chuckled nervously, attempting to mediate. “Of course, of course. No one is suggesting anything immediate. But you must admit, the union of lion and dragon has... captivated many. Why, Lord Florant himself—”

“Lord Florant,” Tywin interrupted, his voice cutting through Mace��s like a knife, “should concern himself with his duties, not my son’s future.”

Olenna tilted her head, her amusement undiminished. “You’re protective, Tywin. Understandable. But you must admit, it’s rather endearing to see how much sway the boy already holds. The nobility of the Reach is positively buzzing.”

Tywin’s gaze hardened, though his tone remained firm. “Let them buzz. Damon will not be paraded as a prize. His place is with his family, under my protection, and that of his mother.”

Olenna’s smirk softened into something more contemplative. “And what of his mother? She’s a clever one, Tywin. A rare combination of grace and steel. I imagine she has her own thoughts on what’s best for the boy.”

Tywin didn’t respond immediately, his expression unreadable. Finally, he said, “She understands what is necessary for Damon’s upbringing. That is all that matters.”

Olenna chuckled softly, her sharp gaze never leaving Tywin’s face. “Necessary. Always so practical.”

Mace cleared his throat awkwardly, sensing the tension. “Perhaps we should focus on the feast preparations,” he suggested, his tone overly cheerful. “After all, we wouldn’t want to disappoint our guests.”

Olenna sighed, leaning back in her chair. “Yes, yes, let’s discuss the feast. Though I must say, Tywin, it’s a pity you’re so resistant to the idea of alliances. The boy could command loyalty from half the realm before he can even walk.”

Tywin stood, his movements deliberate and controlled. “I will not sacrifice my son’s future for the fleeting whims of others,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there are matters I must attend to.”

As Tywin left the solar, Olenna watched him go, her expression thoughtful. “He’s stubborn, I’ll give him that,” she remarked to Mace, her tone laced with both admiration and exasperation. “But that boy... he’ll shape the future of this realm, whether Tywin likes it or not.”

Mace nodded eagerly, though his mind was already on the feast and the praise he hoped to garner from the assembled nobles. Olenna, however, remained silent, her sharp mind turning over the possibilities as she considered the Lannister-Targaryen child and the power he represented.

Tywin found you sitting on a stone bench near the edge of Highgarden’s famed lavender field, cradling Damon in your arms. The soft purple blooms swayed gently in the warm breeze, their sweet scent filling the air, but Tywin’s mood was far from serene. His jaw was set, his expression stern as he approached, the earlier conversation with Olenna and Mace Tyrell clearly still weighing on him.

You looked up as he neared, your sharp eyes catching the tension in his stride. Damon cooed softly, his tiny hands clutching at the folds of your gown, oblivious to the gravity of the moment.

“Tywin,” you greeted, your voice calm, though your tone carried a weight of its own. “You’re troubled.”

He stopped a few paces away, his hands clasped behind his back. “Troubled, no. Irritated, perhaps. Olenna and her endless meddling have a way of testing one’s patience.”

You offered a faint smile, though your expression turned serious. “Then I regret that what I’m about to say will likely test it further.”

Tywin’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing. “What is it?”

You adjusted Damon in your arms, ensuring he was comfortable before meeting Tywin’s piercing gaze. “I need to speak with you about something important. Something I cannot delay any longer.”

He gestured for you to continue, his posture stiff with expectation.

“I need to go to High Heart,” you said evenly, your voice steady despite the weight of the words.

Tywin’s expression darkened immediately, his sharp mind connecting the dots with alarming speed. “High Heart? The very place where you were captured by my men before being brought to Harrenhal?” His voice was low, edged with a rare note of incredulity. “Do you realize what you’re asking? The Riverlands are far from stable, and High Heart is no place for you or our son.”

“I know,” you replied, your tone unwavering. “But this is not a whim, Tywin. It is something I need to do.”

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours for an explanation. “You need to do this? Why? What could possibly compel you to return to such a dangerous place?”

You hesitated, the memories of your capture and the strange dreams that had led you to High Heart flickering through your mind. Damon stirred slightly in your arms, and you took a deep breath before answering. “I cannot explain it fully. But I was drawn there before, and I am drawn there again. There are... answers I must seek, truths I must confront.”

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his irritation now laced with concern. “Truths? Answers? From what? From whom? You are speaking in riddles.”

You sighed, lowering your gaze briefly before meeting his eyes again. “There is something... someone... that calls to me. High Heart holds a connection I cannot ignore. It is not merely curiosity—it is necessity.”

“Necessity,” he repeated coldly, his voice laced with skepticism. “What necessity could justify endangering yourself, our son, and our position?”

“I would never endanger Damon,” you said firmly, your grip on the child tightening protectively. “Nor would I make this request lightly. But I must go, Tywin. I cannot explain it any more clearly than that.”

Tywin’s eyes burned with intensity as he stared at you, his mind clearly racing. Finally, he shook his head, his tone cutting. “This is madness. Even if the Riverlands were secure, which they are far from being, we are not prepared for such a journey. High Heart is isolated, and the dangers along the way are numerous.”

“I know,” you said softly, your voice calm but resolute. “But I am asking you to trust me. To allow me to do this.”

Tywin scoffed, though there was more frustration than malice in the sound. “Trust is earned, and this... this is a request that borders on folly.”

You stood, holding Damon close as you took a step toward him. “You’ve trusted me before, Tywin, even when it went against your better judgment. I am asking for that trust again.”

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he exhaled sharply, his tone measured but firm. “I will consider it. But do not expect miracles. The logistics alone make this request—”

“Thank you,” you interrupted gently, surprising him with your gratitude. “That is all I ask.”

Tywin’s gaze softened ever so slightly as he looked down at Damon, who blinked up at him with innocent curiosity. “You may find my patience finite,” he said, his voice quieter now. “But you have always had my ear, even when you test its limits.”

You smiled faintly, the tension between you easing just enough to allow a moment of understanding. “And you have always had mine.”

Tywin straightened, his commanding presence reasserting itself. “We will speak of this again when I have assessed the risks. Until then, focus on what is here and now.”

You nodded, watching as he turned and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him. 

The humid air of Essos clung to the small room where Tyrion Lannister and Varys sat. The faint hum of distant chatter from the bustling port city filtered through the cracked shutters, mingling with the scent of salt and spice carried by the breeze. Tyrion leaned back in his chair, a goblet of wine in hand, his sharp eyes fixed on the Spider sitting across from him. Varys, as usual, was impeccably composed, his hands folded neatly in his lap as he watched Tyrion with a faint, unreadable smile.

“So, Lord Varys,” Tyrion began, swirling the wine in his goblet, “once you’ve delivered me to our dragon queen, what then? Will you bask in her fiery gratitude or find some other noble cause to meddle in?”

Varys’s smile didn’t waver, though his gaze grew slightly distant. “There is always work to be done, my lord. The realm is never without its needs, and I serve the realm.”

Tyrion snorted, taking a long sip of his wine. “Ah, the realm. That abstract thing you’ve pledged your life to. How noble. But surely you’ve something more tangible in mind.”

Varys tilted his head, considering Tyrion’s words. “There is another who needs my help more immediately, someone whose future may shape the realm in ways we cannot yet foresee.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with interest. “Another? Let me guess—my stepmother, the Lady Y/N? She could certainly use an ally with all the vipers circling her at court.”

A faint chuckle escaped Varys, a rare sound that seemed almost amused. “A wise guess, my lord, but not entirely correct.”

Tyrion frowned, his curiosity piqued. “Not her? Then who?”

Varys leaned forward slightly, his expression carefully measured. “Her son. Your brother, Damon.”

Tyrion blinked, momentarily taken aback. He set his goblet down, his lips curving into a wry smile. “My brother? Well, that’s unexpected. I must say, I didn’t peg you as the sentimental type, Varys. But do go on.”

Varys’s tone remained even, though his gaze sharpened. “Damon is not merely a child, my lord. He is the union of lion and dragon, a symbol of a legacy that carries weight far beyond his tender age. His existence alone has already stirred whispers across the realm. He will need protection and guidance if he is to survive the world he was born into.”

Tyrion leaned back, folding his arms across his chest as he regarded Varys with an amused glint in his eye. “Protection and guidance, you say? And here I thought my father was the overbearing parent. Best not let him catch wind of your noble intentions for young Damon. He might start sharpening his quill for a strongly worded letter.”

Varys allowed himself a small smile. “Your father is a man of practicality, Lord Tyrion. I doubt he would begrudge anyone taking steps to ensure his heir’s safety.”

Tyrion raised an eyebrow, his smile turning sly. “His heir? Funny, I thought that self proclaimed title still belonged to my sister. You seem awfully confident in Damon’s place in my father’s heart.”

Varys met Tyrion’s gaze steadily. “Tywin Lannister is many things, but a fool he is not. Damon represents the future of House Lannister and House Targaryen. He will be the bridge between two great houses, if he survives.”

Tyrion’s expression sobered slightly, his sharp mind piecing together the implications. “If he survives. That’s quite the qualifier, isn’t it? You think he’s in danger?”

Varys’s expression didn’t falter, though there was a faint shadow in his eyes. “A child born into power is always in danger, my lord. But Damon’s bloodline makes him both a prize and a threat. There are those who would see him removed from the game before he can even begin to play it.”

Tyrion sighed, reaching for his wine again. “And you, ever the altruist, will ensure he’s not removed. I suppose that’s commendable in its own way. Though I imagine my father might find it less so.”

Varys inclined his head slightly, his smile faint but unyielding. “The realm has need of such children, Lord Tyrion. They represent the possibilities of a future unburdened by the sins of their forebears. If I can aid in shaping that future, I will.”

Tyrion regarded him for a long moment, his expression inscrutable. Finally, he raised his goblet in a mock toast. “To Damon, then. May he inherit all the ambition and cunning of my father without the accompanying bitterness.”

Varys chuckled softly, though his gaze remained contemplative. “To Damon,” he echoed, his voice quiet but resolute.

The feast was grand, as one would expect from Highgarden, with long tables draped in emerald and gold, laden with bountiful platters of food. The hall was filled with the hum of conversation, the clinking of goblets, and the lilting tunes of the musicians stationed at the far end of the room. Lord Mace Tyrell, in his typical boisterous fashion, was holding court among a group of lesser lords, his laughter booming over the polite chuckles of his audience.

You sat beside Tywin at the high table, your posture poised as you sipped from a goblet of watered wine. Tywin’s expression was as unreadable as ever, though you could sense his growing irritation with the endless chatter around him. His pale green eyes flicked over the crowd, occasionally narrowing when Mace’s laughter grew particularly grating.

“This is a spectacle,” you murmured softly, leaning slightly toward Tywin. “But I suspect it’s not to your taste.”

Tywin glanced at you, his lips twitching into the faintest semblance of a smirk. “Your insight, as always, is impeccable.”

You smiled, turning your attention back to the revelers below. The lords and ladies of the Reach moved gracefully through the hall, their laughter light and musical, their movements elegant as they danced to the lively tunes.

Tywin’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and deliberate. “It’s been some time since I’ve seen you on a dance floor.”

You raised an eyebrow, turning to meet his gaze. “I wasn’t aware you were keeping track.”

“I notice many things,” he replied, his tone neutral, though his eyes carried a hint of something more. “Would you care to remind me how well you move?”

You blinked, surprised. “Are you asking me to dance?”

Tywin inclined his head slightly, his expression betraying none of the inner workings of his mind. “I am.”

For a moment, you hesitated, studying him carefully. It wasn’t like Tywin to indulge in something as frivolous as dancing, especially in such a public setting. But the faint challenge in his gaze was unmistakable, and you weren’t one to back down.

Rising gracefully, you extended your hand toward him. “Very well, my lord. Let us remind these lords and ladies how it’s done.”

Tywin stood, his commanding presence drawing the attention of those nearby. Taking your hand, he led you to the center of the hall, where the other dancers parted to make way for the formidable Hand of the King and his Targaryen wife. The musicians adjusted their tune, transitioning to a stately waltz that suited the moment perfectly.

As Tywin placed one hand on your waist and clasped your hand with the other, you couldn’t help but note the ease with which he moved. Despite his reserved nature, there was a confidence to his movements, a precision that spoke of a man who rarely did anything without mastery.

“You’re surprisingly skilled at this,” you remarked, your voice low enough for only him to hear.

“I was taught properly,” he replied, his tone as matter-of-fact as ever. “Though it’s not a skill I’ve often found useful.”

“Yet here you are,” you said, your lips curving into a faint smile. “A rare indulgence, I imagine.”

“Perhaps,” he admitted, his eyes meeting yours. “Or perhaps I simply wished to remind these people that their idle chatter is beneath notice.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at that. “Ever the strategist.”

Tywin’s lips twitched again, the closest thing to a smile he allowed himself. “And you? Are you enjoying yourself, or are you as bored as I am?”

Your gaze flicked briefly to the high table, where Mace continued to regale his audience with tales of his supposed accomplishments. “Let’s just say I’m grateful for the distraction.”

He nodded slightly, his expression softening. “Then we’re agreed.”

The two of you moved seamlessly across the floor, your steps perfectly in sync. Around you, the gathered lords and ladies watched in awe, their whispers barely audible over the music. It was a rare sight indeed to see Tywin Lannister partaking in such an activity, let alone with a partner as captivating as you.

As the dance drew to a close, Tywin brought you to a halt with a final flourish, his grip on your waist firm but respectful. The room erupted into polite applause, though neither of you paid it much mind. His eyes remained locked on yours, his expression inscrutable but undeniably focused.

“Thank you for indulging me,” he said quietly, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You inclined your head, a hint of amusement in your eyes. “The pleasure was mine, my lord.”

As Tywin escorted you back to the high table, you couldn’t help but notice the shift in the atmosphere. The lords and ladies of Highgarden were reminded, in that moment, of the power and unity you and Tywin represented—a union of lion and dragon, commanding respect even in the most mundane of settings.

[artbyblastweave]

So I blew through Ultimate Marvel Team-Up in order to get context for when Daredevil starts sticking his horns back into the main Ultimate Spider-Man book, and what's really interesting to me is that Bendis's rendition of basically every non-Spider-Man cape who shows up in that gesture at what could have been an extremely cohesive Ultimate Marvel setting;

Hulk is very visibly classic Hulk in every respect, but with the added implication that he's currently neck-deep in a thriller-conspiracy uncover-the-truth kind of plot regarding the government experimentation with super-soldiers that's upstream of all of superhumanity in the Ultimate Universe. This idea was later binned, Banner was framed as neck-deep in spook shit and unlikely to try and defect from it in the way he was implied to be trying to do.

Iron Man's origin is changed so that he got abducted by rebels while attempting to sell weapons technology to a right-wing U.S-backed junta in Guatemala during the Reagan Admin, and moreover in direct retaliation for attempting to do that; this is upstream of his decision to stop selling weapons technology, and the two-shot where he teams up with Spider-Man involves Latveria attempting to steal the Iron Man Armor- with Tacit SHIELD Backing, because Nick Fury is willing to let Dr. Doom have that tech if it increases the chances of the U.S. Government eventually getting a crack at it. This extremely interesting cold war dynamic between stark and Fury also mostly got binned.

The Fantastic Four are nearly identical in function to their 616 counterparts, except that instead of a spaceflight they got their powers on a years-long expedition to the Negative Zone, having Challengers-of-the-Unknown style adventures, which both neatly resolves the datedness of the spaceflight origin and allows them to have their veteran hero status simultaneously with the idea that the heroic age is just starting out. The Negative zone was also mentioned to be the home dimension of the Skrulls, Kree, and possibly Galactus, neatly explaining why so many spaceborne threats keep making themselves earth's problem so specifically. Ultimate Fantastic Four was just good enough (And Bendis's two shot otherwise boring enough) that I can forgive the parts of this that they binned. I mean we got Marvel Zombies out of it, that's worth everything in the world

Ultimate Dr. Strange is interesting in that he's the son of the original Dr. Strange, whose origin, career and supporting cast are actually largely exactly the same but also linked to the IRL time period of Strange's debut, the early 60s through the early 80s. Stephen Strange Jr. is the inheritor of a legacy his disillusioned Mother Clea spent twenty one years trying to keep him well away from, rapidly attempting to learn the ropes under the apprenticeship of a long-suffering Wong and largely coming across as a scientologist-adjacent crank in the media. This is actually a really fun way to put Strange at the Metaphorical kids table with the rest of the aged-down heroes while also keeping him from breaking every story, and although Bendis did get to keep using him in this capacity it ultimately didn't amount to much because he got turbofucked during Ultimatum after only a couple of appearances.

Shang Chi is introduced in the middle of a Kung-Fu walking-the-earth situation, with Spider-Man haphazardly (and unsuccessfully) seeking him out for martial arts lessons when he realizes he's just leaning on his powers as a crutch in most fights. He offers him like 20 dollars

The broad outline of a lot of these ideas, and the political themes they were gesturing towards, survived their later delegation to other authors to some extent, but were corroded by Millar's cinematic bombast on The Ultimates in particular. I mourn the version of the Ultimate Universe where they just gave Bendis enough amphetamines to have him do all of it. At any rate you bet your ass that if I ever commit to trying to do some kind of fanmade unified Marvel Timeline I'd poach all of these