#I was also talking to Visenyaism about this and they brought up the point that Robert did not fail to hold back anyone like Daemon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

samieree · 2 days

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Born in Flames || Game of Thrones

OC x ?😏

-> Chapter XXXIII ''Dārilaros''

Chapter XXXIV ''A meeting''

The time has finally come to the meeting with her allies and present a plan of action. Everyone gathered in the room with the map, sitting on chairs at the table. Only Grey Worm and ser Arthur stood, close to the wall.

"You want the Iron Throne, so just take it." Yara spoke up. "We have an army, a fleet and dragons, if we attack King's Landing with everything we have, the city will fall the same day."

"And how many innocent people will die, especially if the dragons are set free?" Tyrion remarked.

"This is war. If you don't have the nerve for it, don't play it." Ellaria interjected.

"We're supposed to discuss the plan, not argue and insult each other." Visenya said, interrupting everyone. "Just because we declare war doesn't mean that thousands of ordinary people have to die, I won't allow that. And I don't intend to rule the kingdom of ashes."

"That's good." this time Olenna spoke up. "I don't remember a Queen who was more beloved than my granddaughter. She was loved by both commoners and the powerful. And what is left of her? Ashes. The common and the powerful are like children, really. They won't obey you unless they fear you."

This is their first meeting, and almost nothing has gone her way this far. It was easier when she dealt with the Lords in Essos, they were evil men, she had no problem intimidating them into doing what she wanted. Here the situation was more complicated, she had to unite people who had to support her in order to stay on the throne.

She felt she couldn't show weakness because if she did, it would be the end of her. They will tear her to pieces and there will be nothing left of her.

"They have to fear the consequences of their actions, not me." she replied calmly. "Also, almost half the fleet has sailed back to Meereen, so we're not at full strength yet." she noticed.

"You're going to wait..." Olenna paused for a moment, counting in her head how long it would be before the ships return. "Almost half a year? Until winter comes?"

"We have enough men to lay siege to the city if you don't want to attack directly." Yara came back to her idea of attacking King's Landing right away, it was in her mind the fastest way to take the Iron Throne.

Vis sighed in her mind and leaned further into her chair. She turned her gaze to Tyrion and nodded. Enough of this verbal bickering, they will tell them their plan for now and then they will argue if necessary.

"It would be a great idea, if not for a few "buts"..."he started and got up from his chair to illustrate their plan, pointing to specific places on the map and moving the figures. "King's Landing is surrounded mostly by forests, which is a problem in itself, and we don't know where the Iron Fleet or Lannister forces are right now, other than the garrison in the city. We also cannot forget about some of the Lords whom Cersei converted to her side by talking about foreign armies brought to Westeros and referring to their memories of the Mad King."

This time, no one commented on a single word Tyrion said. Everyone was waiting for the rest of his statement, which filled Visenya with hope that they would all be able to come to an agreement. She didn't have much input into the current plan, she just pointed out a few things. She would like to be able to say something more, to know what needs to be considered when planning the next steps, battles, sieges, and movement of troops.

Mostly she stayed silent and listened to her friends, learning from what they said, but she didn't have the courage to admit to them that she didn't know something. She was the Queen after all, she was supposed to lead them. This fear remained in her, that if she showed weakness, her potential allies would abandon her.

"Cersei will not attack first, she will wait for our move as long as she can. If she was going to attack any place, it would be Highgarden." he moved the lion figurine to the Tyrell residence. "Food supplies and gold that she will desperately need. Therefore, the Reach troops will remain in the Reach. We will transport the supplies we need at this moment on ships that will also take soldiers from Dorne. Before that, we will provoke the Iron Fleet by sending a small force to Casterly Rock, to secure the transport as best as possible." he paused for a moment. The rest of the plan was much more general. "Then we'll take care of the army in the country, outside King's Landind, so that they won't be able to break the siege. By then we should be able to challenge the Iron Fleet as they attempt to deliver supplies to King's Landing."

"That is my plan." she finally got up from her seat, leaning on the table with her hands. "Do I have your support?"

She felt her heart speed up and her lips suddenly become mercilessly dry. This is the first important moment in the fast-approaching war. Either they support her or she will be left alone on the battlefield.

"You have mine." Yara spoke first, decisively, without any hesitation in her voice.

"Dorne is with you, Your Grace." Elaria spoke up right after her.

The tension was already starting to leave her shoulders, but there was one more person who had to accept this plan and she turned her gaze to her. Olenna Tyrell. She finally nodded too.

"Thank you for your trust, I won't let you down." she smiled at everyone.

"Can we talk privately for a moment, Your Grace?" Lady Tyrell's question surprised her, but she nodded and everyone else began to leave the chamber. When they were alone, she went to sit on the chair next to her.

"I think I know what you want to say... You want revenge on Cersei. I know that's why you all support my claim to the throne." she said, taking a seat. That was the only reason she could think of for this conversation and she could assure her that justice will be served. "I swear that those who hurt us will pay for it a hundredfold. And then there will finally be peace in Westeros.

"Peace?" she didn't answer whether that was what she wanted to talk about, but she obviously picked up on the topic and had her own opinion. She had heard of the Queen of Thorns before her escape and knew she was an intelligent woman. That's why she wanted to listen to everything he had to say and draw some lesson from it. "Do you think there was peace when your grandfather sat on the Iron Throne? Or his father? Or that it would be if your father ruled? There is never peace, my dear. People will always find a reason to fight."

She wanted to deny it, to say that it was possible to keep the peace and she would do it, but then she realized that she couldn't argue, that Olenna was right. People fight when they are dissatisfied, and you can't please everyone. Someone will want more and more wealth, others will want higher and higher titles. She had already experienced in Meereen that it was impossible to create a place without violence, but she wanted to continue living this utopian dream.

"I wanted to give you a piece of advice." she finally said what she had wanted from the beginning. "Will you take it from an old woman?"

"I will never despise advice that someone wants to give me for free." she smiled warmly and shifted in her chair, crossing her legs.

"Your Hand is a clever man. I've known many people like him in my life and I've outlived them all. Do you know why? I ignored them." this surprised Visenya, she didn't expect this type of advice. "Lords of Westeros are sheep. Are you a sheep?"

Her smile faded. For a moment she wanted to look down, because it was hard for her to stand Olenna's gaze, but she didn't, she forced herself to manage it. Is she a gentle, naive sheep? Often yes... But she wouldn't call the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms that, but maybe she just didn't know them as well as Olenna.

"No. You are the dragon." a delicate smile appeared on her face again as soon as she heard these words. "Be a dragon."

"I will be."

* * *

The boat reached the shores of Dragonstone, in almost the same place where, about a month earlier, Visenya Targaryen had taken her first step in Westeros in four years. Tyrion, Missandei and a small force of Dothraki stood on the shore in case any trouble occurred.

Robb Stark and Ser Davos Seaworth came ashore, accompanied by some of their men.

"Someone escaped death from under the scythe." Tyrion spoke first, using his 'unfailing humor'.

"Someone has done it more times than me." Robb replied.

The last time they saw each other was when Tyrion returned from the Wall and went to Winterfell to hand over the design of a saddle for Bran so he could ride. Their relationship was not very good, mainly due to the suspicion that Tyrion ordered Bran's murder. And now he is here on Dragonstone, wearing the pin of the Hand of the Queen.

How far can his talk take him?

Tyrion preferred not to speak to Ser Davos due to the fact that when they were fighting against each other, when Stannis was attacking the capital, Davos's son was killed because of his plan. Yes... It's better not to bring up these memories.

"Welcome to Dragonstone." Missandei greeted everyone before Tyrion could say anything else. "The Queen knows it's a long journey and she appreciates the efforts you've made to get here. If you don't mind handing over your weapons.

It wasn't a question of whether they minded or not, they had no other choice. Of course they won't let them enter the castle with weapons. Robb tried to be optimistic, after all, things weren't looking bad so far, they were still alive.

When everyone gave up their weapons, things got a little worse, because some of the Dothraki went to get the boat that they used to reach the shore from the ship, picked it up and started walking away with it. So we are prisoners here?

"Please, this way." she smiled and gestured with her head for them to follow her. They had to walk most of the beach and up all the stairs before they entered the castle.

As they followed her, Davos went over to ask her where she was from, while Robb remained silent and focused on her unusual outfit. It was rather typical for women to wear dresses, especially those of high birth. However, Missandei did not have a dress, only a cloak which shape imitated the cut of the dress. Additionally, two belts crossed on her chest, holding some kind of shoulder straps, one of them had a silver brooch, circle with three dragon heads attached to it. And, of course, trousers and high boots. I wonder if their queen wears the same kind of clothes... She was probably the one who started this 'trend'.

"This place has changed." ser Davos said to him after he had exchanged a few words with Missandei and they continued walking along the beach towards the castle.

"Inside probably even more so, you won't see the same sigils anymore." he replied.

"I hope I don't have to visit the prison again."

He rolled his eyes at this answer and said nothing more. They would have no reason to keep them prisoners, they would rather kill them. But they are still alive, that's the most important thing. Perhaps they will even be able to leave this island on their own.

The building itself made a great impression, mainly due to the figures of dragons crowning the towers or above the gate and at the entrances. A stronghold for the Dragon Queen indeed. Although climbing all those stairs when you spent the last many days on the ship and didn't have much opportunity to walk... A bit of a challenge.

"How's Sansa? I heard she's alive and well." Tyrion asked him when they were almost halfway up.

"She's fine." he replied rather dryly. He still had a bad taste for the Lannisters, even though - apparently - Tyrion was now fighting against his family.

"Does she miss me a lot?" yes... He had already forgotten that they married his little sister to Tyrion... He gave him a look that was enough of an answer. "A marriage of convenience, and unconsummated." You would try to do it differently... "Anyway... She's smarter than she lets on."

"Oh, she's changed..." he sighed. He regretted that he had not been able to protect her from all the horrors that had befallen her, but the most important thing was that she had survived. She changed... Like all of them, they grew up faster than they should have.

"Someday I want to hear how you survived my father's trap and then took Winterfell back from the Boltons with your siblings." Tyrion wanted to add, 'You Starks are hard to kill', but he thought that would be an exaggeration, even for him.

At first, Robb felt a huge need to punch him for reminding him of those very painful moments. The only thing that stopped him was that he needed the Queen's help and he couldn't start a conflict between them.

"When you tell me how it happened that the Lannister went from being a torturer to becoming the Hand of Visenya Targaryen?"

"I have never been a torturer." Tyrion defended himself. He had never done anything bad to this girl, and now he actually admired her for what she was able to achieve. He may like to tease, but he won't let himself be called that. "And my path to this 'top' was long and quite bloody. To be honest, I was drunk for most of it." there was silence for a moment as they climbed the stairs. "Tell me, why exactly did you accept the invitation? If I were advising you, I would strongly advise you not to come here."

"Apparently I don't learn from my mistakes. Or maybe-" He stopped abruptly when he heard an inhuman screech just behind them.

Both he and Davos fell to the ground, as a pitch-black dragon flew just above their heads. More flew right behind him, green, golden and white, shimmering blue in the sun. The four of them had been circling the island and now they were racing around the castle.

Only the two of them fell to the ground, the others seemed to be used to this sight and inhuman sounds that quickly chilled their blood. Tyrion walked over and offered his hand to help him up.

"I'd say you'd get used to them, but you never really do." he declared, smiling slightly under his breath. "Come, their mother is waiting for you."

Inside, Visenya was not yet sitting on the throne, but she was impatiently pacing the room and waiting. As Tyrion and Missandei went to greet her guest, only Ser Arthur and a pair of Unsullied were left with her to stand guard.

She kept thinking about how she should start the conversation and what she should say to get what she wanted. He agreed to come, so that was already half of a win, but now she had to convince him. With Dorne and the Reach it was easier, Varys took care of the most important conversations - even though she didn't ask him to... - and there was a different mentality in these parts of the country. They did not lose much strength in the war, they were burning for revenge, while the North suffered a lot and probably wanted peace above all.

She doesn't want soldiers from them, she just wants the Starks to also support her claim to the throne and acknowledge her authority, that's all. But if you consider what the Mad King did to Brandon and Richard Stark, what her father did to Lyanna Stark... But she is not them, she will not allow herself to be judged by the crimes of her ancestors.

"What do you think he's like?" she asked suddenly, finally moving away from the window. "Brave or stupid to accept my invitation?" she slowly walked up the stairs and finally sat down.

"People have heard of your achievements in Essos."

"And they also heard the rumors spread by Cersei. Apparently in some village they say I have a tail and horns."

"Quite a funny vision, who knows, maybe they would add to your charm?" she rolled her eyes. She knew that he was teasing her, trying to calm her down, so he must have noticed that she was stressed.

She would have said something back, but at that moment the door to the chamber began to open, so she straightened up in her seat and stared straight ahead. She should be used to it by now, but something made her unable not to get stressed. She kept her hands clasped in her lap and concentrated on not playing with them, not showing any nervousness.

"You stand in the presence of Visenya of House Targaryen, rightful heir to the Iron Throne, rightful Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Queen of Yunkai, Queen of Astapor, Queen of Meereen, the Unburnt, Breaker of the Chains." she was introduced with all her titles by Missandei, who was taking her place by the stairs to her left, Tyrion standing to her right.

Robb's first thought was that he had never heard of a person holding so many titles. Has anyone really ever called her all those titles? What does 'the Unburnt' even mean? Either she has actually achieved so much in the last four years, or she has a very large ego, or both.

"This is Robb Stark, King in the North." Ser Davos said, his voice echoing through the hall.

She didn't even listen to him much, she stared at the boy who immediately seemed familiar to her.

She had seen him before, seen those curls, even from this distance she could also tell that she had seen those blue eyes before. She dreamed of and danced with him. So maybe it belongs to him...

She realized that she had been silent for too long, that she should say something.

"Thank you for accepting my invitation, Your Grace." she emphasized these two words. "I hope the journey wasn't too hard." she decided to exchange pleasantries, as she first had to put thoughts of him aside before she could move on to politics.

"The winds were quite kind to us, thank you." he replied, having to focus on the here and now.

Of course, it didn't escape his notice that they had met before. She was the woman who had not left his thoughts for several days since the dream, she was the one who mounted the dragon and flew on its back. That silver hair and purple eyes are unmistakable, of course, a Targaryen.

"You don't have to be afraid of me. I'm not like my enemies, I don't invite people under my roof and then kill them." she assured, even though nothing in his behavior indicated that he was afraid of her.

"A woman with an army, a fleet, and four dragons telling you not to be afraid of her is unheard of." she smiled slightly under her breath, even though he said it with noticeable irony in his voice, or maybe as a joke? She couldn't tell. "And you call yourself the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and I call myself the King of one of those kingdoms, doesn't that make us enemies, Your Grace?"

"Do you want to be my enemy?" she couldn't help but ask this question, even though she didn't expect any answer, so she quickly continued. "I don't want wars, violence should be the last resort, that's why I invited you here. We have a common enemy: Cersei Lannister. I propose that we become allies."

"On what basis?"

"The one you're thinking about. Support my claim to the crown, acknowledge my authority, and I will give us all our desired revenge."

Of course that's what she wants, that's why she invited him, just like he thought from the beginning... Perhaps if what was said about her - or rather what rumors Cersei was spreading - were at least partially true, he would not think long, just kneel and swear allegiance. But she didn't look like a monster, she didn't act like one. In fact, after what she really did, common people would say that she is an angel in human body.

It could have been just a cover, but it made him decide to fight for the independence of his kingdom.

"I can support your claim, but not to my kingdom." he said firmly. "I'm sorry, Your Grace, but we don't know each other. We know as much about ourselves as we have been told. You are invoking a right that you don't actually have because your dynasty was overthrown. All you can do is win throne back and then I will recognize your rights." he paused for a moment, watching her reaction. She didn't look angry. "Do you really want to rule lands you don't know? I've heard many good and bad things about you, I don't know what to believe, you can't expect to come back after four years and everyone submitting to you."

She didn't expect it, but she also didn't think of her rights as something she didn't actually have. Who else would have a better claim to the throne? There is no one else left to inherit from Robert, kingdoms could not remain under the rule of the usurper Cersei. It's not just that this woman doesn't deserve the crown, but also that she doesn't know how to rule, doesn't care about the people under her, and only wants power and a good life. This is not what a ruler should want.

She didn't lose hope, on the contrary - she believed that she was able to convince him. For some reason, fate had allowed them to 'mee'" before under quite nice circumstances, certainly not to become enemies later.

"I don't want to just rule, I want to change." she replied more dispassionately than she wanted. She decided that she had to somehow shorten the distance between them, let him to known her, if they were to get along. At the same time, she would also like to get to know him better... She got up from her throne and began to slowly approach. "You've probably also heard a lot about the little girl that Tywin kept as his trophy, a memory of times gone by - that's a nice phrase I heard once. It would seem that many people should feel sorry for me: An orphan, my father died before I was born, and my mother was raped and killed by the Mountain shortly after, right after he killed my siblings." she paused for a moment to make her next words sound stronger. "Nobody was sorry. No one delivered justice. Robert actually demanded my head, the head of a several-day-old baby. He tried to kill me a few times, of course he did, he hated my father so much, he was so afraid that his blood would survive and become a threat to him one day."

She had to stop for a moment to don't let tears - that were coming to her eyes as the memories of her childhood flooded her - fall.

Robb didn't dare interrupt her. He knew her story as much as it was talked about. The maester once taught him about the last members of this house, Visenya, and Viserys and Daenerys, who managed to escape to Essos right after the war. Since Visenya was here alone, he guessed that the other two had not survived until now.

He never paid much attention to her history, he was a child, he preferred to duel with Theon, first with wooden and then with blunt swords, than to learn history. But now, hearing it straight from her... He sympathized. He could easily say that, he felt sorry for her. While he had fun running around Winterfell, when he could come to his parents at any time - even at night when he had a nightmare - and he had no worries, she never had that luxury. She was forever alone, with the specter of death hanging over her head. She lived under the roof of someone like Tywin Lannister, who - as he knew from experience - was ready to do anything to win.

If she wanted to make me feel sorry for her, she's already succeeded.

"I survived. I've lived seventeen years of something I wouldn't call life. I survived and finally managed to escape. I spent four years in completely foreign lands, and yet they were the best years of my life. You said you heard a lot of good things about me... Did you hear that I freed slaves from all over Slaver's Bay? The Breaker of Chains. No one ever did this, no one thought that they were people too and deserved a normal life. Soon, the concept of 'slavery' will become history. And they have will come back to it... The dragons. The world hadn't seen them for over a hundred years until my children were born. The Dothraki never followed any woman, they considered them too weak. They also never crossed any sea. And yet now they listen to me, they crossed the sea for me." she finished speaking as she stopped a step in front of him. "Many men have tried to kill me, but no one succeeded. If all that has happened to me isn't a sign that I was born to rule the Seven Kingdoms, I don't know what else it could be. If not fate, how else to explain it?"

"Maybe. But you will rule the frozen wasteland unless we defeat the real enemy."

In his answer, he did not refer to what she said about herself, he did not want to show that he admired her for what she did for those people from across the sea. He should finally address the issue that made him decide to come here and talk to her in the first place.

"My only enemy is Cersei Lannister."

"You are wrong, Your Grace." Davos interrupted. "Death is the enemy of us all."

"Very poetic." this time it was Tyrion who joined the discussion. She didn't see any hidden meaning behind Davos' words, but she started thinking about them in a different context...

"Let him talk." she said, giving her Hand a quick glance. "Continue..." she trailed off because she didn't know the man's name.

"Ser Davos Seaworth, thank you." he cleared his throat quietly. "I don't mean any poetry..." He looked at Tyrion for a moment. "...but a real threat. The undead army is on the other side of the Wall and they will attack us soon. An army that knows no fatigue and does not leave bodies on the battlefield. This is our enemy. If we don't deal with him... Does it really matter whose corpse sits on the Iron Throne?"

"If it doesn't matter, you might as well pledge your allegiance here and now. We all together will deal with Cersei, and then we'll go fight... Whatever you were talking about."

Honestly, she wished Tyrion wouldn't interfere right now. She didn't have anything better to say herself, and she tried to appreciate that Tyrion wanted to win another house's support for her, but she felt it didn't make sense today. They can argue all they want, but no one will trust a stranger enough to put the fate of their people in his hands.

"Enough." she said to him quietly. She hoped that would be enough to stop him from interfering with the bend-the-knee issue again. "We are strangers. I understand that you will not give your lands to me, and you should understand that I will not dedicate my army to your cause, to fight against some... Army of the undead?"

She wasn't entirely skeptical about Ser Davos' words, considering one of her dreams, but she couldn't blindly believe in them... She wasn't alone, she was dragging thousands of people along with her, she had to think about their safety, not just her own. Additionally, she has just begun the final preparations for the war against Cersei, the ships have already sailed, the fighting will begin soon. If she withdraws from the campaign as soon as it begins, what will her allies think of her? Without her in the south, Cersei will not be afraid to send an army to take over more and more lands and oppress more and more people.

"I know it sounds like some store made to scare naughty children." Robb spoke up. "But if it weren't for that, I wouldn't be here. My own sister advised me against it, and yet here I am. Maybe it's stupidity, maybe it's desperation, but coming here, I trusted you with my life, because - like you - I want to save people who have already suffered enough."

She was about to say something, she even knew what, but then they heard hurried footsteps coming from behind the corridor. It was Varys, he walked past their guests and went straight to Visenya, leaned down and whispered a few words:

"Your Grace, we need to talk urgently, it's very important."

She nodded gently and he moved away from her. She had to politely end this conversation somehow. Maybe it's even good, she will have time to think about how to approach it, now that she has the whole picture of the situation.

"Forgive me, you've come such a long way, you must be very tired. We will prepare you chambers, Missandei will show you. We'll have a bath run for you and bring you supper. If you need anything, speak to her." she forced a smile and was about to turn to Varys, but she noticed the distrustful face especially on Robb's face. Yeah... I should have understood trauma better. "I swear to my mother's memory that nothing will happen to you under my roof. You can walk around the entire island, after all, you are not my prisoners."

"You took our boat." he noticed, stopping her for a moment more.

"You'll get it back when we finish our meeting."

That was the last thing she said. She stood with her back to them and waited for them to leave so she could talk about this 'important matter'.

Robb and Davos had no other choice, so they left the chamber, and Missandei left with them. Of course he was afraid to stay in someone's home, especially since he didn't have any weapons. On the one hand, the memories of the Red Wedding came back to him as soon as he saw Visenya, but on the other hand, he felt an inexplicable peace in her presence.

She carried herself in a way that exuded confidence and strength, her outfit was in the same style as Missandei's, only more ornate. A silver chain ran across her chest, with a long piece of fabric with embroidered scales attached to it at the back. Even her hairstyle was unique, lots of braids tied up into a bun, with only a few strands left loose. When you looked at her, you truly saw a Queen, a strong personality, who knew what she wanted and how to get it.

However, after talking to her... To a large extent, it was all just appearances. She was not a cold-blooded murderer who would do anything to achieve her goal. Her difficult past certainly shaped most of her character. Therefore, he was prone to believe that she really wanted to change the world for the better.

They were practically the same age, and although life has verified many of their dreams, they still have ideals in them.

It was even good that they were interrupted. He will be able to prepare better for his next conversation with her, now that he knows how he should approach her.

Behind closed doors, however, the conversation finally began.

"We already know where the Iron Fleet is..." Varys began. It was clear from the beginning that he had bad news. "Two or three ships escaped, the rest sunk or captured. Ellaria Sand and Sand Snakes, who were to leave ships at Sunspear captured or dead, Yara and Theon Greyjoy captured or dead."

For a moment she didn't know what to do. This was only the beginning, and their plan was already starting to fall apart. Conducting a war so that as few people die as possible is much more difficult and complicated than throwing all your forces at once and breaking the enemy...

Nobody said it will be easy to be good.

"If they're alive, Euron will definitely sail with them to King's Landing... Is there any chance he's not there yet?" she asked finally.

Maybe she should sacrifice them, after all, they knew what they were signing up for. But what kind of Queen will she be if she so quickly gives up on the people who decided to fight for her?

"It is possible, but Your Grace-"

"So please, write to Euron." she interrupted Varys before he could dissuade her from this idea. "Write, that if he releases all those captured, I will meet with him."

He wanted to meet the Dragon Queen, so I will give him the opportunity, but not for free.

-> general masterlist -> Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon masterlist

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librosamarillos · 1 year

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passed down like folk songs

chapter 16: a prayer

Maegor Targaryen x OC

Also on Ao3

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Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, angst, mature themes, targaryen incest, violence, Maegor is a red flag himself, characters are ooc probably, MINORS DNI

Visenya was getting a headache. Even for her, things were getting overwhelming these days, with her correspondence to lords near the rebel areas to gather arms and support, then her nephew crumbling down as soon as the crown sat upon his head, and now her son was getting out of control. Part of her was glad he was going to war, to take out all his anger in a more productive way to their house, without killing off a former prince of Casterly Rock. She was making her way to Rowan’s chambers to talk about her decision. She did selfishly want her to stay, regardless of Maegor, because then she’d have someone who understood her in her grief and her frustration.

It was a difficult decision to make, she didn’t blame her for taking a long time to think it all through, she was being realistic. It would be exhausting. It was exhausting for her to be around her own husband with Rhaenys around. It drained her entirely to hold her head up high and keep up appearances, despite everyone knowing the truth. The situation was not the same, but she had been in a position where she had to pretend to be fine, she could understand her. Perhaps even help her.

Through the years she noticed that when Rowan was upset, she preferred to be alone to calm down. She’d hurt herself, picking at her nails, sometimes to the point where they were red and bloody. It wasn’t often, but she always knew when it happened. Maegor was the exact opposite, his anger was explosive, dangerous and violent. She recalled back to her own youth and her own explosive anger, knowing she somehow passed it onto her son. She wasn’t sure what to do yet, but she could not let him go on like this.

It was almost funny how quickly the two had become friends as children, seeing as when they had first met, they were awkward around each other. They were both hurting back then, Rowan with the loss of her mother, Maegor with the realisation that he’d never have a father. Somehow they helped each other so much, it hurt her to see them both so miserable. She wondered if Aegon could see how miserable their son was, all because of his decision. Would he even care? When had he ever cared about their boy?

Before she could even knock, Rowan opened the door, surprised to see her standing there, but met her with a smile.

“Your grace! I was just about to come find you!” she was smiling brightly, clearly in a good mood.

“It’s good I came by then. May I come in?” Visenya shook away the thoughts of her husband, as she was hoping for good news.

“Of course! Please, come in.” Rowan opened the door further, heading in after her to pull out a chair for her to sit in.

“No need to be so formal here, I actually prefer when you aren’t.” she sat down, making herself comfortable as the young girl nodded and did the same. “Have you decided?”

At the question, Rowan nodded again, the smile not leaving her face, filling Visenya with hope for the first time in a while.

“I’ll do it. Even if things get difficult, I want to stay by your side. I want to help you.” she said, her expression determined.

Visenya let herself smile a relaxed smile. She felt relieved at her words. Rowan was always there, as much as she could’ve been as a young girl and to hear her make the choice to stand by her, now as a young woman, it brought her a great amount of both relief and joy.

“I’m glad to hear you say that. I’ll assume your father already knows?” she didn’t need to ask, in truth, as the two were always on the same page.

“Of course, I’d never make a decision that big without him knowing.” Rowan said.

“I didn’t doubt it. I’m happy I’ll have you around.”

“I’m happy to have you around as well. I always miss you when I return home.” she admitted, twirling the ring on her index finger mindlessly. “What will my duties be?”

“Nothing you haven’t done before. You’ll be helping me around, as a scribe, a helper, you’ll understand once you get the hang of things. I have no doubt you’ll do great.” she explained, paying attention to Rowan’s slightly scratched fingers, choosing to not bring it up just yet.

“I’m flattered to hear you have such confidence in me, your grace. I will not let you down.” she smiled brightly once more.

Ceryse felt excited for the first time in forever, having a girlish smile spread across her face as she held the long awaited letter from her brother, Morgan. She knew her eldest brother would be busy with everything happening, but Morgan always made time to write to her.

Dearest sister,

I hope this letter finds you well and in good health. Know that we all miss you terribly, especially I, because with whom shall I make fun of Martyn with?

Things are well here. You’ve received father’s letters, I assume, so you know he’s been well. He and Martyn are in full swing preparing Martyn to take over, just so he’s prepared. I think the King’s sudden death made him worry, I cannot blame him for it, but he has gotten quite grim. Our goodsister is doing well too, as well as little Norman is growing into a happy toddler, who misses you so much. He’s looking more and more like Anne every day, which is a good thing, since he did not inherit Martyn’s nose. There’s hope for the little one.

Our uncle’s health has been slowly declining, which may not surprise you, due to his age, but he insists he is alright. I’ve had to drag him out of the Starry Sept to the maesters to help with his cough, but he refuses to admit he is ill. I do think he will be well, but I do also think you should come visit all of us soon.

Things with me are the same as always. If I keep it up, word has it I will become a commander soon. I do hope you’ll be proud of me once that comes to fruition! I’d hate to repeat myself and state the obvious, but I have missed you dearly, we all have. I would hope once things settle, and should your husband not be too busy, that he would allow you to visit your home and family, who love you so much.

News of rebellion has reached you all, I am sure, but worry not. I assure you, as I am sure so has father, that we are more than safe in Oldtown. It’s you we worry about, in that slum of a city. Are you well? Healthy? I hope at least you’ve made friends there and aren’t going through it alone. I hope to see you soon, dear sister.

Your favourite brother,

Morgan.

Ceryse’s smile was a saddened one. Morgan’s words made her heart hurt, hearing of her family missing her as she had missed her, how her little nephew was growing healthy, how she missed her goodsister, her brothers, her father, even her uncle, who was the one who was responsible for her being so far away. She worried for Morgan. Should the rebellions become more serious, he would be expected to fight, and the idea of that was enough to make her shake with worry. The idea of anyone in her family being harmed in battle would reduce her to tears.

She could not say the same about her husband, as the idea of him being harmed did not phase her. She had hoped after a year of marriage that she could at least call herself his friend, but that was not their case. She barely knew anything about him that was not common knowledge in court. He still scared her, but he also infuriated her. He barely spoke to her, scowled when he was in her vicinity, yet visited her nightly to perform their duty. She was no lovesick fool, she never expected a love story in her marriage, but she had at least hoped for someone she could hold a conversation with.

And his little tantrum the other night had solidified that he’d never hold up as the man she’d hoped for. He was a fucking child, angry that things did not happen the way he wanted and took it out on people around him. Did he not think she was angry to be stuck with him? To be stuck with this moody, dangerous man for the rest of her days? She would not be praying for his safe return in the sept, of that she was sure. She knew he would not allow her to visit Oldtown, not when she hadn’t given him what he wanted.

She hated it, but his words did sting her. She was seven and twenty, most women by her age already had two or three children already. So what was wrong with her? Motherhood was something that was expected of her, ever since she could remember, it wasn’t something she was looking forward to, rather something that she feared. How many women had she heard of that died on the childbed, or went through a horrific birth that affected them for the rest of their lives? Perhaps the idea of being safe from such a fate should bring her relief, but a bigger part of her was saddened and eager to have a little one of her own. Her little nephew Norman was such a darling, being around him filled her with such joy. Having her own child would get her annoying husband off her back, but also bring her happiness in this miserable castle.

Lana would eventually marry, she was of age and absolutely beautiful, and Rowan’s days will be filled with whatever her goodmother forced her to do, before she eventually married as well, meaning both of her friends would be gone, leaving her alone. She hoped the Dowager Queen would keep her friend around, so she’d have her near for longer. Ceryse supposed she should feel jealous that her friend was chosen by the former Queen, but in all honesty, she found her so unpleasant to be around, she did not envy Rowan at all. She was someone who made friends easily and was pleasant to be around, she did not doubt she’d last longer than the previous ladies that got dismissed at the first error. Perhaps Lana could secure a position in court as well, so that all three of them could remain close.

She took a piece of parchment and her quill, to write back to her brother. She wrote of her news, what she knew of the King’s plans, how the city was, how she was spending her days, the newest book she had been reading, but she did not mention her husband. What would she write about him anyway? Yes, he’s still insufferable and I hate to be around him, but the sex is okay because at least she didn’t have to look at him during the act? She couldn’t say such things, not to anyone, he’d have her tongue cut out. She just wrote he’d be leading the battle in the Vale soon and left it at that. No one but her father and uncle had asked her about potential pregnancies in their letters, but her brothers understood that she’d tell them should she have news, which made her even more grateful that Morgan did not mention it at all, so she did not write of her worries. Her brothers knew her well.

The days passed by quickly and Rowan was enjoying the routine. She would break her fast with Visenya, then help her arrange and send out letters to lords for their support. She was truly the one in charge instead of the King. Ruling suited her so well, like she was born to command a room. Rowan did not know many women in history that got to claim such a title. She would always accompany her when she met with Aenys, who seemed to remember her a bit from their very brief encounters in their youth. Sometimes, Maegor would be there, and she feared she would forget to breathe, so she only focused on writing down all that the Dowager Queen told her to.

Visenya was very much still grieving. Rowan wasn’t sure if the former Queen knew that, but it was clear to her. The way she’d linger in certain spots of her chambers and solar, where Rowan would picture she would spend most time with her late husband. The chair he would sit at was always empty, reserved for him alone, certain items she was told not to move at all, so they stayed as he left them, the two books on her nightstand. One she could see was of herbs, something she and the Queen would talk about when she was a girl, to help teach her Valyrian. The other book, she could not make out the title, as only the worn out spine was visible from beneath the other. It must be something personal and sentimental, for as complicated and hurtful as he was, Visenya loved Aegon. But if Rowan was honest with herself, she wanted to throw those books in his face for crushing her all these years. She tried to brighten the rooms up with flowers, by letting the light and fresh air in. It seemed to work, for the most part, but perhaps company was what Visenya needed.

The day of Maegor’s leave was fast approaching and she grew even more nervous than ever. He’d be so far away, in battle, not training or sparring, true battle that could get him truly hurt. Rowan was still angry at what he said to Ceryse, trying to understand why in the world he’d say such a horrible thing. They hadn’t had any time to talk in private, for they were both busy with everything happening around them. She had hoped to see him, at least before he left, because no matter how angry she was, she could never set aside her love for him. She had stayed up late for a few days to carve out a small wooden sword, a pin, a prayer to the Warrior for protection. She just wished to give it to him.

She carried it in her pocket everywhere she went, should the chance present itself. It was stressful and it felt wrong, to wish so badly to be around him in such secrecy, despite them not doing anything ‘wrong’. But it was all wrong. How would she feel if her own husband had done this with someone else? Would she not be crushed completely? She kept telling herself she only wanted to wish her friend well in battle.

She had just delivered the last batch of the Dowager Queen’s letters to the maester to send with the ravens, and now all that was left was to tidy up the solar. Visenya was meeting with her nephew, surely to scold him on something, so Rowan took her time to walk back. She passed through the training grounds and could hear from a distance, an all too familiar booming voice, yelling at the knights, about their stance and forms. She hesitated for a moment, but she went ahead a bit closer to the balcony, since it was getting a bit dark and it was quite empty. It wouldn’t be too bad to be seen here, would it? Surely most people would be curious about the knights training, right?

She quietly stood by the side of a pole, hiding slightly from view. But that did not stop Maegor’s eyes from finding her right away, as if he was waiting on high alert to spot an intruder. Rowan’s eyes went wide, ashamed that he had seen her so easily, but his eyes did not linger on her for long. He kept commanding knights to attack him with all their strength, then he fought them off like a wild beast. She was worried, as he was not wearing any proper fighting gear to protect him, just a white shirt that was soaked with sweat, clinging onto his torso and arms. She felt like a complete pervert with how hot her face felt, playing nervously with the cuff of her sleeve.

She stood there, frozen on the spot, unable to move, or tear away her eyes from him, with how animalistic his moves were, or the dangerous, hungry look in his eyes. She should leave, she really should. She took a deep breath and turned to leave, wanting to slap herself for even coming here. She all but ran back to Visenya’s solar and to her relief, she was alone. Rowan took a seat and buried her face in her hands in shame. Gods be good, just looking at him like that gave her goosebumps, it made her tingle in a way she was ashamed of. If she were in front of a mirror, she was sure to be red as a tomato.

She shook her head in absolute shame at the thoughts of him, she couldn’t allow herself to imagine things so… filthy. She busied herself with tidying up the mess that was the solar after a busy day of meetings and work.

Unaware of how many hours had passed, she did not expect to see him at the door, expecting his mother to be there instead. Maegor stood tall, closing the door behind him, his face wearing a proud smile as he approached her. He had bathed and changed, now smelling of lavender. When Rowan did not return the smile, Maegor frowned.

“Are you mad at me?” he asked, brows furrowed, eyes confused.

“I am.” she remembered how to breathe, meeting his eyes. “How could you say such a thing to Ceryse?” she asked him, her voice soft as always.

At the mention of his wife’s name, Maegor’s frown deepened.

“Why are you upset over her?” he asked her, voice suspicious.

“I’m not upset over her, it’s not her that’s acting so out of turn, it’s you I’m upset over. I never imagined you saying such a thing to anyone, let alone your own wife!” she countered.

“My… wife.” he said, as if he were hesitant to call her that. “You two have really gotten close.” he sounded like he was accusing her of some crime.

“She’s my friend, of course we’re close. I care about her, so of course I’m angry when her husband is being such a jerk to her!” Rowan was getting angrier.

“You think I’m a jerk for expecting what every husband expects of his wife?” he asked her, no, challenged her.

“Not every husband speaks to his wife so cruelly. I’d be crushed if my own husband spoke to me in such a way.” It was low, but he had never angered her so.

Maegor’s words were lost in his throat when he heard her. He opened his mouth to speak, but chose against it, as if not trusting what he was going to say. He was silent for a moment, looking away from her in shame.

“I was… frustrated.” he finally admitted to her in shame.

“And so it’s fine for you to speak to her like that?” she asked him, eyes baring into his handsome face.

“I’ll make it up to her. But you seem more fond of her than you are of me.” Maegor’s voice went from a shamed one, to a suspicious one.

“That feels like an accusation. Should I not care for my friend?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“And am I not your dearest friend?” he asked softly. “Because you are mine.”

“Of course you are.” that, and so much more. “I care about you the most. Which is why I cannot watch you act in such an unbecoming way. I do not understand why you’re in such a hurry, it’s only been a year. You’re better than this.”

“Forgive me… I cannot bear to leave while you’re angry with me.” he walked closer to her, grabbing hold of both her hands, eyes pleading.

“It’s not me you need to apologise to.” she frowned at how much she craved his touch.

“I’ll apologise, I promise.” he squeezed her hands in assurance.

They stayed silent for a while, relishing in the warmth of getting to hold each other’s hands. She silently studied his hands, large and calloused, the skin rough from all his years training with the sword. Some cuts were fresh, but they were tiny, noticeable only if one stepped so close to look. She couldn’t help it, she traced around them ever so gently, praying that this was the only damage he’d have on him when he returned. Maegor seemed to relish in the attention she was giving him, but that did not stop him from noticing the reddened skin on her fingertips. He said nothing, only softly touching them, his eyes now on her face. She turned upward to meet his gaze and slightly shook her head.

“I… I was just stressed. With the battle coming up, I just… I worry.” she admitted. “Look, I know you think it’s silly, but I’m nervous about you going away. I made you this.” she said softly, reaching in her pocket to reveal to him the small wooden sword pin. “It’s to keep you safe. I know you find things of the faith silly, but-”

He took it from her hands and brought it to his lips for a kiss. He studied it closely, admiration on his face when he noticed the small details she carved into it.

“Thank you. I shall guard it carefully.” he smiled.

“It’s supposed to be worn beneath your armour. It’s like a prayer to the Warrior, to keep you safe, grant you strength and courage to return home safely.” to return to me.

“Will you show me where?” he asked boldly, eyes on hers.

“There’s no specific place, you can pin it wherever it’s most comfortable, as long as it doesn’t bother you, or get in your way.” she suddenly felt shy.

“I’ll wear it wherever you tell me to.” he said, placing the pin in her hands, looking at her expectantly, standing tall for her to place it somewhere.

Rowan looked up at his eyes and they held the softest expression she had ever seen on his harsh features. She just wanted to leap into his arms and beg him to stay safe, to stay alive, but she didn’t. She thought for a moment, and carefully placed the pin over his heart. Before she could move away, he placed his hands over hers, looking at her with such longing. She could swear she could feel her heart in her ears, her face impossibly warm.

“I don’t want you to worry about me. I’ll crush them all and return to you before you know it.”

“Maegor…” she wanted to scold him for speaking this way, as if he didn’t make her heart flutter and tremble.

“Do you not think I can? You’ve seen me train, have I given you reason to doubt me?” he asked, a smile creeping onto his face.

“I- no, but, you cannot know for certain… not with battle…” she trailed.

“You seemed to quite enjoy watching me…” he whispered, knowing very well what he was doing to her. How cruel of him.

“Maegor…” she shook her head and pulled away her hands. “That was inappropriate, I shouldn’t have been there..”

“Inappropriate… yes.” he repeated, but did not believe it.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t apologise, I did it on purpose.” he admitted.

“On purpose?” she asked, confused.

“To show you, you have nothing to fear. I’ll be safe. Nobody can touch me. You will not mourn me, Rowan. Plus, I have Balerion with me. Let’s see if those fools can fight him off.” he grinned, assuring her even more.

“Still, please be safe and careful.” she begged.

He smiles.

“Of course.”

taglist:@heartstalked@stupidocupido@discowizard88@slytherisstuff

#maegor targaryen x oc #maegor the cruel #hotd fanfic #local faithful of the seven gets turned on for the first time and is scared #he really is slutty asf actually

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butterflies-dragons · 4 years

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You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts.

I always thought that both, Sansa and Arya have sun and moon imagery around them. But if I have to choose then I would say that Sansa is the sun and Arya is the moon; and after my last re-read of Fire & Blood, I just confirmed it.

As I said before, several Targaryen sisters duos described in Fire and Blood are very similar to Sansa and Arya, as if George wanted for us to have the Stark sisters in mind while discovering all these Targaryen ladies:

Visenya and Rhaenys

Rhaena and Alysanne

Aerea and Rhaella

Baela and Rhaena

Let’s talk about the last ones, the twin daughters of Daemon Targaryen and his second wife Lady Laena Velaryon: Baela and Rhaena.

In 116 AC, in the Free City of Pentos, Lady Laena gave birth to twin daughters, Prince Daemon’s first trueborn children. Prince Daemon named the girls Baela (after his father) and Rhaena (after her mother).

—Fire & Blood

Baela��s description matches Arya Stark

At ten-and-four, Baela was a wild and willful young maiden, more boyish than ladylike, and very much her father’s daughter. Though slim and short of stature, she knew naught of fear, and lived to dance and hawk and ride. As a younger girl she had oft been chastised for wrestling with squires in the yard, but of late she had taken to playing kissing games with them instead. Not long after the queen’s court removed to King’s Landing (whilst leaving Lady Baela on Dragonstone), Baela had been caught allowing a kitchen scullion to slip his hand inside her jerkin. Ser Robert, outraged, had sent the boy to the block to have the offending hand removed. Only the girl’s tearful intercession had saved him.

(...)

Baela’s time on Dragonstone had been more troubled, ending with fire and blood. By the time she came to court, she was as wild and willful a young woman as any in the realm. (...) Baela lived to ride…and to fly, though that had been taken from her when her dragon died. She kept her silver hair cropped as short as a boy’s, so it would not whip about her face when she was riding. Time and time again she would escape her ladies to seek adventure in the streets. She took part in drunken horse races along the Street of the Sisters, engaged in moonlight swims across the Blackwater Rush (whose powerful currents had been known to drown many a strong swimmer), drank with the gold cloaks in their barracks, wagered coin and sometimes clothing in the rat pits of Flea Bottom. Once she vanished for three days and refused to say where she had been when she returned.

Even more gravely, Baela had a taste for unsuitable companions. Like stray dogs, she brought them home with her to the Red Keep, insisting that they be given positions in the castle, or be made part of her own retinue. These pets of hers included a comely young juggler, a blacksmith’s apprentice whose muscles she admired, a legless beggar she took pity on, a conjurer of cheap tricks she took for an actual sorcerer, a hedge knight’s homely squire, even a pair of young girls from a brothel, twins, “like us, Rhae.” Once she turned up with an entire troupe of mummers. Septa Amarys, who had been given charge of her religious and moral instruction, despaired of her, and even Septon Eustace could not seem to curb her wild ways. “The girl must be wed, and soon,” he told the King’s Hand, “else I fear that she may bring dishonor down upon House Targaryen, and shame His Grace, her brother.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see Baela and Arya shared a lot of similarities, both are wild and willful, both short of stature, both wear short hair, both like riding, both prefer the company of the common folk instead of the courtly life, both admire the muscles of a young blacksmith’s apprentice, both seek adventures, both make their Septa’s despair, etc.

Later Rhaena will marry her cousin Alyn Velaryon, born Alyn of Hull, a legitimized bastard, but the marriage was stormy.

Rhaena description matches Sansa Stark

As young girls, the twins had been inseparable, and impossible to tell apart, but once parted, their experiences had shaped them in very different ways. In the Vale, Rhaena had enjoyed a life of comfort and privilege as Lady Jeyne’s ward. Maids had brushed her hair and drawn her baths, whilst singers composed odes to her beauty and knights jousted for her favor. The same was true at King’s Landing, where dozens of gallant young lords competed for her smiles, artists begged leave to draw or paint her, and the city’s finest dressmakers sought the honor of making her gowns.

(...)

It was Jace who came to the fore now, late in the year 129 AC. Mindful of the promise he had made to the Maiden of the Vale, he ordered Prince Joffrey to fly to Gulltown with Tyraxes. Munkun suggests that Jace’s desire to keep his brother far from the fighting was paramount in this decision. This did not sit well with Joffrey, who was determined to prove himself in battle. Only when told that he was being sent to defend the Vale against King Aegon’s dragons did his brother grudgingly consent to go. Rhaena, the thirteen-year-old daughter of Prince Daemon by Laena Velaryon, was chosen to accompany him.

(...)

She would of course wed whomever the king and council wished, she allowed, though “it would please me if he was not so old he could not give me children, nor so fat that he would crush me when we are abed. So long as he is kind and gentle and noble, I know that I shall love him.” When the Hand asked if she had any favorites amongst the lords and knights who had paid her suit, she confessed that she was “especially fond” of Ser Corwyn Corbray, whom she had first met in the Vale whilst a ward of Lady Arryn. Ser Corwyn was far from an ideal choice. A second son, he had two daughters from a previous marriage. At thirty-two, he was a man, not a green boy.

—Fire & Blood

As you can see Rhaena and Sansa shared a lot of similarities, both are ladylike, both love the courtly life, both are linked with a (bastard) Joffrey, both lived at the Vale, both are linked with singers, both are linked with Knights and Tourneys, both are dutiful, both are betrothed with a Knight of the Vale, that already had two daughters, etc.

As Ned promised Sansa a betrothal with a high lord, kind, gentle and strong, Rhaena asked for a not too old, not too fat, kind, gentle and noble husband. She married Ser Corwyn Corbray, who had a great reputation as a warrior, so much so that his father gave him the ancient Valyrian steel longsword of House Corbray, Lady Forlorn.

Later Rhaena will lost her husband, Ser Corwyn Corbray. He would be killed during some succession war at the Vale, which is kind of similar to the events developing at the Vale with Alayne Stone, Harrold Hardynd and Robert Arryn.

Much later Rhaena will marry Garmund Hightower, the younger brother of Lord Lyonel Hightower, by whom she will have six daughters.

The Sun and The Moon: The Contrasts between Baela and Rhaena

The contrasts between Baela and Rhaena are very similar to the contrasts between Sansa and Arya:

Rhaena was slender and graceful; Baela was lean and quick.

Rhaena loved to dance; Baela lived to ride…and to fly, though that had been taken from her when her dragon died.

Yet even here, the council encountered difficulty and division. When Leowyn Corbray said, “Lady Rhaena would make a splendid queen,” Ser Tyland pointed out that Baela had been the first from her mother’s womb.

“Baela is too wild,” countered Ser Torrhen Manderly. “How can she rule the realm when she cannot rule herself?” Ser Willis Fell agreed. “It must be Rhaena. She has a dragon, her sister does not.”

When Lord Corbray answered, “Baela flew a dragon, Rhaena only has the hatchling,” Roland Westerling replied, “Baela’s dragon brought down our late king. There are many in the realm who will not have forgotten that. Crown her and we will rip all the old wounds open once again.

The sisters reacted to these lickspittles in vastly different ways. Where Rhaena delighted in being the center of court life, Baela bristled at praise, and seemed to take pleasure in mocking and tormenting the suitors who fluttered around her like moths.

Lady Rhaena proved to be as tractable as her sister had been willful.

But despite their differences and living separated for years, the twins never had a bad relationships, it seems they were good friends, worked together and comforted each other.

The good relationship between Baela and Rhaena also gives me hope about a reconciliation and the development of a better and close relationship between Sansa and Arya.

Baela’s Dragon

Baela’s dragon, the slender pale green Moondancer, would soon be large enough to bear the girl upon her back…

(...)

Even more than boys, however, Lady Baela loved to fly. Since first riding her dragon Moondancer into the sky not half a year past, she had flown every day, ranging freely to every part of Dragonstone and even across the sea to Driftmark.

(...)

So it came to pass that when King Aegon II flew Sunfyre over Dragonmont’s smoking peak and made his descent, expecting to make a triumphant entrance into a castle safely in the hands of his own men, with the queen’s loyalists slain or captured, up to meet him rose Baela Targaryen, Prince Daemon’s daughter by the Lady Laena, as fearless as her father.

Moondancer was a young dragon, pale green, with horns and crest and wingbones of pearl. Aside from her great wings, she was no larger than a warhorse, and weighed less. She was very quick, however, and Sunfyre, though much larger, still struggled with a malformed wing and had taken fresh wounds from Grey Ghost.

—Fire & Blood

Baela’s dragon Moondancer “danced” with Aegon II’s dragon Sunfyre. Despite Aegon II’s win against Baela, before dying and being eaten by Sunfyre, Moondancer wounded Aegon II’s dragon so much that it never flew again and died not far later. Moondancer sounds as fierce as Nymeria, Arya’s direwolf has no fear of other wolves and men and became a savage killer.

So, Baela Targaryen being so similar to Arya Stark and having a dragon named Moondancer, and Arya being a water dancer, convinced me that Arya is the Moon.

Rhaena’s Dragon

Rhaena’s egg had hatched a broken thing that died within hours of emerging from the egg, Syrax had recently produced another clutch. One of her eggs had been given to Rhaena, and it was said that the girl slept with it every night, and prayed for a dragon to match her sister’s.

(...)

Known as Rhaena of Pentos, for the city of her birth, she was no dragonrider, her hatchling having died some years before, but she brought three dragon’s eggs with her to the Vale, where she prayed nightly for their hatching.

(...)

Even more grave were the tidings from the Vale, where Lady Jeyne Arryn had assembled fifteen hundred knights and eight thousand men-at-arms, and sent envoys to the Braavosi to arrange for ships to bring them down upon King’s Landing. With them would come a dragon. Lady Rhaena of House Targaryen, brave Baela’s twin, had brought a dragon’s egg with her to the Vale…an egg that had proved fertile, bringing forth a pale pink hatchling with black horns and crest. Rhaena named her Morning.

(...)

And everywhere that Rhaena went came Morning, her young dragon, oft as not coiled about her shoulders like a stole.

(...)

During the first quarter of 135 AC, two momentous events were the occasion of great joy throughout the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. On the third day of the third moon of that year, the people of King’s Landing woke to a sight that had not been seen since the dark days of the Dance: a dragon in the skies above the city. Lady Rhaena, at the age of nineteen, was flying her dragon, Morning, for the first time. That first day she circled once around the city before returning to the Dragonpit, but every day thereafter she grew bolder and flew farther.

—Fire & Blood

Rhaena lost her first dragon the same way Sansa lost her direwolf Lady, but later Rhaena got another dragon that she named “Morning”.

Sansa is heavily associated with Dawn, the moment immediately before the Sun comes. I wrote about it here.

So, Rhaena Targaryen being so similar to Sansa Stark, having lost her first dragon but getting another one that she named Morning, and Sansa being heavily associated with the Dawn, convinced me that Sansa is the Sun. This lovely parallel also gives me hope that Sansa will have another direwolf in the future, that maybe she will name Dawn.

#Sansa Stark #Arya Stark

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epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 4 years

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The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 11 | Of Delusions and Grandeur

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 8,500

*Warning* Our angry bean having some serious PTSD flashbacks, also death, quite a bit of death.

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡ Oh boy did this one take a reallllllyyyy long time for me to write. I hope it’s worth it! Also, I apologize for any mistakes, I probably didn’t proofread as many times as I should’ve 🤍

When she was a little girl, Visenya was called into Lord Stark's study nearly every day. She'd shuffle into the room, hiding a coy smirk and mischievous giggles behind a straight face, unable to look him in the eyes as she fumbled through unconvincing lies. At the time she thought herself the finest liar in the Seven Kingdoms, ego growing larger with each doe-eyed look, and words of denial laced with feigned innocence. And each time she stepped out of the room, she'd miss the small smile pulling on Lord Stark's mouth, eyes glittering with amusement as melancholy consumed him, reminding him of times when he was much smaller and the world much bigger.

With age, each step into that study grew less intimidating, the walls growing shorter as she grew longer. At some point between six and ten it changed, instead of swiping pastries from the kitchens, she was hiding away with Jon, waving around a training sword that's too large and too sharp; and inevitably, one morning a large cut blossomed on her face. She went into the study sobbing like an infant while holding a medical cloth to her wound, fears of getting in trouble making her anxiety soar high into the cloudy sky. But instead of sour eyes and trembling lips, she left with a beaming smile on her face and orders to begin training with Ser Rodrik. Immediately she was ushered to Maester Luwin and put on bed rest for the day - Theon called her a stupid girl trying to act like a man, whilst Jon brought her wildflowers from a field. She made sure to hit Theon extra hard during their sparring sessions.

Then there was the time she tackled Theon and beat him bloody when she was a girl of ten and two after he insulted her father; wailing like a banshee, screaming into the universe that Theon and his family were cowards. Her small fists beat into him with as much tact and technique as a wild animal. Everything he ate for a week straight had a metallic aftertaste, while Visenya wore her smugness like a crown. Lord Stark gave her a stern lecture about not hitting people just because they make you angry, yet she couldn't help but preen like a bird when noticing the glint of amusement in his icy eyes. Robb would laugh every time he saw Theon for a full month, meanwhile, Theon's glares didn't disappear until his final scar did. Only then did he begin to acknowledge Visenya's presence again. He never brought up her family again, and she returned the favor.

Of course, she could never forget the time she was brought in - shivering like a leaf, looking as if she'd slept in the deepest ocean - two guards at her side as they escorted her. Lord Stark dismissed them immediately, waiting with patient eyes and a kind smile for Visenya to explain where she'd run off to. The dam broke and she began sobbing, blubbering nonsense that not even she understood. But Lord Stark didn't yell at her, demanding she speak clearly. Instead, he stood up, chair scraping loudly against the floor, and carefully approached Visenya. Kneeling to be eye level with her smaller form, he just hugged her, encompassing her with the fatherly warmth she couldn't remember ever getting from Rhaegar Targaryen. Maybe he did hug her when she was a child and the world wasn't crumbling around them, but if he did, she couldn't remember. So she just hugged Lord Stark so tightly she wouldn't be surprised if he had red marks where her arms were.

Then only four years later, she was called in again, only this time Lady Stark stood beside him, strained smiles and stony eyes greeting her, and held tightly in Lord Stark's hand was a letter, the parchment nearly ripping in half from his grip. It was nearly identical to the one she sent off three days prior, with Essos it's destination and Targaryen the receiver, signed with a desperation to connect with blood. Lord Stark gently explained to her that the King may see it as treason if she was found to be contacting the only other remaining Targaryen's, finding the reason to do what he's been itching to do since the rebellion. And Visenya couldn't bring herself to tear apart her family by selfish actions, not after everything they've done for her. That day she didn't walk out triumphant or ecstatic, instead, she burned with rage and shame; rage at the world and shame at herself for caring so much. She never tried to contact Daenerys again.

The final time she ever walked into that study was a week before Robert Baratheon was set to arrive at Winterfell. Lady Stark wasn't there, in fact, no one else was anywhere near the vicinity. He told her to sit down, not willing to delve into the reason that she was there until she complied. Ned Stark was never one to beat around the bush, finding it more practical to just say what needs to be said and move on. That was the first time Visenya ever saw him fumble over his words. Finally, he managed to tell her what exactly the King had demanded when he was in Winterfell. He wanted Visenya married off and out of Winterfell. She was a statue at that moment, having a million things she wanted to say, but simply nodded, turned, and left the room without another word. A day after the King arrived, so did her potential suitors. The King insisted he should be the one to choose her husband, completely crushing the dwindling hope that her future husband wouldn't be so terrible. The decision ended up being between a child of ten and two and a boy only a year older than that, both from two minor houses in the South; until Robb interrupted - respectfully of course - and declared that he would marry Visenya. She couldn't decide what was worse, the prospect of marrying someone she sees as a brother or watching Jon's crestfallen face. Jon wouldn't look at her until the night before he left for the Night's Watch, and she couldn't look Robb in the eyes until he did.

This time, standing in front of the door that leads into the room Jaskier and Geralt reside in, with damp hair and clothes sticking to wet skin, she is a storm. A flurry of emotions raging in her mind; anger, sadness, melancholy, and fear melting together until she can't feel anything, the sensory overload leaving her numb. She eyes the empty hall like an animal stuck in a cage, her heart pounding, seconds away from bolting out of the inn and never returning, living in the forest as far from people as possible. But then the sound of Jaskier talking and Geralt's angry mumbling filters into Visenya's ears. Her anxiety increases, but the storm softens as she straightens her back, all thoughts of running suddenly gone.

'The blood of the dragon must not be afraid.'

Visenya sends a prayer to the Warrior for courage and the Crone to give her the wisdom to not let her anger control her, not wanting to lash out again. She reaches a hand up, pausing it midair for a second. With one last silent prayer, she grasps the handle in hand and pushes open the door.

"--quit your complaining, you look great! Scary and dashing, what more could a Witcher want?" Jaskier says to Geralt, waving his hands wildly. Geralt stands in the room, wearing clothes suited for minor nobility, a stark difference from his usual armor, a scowl chiseled into his beautiful face.

He's in shades of blue: a Stark blue cotton jacket hugging his biceps, a stone grey shirt tucked into his leather pants that hug his toned legs in the most flattering way, wolf pendant hanging from his neck. His white hair is tied back in its usual fashion but appears to have been brushed, clearly the doing of Jaskier. Despite his obvious discomfort, he's like a piece of art, looking like the subject of a painting that hangs in a noble lady's room.

As the door clicks behind her, Geralt and Jaskier look at her. Jaskier's eyes immediately flicker away, face draining of all color as he takes a small step backward. It's small, the change in his demeanor, but it's enough to break Visenya's heart that she thought had been encapsulated by stone and ice. A million words nearly fall from her mouth, at the very tip of her tongue, but she finds herself losing the ability to speak. So instead she turns her attention to Geralt, feigning the smirk that usually naturally falls on her face.

"You clean up nicely. If I didn't know any better, I wouldn't think you were just covered from head to toe in monster guts," she teases, willing her voice to sound as light as air, not at all weighed down by the anxiety in her heart. Geralt narrows his eyes, seeing through her façade the second she places it on, but he says nothing. Instead, he shrugs his shoulders and grunts, turning back to Jaskier.

"See, I told you it's fine. Now Jane, be a dear and put on that dress in the corner." Jaskier moves through the room like water, stepping behind Geralt and pushing him towards the exit, making Visenya step further into the room, flattening against the wall to allow them to slip past her. Geralt's shoulder brushes against her, and it feels like electricity. Not that she'd ever tell him that. Meanwhile, Jaskier is looking anywhere and everywhere, as long as he doesn't have to look at her.

The door clicks behind them, the shuffling of feet gone, leaving Visenya alone with her thoughts, again. She shuffles over to the other side of the room, seeing a bundle of dark fabric that must be her dress. She closes the distance, holding the fabric between her fingers. It's a deep purple and almost softer than anything she's ever touched. Sighing, she begins to pull her clothes off of her body, haphazardly throwing them onto the ground. She holds up the dress, the ends touching the floor; it's beautiful, with a silver belt cinching in the waist and a slit up the leg, allowing free range of movement. And for a moment she thinks Jaskier chose these colors on purpose, purple for the eyes she used to recognize, and silver for the hair that used to flow freely, but that's impossible. How could he know the importance of those colors when he doesn't even know her real name?

So she pushes those thoughts away and begins the process of stepping into the dress and pulling it on. The fabric drapes loosely off the shoulder, the back flowing into a sort of cloak style. It's light as air, moving in perfect sync with her, ideal for looking pretty but also loose enough to allow her to fight if necessary; nothing like the heavy and restricting dresses of the North. She clasps the belt, adding some shape to her body so it no longer looks like she's drowning in excess fabric. She holds Renfri's broach, the emeralds, and rubies shining and bright compared to her dress. She pins it in the place it always is, over her left breast.

She puts both hands under her hair, starting to pull it out from under the dress when there's a knock at the door. She starts to turn, the dress moving around her feet like a soft breeze, when the door clicks, creaking as it opens.

"Jaskier wanted me to bring you--" Geralt says, trailing off as Visenya turns to face him, the dress fully on display. A smile pulls on her previously dour face, as the last of her damp hair falls over her shoulders. In his hands are a pair of velvet black boots, the heels higher than her usual travel shoes, with a silver buckle adorning them, not as fine as what high royalty would wear, but certainly nicer than her everyday ones. His gold eyes rake up and down her body, mouth slightly agape.

"My shoes? Thank you, I was hoping I wouldn't have to go to this feast barefoot." She saunters over to him, making sure to take her time with every step. She stops right in front of him, tilting her head up to look at his face, Geralt's large form looming over her. His eyes follow her, tilting his head down as well.

She grabs onto the shoes, pulling until Geralt grip on them slacks. Without moving her eyes from his, she slips each shoe on, the inside lined with a soft fabric, making them hug her feet comfortably. Geralt breaths out a laugh, but says nothing else.

"You look nice." he finally says, his voice rougher and lower than usual, causing Visenya's eyes to light up as he struggles to swallow for a moment.

"You don't look too bad either." She raises a single brow, slowly raising herself to stand on the tips of her toes, inching closer to Geralt's face.

"Hmm." He just grunts, leaning down to close the distance between them. And when their lips are seconds away from touching she veers to the left, placing a ghost of a kiss on the corner of his lips.

"See you out there." She leaves the room, closing the door behind her, a self-satisfied smirk on her face.

o0o0o0o

"--keep your head down and pretend to be a mute, can't have anyone figuring out who you are," Jaskier mutters to Geralt as soon as they step into the Great Hall. Most of tonight's guests have already arrived, standing in small clusters that are interspersed throughout the large room. They're rowdy, much more like the Northerners that Visenya's accustomed to, tankards of Cintran Ale in the hands of every person. They're dressed in a wide variety of colors, most of the women wearing dresses made from velvet and much warmer fabrics than the chiffon that languidly hangs off Visenya. A season of jewel tones surround them: reds, greens, and purples as far as the eye can see.

"Geralt of Rivia, the mighty Witcher!" a voice exclaims, a slew of loud drunken shouts from the nearby crowds following the proclamation. A man in forest green finery that looks slippery to the touch begins to approach them. Well dressed, but certainly not the most expensive-looking man in the room. His shoulder-length thick black hair is pushed away from his face, a matching thick beard covering his chin. Light reflects off of the greying hairs that pepper it, betraying how old he is. His eyes, that are as green as his tunic, scan the three of them, lingering on Visenya but ultimately he focuses on Geralt.

"Oh shit," Jaskier mutters, glancing around the room, smiling and waving awkwardly at everyone looking at them.

"I haven't seen you since the plague," he says, silver tankard in hand as he draws closer, an easy smile on his face.

"Good times, Mousesack," Geralt says, his tone and posture rigid and uncomfortable; never one for crowds it would seem. The man doesn't seem put off by Geralt's dour demeanor, instead, he breathes out a laugh, pointing at Geralt with his tankard.

"I have missed your sour complexion. I feared this would be a dull affair, but now that the White Wolf is here, perhaps all is not lost." he closes the distance, grabbing ahold of both of his shoulders, the smile on his face falling just an inch. "Why are you dressed like a sad silk trader?"

Geralt turns to Jaskier, his signature scowl on his face. Jaskier just turns to look at them, playing with his fingers, eyes wide and nervous, but ultimately silent.

"And who might this be," the man says, moving his attention from Geralt to Visenya. She grants him a smile, much closer to Geralt's stiff one than his easy-going smile. He holds out a hand and she shakes it, trying to match his firm grip.

"Jane."

"Mousesack, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." He's charming, with a wide grin on his face and bright eyes. There's also a spark when he makes contact with her. Not the kind that plagues sappy romance novels, but a literal spark of...something that leaves the hair on her arms standing and her spine-tingling.

"Mousesack is a druid." Geralt answers her unspoken question, looking between the two of them with a blank expression.

"I see, and you and Geralt are friends I presume?" Visenya asks, slipping her hand from his tight grasp.

"Old friends, it's been what...50 years?" Mousesack says, glancing at Geralt for confirmation.

"Something like that." Geralt says, scanning the crowd. Visenya turns to him, eyes widening a fraction.

"How old are you exactly?" She asks, eyes narrowing. It never occurred to her that a Witcher would age differently. The passage of time here never occurs to her much. She goes to sleep at night and wakes up at dawn, spending the day traveling, sitting in inns, or looking threatening and mean to potential aggressors, only to start the cycle over again. How much time has passed since she first arrived? Everything seems to pass in a blur, she never bothers to think about it.

"Over 100," he gruffly responds, glancing over at her before returning his eyes elsewhere.

"You don't keep track?" Visenya asks mind short-circuiting momentarily. How is that even possible, to be over 100 years old, yet not look a day over 30? It has to be a side effect of being a Witcher, it's the only logical explanation.

"Why would I?"

"I guess when you're that old it doesn't matter," she says, brows furrowing as her eyes narrow.

"I never thought I'd see the day that someone matched your dour attitude. Come, walk with me," Mousesack merrily exclaims, words slurring together. He flashes Visenya another smile as he begins to effortlessly move through the crowd of people. Geralt follows beside him, Visenya keeping pace with him.

"I've been advising the Skelligen crown for years. A tad rough around the edges, but they're of the earth. Like me," Mousesack says, people, cheering and holding up drinks towards him as he passes.

"Old and crusty," Geralt says. "How long before this horse-trading is done? I find royalty best taken in... small doses."

Visenya snorts as she observes the room around her, trying to memorize every tiny detail. There's a high table at the very end of the hall, with a large throne in the center, like a shining prized jewel. It's nothing near as magnificent as how she imagines the Iron Throne to be, but it's large none-the-less. Sitting by the empty throne is a girl, closer to Visenya's age than not if her appearance is anything to go by. With pale skin that glows in the dim candlelight, her golden-silvery hair compliments her beautifully. It's in an ornate braid on the back of her head, falling over her shoulder, a gold ribbon weaving in and out of it. Her emerald green dress is adorned with a large gold necklace, the small emerald jewels in it dancing in the candlelight, a delicate gold circlet resting on her head. Their eyes lock, and Visenya finds herself entranced by her bright blue eyes, unable to force herself to be aware of her current surroundings.

"I wouldn't count on leaving before dawn. These suitors will vie all night for Princess Pavetta's hand. Marrying into this monarchy is a mighty prize. Who wouldn't want to be king of the most powerful force in the land?" Mousesack says, his only acknowledgment of Geralt's first comment is the small smirk on his lips.

"Hm. So, which one of these little shits is your coin on?"

"Come with me, there's much for you to see. It's not a fair bet. That red-headed scanderlout over there, Crach An Craite, will marry Pavetta. The Lioness has already arranged it with the boy's uncle, Eist Tuirseach." Mousesack says, pointing towards a large man with fiery hair and a matching beard that stands with a large crowd of people, easily one of the loudest people in the room.

Princess Pavetta's fair face wears a frown, similar to her own, but not at all with the fire Visenya holds. Instead, she looks more like a scared girl than a defiant dragon. Not at all unlike herself all those years ago, when she sat at the High Table beside Lord Stark in Winterfell, with weaves of traditional Northern braids in her hair as Robert Baratheon auctioned her off to the highest bidder, like a prized broodmare. But that's the life of a princess, exiled or not, your love is sold off for political and monetary gain. Marriage is never about love for royalty. Yet Visenya's heart aches for the girl who looks like a scared doe, rather than the daughter of the Lioness of Cintra, who fought and won her first battle at only fourteen years of age.

"She doesn't seem too happy about it," Visenya mutters, glancing back at Mousesack. He meets her stern gaze, bright expression dimming just a hair.

"No, I'm afraid not. Princess Pavetta is much softer than her mother."

"They almost always are," Visenya says, eyes moving back to Pavetta, feeling as if she's entranced. Something weeps inside her, shaking so fervently her body almost vibrates. If things were different, that would've been, no, should've been Visenya. But could've, would've, and should've been is nothing when destiny dictates that your world be nothing but ash and ruin. So she snaps her gaze away, unwilling to look at the image of what is always just out of reach.

Mousesack and Geralt continue speaking in low voices, Visenya following them like a ghost, lost in her head. A few minutes in, Geralt moves away, leaving her alone with Mousesack.

"You seem quite focused on the Princess tonight," he muses, pulling Visenya from her chaos.

"She's the most exciting thing in the room right now," Visenya says, raising a single brow at Mousesack, shoving away the sinking feeling that something horrible is going to happen.

"Moving past that insult to my character--" Visenya snorts. "I feel as though it is something more. I can see it in your eyes, you feel for the girl."

"It's hard not to. A man no matter how well-traveled and wise he is will never understand what it feels like to have your whole life laid out for you by someone else. Being sold into a marriage with someone not a good match for you only hurts worse when it's your own mother."

"Personal experience?" Mousesack raises a brow, mouth in a straight line.

"Nonsense, my mother died when I was a child," Visenya says, moving her attention away from him and towards the crowd.

His eyebrows raise causing small lines to form on his forehead, slight shock painting his features. He purses his lips, opening his mouth, only to close it again.

"The life of nobility." he finally says, letting out a sigh as he shakes his head.

"The life of a woman, no matter their status," Visenya corrects him, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

"All rise for Her Majesty, The Lioness: Queen Calanthe, of Cintra!" a man near the Main Hall entrance cries out, silencing any of the noise in the room.

"Luckily for the girl, horrible husbands tend to disappear rather quickly when you're royalty." With that last comment, Visenya disappears into the crowd, gliding past noble ladies and lords as she maneuvers towards the secluded corner Geralt claimed as his own.

Chairs scrape as everyone scrambles to stand and Jaskier quickly runs over to where the other minstrels are, lute in hand. Nearly in perfect synch, the entire room turns towards the entrance. Shortly after, a middle-aged woman strides through the parted crowd, a smirk on her blood-stained lips. She wears gold armor that's dull from the dark red blood that's splattered over it, fresh from a recent battle. Her dark brown hair is braided away from her face, but not as neatly as expected for an occasion like this, instead, it's wild and pulled apart, in knots and gnarls with dry blood. She holds a helmet in hand that she quickly tosses to one of the many people in the procession following behind her.

"Beer!" she exclaims, grabbing a tankard from the hands of a pompous noble as she passes him, taking a swig from it immediately. "Apologies, noble sers. A few upstart townships in the South had to be reminded of who was Queen," she says, voice oozing with confidence and a tinge of arrogance. This causes an uproar of cheering from the nobles around Visenya, waving their tankards in her direction as golden ale spills onto the floor.

"Fighting is good for one's blood and humor. Ready your suitor's tales of glory, good lords. My daughter is eager to have this over--" she says, taking another drink from her mug and turning towards the high table. "--as am I." She mutters. "Bard, music!" she yells, waving a finger in the air, towards Jaskier's general direction, stomping up the marble stairs. Jaskier starts the first note of a song, his sweet and delicate singing voice ringing through the room before the Queen swiftly cuts him off.

"No, no, no; a jig! You can save your bloody maudlin nonsense for my funeral!" she exclaims, rolling her eyes and continuing up the steps. Jaskier sighs, before counting down from three, beginning a much more upbeat song that swiftly blends into the background as the room's noise levels grow. People begin to fill the gap they'd created for the Queen, forming small rowdy groups.

Finally, she closes the distance between her and Geralt, grabbing a tankard of ale from a table as she does. She stands beside him, posture as stiff and straight as his, taking a drink from the cup, eyeing the party. She watches the Queen as she leans down to speak with her daughter, hands resting on the table, her words too quiet for Visenya to discern. Suddenly a man slams his tankard of ale on the table

"You lying little shite!" the man that Mousesack labeled as Crach An Craite yells. He stands to his full height, towering over a scrawnier man he's arguing with. "You never faced so much as a bad meal in your life, nevermind a manticore!"

"I've had manticores thrice as fat and ugly as the likes of you perish under my steel," the second man spits back, unfettered by Crach's intimidating aura.

"Under your bullshit, more like. How many stingers has it got?"

"Two."

"Ha. Go away and shite, it's got five. I know, I've actually killed one." Crach An Craite spits at him. He scoffs and turns away from the other noble, as the crowd around them grows more excited as the argument begins to escalate.

The smaller man rushes forward, grabbing onto Crach An Craite's tunic, the small crowd around them rushes in as well, eager for an excuse to fight.

"Enough!" the Queen exclaims, stopping everyone in their tracks. "We have a renowned guest tonight. Perhaps he can declare which esteemed lord is telling the truth" she says, walking down the steps. In unison, nearly every turns to look at Geralt, and in turn, Visenya as well.

"Neither." Geralt says, not bothering to meet anyone's gaze.

"Are you calling me a liar, old man?" Crach An Craite mutters, face nearly identical in color to his hair.

"The Butcher of Blaviken bleeds utter nonsense," the smaller one says, dismissively waving his hand in Geralt's direction as he leans against a nearby chair. Geralt glances towards Jaskier, who is frantically shaking his head, with puppy dog eyes and a slight pout his only weapon. Geralt sighs, moving his attention back to the impatient nobles.

"Perhaps the lords encountered a rare subspecies of manticore."

The room is completely silent after that, the tension in the room quickly dropping. Visenya breathes out, clenched fist relaxing at her side. The Queen breaks the silence, loud laughter leaving her mouth, gaze solely on Geralt.

"Perhaps our esteemed guest would like to entertain us with how he slayed the elves at the edge of the world?" The room immediately breaks out into cheers. Fists pound on tables, tankards waving in the air, and nobles yelling so loudly their lungs might collapse. Visenya raises her brow, glancing at Jaskier with a disapproving gaze. That stupid song is nothing but embellished falsehoods, so wrong it's nearly infuriating every time Visenya hears it.

"There was no slaying. I had my ass kicked by a ragged band of elves. I was about to have my throat cut, when Filavandrel let me go." Geralt speaks up, silencing the room instantly.

Instead, their cheers are replaced with boos and loud groans, nobles shaking their heads at Geralt.

"But what about the song?" the shorter man exclaims.

"At least when Filavandrel's blade kissed my throat, I didn't shit myself. Which is all I can hope for you good Lords, at your final breath, a shitless death." Geralt exclaims, bringing his tankard to his mouth, "--but I doubt it," he mutters, his words once again riling up the crowd. And if she didn't know any better, Visenya thinks Geralt just might like the fanfare, even if he won't admit it.

"It would've been your blade at Filavandrel's throat if you'd been there your majesty. Not that any elven bastard would crawl from their lair to meet you on the field." Lord Eist speaks up, a smug smirk on his face as he looks at the Queen. She looks at him, preening under all the attention with a smug look on her face. The movements cause the dried blood to crack and crumble onto the floor.

"Any man willing to paint himself in the shadow of his failures will make for far more interesting conversation this night. Come, Witcher, take a seat by my side while I change."

Geralt simply grunts, rolling his eyes as the Queen turns away, moving up the stairs and disappearing through a side door, a handmaiden following dutifully behind her.

"Come on," Geralt grabs onto Visenya's hand, dragging her behind him.

"She didn't invite me."

"Well she invited me, and I'm not going through anymore suffering alone." Geralt says in between clenched teeth.

"How polite, throwing me straight into the lion's den just so you won't have to face it alone. I never knew you to be so thoughtful Geralt."

He simply grunts in response, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He moves up the set of stairs, boots pounding under the stone ground. One of the men that came in with the Queen directs Geralt to a chair beside the throne. Silently, he pulls out his chair, glaring at the finely dressed nobleman that is sitting in the chair by him. The man meets his gaze, and to his credit, manages to remain expressionless. However, he still stands, his legs wobbling just the slightest, and moves to the other side of the throne, sitting by the Princess. Geralt nods his head towards the now vacant chair. A smirk forms on Visenya's lips as she moves behind him and into her new seat.

"You get to deal with the Queen if she's unhappy with my presence."

o0o0o0o

The feast is even duller from the High Table. It hasn't even been a full hour, and yet all that's happened is a few arguments, suitors vying for the hand of the princess, and the Queen speaking with Geralt. Visenya sits in silence, scanning the crowd and listening in on the conversations around her. There's still that sinking feeling in her stomach, a dreadful fear she's unable to escape telling her this is all going to end horribly. Crach An Craite stands up from his seat, when suddenly the door is slammed open, a man in full plate armor barreling through, swiftly taking out the two guards by him. Like an unruly bull, he stomps to the center of the room, lowering himself into a kneel. The room is completely still, as Visenya leans forward, grip tightening on the knife in her left hand.

"Forgive my late intrusion, Your Majesty, and for the misunderstanding with your guards. Please! I come in peace. I need but one moment of your time. I am Lord Urcheon of Erlenwald and I have come to claim your daughter's hand in marriage," he says, bowing his helmet-covered head.

The room is filled with gasps of shock, women all around covering their mouths in horror. The Queen becomes as stiff as a rock, veins faintly protruding from her neck. Out of the corner of her eye, Visenya sees Pavetta go completely still, yet her face doesn't convey the same horror it has with every suitor before.

"A knight... of no renown... from a backwater hamlet... who dares to enter my court without revealing his face?" Queen Calanthe spits out, shaking in rage as her words burn like acid.

"I apologize, Your Majesty. A knight's oath prevents me from revealing my face until the sounding of the twelfth bell." Urcheon says, not sounding shaken by the threatening aura swimming around Queen Calanthe.

"Bollocks to that," Lord Eist exclaims, moving forward and knocking the helmet off Urcheon's head. The metal clatters against the ground, echoing in the room, as the knight is revealed to be a...hedgehog man. Visenya leans further out of her seat, nearly laying on the table. Gold eyes wide in shock as she examines each and every needle that protrudes from his face, tracing his animal-like nose and beady black eyes. He looks around the room, very much looking like a cornered animal.

"Witcher--" the Queen hisses, "kill it."

"No," Geralt says, intently watching Urcheon.

"Whatever the price," she continues.

"This is no monster."

"I order you," she continues, the same patience she previously possessed slipping away.

"This knight has been cursed." Geralt says, unable to be swayed by her words that hide serious threats.

"You're as useless as the rest of them," she seethes. "Slay this beast!" she exclaims to the rest of the room.

Two guards immediately move towards Urcheon, weapons in hand. With swift and highly skilled movements, he disarms the guards, knocking them to the ground.

"Lioness of Cintra, I come to claim what is rightfully mine! Pavetta. By the Law of Surprise." he yells, pointing towards the Princess. More guards approach, and to his credit, he attempts to fight back but is quickly outnumbered. He's thrown to the ground, blood pouring out of his...snout. One of the guards lifts their halberd, seconds away from slicing into them. Geralt quickly jumps from his chair, moving past Visenya and down the steps at the speed of light.

"No!" Princess Pavetta exclaims.

At that moment time slowed down. Geralt reaches the scene when the halberd is mid-swing, pulling out his sword and cutting the weapon in half. The top piece slams on the ground and Urcheon catches the bladed part.

It's silent until the Queen breaks it.

"Kill them both!" she yells, pointing at Geralt and Urcheon.

o0o0o0o

Swords ringing, bodies crashing to the ground, and screams ricocheting off the walls into Visenya's ears. It's all familiar. A horror so intrusive and fresh in her mind that feels like only hours ago her whole world crumbled, leaving her vulnerable in a new reality. So different with its magic and dragons, but the same in the way its tragedy claws at her throat, phantom tears following her like the deaths of everyone she ever loved. Like an inescapable curse that continues to stalk her no matter how far or fast she runs. And maybe that's because none of this is real, a delusion she's created in the darkest recesses of her mind, happy enough to grant hope of a better life, yet enough devastation cloaking it to be believable.

She watches in a daze as Geralt moves through the room, dancing with his blade like a master. The porcupine man roars as he charges the oncoming guards, cutting into their flesh with less fluidity than Geralt, yet deadly all the same. Invigoration surging through his body from the White Wolf joining his side, more than happy to slice through anyone who confronts him, whether his foes wield sword or fist. The lords in their fine garb beat, stab, and strangle each other; using the chaos as an opportunity to take down their adversaries. A small group of nobles huddle in the far recesses of the room, cowering and whimpering in fear as the slaughter escalates. Women cry and the minstrels quiver, yet the queen and princess remain at their high table, unmoving. Princess Pavetta watches with glistening blues eyes while the Queen is clenching her jaw so tightly, her face is painted white.

Visenya's hand ghosts over where her blade should be, the empty spot where its sheathe would rest feeling uncomfortably light. A lord drunk on the adrenaline in his veins rushes Visenya, wild like an animal. She knows all too well how this will go if he gets his way: with her bloody and praying for the release of death. But she's not that little girl of five hiding in a crawl space as she listens to her mother's screams of agony. Now she breathes flames each time she talks, eyes like a city turned to ash.

She holds her arm up towards him with an open palm, the movements rigid and not her own, as if an otherworldly creature possesses her. Moments later he slams into her, the width of his neck perfectly fitting in her palm. Automatically her finger closes around him, tightening with each second as she locks him in place. She's emboldened with strength she shouldn't possess, as she raises her arm upwards, his legs dangling in the air, helpless. Gold eyes illuminate, embers of fire she's smothered igniting in that instant, festering pain bursting to the surface. Heat builds, the smell of burning flesh rising in the air, the crackle of skin against fire. He screams, a blood-curdling one that makes Visenya's insides turn. Yet she doesn't release him but holds tighter and tighter until his screams turn to choking, and then silence. With a dull thud, his body drops to the floor, unmoving.

A sharp pain pierces her left side, leaving her staggering forward with an unsteady footing. Howling like a wounded animal, Visenya turns to face her adversary, a heavily armored guard. He jabs towards her, but she manages to move out of the way just in time. She sneers, blood dripping from her mouth. He goes to stab again, but in full plate, he's too slow for her nimble movements. She ducks behind him, grabbing a shard of broken glass from the ground as she does. And before he can comprehend where she is, she stabs the glass into the side of his neck, watching the thick red liquid coat it. He coughs, choking on the blood pouring out of his neck. The guard wobbles, slowly losing his balance as he claws at the air for something to hold onto, then scratching his throat, attempting to save himself. Visenya watches, eyes cold and unfeeling. She lifts her leg and kicks him onto the ground before stepping over his body.

Each footstep thunders in her mind as she presses forward, every face nothing but a blur, and instead of tabards with three proud lions, she sees two blue towers united by a bridge. Every guard and noble that falls is a Northern soldier, with surprise and agony painting their face, while every attacker is a Frey. Sneers carved into their features; screams turning into shouts of glee as they cut through anyone in their way. In a flurry of blood lust, eager to drown her sorrows in the pain of others, she throws punches at everyone within reach, kicking bodies on the floor as they writhe in pain. It's intoxicating, living out her darkest fantasies without a care in the world.

It'll fade, the comedown far worse than the high, but at the moment, it's worth every second of loathing it'll inevitably create. A grunt follows a swift punch to the gut before Visenya grabs a hold of a chair, smashing the wood against the charging noble. His face morphs, no longer a nameless lord, instead, he's one of Walder Frey's sons who sunk his blade in her flesh as his friends shot her down from a distance. The chair breaks into a million pieces as he falls to the ground, unconscious. She roars as the adrenaline pumps higher and higher, the blood running in her veins faster and faster. Geralt appears in the corner of her vision, at some point they move towards each other like magnets, twirling around each other as if they've practiced it a million times. And just as soon as he's there, he disappears into the chaos as Visenya loses herself to the beast inside her.

Another soldier approaches her, a flurry of sword swings and spittle his greeting to her. She dodges out of the way of each of them, moving as if she's the water, her dress fluidly flowing with her. She steps to the side, taking advantage of his blind spot, due to his helmet that obscures part of his vision. She grabs a hold of his sword arm, managing to pull it back far enough to hear a gnarly crack, a loud clang following it, as his sword falls to the marble floor. He sneers at her, but she returns the favor. Yet before she can do anything, another burst of pain shoots through her, and her eyes flit down to the source, a dagger sticking out of her abdomen. She looks up at him as he twists it, before letting go and pushing her away, but instead of falling to the floor to bleed out, she pulls out the blade. Using his surprise to her advantage, she smoothly grabs his sword from the ground, using a maneuver she learned all those years ago in Winterfell to knock his helmet off his head from the back. And as it clangs to the ground, she drives the dagger into his throat.

She stumbles forward, hand clenching her new wound as blood pours out of it. She whirls around, determined to find safety, but a glimpse of auburn curls and Tully blue eyes with a direwolf coat of arms fighting a noble in rich blues captures her attention.

Robb.

Numb to the pain pulsing in her body and the wounds that are dripping with blood, she runs. But it's like walking through thick molasses, feet not moving as fast as they should, no matter how hard she tries to push forward. Desperation rips her apart from the inside out as she tries to stop what's inevitably going to happen, the very same thing she sees in every one of her nightmares. And when she's only a step away, the noble slashes low, throwing Robb off balance, and with one swift plunge of a dagger, he falls limp.

She's too late, again.

Her legs are never quite fast enough, reaction time a second too slow, and no matter how hard she tries to do it, she never manages to save Robb.

An ear-piercing screams tears through her throat, or maybe it doesn't, it's hard to hear anything above the ringing in her ears.

The noise is a culmination of a lifetime of sadness, but it's also a battle cry, promising nothing but fire and fury. And as Robb collapses, armor clanging against the ground, she reaches out and grabs the hair of the noble, pulling until there's a distinct crack and a shout of pain, a large chunk of brunette locks her prize. With the snarl of a wolf and tight tension on his head, she wraps her other arm around his neck, and a simple flick of her wrist is all it takes as his neck snaps, body crashing onto the ground.

And Visenya falls too, crumbling into nothing but a shaking form, sobbing so hard she nearly throws up all the contents in her stomach, trapped between the dead bodies of Robb and his killer. Tears mix with blood, staining the floor with her misery.

"Robb!" she cries out, but her voice is nothing more than a croak, getting swept away into the chaos of the fight. "Robb!"

A shaky hand reaches out, moving to brush his hair out of his face, but there's nothing there. And as her tears pour down her cheeks, Robb distorts, wild curls becoming a bald head and Tully blue replaced with bleak brown. She removes her hand as if it burnt her, and scrambles to getaway.

Bodies rush past, moving around her as if she's nothing more than a figment of their imagination. Everything slows down in the room, as salty tears slip into her mouth, dark spots covering her vision.

She blinks; once and then twice. Everything is blurry until it's not.

A sea of dead bodies, suffocating her. She throws a hand up, desperately clawing to escape, But each movement only traps her further under them. She screams, the sound muffled yet clear as day in her mind.

"Jane. Jane!" Someone's holding onto her, pressing onto her cheeks, the warmth of soft hands cupping her cheek. "Jane, are you alright?" The voice is distant, yet familiar all the same.

She blinks again, and once more.

Another scream rips through her throat, tearing apart her vocal cords. She continues to claw, fighting harder against the dead weight that presses heavily against her. Gold meets gold as the light shines in her eyes. The first rays of day hit the side of her face, illuminating the cast of dry blood caked with mud on her face. Eyes flicker from the left to the right, seeing, yet not, at the same time. It doesn't register in her mind, the ocean of death she finds herself swimming in, all she sees is daylight, while everything else is blurry.

"Please bring me water or wine, just bring me something!" The familiar voice echoes in Visenya's head, footsteps rapidly tapping against a marble floor following.

A glint in the light captures her attention, something piercing through her hazy vision. It blends into its environment at first, but with a keener glance, she sees it. With new vigor, she wiggles out of the pit, crawling on all fours, eyes on the prize. Six beats, that's all it takes until she closes in on her fixation. A person, a dead person.

The body doesn't have a head, but she already knows its face, the same one she sees every night in her worst night terrors. Unsteady hands reach out, tracing the cloak clasp, the cool metal a stark contrast to the heat inside her. Hot fingertips trace over two direwolves meeting in the center. Then she forms a fist around it, holding so tightly small cuts form on the palm of her hand. No tears pour down her face, spilling onto the fine garb Robb donned for his own funeral, there's nothing left to cry. Her eyes are dry like a Dornish desert, she's cried too much to have any left. A second scream tears out of her mouth, sending any scavenger birds flying away with haste, slicing through the silence of the field that is drenched in dawn. It's harsh and coarse, leaving the ground beneath her quaking in its wake.

"What's wrong with her?" A timid woman's voice asks.

"I don't know. Let me see that." There's rustling, ice-cold water hitting her face moments later. "Gods Jane, you're bleeding!"

She blinks one more time.

The field disappears, a ballroom wrought with chaos replacing it. She's flat on the ground with Jaskier kneeling beside her, face hovering over hers. His eyes are wide with distress, gaze solely focusing on her. She attempts to stand, but the weight of her head is too much, so instead, it just bangs against the hard floor. Swords clanging and people shouting filters into her ears again, replacing the devastating silence that once resided in her mind.

"Jaskier."

"I'm here, I just need you to stay awake for me. Can you do that?" he asks, holding her hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

"A sheep can't command the dragon," she mutters, eyes fluttering shut, only to snap open when something cold and wet splashes over her face, again.

"Well the next time we meet a dragon, I'll let them know." She glances over, seeing the weak smile pulling at his lips. His pale face is stark white, the flush of red usually in his face completely gone, with dark and deep bags under his tired and dull eyes.

"You already have, I am the daughter of dragons," she mutters, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

She opens them again, blinking a few times and finding herself back in the open field and kneeling over Robb's body. She stands with unsteady legs and a weary body. Visenya turns around, staring at Walder Frey's keep, eyes solid ice with a stony expression. One step, two steps, and another, and then another, staggering towards the keep. The anger simmers, burning so hot it's cold now. Fire dances on the tips of the fingers, the flames licking up her arms with each step she takes.

"Can you do something? She's been injured?" Jaskier's voice echoes in Visenya's mind.

"Possibly, step aside and I will do my best to heal her," another familiar male voice rings in her ears.

A comforting feeling fills her body, smothering her pain in all things that are warm and homely.

She blinks, opening her eyes and finding herself back in Cintra with Jaskier and Mousesack hovering over her. She's delusional, she has to be. The only problem is, she can't decipher which reality is true and which one is a hallucination.

"Are you alright?" Mousesack asks, grabbing Visenya's hand in his own. Between Jaskier and him, they manage to help Visenya sit up just in time to see Queen Calanthe meet Geralt in battle. She holds her sword up to his neck and Geralt meets her blade with his own.

"Stop!" the Queen yells.

o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

#geralt imagine #geralt x reader #the witcher imagine #the witcher fanfiction #geralt fanfic #geralt of rivia #the last dragon #the witcher #the witcher crossover #game of thrones #game of thrones crossover #geralt of rivia x reader #Geralt #Jaskier #calanthe of cintra #targaryen!reader #targaryen!oc

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dwellordream · 4 years

Note

Have some headcanons about Aegon (the Conqueror) & Queen Rhaenys relationships ? Will love to read them ❤️

My highly subjective and personal headcanons (and I couldn’t leave Vis out, sorry): 1. Rhaenys always wore her hair very long, even as a little girl, and it was always getting stuff stuck in or caught on things, so Visenya would make her sit down so she could braid it, which Rhaenys hated, being a restless little girl, so Aegon would read to her while they did Rhaenys’ very long and thick hair, and it was just a cute activity all three kids came to look forward to, because Aegon had a good reading voice, Rhaenys always picked exciting books about the Andals and the First Men, whom she found fascinating, and Visenya would pretend to be disinterested while she worked on Rhaenys’ hair but then inevitably get swept up by the story and snap at Aegon to read faster when he got to the good parts. Rhaenys also realized that Visenya really liked romances, but was unwilling to admit it, so she’d pretend to be more into them than she actually was so that Visenya could hear about star-crossed lovers reuniting and saving the world, etc. Sometimes Aegon would get bored of reading and would invent a story instead that his sisters directed, while he improvised all the ‘adventures’ they were going to go on as adults. 2. Rhaenys had purple eyes, but specifically they were violet like Dany’s, whereas Aegon’s were closer to an indigo shade, and Visenya’s were actually the palest of the siblings, more lilac than anything else. (This is just aesthetic choices on my part, not supposed to infer anything about their characters). I also headcanon that all three siblings were pretty tall, and so Aegon was around 6 feet tall, Visenya around 5′10″, and Rhaenys about 5′9″. But when they were children Visenya grew much quicker than her younger siblings, so she would tease them for being late bloomers while she was shooting up like a weed. In revenge, Aegon would give Rhaenys piggyback rides and they’d chase her around the island trying to catch her. 3. I think Rhaenys was a very curious and extroverted child who like Arya was maybe ‘always underfoot’ and unlike her reserved older siblings, would talk to just about anyone and was very invested in the lives of the servants and smallfolk of Dragonstone. I think she was not at all afraid to stand up her ‘lessers’ and she would call Aegon or Visenya out on being rude or cold if she felt like they were disrespectful of the household staff. I also think she was very attached to Orys and sort of ‘brought him into the loop’ of their sibling dynamics, and so she was sort of partially responsible for him and Aegon becoming such good friends as young men, and they had a special brother-sister relationship where Rhaenys would vent to Orys if she felt like Aegon and Visenya were being stubborn or not listening to her. I also think as a queen she would be very pointed when she wanted Aegon to listen to her, and he learned pretty quickly that if he did something she disagreed with, she was going to let him have it in private, even moreso than Visenya might, despite them both having tempers. 4. I think Rhaenys took immediately to dancing and music, and would teach her siblings, and that Aegon really only enjoyed dancing with her whenever they were at balls or feasts. I also think Rhaenys got Visenya into music a bit as well, and they would sometimes play together to blow off steam, or Rhaenys would encourage Visenya to sing (because I like to think Visenya secretly had a very good, strong voice and was only willing to let loose with it around Rhaenys, who loved her singing). And that Rhaenys would sometimes make up comedic songs and poems to cheer up her siblings, and would leave little notes for Aegon to make him laugh where he least expected it, like tucked into his saddle. 5. We know very little about the gods of Old Valyria but I headcanon that Rhaenys named Meraxes after the Valyrian god of poetry/music/the sun (sort of like a Valyrian version of Apollo), and that she also named Balerion since Aegon wasn’t too interested in it, so she named Balerion after the Valyrian god of the sky/justice/law and order (sort of like a Valyrian version of Zeus/Jupiter), and Visenya named Vhagar herself, after the Valyrian god of warfare/strategy/wisdom (sort of like a Valyrian version of Athena/Minerva). And that Rhaenys would disappear for hours riding Meraxes which would often worry Aegon and Visenya, and sometimes come back totally soaked from flying through rain or snow, but would always have some very detailed story about everything she’d seen and done while Visenya bugged her to change out of her clothes before she caught a chill, and Aegon tried to pretend like he’d never been worried in the first place.

#rhaenys targaryen #aegon targaryen #visenya targaryen #the conquest #ask #anon

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writingthrones · 5 years

Text

the northern dragon.

A PROLOGUE.

DESCRIPTION: the world thought that just 2 dragons survived, that house targaryen was missing its third head. but there was another-- the youngest, the final child of the mad king and queen rhaella. of course, she was almost part of the near extermination of her house. but the honorable ned stark, unable to watch a babe be murdered for crimes she did not commit, rescued her from an awful fate. instead, she grew up amongst wolves within the walls of winterfell.

NOTES: of course, this will include many changes to the events of GOT, though only the show. i have pulled some knowledge from the books, but this story will be based on the events of the show. i’ve come up with a lot for this story, so you’re in store for multiple parts. i still haven’t come up with an end, so i’m not sure how many it’ll be. i’d also like to add that i am totally up for suggestions. obviously, this is a story i came up with totally on my own so if there’s anything you would like to see, feel free to shoot me a message. i can’t guarantee it’ll be added but i will consider every request i get! constructive criticism is also welcome.

oh and italics = flashback.

Your childhood was good-- much better than most who were born lowborn. It was unfortunate how fixed everything was, one’s status in society was decided at birth and moving up was nearly impossible. Lowborn were only allowed to wed lowborn, only allowed to occupy jobs deemed worthy of their status. But you-- you were lucky-- a lowborn girl rescued by the Warden of The North. Your entire village had been slaughtered in Robert’s Rebellion, caught in the crossfire. Ned found you clinging to your dying mother. Staring down at an innocent child, a victim to the absolute worst luck, he couldn’t just walk away. So he scooped you up and when everything was over, you were brought back to Winterfell.

It was rocky, to say the least, your first few days there. When Lord Stark returned to his castle with two children-- claiming just one as his bastard and another as an unfortunate orphan, Lady Catelyn was rightfully devastated. As if she was to believe that just one was a bastard. But after those few days, things shifted. She was still noticeably upset, but considerably less so than before. It was a peculiar sight to those around, though quickly forgotten. Things eventually returned to normal-- if one thing was sure, Ned and Catelyn Stark had a love that was unbreakable. The pair went on to have many children. Of course, you don’t remember any of that.

So, things were good. You couldn’t be treated like a member of the house, but the Starks considered you like family none the less. Because you were lowborn, you were to perform domestic duties around the castle. In your free time, though, you were allowed to play with the other children. You and Arya got along well, both of you were rough around the edges. Then there was you and Jon, the two of you being able to bond over the fact that you weren’t an official member of the family. There was Theon, too, though you never got too close to him. It was the same deal with Robb, even if you tried. Sansa had gotten you into fashion, occasionally bringing you dresses she’d been able to make. Despite the previously mentioned “rough around the edges” thing, you did like to look pretty sometimes.

There was one problem with that, though. For as long as you could remember, you’d been forced to wear a cover similar to that of a septa. Sansa made some for you that were prettier but it didn’t help much. The rumors were that you had some horrible condition that caused you to go bald and to save you the embarrassment, Lady Catelyn arranged this. In fact, she was the one to put it together each day. At a certain point, she’d taught you how, though.

And that certain point was your 10th nameday. That was the day everything changed. Early that morning, Lord and Lady Stark entered your chambers before everyone in the castle began to wake. That morning was when everything changed for you.

“Y/N, there is a talk we must have with you now,” Catelyn said in a soft voice as she sat on the edge of your bed. You were still groggy, yawning before murmuring as “Yes, Lady Stark?” you replied. She always told you to call her Lady Catelyn, as it sounded less formal, but you were so sleepy you couldn’t remember. As you became more awake, though, your heart began to race. What could this talk possibly be? Why was it so early in the morning? What was it that no one else could hear? They had always treated you like family, but somehow you wondered if they were telling you that you needed to leave. You began to visibly shake.

Ned took note-- seating himself next to Catelyn and resting a hand on your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said. But how could you not? Taking a deep breath, you prepared yourself for whatever news they were bringing you. It was nothing you could’ve ever expected. You were the last daughter of the Mad King, princess Visenya of the nearly extinct House Targaryen. The shaking had only gotten worse. They explained to you that the wrap you wore on your head was to conceal the silver hair that fell down your back. They couldn’t bring themselves to be so cruel and have you actually shaved bald. Besides, that would expose your identity to yet another person. Ned and Cat alone were certainly enough. Your eyes, though purple, were a deep enough shade for Ned to insist they were blue. Though, it’s not like anyone was inspecting.

From that day forth, you had to live with that on your shoulders. For a while after, you felt on edge nearly all the time. The feeling subsided eventually. When you sat for lessons with the Maester, though, and learned of your house.. you felt heartache. You felt heartache for the things they’d done but also the family you’d lost. They couldn’t have been all bad, right? You had to remind yourself to let go of that hurt, though. The Starks were your family.. or at least the closest thing you’d ever get to family.

The years came and went and it became easier to handle your identity. You had to just.. forget about it. It didn’t matter because you’d never be able to reveal it or you’d surely be killed by the king or any of the other various enemies of House Targaryen.

It was vain, but one of the hard parts of concealing who you were was the head wrap you were forced to wear. When you were alone in your chambers, you could sit and brush your beautiful silver hair. It truly did transform you once you let it free and yet no one would ever be able to see it. It got worse as you got older and grew into a woman. The boys had gotten older and girls became more appealing.. so when a young woman like you was forced to dress like some old hag, it caused plenty of snickers. It hurt. Jon was the least likely to participate in the whispered teasing but there was occasions you could swear he was joining in. Theon was the most shameless and it was no wonder considering the way he shamelessly objectified other women. Robb typically went along with it. You had to remember that, hey, at least you were alive but it just couldn’t erase your feelings.

Things changed when Lord Stark left for the capital with Sansa and Arya-- not only that, but Jon left for the Wall. Lady Stark fell apart when Bran was injured. Rickon was young and you found yourself trying to keep him occupied while his mother tended to Bran. Finally, you were left with only Robb and Theon for some real company, as the two were almost your same age. You had your moments but honestly, you felt quite alone.

FINAL NOTES: i hope you guys liked it! i’m still figuring out how exactly i want to write this story. there might be points where i need to go into the 3rd person in order to show other events going on but i will try to keep most things from the reader point of view.

#game of thrones imagine #robb stark imagine #robb stark x reader #targaryen!reader #jon snow imagine #ned stark imagine

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madsmikkelsenschesthair · 5 years

Text

Blood of the Dragon ch. 8

Summary: Freyja meets the Mad Grandfather and has a strange but prophetic dream.

A/n: yaaaallll I am so sooo sorry but our dear Danny won’t be in this story. I will be using her to make my aesthetics so technically y’all are kinda her? But not really her HER? Get it? No? Me neither! Enjoy! Remember to send me a message for comments, questions, and concerns. Like I said before, Keep it nice.

Warnings: insults, uncomfortable situations, mad Grandfather, one sad papa Rhaegar, fluff, cursing, violence, angst, a hint of death of character

“Look sister! That’s Dragonstone” Little Robb pointed excitedly towards the grey castle that nearly stood on the edge of a cliff. Freyja couldn’t believe it! She had never seen such a big castle in all her life. According to her books and her father, Dragonstone was where her family first settled when they fled Old Valyria. Hundreds of generations have lived in that very same castle and gave birth to new generations and now here she was! This was far too exciting! Freyja could only imagine how big and beautiful Kingslanding was. She couldn’t hardly contain herself her body was jittery and she was grinning from ear to ear until she could no longer feel her face. Little Robb coughed into his cloak breaking Freyja out of her daze, it had been getting chillier these past few weeks and her little brother seemed weaker than when she first met him. On the other hand, Fenrir was growing fast and strong and his puppy eagerness was gone replaced by the adulthood overcoming him. He was ever so faithful as well always by her side,

Freyja took off her own cloak, red with black fur trim and gold dragons, and put it around his shoulders. “Go back to your chambers,” she told him, “I think we will be there in an hour or so. Stay warm” The cold wind brushed against her cheeks reminding her to do the same, Freyja was far too excited to go back to her own chambers though. Today she will meet her Grandfather Aerys. Her father had not told her much about him or his other brother and she wondered why. Anytime Freyja asked about them the conversation was immediately changed to another topic or her parents would ask her about her day. Freyja kept a mental note of that for later.

Little Robb stopped midway to the stairs that lead below deck and stared at her, “Are you coming? You’ll get sick too” Freyja kept her eyes on Dragonstone, she could feel magic swarming in her blood as they grew closer. This would be their first and last stop before they left for Kingslanding. She looked down to her wolf, “Come on, Fen” and the pair followed her little brother below deck.

After sailing for so many weeks, the Targaryen fleet stopped and the family got back on the little boats and sailed to the shore. Freyja had no problem stepping off the boat and getting her boots and dress a little wet but her family looked to be in anguish to have their fine clothes soiled. She was used to it after so many years of fishing with her boys. Looking at it now, Dragonstone castle was bigger that it loomed over them. The closer they walked to the entrance the more nervous she got. Freyja saw a group of people waiting for them at the top of the grey steps all of them wearing dark clothes. Her hand closed around the Thor’s Mjolnir on her neck homesickness tightening her stomach. She followed her father and his guards close behind enclosing them, protecting them. The leader of the group that was waiting for them was a short man, an imp, with curly dark hair and a beard and he smiled at her.

“Welcome home Your Grace!” he said his smile growing wider.

Her King Father’s face broke into a grin, “Lord Tyrion, such a pleasant surprise we thought you would be back in Kingslanding”

“There is no ‘we’ my love” Cersei intervened, her voice cold, “what are you doing here? You should be helping father at the Red Keep”

Freyja was surprised by how much malice there was in her voice towards the little man but he didn’t seem so phased, he only smiled sweetly at her.

“Good to see you too, sweet sister,” Lord Tyrion answered, “but I couldn’t wait to see my new niece” Freyja smiled shyly at her new uncle and she stepped forward. “Look at you!” he gushed “Pure Valyrian beauty! You look just like your father, Princess Y/n” He took her hand and gingerly placed a kiss on top.

She flinched at her new name and her smile almost disappeared but Freyja managed to compose herself after all Tyrion seemed like such a kind man, “Thank you, Uncle Tyrion. It is very nice to meet you and I can’t wait to meet my grandfather”

The grownups gave each other wary looks. Even Uncle Tyrion’s smile faded, “Speaking of,” he turned to Rhaegar, “Your father wishes to speak to you, Your Grace even you Cersei. In the meantime, I will help the children settle and get to know my new niece”

Her parents wasted no time and hurried up the steps with Uncle Jaime and a group of knights following. Freyja watched them, dumbfounded. What were they hiding from her? Why did everyone grow quiet when her grandfather was mentioned? She would have to ask her Uncle these questions.

The interior of Dragonstone was as breathtaking as it was outside. The was seemed to be made of some rare dark stone, the torches on the wall gave it a hint of red golden streaks. That wasn’t all; carvings, drawings, and statues of dragons stood on almost every corner and wall. It truly lived up to its’ name. It was also surprisingly warm, so warm that Freyja took off her cloak.

“I can’t believe I’m really here,” she said smiling her eyes still wandering up and down the walls and ceiling. “The home of my ancestors”

Tyrion watched her facial expressions, how happy she looked and even the sparkle in her eyes. And there was something else but he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. All he knew was that he was glad the rightful heir to the throne was home Even with her Valyrian looks, Y/n looked Viking or at least a small one in the making. Still, she carried the heavy and dreadful burden of homesickness. Tyrion could see it.

A woman came in making Freyja lookup. She had on a plain grey dress along with the same colored wimp on her head covering her hair. Little Rob instantly lit up when he saw her. “Ah, dear Septa please take my nephew to his room,” Tyrion said and the woman curtsied. The pair left them alone. He smiled at his niece. “Come, you and I have much to talk about dear Niece. Tell me about Kattegat, your home”

Freyja’s throat began to close, she followed her uncle down a long corridor it took a bit for her to find her words. “My home”, she began to say slowly, “is very beautiful. There is so much green everywhere and it rains a lot. During the winter it gets really cold but I love it”

“It does sound like paradise” Uncle Tyrion commented with a smile, “I hear you worship different gods”

“We do! We worship Odin, Frigg, Thor, Baldur, Loki, Freyja” her eyes had that sparkle again, “I was born during the wrath of Thor and that’s why I’m Thorsdottir”

Tyrion chuckled. “And you were named Freyja after your mother. It was a nickname Ragnar Lothbrok gave your mother”

Freyja’s smile faded. She missed her family so much and prayed to the Gods Ragnar was safe wherever he was. Uncle Tyrion led her and her wolf to a room that was more elegant than the one she had on the ship. Like the rest of the castle, there were beautiful soaring dragons on the walls and ceiling but in the middle of the ceiling, there was a painting of a man with short pale hair and a beard his gaze hard and intimidating. By his side, two beautiful women; one feminine and the other wearing armor. Both of them with the same pale hair and violet eyes as the man.

“Who’s that?”

Tyrion followed her eyes, “Ah! That my sweet niece is Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives Visenya and Rhaenys”

“Conqueror?” she said full of wonder and curiosity.

“Yes, he is Aegon the Conqueror. Many Targaryens were named after him” Tyrion explained as he poured himself a cup of wine, “Many of them not as brave or sane as him though”

The painting was beautiful but her favorite part of the room was the window. She could see the dark ocean from here and smell the sea salt that was stronger than any pungent smell. Freyja was about to open the window when a knock on the door brought their attention. Uncle Tyrion opened the door to find a knight.

“Pardoned me Your Grace but your grandfather has asked to see you,” he said.

There was that look on her uncle’s face again and now Freyja knew that this meeting with her grandfather was not going to end very well. How she wished Bjorn was here to protect her. Even Ragnar. Suddenly the halls of Dragonstone were no longer welcoming and Freyja wished to be anywhere else but here. The whole way to her grandfather’s sickroom, they were quiet not making the situation any better. Finally, they reached two heavy double doors guarded by two more knights. Before they could go in, Tyrion turned to Freyja.

“Be careful, sweet niece, Your Grandfather is not right in the head.” And the guards opened the door before she could even open her mouth. They were all waiting for them, Father, Stepmother, Uncle Jaime, and...grandfather. He was laying in a large bed with many pillows to keep him propped up, his pale white hair long and matted, lilac eyes sickly and frail or at least what she thought was frail. His nails were longer than hers and the room smelled heavily of illness. Her father motioned her forward. Even the air was uneasy.

“Father,” King Father said gently, “Y/n is home. This is your granddaughter”

Aerys Targaryen’s eyes studied the girl, “Rhaella? Is that you?” Freyja looked at her father and he gave a dry chuckle. “No father, It’s Y/n. Your grandchild”. Her grandfather’s face molded into a bitter twist. “Come here, girl let me take a look at you”. Freyja gulped and inched her way closer to him. She gasped when he suddenly snatched her wrist gripping it tightly. Aerys’s pulled her closer until she could smell his foul breath. He didn’t say anything only his eyes wandering her face. Freyja’s heart pounded loudly against her chest. The more he stared the angrier he got. There was no illness in those eyes only madness and he was swimming in insanity.

“You smell like the Norse,” he said harshly, “You smell like your bitch mother”

“Father!” Rhaegar hissed and stepmother gasped, Freyja only stared at him dumbfounded.

“You little wench! Your mother was the one to cause that Rebellion! You are exactly like her. You look like the dragon but you have the stench of a wolf!” Her grandfather roared startling Freyja and everyone else in the room. She then felt a sharp hot sting on her cheek and she fell to the floor from the harsh blow. Stepmother shrieked next she heard the wrestling of men and through watery eyes, Freyja watched her father fight his own. He called for the guards and immediately they busted in holding back the Mad King from hitting her more. Fear shook her entire body.

“I’ll burn them all!” he screamed, his face red and eyes on fire. “I’ll burn them all starting with you!”

Freyja ignored Uncle Jaime’s strong arms and Stepmother’s desperate cries, she fled from that room as if fleeing from the wrath of Hel. She ran, ran all the way to her room slamming the door behind her. Freyja collapsed on to her bed sobbing inconsolably. No one in her life had hit her. Ever. Everyone had always treated her kindly, her home was full of love and laughter and here she didn’t have that. She missed her Bear, Kraka, Lagertha, Athelstan, her boys. Everyone! It wasn’t fair that these people had to take her away from her family!

“Freyja? It’s us, Uncle Jaime and Uncle Tyrion, can we come in?”

She didn’t wipe away her tears or respond. Freyja was far too heartbroken. Her uncles came in anyway.

“I want to go home!” she wailed “I want my family! I miss my bear!”

Uncle Jaime sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing her back. “Don’t cry, little Freyja. Your grandfather will not burn anyone” She sat up still sobbing. Jaime put her head against his chest, letting the tears run down his armor.

“Hey, hey now,” Uncle Tyrion said, his voice soft and kind “Let’s get your mind of that, hm? Tell me about your family, about Bjorn and Ragnar”

“They would have killed that monster!”

Jaime shot his little brother a look and Tyrion’s eyes went wide. “Alright let’s not talk about that! Please, tell me about Bjorn. You talk about him a lot” Jaime took out a handkerchief and wiped away her tears.

“His name literally means bear,” Freyja said, she touched her necklace, “I call him bear because he is protective of me. A bit overprotective, really. He loves me a lot. I am like his daughter”

“Are you?”

“Yes, and he is like my father” Talking about Bjorn made tears swell in her eyes again. “I really, really, really want to go home. I miss my family”

Uncle Jaime got on one knee taking her hands in his, “I understand, little one but I cannot take you home. We don’t have that power”

“But we can speak to your father,” Uncle Tyrion said, “we can tell him how you feel. In the meantime, you have us to come to for anything else”

Freyja thanked them with all her heart. Stepmother came in after her face was back to its normal bright self and she was laughing at a funny story her Uncle Tyrion was telling. Her stepmother comforted and told her she loved her but her King Father did not come in to talk to her. It stung her. Such coldness from a man who had not seen her once, nonetheless this being the first time as a family. Her supper and dinner were brought to her room and she spent most of her time avoiding her father as much as he had been avoiding her. Freyja spent her time with the rest of her new family, She played with Little Rob, had tea with her stepmother, took a long walk on the shores with Uncle Tyrion and Uncle Jaime. Still, Freyja couldn’t help but have a tiny bit of hope that her King Father would speak to her.

Thunder roared through the skies, dark clouds covered the blue sky and sun. Waves crashed against the cliffs dangerously. Every time lightning struck, Freyja was seen walking through the corridors of Dragonstone. The dragons on the walls and their statues looked more terrifying than they did during the day. Yet Freyja was not scared, she could hear her people’s music through the thunder. In between those flashes, she saw the familiar woods of home or at least she thought was home.

“How the little piglets' would grunt if they knew how the old boar suffered?” A voice boomed. He sounded familiar but Freyja couldn’t name the owner of the voice.

A heavy door with the Targaryen sigil opened by itself, creaking. Freyja grabbed a torch from the wall and entered.

“It gladdens me to know that Odin prepares for a feast. Soon I shall be drinking ale from curved horns. This hero that comes into Valhalla does not lament his death!”

Freyja walked down the stone steps, the smell of humidity hung heavy through the air. Thor’s wrath pounding the sky. As she walked, the images of home came flashing back. Somewhere an eagle screeched. The sky was too cloudy for her to see where it was. Freyja followed several more flights of steps until she stumbled on a trap door. She almost missed it through the very dirty floor. Freyja struggled to open it and the door hit the floor with a loud clang. It was very dark down there, she grabbed the torch and squinted to see.

“I shall not enter Odin's hall with fear. There I shall wait for my sons to join me.”

Freyja finally found felt a wooden step and she went into the darkness, careful not to fall. Another image. This time she saw a cage hanging from a tree, sturdy enough to hold a man. Something dreadful will happen here. The closer she got to it the more afraid she was and the more her heart dropped.

“And when they do, I will bask in their tales of triumph. The Aesir will welcome me!”

When she reached the bottom, Freyja was shocked when she came face to face with rows and rows of eggs. All of them as large as a child's head and all of them came in different colors. Their shells scaley and weathered they almost looked to be made of stone. A thousand years old. Freyja put the torch where it could help her see and she picked up an egg, admiring it. Back home, crows circled above her cawing. She braced herself for what she was about to see. There, surrounded by serpents of all sizes, laid her Ragnar. Dead. In the dungeon, the dragon egg burned into glowed but it did not harm her, boiling until it cracked and a baby dragon with golden eyes screeched at her. With Ragnar, Freyja’s screams of terror and anguish turned to the roars of a dragon.

“My death comes without apology! And I welcome the valkyries to summon me home!”

Freyja lurched forward, cold sweat sticking to her skin and her heart pounding. Fenrir padded to his mistress sniffing her to see if she was alright. The princess stroked her wolf’s fur and she was stunned to see that the window was wide open. Thor pounding his hammer furiously.

@lettersofwrittencollective @mellxander1993 @faeeiiry @blonddnamedhandz @-thatgirloverthere- @wanderlustimagines @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction @colie87 @whatwhyc-c

#game of thrones #game of thrones and vikings #vikings imagine #game of thrones fanfic #game of thrones writing #game of thrones imagine #vikings fanfic #vikings writings #hvitserk x reader #sigurd x reader #ivar x reader

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emilyann101 · 5 years

Text

A Soft Epilogue

So I’m not really a writer, but I love Arya and Jon’s relationship so much and it was really not done justice in the eighth season. I also love Gendry and Arya and needed them to end up together so I wrote my own ending. I hope you like it. Constructive criticism is appreciated.

It had been more than five years since he was exiled. The weight of all that he had done between his stints on the wall was heavy in his heart even after all this time. Upon returning to the wall he had been made a ranger and with the land being safe from the threat of the night king and his followers a mission began to chart the far north and find a home for the wildlings. He had never expected it to go on for this long, but he was glad of the peace of the free folk. He had helped them build a settlement, watched with pride as Tormund led them and they lived peacefully. Now he was headed back to the wall with his fellow crows, who felt more like wildlings after all this time, to deliver the maps of the true north as promised. The mission was only supposed to last a year or two, but how does one chart wilding settlements if they haven't been built and with the wildling population having dwindled how do they get built without help? Jon was in no hurry to get back to the wall. It had been one thing when he had gone by choice and risen to the rank of lord commander, but to be exiled here for the crime of killing his lover, his kin.... he needed to be with the free folk to feel free of the shame.

When he arrived at the castle, he saw a young maester running out to meet them. What in seven hells is he running for Jon thought. The master shouted “Are you Jon Snow? Arya’s brother? The one who killed the night king?” Jon’s heart nearly stopped; he hadn’t heard her name in so long. “That I am, no need to run” Jon said proudly as he dismounted. He walked calmly towards the young maester who was trying to catch his breath. Once he had regained his composure he said “Forgive me, my name is Jaron, I’m the master here. Have been for a few years now, I’m quite pleased to be meeting you Jon Snow” Jon nodded in recognition and responded “pleased to meet you as well, I have some maps you’ll be quite interested in, once we’ve put our horses up and gotten warm that is” “Of course, of course” Jaron said calling over the stable boys and leading the men inside to the hearth. Once inside Jaron said “Forgive my excitement earlier, it’s just that I’ve been waiting so long to meet you, your sister will be thrilled to hear of your return, shall I write her or would you prefer to do it yourself” Jon Snow, knowing nothing, said “I’ll write Sansa on the morrow and let her know that I’m well, thank you”. “No, you misunderstand, Arya and I have been sending letters back and forth for years. She enquires about you regularly and there’s a stack of letters from her to you in my office, would you like to see them?” Stunned Jon sat with his mouth open for a moment “I thought Arya had sailed west” Jon said bewildered “How did the ravens find her?” His head was spinning, if he had known he could write to her he would’ve come back sooner. “She’s been back for years actually, she-“ the boy master started “I’d like to see the letters” Jon interrupted. Jaron hastily took him up to his office and handed him a stack of letters from his desk drawer. “I’ll leave you to them, come back down when you get hungry, I’ll see to it that you and your men are fed. There’s a stew tonight” Jaron left him with that; and he sat down in awe. He never thought he’d hear from his dear sister again, never thought he could be sure she was even still alive, but here she was. Her words at least, he tore open the seal on the first one and began to read.

Dear Jon, I hope this raven finds you well at castle black. I have been sailing for a month now and even though you won't able to write back, as no ravens have been trained to fly to where I am, I need to write to you. To stay connected to my family in some small way. Also, to share with someone in the known world what I find. As you know the crew and I left from kings landing, so we had to sail south before we could begin our journey west. We passed the isle of Tarth where Brienne was a lady; I never realized how close it was to storm's end, you could almost see it past the sapphire Isle. I was surprised by how much I missed her that day, there are a few fair swords on Honor (that's what I named my ship, I think father would have liked that), but none as skilled as Brienne. I fear my skills will dull without a good fight, but after stopping by the Arbor for supplies it's been fuck all but water. I wish we would have stopped off in Dorne, I hear the sandsnakes are great killers, but it would have slowed us down. We passed the last of the known lands a fortnight ago and it will be west and water until we find something new. I will miss you big brother, be safe. -Love Arya

p.s. pet ghost for me.

Dear Jon, we have been sailing the sunset sea for nearly two months now. I must say the crew is going a bit mad with boredom being surrounded by nothing but water for five weeks. Though we are truly starting to bond as a crew. Our healer Myra and I are becoming fast friends, and I think she's becoming more than friends with our best cartographer Nik. Though perhaps he's simply bored with there being nothing at all to chart. We've begun rationing food in case we don't find anything for a while. If we don't find anything in the next fortnight we will have to turn back, and this will have been a wasted endeavor. The time away from everything has done me good though. I think I needed space more than I realized to come to terms with all that happened since father was killed; All that I had done and what had been done to me. During my time with the faceless men in Bravos I was trained to feel nothing and to be nothing, only to serve the god of death, only to kill. I realized when they wanted me to kill an innocent woman that I wanted to do more with my life than kill just for the sake of killing. I went there because I wanted to learn to be a great killer to avenge my family, but if I had to forget my family and be no one to serve the many-faced god it wouldn't be worth it. None of it would be worth anything if their memories weren't with me. Still those lessons were hard to unlearn. I am still working through it truth be told, but I've had nothing but time to think out here, and Myra likes to talk a bit too much, so I've finally told someone everything. I didn't realize how much I'd forced myself to forget until I tried to remember. I miss everyone more than ever now, even the ones that aren't dead, especially some of the ones that aren't dead. Perhaps if we turn back this endeavor won't have been a waste Afterall. If we do, I'll come visit you at castle black.... I may send another raven from Storm's End first though. I hope you are well. If Tormund is there with you tell him I said hello. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, we've done it! We've found undiscovered lands. Actually, I believe them to be the three islands that Elissa Farman discovered two hundred years ago and named Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys. It was only legend until now, but I've seen them with my own eyes. I was worried at first, after all the last time I saw legends come to life in the form of dragons I nearly lost my life, but these islands are warm and welcoming and uninhabited. Some of the animal life is dangerous but we were lucky enough to learn that without loss of life or limb. We docked here only three days ago, meaning that the journey from the arbor to here is seven weeks, nine from kings landing, probably about two months from storms end. We will be staying here a fortnight to re-supply, then we will travel further west to see if there is anything even Elissa never saw. Since I will be staying in one spot for a while perhaps the maesters can send the raven back the way it came. I want to know that you are safe at castle black, part of me fears that you've gone north with the wildlings and are not receiving these. I hope you are happy wherever you are. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, we have left the beautiful islands in search of the unknown. I took to calling the one named Aegon Jon as it reminded me of you. I hope to show it to you one day, I know you have taken the black, but how would the unsullied ever know if you went somewhere no one is. I don't know if you weren't able to write back because you went north or because the maesters couldn't send the bird back the way it came since the island wasn't his home. Two-way ravens are rare I know, but it was worth a try. Regardless I discovered so many beautiful things on the island I had to write and tell someone. There were pink fruits and spices like nothing else. We brought more than we needed on board in the hopes of convincing those in westeros that the islands are real. Nevertheless, we now have a further off turning back point to resupply so the journey can continue longer and we can chart what’s further west. I should be pleased by this, and a large part of me is, but another part was looking forward to seeing you again soon. To seeing everyone I've been missing. I will see you again big brother, that I promise. It may take a while, but I will be back. I have loved this adventure, but a wolf needs a pack. We’ve lost so much family these past years. We can’t afford to lose each other now too. We found some family too though. We found Sam, Gilly, Brienne, Pod, we both found Gendry at one time or another, but that's a longer story. I miss my pack, I miss you, I hope one day you'll be pardoned and the last of the starks can reunite in Winterfell again, even if it is just for a short while. If not, I'll personally drag Sansa to castle black by her hair. -love Arya

Dear Jon, Sam will be pleased to know that the maesters of Oldtown were right. The world is round, and what's west of westeros is Essos. We docked here in Ashai fifteen weeks after leaving Kings landing, meaning that we have found the fastest route between the two places to ever be charted. My cartographer Nik is convinced we should make maps that are round and can be spun to explain this to people. I say we should bring back a shipload of Ashai goods and when we make it back to Westeros eight months after having left no one will need convincing since it would take nearly a year to get between the two points taking any known route. We will be staying here a while to establish business relations with Ashai merchants on behalf of the North (we are sailing under Stark banners after all) and to explore a bit on dry land for once. The furthest I had ever been before was Bravos. It is truly incredible here. Since I will be staying in one place for nearly a month and it is somewhere ravens know how to find I can receive a raven from you. I will be sending letters to Sansa, Bran, and Gendry as well. Hopefully at least one of you will write back in time for me to get your response before we leave again. I will be back in Westeros in about four months big brother. My first mate Jaqob says that we should dock in kings landing first since that is where the trade will be best, though since it burned not a year ago, I somehow doubt that, and storms end is further south. I do not think I could bear to pass it by even to go see Bran, but wherever we dock first I will write you and tell you where I am so that you can write me back and let me know if you are well. I want to know how you've been and what you've been doing. Did you go north of the wall or stay at castle black? Have you heard from anyone? Have you made any friends there? I hope you have. I'll see you soon big brother. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, we've left Ashai for Westeros. I hope you are alright. I know that you would have written back if you got my letter in time. You must have gone north of the wall to be with the wildlings. I suppose you might not come back and if you don't you might never get these, but I hope that's not the case. I hope you were only gone for a little while and we've just missed each other. I will keep writing so that you'll get my letters when you come back to castle black whenever that might be. I haven't forgotten you. I want you to know that. Anyway, I received return ravens from everyone else. I was surprised by that to be honest, since Gendry and I left things on strange terms. I told you that Gendry and I were a long story in another letter and that's still true, but basically, I thought he might still be angry with me for leaving him. I don't think you ever knew that Gendry and I knew each other before you brought him to Winterfell or that we were close, but we were. I met him the day that father died. I still don't know how the two of you found each other, but I suppose I can ask him when I get to Storm's End. We will be docking there first. I sent him a letter telling him what I found west of westeros and that I was trying to establish a trade route between Ashai and Storm's end. I said that if he would prefer not to have to see me that I could establish the trade route with Kings landing or Tarth, but that I'd like to see him again. That I missed him. He replied that he'd like very much to establish a trade route, that it would be good for the people to have as a source of income for their war-torn lands, and he invited me to stay at Storms end as a guest of house Baratheon. The next time that I write to you will be from there. Please write to Storms end if you are going to be at castle Black, I'd love to hear from you. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, I arrived back in westeros nearly a fortnight ago. Davos says that they have not received a raven from you here at Storm's end. I must assume that you've gone north, but since I've no way to find you north of the wall I will have to stay in the south until I hear something from you. I pray that is soon. I will however be staying at Storm's end indefinitely. I have a lot of work to do. We were able to sell the goods from Ashai to merchants from all over westeros who buy foreign goods at shipbreaker bay and blackwater bay (I sent my first mate to the blackwater with most of my crew two days after we docked to sell to the merchants there) we were able to sell for less than anyone else and still make more profit since we didn't have to travel for as long. I will be sending a share of the profits to Sansa in Winterfell, we were sailing under Stark banners after all, and after paying my crew I will be using the rest to build another ship. I plan to have one ship sailing back and forth between Ashai and Storms End and one that goes on longer journeys from Bear island to Moraq. I will have my first mate take over Honor, he'll be sailing her to bear island per Sansa's instructions in a fortnight once we find replacements for the members of the crew that are staying with me awaiting the building of my new ship. I still don't know what I'll be naming her. Gods I hope you'll write soon and let me know you're alright. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, I have been in Storms End for three months now. My ship is almost complete, but I will not be leaving with it. It will be captained by Nik, my cartographer, with Myra by his side as the ship’s healer. I will be staying here and overseeing the continued business of both ships. I will be staying here because I am going to be the lady of Storms End. I know to you this seems like it's come out of nowhere because I never did tell you that very long story, but I would like to now. As I said I met Gendry the day father died. Yoren found me at father’s execution and tried to bring me back to Winterfell with a group of recruits for the nights watch, he disguised me as a boy and told me to go by another name of course, Gendry was one of the recruits. He protected me from the other boys before he even knew I was a girl; he was just good that way. We travelled together for a long time, he figured out that I was a girl and I told him the rest. He never betrayed me, never told anyone my true name, just kept trying to protect me. When the gold-cloaks came for him I protected him too, told them Gendry was the name of a boy they already killed so they'd leave him be, but by then Yoren had already been killed. That's why we never made it to Winterfell, they took us to Harrenhal. Nothing good happened there, but I managed to trick a man into helping us escape with a boy called Hot Pie. The three of us travelled north together for a long time on our own, we became quite close...almost like a family. He'd never had a family before, so when the brotherhood found us and wanted to sell me back to mother and Robb, he thought it would change things even though I told him that it wouldn’t, and he wanted to join the brotherhood. In the end it didn't matter, they sold him to that red witch and that was the last time I saw him before you brought him to Winterfell. When we were reunited it was as if no time had passed, he still felt like family, but I had gotten older and that did change some things. We became involved romantically before the battle of Winterfell and when he was legitimized, he asked me to marry him and be the lady of Storm's end. I told him that I wasn't a lady.... That was true, it still is really. Besides I was sure I would die in Kings landing and could not promise anyone a future. I have loved him since before I even knew what love was, but I knew I would never be the traditional sort of lady he needed. As it turns out he's not a very traditional Lord, but the people love him, and he is a very good one. While I've been here and while we've been working together on the trade of Storms End I've seen the sort of partnership we could have. I've even advised him on matters not pertaining to trade and he's always been willing to listen. He's worked to rebuild the storm lands with his people after the wars and always hears their concerns. He is a lot like father in the way he treats his people. I didn't think it was possible, but I think I love him more now than I did when I left westeros. You probably won't want to know about this part, but it didn't take more than a few days before we ended up in bed together again and, well, I'm pregnant. Having been a bastard himself Gendry didn't want that for his child, so I asked him to marry me. Not out of obligation and not just for the child, but because I truly want to. I have wanted to be his family since I was twelve years old and that has never changed. The title of lady that now comes with the man is a bit of a surprise, but seven hells people have always called me a lady even though I'm not one so what difference does it make if I'm Lady Stark or Lady Baratheon? I'll always just be Arya Stark the same way you'll always be Jon Snow even if you're Aegon Targareon. I have spoken with Bran, Sansa, and the council and they have agreed to grant you furlough to attend the wedding. I pray to the old gods and the new that you'll get this in time. It will be in the godswood in Winterfell in a fortnight. If father can't be there, I at least wanted it to be where I feel his presence most, and I want you to be the one to give me away. I hope to see you soon big brother. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, I am writing to you from Winterfell on the day of my wedding. I suppose you are still ranging too far north to get my letters. I had Sansa send a raven to the maester at castle black inquiring as to your whereabouts and even they do not know. They say you ventured out shortly after arriving and have not returned. Some believe you have died, but I know that's not the truth. You are discovering and charting where no one has been like I did. I hope it is as healing for you as it was for me. Sansa seems to be doing well as queen in the north. Winterfell has been undergoing repairs since the great battle. It nearly looks like it used to again. Write to me when you can I'll come to castle black the moment you do. I might be the first woman to give birth on the wall, but I will come. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, they still have not heard from you at castle black, but I had to write and tell you about my son. I gave birth six months after the wedding to a black haired, blue eyed, giant of a baby. Anyone who actually believes him to have been conceived on our wedding night and born prematurely is a damned fool. Gendry could not be happier, and neither could I, we've named him Eddard Baratheon. He will carry the names of both of our fathers and be the heir to Storm's End and Winterfell until Sansa has children of her own. He's healthy and I am recovering well. Write me when you can, I'll figure out a way to introduce you to him if it is the death of me. Be well big brother. -Love Arya

Dear Jon, I have been the lady of Storm's End for over a year now and I don't think it will ever quite feel real. Gendry and I have split the duties of lord and lady in the way that best favors our skill sets rather than the way that holds to tradition. He is patient and kind with petitioners, noblemen and small folk alike and I have been overseeing the training of the guards and the armies. You should have seen the guards when I arrived, I was always able to sneak about unnoticed, had I been there to kill Gendry rather than bed him I could have easily done it. Now I would have to kill at least two guards on the way. It is progress. Luckily, we have had little need for armies as of yet. Thank the gods. The realm deserves a break from bloodshed. A fair bit of my time goes to my responsibilities as commander of my small fleet though. Honor has completed its first journey from bear island to Moraq. May it be the first of many, it was incredibly profitable for both lands and for myself and my crew. My second ship Duty was completed months ago and took up the route from Storms end to Ashai. That route is the shortest but probably our most profitable and I doubt the ship will ever stay docked for longer than a month. As such some of the crew will need to be rotated, it certainly makes it easier for the good people of Storm's End to find work. As does the building of my third and probably final ship “Family”. Family, duty, honor: Tully words with Stark banners. I believe you were right big brother I found a way to carry on both parents’ legacies. Though my son is all father in aspect despite having the Baratheon look. He is only eight months old but already so sturdy and quiet and kind. I can tell he'll grow up to be just like his namesake. The realm needs another Ned, needs as many as it can get really, but this next one looks like it's going to be a girl. Gendry is thrilled, but I'm not sure I know what to do with a girl. I suppose it'll be alright if she's like me, but what if I end up with a miniature Sansa? I love the woman she's grown to become but as a girl she tormented the both of us, and little Ned won't have anyone to ease that pain if there aren't more siblings. I suppose there'll have to be, I loved having you and Rob, Bran and Rickon. Enough family that no one is ever lonely. That sounds quite nice after being alone so long. I've been petitioning to have you pardoned so that you can come south again. It hasn't taken yet but I'm more stubborn than anyone on that damned council and I will wear them down you mark my words. I've been writing the maester at castle black and he's agreed to keep all my letters to you in the case that you return. Hopefully when you come back this letter is in a stack including your formal pardon and you can come here straight away. I'll be praying for you safe return. - Love Arya

Dear Jon, well I was right, my second born is in fact a beautiful little girl. Her look is all Baratheon, but something I can't quite place about her blue eyes reminds me of you. I've decided to name her Lyanna after your mother. Gendry joked that his father can rest easier now that there is finally a Lyanna Baratheon though it's not the way he had planned. I think both our fathers would have had a chuckle at that one. Ned already loves her so much I can't believe I ever worried. They are the very picture of you and me, and I suppose the first Ned and Lyanna. One for every generation I figure, I hope their stories are more pleasant than their namesakes or ours for that matter. But our stories aren't over yet. You will come back one day, and my children will meet the greatest uncle who ever lived. Write me when you get this, and I'll take my fastest ship to eastwatch by the sea. Sansa says they've rebuilt it. -love Arya

Dear Jon, I've done it. After five long years you can finally come home! The council has pardoned you posthumously. They have of course also declared you dead as no one has heard from you in five years, but there is no crime in living through something you shouldn’t have, or I'd have been chained years ago. You can come south to be declared alive and you will not be harmed. When you get this send a raven and we can meet in the middle at Winterfell, or you can come here even. I've had a room ready for you for years now. I pray I'll see you soon. -love Arya

Jon could not believe his eyes. His little sister was not only still alive, but a mother, and a wife. A lady and a businesswoman, and she’d had him pardoned, and…fucking hells he couldn’t have started with that. “Jaron” Jon bellowed “fetch my horse”. It took nearly an hour to convince Jon to stay the night and rest after his journey, or at least to eat something, but Jaron finally managed it. The next morning he woke to find Jon and his horse gone. Jon had left at dawn to make the trip to Storm’s end as quickly as possible unable to even begin a letter as there were not words for this situation. Three weeks late he arrived at Storms End. “Oy what do you want then” a guard shouted at the lone rider. “I’m Jon Snow, I’m here to see my sister Arya Stark” he shook his head “I mean Arya Baratheon” he would never get used to that. The guard laughed and said, “Jon Snow is dead, best fuck off then.” “Send for my sister, she’ll know me” Jon replied. “She’s with the master, she can’t come now, off with you” “Send for Gendry then” Jon insisted before he dismounted “He knows me too, and I’m not leaving until I speak with them”. The guard looked annoyed but called the stable boy over to take his horse and led Jon inside the gates. He left him with another set of guards and told them to keep a close eye. A few minutes later he returned with Gendry carrying the most beautiful, giggling, two-year-old girl he had ever seen. There was a four-year-old boy trailing closely behind and Jon could see what Arya had meant, something about him was the very picture of their lord father even if he looked nothing like him. Gendry went from laughing and tickling his daughter to pale as a ghost the moment he saw Jon. “Hello” was all that Jon could manage at the sight. Gendry took a moment to find his breath again and then chuckled. He put his daughter down and went to hug his friend, his brother by law. “She always said you’d come back” he said in disbelief when the two had parted. “Who is that?” Lyanna whispered tugging on her father’s pant leg and pointing at Jon. “That’s your uncle” Gendry said, and Jon could feel the tears in his eyes; he knelt to met her at eye level and said “hello lyanna”. She threw her arms around him without blinking and he picked her up, the weight in his heart finally feeling a little lighter. He had nearly forgotten to ask about Arya in his joy, but Gendry snapped him back to the present. “Arya will be so glad to see you; we’ve got a room for you and everything” Gendry said, “how long can you stay?” “Where is Arya?” Jon asked confused and a bit worried “the guard said she was with the master, is she alright?”. “Yeah, she’s not sick or anything, she’s in labor” Gendry said much to Jon’s surprise “we should have another little one in a few hours….I’m not sure if she’d kill me more for taking someone to her in her current state or not taking you to her immediately. All things considered why don’t we have dinner first and get you settled, maybe the baby will be born by then” Jon laughed “Another one already? Gods be good.” He shook his head and walked with Gendry to the feast hall. The lords table was surrounded by smallfolk, and Gendry knew the names of everyone who worked in the castle. He truly was just like father in that regard. Midway through the meal a woman came down with blood stains on her clothes and Gendry looked worried “Everything alright Myra” He asked. “Oh, everything is fine Gendry, go and meet your son” she said smiling. He beamed and nearly ran up the stairs hollering “Come on Jon” as he ran. Jon was a bit apprehensive but followed slowly after. When he reached the top of the stairs he saw Gendry standing beside a blood-stained birthing bed holding a small bundle. In the middle of it all was his fierce little sister, pale and tired and smiling at her husband holding their son. She caught sight of him and sat up a bit “Jon, is that you?” she said, “is that really you?” His feet moved without his permission and before he realized it he was kneeling beside her and kissing her forehead. When he pulled away he saw her smile, even brighter than it had been before and with her small hand in his she said “you’re not a dream” “No, I’m not a dream, I’m here, I’m right here” Jon kissed Arya’s hand “I have missed you big brother” she said “I missed you too” he replied smiling and crying. The master returned to the room “I-, well, this is highly irregular” he sputtered. “Oh come off it, it’s only my brother” Arya corrected. “Still, you need to rest. It was a long delivery. They should go, the both of them” he said gesturing to Jon and Gendry “you can get reacquainted on the morrow” “We shall get reacquainted right the fuck now, off with you” Arya said sitting up a bit more. “Language, please, he’s not an hour old” Gendry said exasperated but with love in his eyes and Jon had to laugh. “Which means he doesn’t know what it means yet” chided Arya while smiling lovingly at Gendry. Jon cleared his throat and asked the master with sudden desperate worry “Is she alright?” “She’s fine, exhausted, but fine” the master responded. “I’m also right here” Arya said “and I want to hear everything. Where have you been all these years?” Jon sat by Arya’s bedside and began to tell her all his stories and ask his questions about hers. It wasn’t long before she fell asleep, but they had nothing but time now. Gendry showed him to his room, and he slept better that night that he had in years. The next morning he saw Arya at breakfast holding her newborn babe with her daughter by her side and little Ned protectively watching them both. Gendry had his arm around his wife and kissed her quickly and sweetly before he realized Jon was in the room. They were smiling at each other and he’d felt like he was interrupting something sacred. He nearly turned to leave when Gendry said startled “Jon” he dropped his hand from Arya’s waist “good morning, are you hungry?” Jon chuckled a bit to himself “starved” he responded, and Gendry motioned to a servant to bring another plate as Jon came to sit beside Lyanna. “I’m sorry I fell asleep; I really do want to hear about the wildings. You were in the middle of telling me about the settlement Tormund started” Arya said as she took a bite picking up as if no time had passed. “It’s no matter, we have plenty of time for stories now that I’ve been pardoned, thank you for that by the way” Jon replied. “How long do we have though? I mean how long can you stay? I hadn’t heard anything from Sansa or Bran, did you come straight here? Do they know you’re alive? Do you need to go to Winterfell or Kings Landing?” Arya rattled on. “I did come straight here, I had no idea if you were even alive until I got your letters and when I saw you’d had a whole life while we’d been apart…..I didn’t even have a thought by the time I was on my horse, the poor thing nearly died of exhaustion on the way” Jon said. Arya squeezed his hand and said “No more separate lives then. You’ll stay here, and we’ll send for Sansa and Bran” Jon delighted at the thought and could not help the smile that split his face. “All of us in one place again and more of us now” he said looking at the newest addition to his family. “I can think of nothing I’d like more. What are you going to name him?” he asked. Arya lightly punched his arm “Jon stupid, what’d you think?” They smiled at each other and for the first time in a long time his heart felt whole.

#gendrya #Arya Stark #jon x arya #jon snow #Gendry Baratheon #gendry waters #marraige #babies #arya x gendry #parallels to Ned and Lyanna #cannon compliant

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shinglescat · 5 years

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Previous or all stories at once.

- So, did you catch your murderer?

- Yep, a bunch of them actually. Your payment is on the table, by the way, - Mark answered, lying on the floor with eyes closed, pointing somewhere in the air with his leg, continuing in small voice, - My guess about body explosives was right; if we haven't brought the body to you, there would be mayhem in this very city, - he frowned, - We barely managed to get to their lair in time, - his tone dark, - They already placed a few corpses behind the keep; one actually went off ahead of its time, making a giant hole in the city wall, - he took a deep breath, - I don't want to admit it, my mater is a legionnaire, but...

- The Legion has a hand in this? What jarl is going to do with them? - Aspen took a sit near the table.

- Well, yeah, - elf let out a shaky sigh, - I'm afraid how rebels will respond to this. What a fucking mess. Wonder what mater would say, - he thought aloud, imagining her in front of her. She’d probably say the Legion has no connection with this attack… but she’s a war hero just as much as war criminal with blood on innocents on her hands, she’d try to justify their action, - Anyways. The jarl has them interrogated them at this very moment. They will probably either be thrown in jail or executed, not that anyone would care. The jarl also thanks you for your contribution and wants you to become the coroner for the city, - the elf fell silent for a moment before continuing his speech, - I have another matter to discuss. My sister.

- They want me to gut bodies for them, don't they? - the man shook his head, chuckling, - Sister? I've seen her an hour ago running around that dark elf she've met: she really liked that elf, probably a new idol of hers.

- Not that sister, - he sounded annoyed, - I meant my blood related sister, cousin. She's in trouble I think.

- How many sisters do you actually have? - the ashen haired man raised his brow in question.

- Two, but I'm adopted, you know, - the elf raised from the floor, stretching his arms to the ceiling, moving towards the table. He glanced at the fireplace near him before speaking again, Livaen's voice echoing in his head, - You remember when we had a sleepover back in the Void?

He heard a snicker.

- That's what you call it now?

- Ugh, - he grumbled something under his nose, getting his ass on the table, - I had a dream with her involved, she sounded distressed. Said she's cold, alone, broken; somewhere in a place where fire burns with ice, something along those lines, and then there's a monster that watches her, I dunno. Not much of a help. Any thoughts?

The man leaned closer.

- That dream, when you told me, - his voice thoughtful, low, - you couldn't sleep because I was snoring?

Mark groaned.

- Yes, you do snore.

- I wouldn’t be snoring if someone...

- Can you shove it up your ass? - Mark cut him mid sentence, pain on his face, - This isn't really the time for jokes.

- You really need to do something about that stick up your ass instead, - was heard in return, as he was dragged down in the lap.

- Don't start a fight you cannot win.

- Because you're not so witty? Boo-hoo. You have no idea how funny you are to mess with, have you? - elf groaned ever louder, rolling the eyes, - So what was that about your cousin?

The door creaked open.

- Get a room! - someone hollered, - You are the disgrace!

Visenya, her new found friend and Meltem have entered the building. The girl glanced at men disapprovingly, before moving to the bedroom nearby, crashing on the bed. The new guy followed her sheepishly, possibly afraid to offend the kid with rejection.

- What's with the long faces? - Meltem asked, getting into the vacant chair near the table, - Did we interrupt something?

Mark sighed.

- What a fucking circus. No, you're the person I wanted to talk to, - he adjusted himself, getting comfortable in other man's lap, - There's a problem I need to solve that involves my cousin. She might be in danger, but I have no idea where to find her. Our grandmother would know about her whereabouts, but I haven't seen her in ages and I have no intention on seeing her any time soon.

- Don't think we can ask Narandil to help us out? - Meltem suggested, thinking about the possibilities, - He could help us, he used to date your grandmother after all.

- I thought you're suggesting whether or not he knows where to find Livaen, - Mark snickered, - That'd be a very dumb suggestion of you, definitely worthy of Visenya. But that old witch is on Summerset, I don't see her roaming Skyrim for any reason.

Meltem looked at the window, ideas running around her head like cockroaches, none’s the right one.

- You know, - a moment of silence later, - we should ask those Thalmor agents, - Aspen chimed in, - If your cousin is in trouble, they must have a file on her, especially if she's a noble.

Mark glanced at the man, astonishment in his eyes.

- You are actually right, - he spoke, nearly whispering, looking back at Meltem, - They must have a file regarding her whether she disappeared or not in that embassy. Esmir won't leave her precious granddaughter behind, especially her only heir.

- But there is a problem, you know, - the woman said, - You can't go in there, you're on their most wanted list. I can't go in there either, I'm not exactly a low-profile person after the old man. Narandil can't go too, they have bounty on him that worth a fortune. Visenya is not that smart in the field, - Meltem was interrupted with girl’s “HEY!”, - You could go, - she addressed Aspen, - but with ear prosthetics and makeup.

The trio went silent, thinking about their chances of getting into the embassy unnoticed and safely getting out of there. Mark definitely wasn't an option to go there, he would be captured on sight, put down and sent back to Summerset to his eagerly awaiting grandmother. Meltem could go, but they don't like redguards much, and she definitely doesn't look like a wench or a dancer. Narandil would blow up their entire mission regardless, he's not the one to hold back. Visenya would be better in a support position, because should she fail during the infiltration, she'd be another captive at best that would be successfully exchanged on Mark. Aspen would work fine with a decent amount of yellow paint on top, but that requires a master artisan.

- I'm sorry, I happened to overhear your conversation, - the dark elf snatched them out of their thoughts, - I might know how to help you, - Maurice smiled, getting close to them, - There is going be a masquerade at the embassy soon, that would be your best chance to get in and get out unnoticed.

The woman looked at him dumbfounded.

- How do you know that? - Meltem asked.

- I'm on the guest list! - he smiled charmingly, - And I know a way for you to get on the guest list too. I'm willing to sell two invitations for the evening. The rest you'd need is a costume and a mask.

Mark didn't think long before reaching to his pockets.

- How much?

- A thousand for each, - the elf pulled the invitations from somewhere, waving them in front of the trio.

- Sure, - it was definitely a lot more that he would pay under normal circumstances, but he had no other safe choice to get there. He climbed off the lap, marching down to the cellar. Meltem half expected him to return with a sword to threaten Maurice into giving the invitations for free, but he instead brought two pouches of gold with him, - Are you going to count this? - he handed the pouches to the dunmer, getting the invitations in exchange.

- Let's say it's not good for a long-term friendship, - to that Meltem grunted: Mark is a bad negotiator, he does what's expected of him without trying to get a better deal for himself, and the dunmer could've easily gifted said invitations without any payment if it was the friendship he wanted, - I understand that you're unhappy with the deal, - Maurice said in an apologizing tone, noticing discontent in Meltem’s eyes, - It was difficult to get these. I appreciate that you didn't take them by force.

The woman’s facial expression changed, bitterness leaving her as she felt ashamed instead, allowing herself to be so obvious in her grudges. The elf seemed genuine, she would do exactly the same if she was in his shoes. Now that he put her to shame, she was actually glad Mark didn't resort to violence, for once happy with his straightforward approach when dealing with problems.

- So whom are you going to take to the party, Marki-Mark? - Visenya suddenly yelled from the bedroom.

- Mark, you are not going anywhere, - Meltem interjected, knowing damn well he's not going to listen to her nagging.

- I... don't actually know, - he answered, sounding lost, - Anyone who's got something to wear I guess.

- Can I go? - the girl in the back jumped at the thought, getting from the bed, - Can I go, pretty please?

The woman glanced at the elf.

- No, you can't, - Mark answered, - I... actually need some time to think, - with that he exited the house through the balcony.

...

Mark was sitting on the wooden floor, his back leaning on the railing, looking at the ships in the distance, thoughts racing in his mind, papers lying on the wooden floor with schematics for the Thalmor Embassy he purchased not so long ago from Thieves Guild. The route he has already planned seemed like a real deal: get in through the main entrance, blend in with the crowd, dance and drink to seem like a normal person, then sneak behind everyone's back into the secondary building. The emissary should keep all her files somewhere on the upper floor, probably in the archives. Though Meltem would certainly be against this plan.

There was another thing: he has to pick his companions. It's not a hard deal, since Visenya's essentially going to stay out of this affair. The girl is unpredictable and unstable, most suitable to stay away from this. She would be distracted inside, and that'd be enough to blow up the entire mission; she is a liability most of the times. And he can't just risk her.

His current plan consisted of two getting inside with invitations he bought from Maurice, third getting on their own: there is a cavern under the embassy, but he needs to do some reconnaissance before going in blind when the date's due.

Who'd go inside with invitations - Mark had no idea. And there was another matter of getting Aspen into this whole mess, because he ultimately didn't hear his agreement for this mission; Meltem is going to get her hands dirty anyways.

The woman has good knowledge of nobles and etiquette, so it shouldn't be a problem for her to navigate through the crowd inside. But she's quite peculiar, and getting her blended in would require a lot of work. On the other side he could just send her on her own, she's a master thief after all, but he had a doubt about sending her alone. It's not that she'd blow up this whole mission or anything, he just had a bad feeling about this. And should the trouble begin, she can't change her clothes and pretend to be an elf. She can fight well though and can definitely defend herself, however that will make the break in obvious for the emissary, and she would surely send a squad after them.

Aspen was a dark horse out of all three, Mark had no idea what the man's capable of. Sending him on his own would be a mistake at best, though he had a feeling the man'd be in place among the nobles. It also would probably be the best to use him as a distraction, to have him monitor the party on the inside. Yeah, they need to get him a proper dress for the masquerade... and actually ask if he wants to take part in this affair.

Mark himself could do it both ways, with and without invitation, though sneaking is not entirely his virtue when compared to Meltem. In the end would be just a matter of staying incognito during the party. He could probably go in together with Aspen, then leave the man to observe the situation in the main building, while he himself stays in the courtyard. Or the other way around. Should things go south, he could always use Aspen as a distraction, make him talk to the woman in charge and keep her from doing anything for as long as possible. Elf can't do this himself, he's too high profile for such interactions, he'd have to run to Meltem. There also will be the dark elf, Maurice, but they can't use him in any way.

Something like that? He has to ask his companions for their thoughts before committing to anything.

#sc_storytime #SC_Mark #SC_MeltemEsteban #SC_Visenya #FV_Aspen #FV_Maurice

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damn-stark · 5 years

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Lost dragon ch.8

A/n- once again I’m sorry if this was long. So now when the characters are talking in a different language I’m going to put use these ‘’.

Episode- 5x09, 5x10

Pairing- none at the moment

Warning- language, and violence

I loved that Daenerys had introduced me to all her people. All of them looked loyal and respectful towards her and didn’t look like the people from Kingslanding who all looked uptight like if they had a stick up their asses. It was also a good thing that Tyrion was still walking around with his head. Even if he was annoying and I disliked just a little I still feel more comfortable with him being around. He’s the only person I really know now.

We were at the fighting pits watching the great fight. Violence is something I tolerated and liked but from what I can tell Daenerys isn’t that pleased at all. She looks like she just wants to get over this and leave. When she clapped her hands to signal them to commence the crowd roared in exciment that sent shivers down my spine. I watched intently as they started fighting. I felt some uneasy something unexpected from me. I usually did like a good fight but this time not so much.

The hitting of the swords hitting one another made me uneasy. My lips turning to a deep frown. The way they moved to avoid being hit. This all sent shivers down my spine. My grip around the chair handle tightened. The memory of Oberyn fighting against the mountain flashed in my head. Making my breath become shaky and fast. I could feel the tears threaten to fall as the flashes became more intense. The sound of Ellaria screaming, the sound of his head getting crushed rang through my ears. The talk they were having beside me seemed to vanish. I could feel my hand start to shake where it was.

“Visenya? Visenya? are you okay?” The voice next to asked me snapping from my memory. I turned to face where the voice came from. It was Missandei Daenerys closest friend.

“yeah yeah I’m fine.” I nodded as I wiped the tear that ran down my cheek. She looked unconvinced but she didn’t say nothing else about it. From the corner of my eye I could tell Tyrion was looking our way. I don’t know if he was concerned at my curtain state or just curious on what was happening but I knew he was looking.

Instead of paying attention to the fight I payed attention to bickering that was happening beside me.

“I’ve spent much of my life in this arena and in my experience larger men do triumph over smaller men far more often then not.” The man who I knew as Hizdahr zo loraq started saying. I could feel the mood around was not pleasent with him around. I’ve barely met the men but I could tell that nobody really liked him all that much. I looked over at him and examined him. He didn’t look like much of fighter at all. He looks like he hasn’t step foot down there or even held a weapon in his life.

“ Have you yourself ever fought in the fighting pits or ever tried to kill someone who was trying to kill you?” I asked an eyebrow raised his way. He looked my way and shifted in his seat. He didn’t say anything instead turned back to the fighting going on below us. I turned my gaze over at Daario and he had smile on his face when I said that. He then shifted his attention back to Daenerys. I could feel their connection that was more then just friends going on between them. The way they looked at one another as he spoke to her was a way that colleague’s never looked at one another.

The fighting went on and so did the bickering. I tried not pay my attention to the fighting because if I did It will just make me feel bad. I think we all tried to pay our attention towards something less unpleasant. That is until a recognizable voice was heard from below. We all looked down and saw Jorah. He wanted to be the champion just to talk to Daenerys. His perisentce on talking to her and remaining by her side was something that was very hard to get from people.

As much as I tried not look it was hard not to.I barely knew the man but it was still hard to watch him fight against all those people. My breath would catch in my throat when I would see him get hit by the others. The panic that rushed through me when I saw him in the floor with a sword pointed at his throat. I turned over to Daenerys to see if she would stop this but she didn’t because she couldn’t. I heard a sigh of relief when a man killed the man that was towering over Jorah. I knew it was hard for her not look. The worry was clear on her face even if she did try to hide it by putting her head down. The crowd booed when Jorah had finally managed to take down the other fighter. He was standing there looking at Daenerys. Probably waiting for something to happen or her to say something. But she didn’t.

He stood there his eyes wondering around her until he went to grab the spear. My eyebrows furrowed at his actions. And when I realized what he was doing we all moved. I looked behind and saw that he didn’t aim to hit her but instead the threat behind her. A whole bunch of people with masks soon followed to stand up and the crowd soon panicked rushing to leave.

“Protect your Queen!” Daario yelled. The unsullied then rushed in and surround her where she stood. I took my dagger out from where it was. We were all confused on what to do next as we saw the chaos going on around us. Hizdahr tried to help but ended up getting killed in front of us. Jorah soon after took down Daenerys in a quick motion leaving Tyrion, Missandei and I still there. We were all about to follow them but I soon stopped when I saw one of the masked man going to Missandei. I rushed over and stabbed the man in the back. I offered my hand to her from where she had fallen. She took my hand and I helped her up. I didn’t notice the other masked man until he fell to the ground revealing Tyrion behind him with a bloody sword. He took my hand and rushed all three of us down.

“Stay close.” He told us as we headed down. Once we were down I gently pushed Missandei in front of me. We all ran to find the nearest exit but were surrounded by the masked men coming from all sides. I held my dagger up close as I looked around at all of them threatening to get to us. I took a step back as the circle got smaller. My breathing quickened at the sight of all of this. I didn’t notice that Daenerys had reached for my hand until I felt her tighten her grip around it. I looked over and saw that in the other hand she was connected to Missandei as well. They both looked worried and scared as we stood there waiting for something to happen. I slowly let go of Daenerys when I heard the roar of a dragon come from the sky. I looked overhead and then saw a puff of fire followed by the dragon. It was the same dragon from before.

Most of the masked men room dispersed when the dragon landed. More followed after the dragon bit and threw one of them. Most of them stopped cornering us and instead went for the dragon.

“Drogon!” Daenerys yelled at her dragon warning him to look out for the spears that were flying his way.

I quickly moved to the side when I saw that one of the masked men came running towards me. He stopped and swung at me. I ducked and then I stabbed him in the throat.

“I should’ve brought my sword” I said to myself. I turned my attention back to Drogon who was now roaring after Daenerys took a spear out. His look seemed to have softened when he was done and saw her standing in front of her. It was quickly inturrpted by a spear that hit him. He struggled to keep them all away from him. But that didn’t stop Daenerys from getting on him. I stood there amazed as he started moving up with her still on. And by the look on her face this was her first time. I quickly moved out of the way and to the ground when he was moving our way. I stood up slowly in awe as he began to fly up with her In his back.

We were sitting on the steps in a uncomfortable silence waiting for someone to think of plan to do something. I tried to keep my find off this uncomfortable silence by cleaning my dagger. Tyrion broke the silence finally but he talked about something even more uncomfortable so I choose to not listen and instead continued to what I was doing. I only raised my head when Daario spoke up.

“Does He always talk so much?” Daario asked causing me to snicker. Missandei walked in shortly after with who I persume is Greyworm. Daenerys has spoken about him but I never got the chance to meet him because he was injured.

“Jorah the Andal.” He said his look narrowed at Jorah.

“Torgo Nudho.” Jorah responded sitting up straight when he heard his name.

“You should not be here.” Greyworm said his look still on Jorah.

“No but he is.” Daario responded

“Our queen exiled him from city.”

“Our Queen would still be dead if not for him.” Daario defended. Missandei then spoke to Greyworm in Valeryian. I payed close attention to what she was saying. It’s a good thing I understood every word she was saying.

‘It’s true. And I would be dead if not for the princess and the... little man.’ Missandei explained to Greyworm in Valeryian turning her attention towards me and Tyrion. I simply smiled their way.

‘Dwarf..I believe that’s the word. Apologies my Valeryian is a bit a nostril.’ I tried so hard not to laugh at Tyrion’s bad Valeryian.

‘A bit rusty.’ I corrected him.

“ thank you.” Tyrion said a little embarresed at what had just happened.

“It’s great to finally meet you Princess Visenya. The queen and Missandei have told me about you.” Greyworm said to me.

‘Thank you Torgo nuhdo. The queen has spoken greatly about you as well.’ I responded in Valeryian. He nodded and smiled in response. They all turned their heads towards me. A shocked expression In their face when they heard me speak Valeryian. I simply shrugged my shoulders in response. I hadn’t spoken Valeryian in front of them but that didn’t mean I couldn’t speak it. I’ve only mentioned I spoke it in front of Daenerys and Missandei.

“I’m sorry I’m not there to fight for our queen.” Greyworm said with a regretful look.

“Missed a good scrap.” Daario told him.

“None of that matters now. The longer Daenerys is out there in the wilderness.” Jorah said standing up from where he was sitting. He looked impatient. I don’t blame him though.

“He’s right the dragon headed north. If we’re going to find her that’s where we’re going to have to go.” Tyrion responded while standing up.

“We? You’re a Lannister. The queen intends to remove your family from power.” Jorah said. I furrowed my eyebrows in confusion at his sudden and not nessicary accusation.

“Do you think that matters now?” I spat standing up. Jorah looked at me annoyed but looked back at Tyrion.

“And I intend to help her do it.” Tyrion told him walking down to get closer to him.

“You’ve been here for how many days now?” I fought for her for years since she was little more then a child.”

“And you betrayed her.”

“Careful now.” Jorah warned him raising his finger.

“Twice I believe.”

“The second time no thanks to you.”

“Don’t blame me for your crimes Mormont!”

“Enough!! Both you! We’re not here to talk about that now. We’re here to think of a plan to help the queen.” I yelled having enough of their bickering.

“She’s right. And he’s right...” Daario said stretching his hands out in front of the two men. Here we go again they completely ignored me. I rolled my eyes at the continuation of this unnecessary discussion. They continued to argue with one another throwing threats in the mean while as well. They also cast down Tyrion and prohibited him from accompanying them on the expedition. Greyworm couldn’t go even if he really wanted to.

“And Missandei. Our queen trust no one more then Missandei. Certainly not me.” Daario explained.

“I’ll go then. I’ll accompany you.” I volunteered. Daario turned his my way.

“No you can’t.”

“And why not? I’m a great fighter—-“

“It’s true she is.” Tyrion Inturrpted backing me up.

“The Queen named you Princess now. We can’t let anything happen to you or her. If something were to happen to you the queen would take both mine and Jorahs heads off.” Daario argued. “And you have to rule In her absence.” He added.

“ I don’t know how to rule?! And she’s my family! My only family! I don’t want to lose her too!” I argued my voice raising in anger.

“That’s why you have to stay here and learn... we’re going to bring her back.” Daario said in a calm tone. I opened my mouth to argue back but I instead huffed and sat back down admitting my defeat. I also knew that he was right. If I’m going to be Princess now then i have to learn how to rule. And no better chance then now.

“The queen’s closest confidant, the commander of the unsullied, a foreign dwarf for a scarface and the new dragon princess...good fortune my friends Mareen is ancient and glorious try not to ruin her.” Daario said his last words sounded a bit more worrisome then anything else. Jorah and him then left leaving us once more in a uncomfortable silcence. We’re definitely are going to need that luck.

#game of thrones imagines #game of thrones #daenerys targaryen #tyrion lannister #missandei #jorah mormont #daario naharis #greyworm #house targaryen #house martell #oberyn martell #fanficiton

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genz420 · 1 year

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The Fire That Burns With Us - Chapter 22: Honour And Family.

Previous Part - Next Part

135 - Red Keep

After telling Aemond the truth, Visenya could sense that he needed time to entirely process what she had told him. That was fine. Visenya needed the comfort of Ben. She had gone to the godswood, and he had not been there. Ben wasn’t as a family with the castle as Visenya, so she knew that he would be in the only other place he knew of the castle.

The castle's servants had done a fast job of cleaning and readying her room. Ben sits lounging on one of the couches, a jug of wine sits on the table, and a glass is in his hand. Visenya closes the door behind her and takes the glass out of Ben's hand. The man lets out a grunt of protest but quickly silences when Visenya makes herself comfortable at his side.

Visenya and Ben haven't talked much about Visenya losing the baby; maybe a total of three times was it mentioned. The first was when Ben brought up how his dream was probably true. The second was when Ben was comforting Visenya after. And the third was when Visenya brought up that she would have named him Laenor, and then she would have given her second son the name Benjicot. Both of them mourned what happened. Visenya for her loss and Ben for the loss and also what to him was a failure of protecting Visenya and her blood. He might not like Aemond, but Ben would protect Visenya and any of her future children.

“I told him,” Visenya tells Ben, taking a sip of the bitter wine. Ben looks down at Visenya and kisses her head.

“How did he take it?” Ben asks Visenya, he knew that Visenya would tell Aemond, but he wishes that he was there in case anything did happen.

“Better than I thought. He didn’t kill me,” Visenya jokes. That was what she thought would have happened when she told Aemond.

“I highly doubt he would have,”

Before Visenya can tell him otherwise, a knock at the door makes both of them look at it. Visenya wishes to have a hot bath and then some peace and quiet. Have Ben braid her hair and hum a song to her. Maybe find Aemond and talk with him some more.

Ben stands from the couch and answers the door. He thought it might be Aemond or maybe one of Visenya's brothers, but he was so wrong. Ben quickly stands up tall and does an awkward bow. Visenya stands up once she sees who it is. She chokes down a sob that was rising in her throat. Visenya wants nothing more than to run into her mother's arms, but she can’t do that. She needs to stay strong.

Her mother looks the same as she did when Visenya left Dragonstone. The same warm and loving presence. Rhaenyra has her hair down and a hand placed on her baby bump. Once Jace and Luke had told her that Visenya was in King’s Landing. Part of Rhaenyra was sad that Visenya hasn’t come to see her, but the other part knew that Visenya has changed. Ben makes his way away from the door and stands behind Visenya, and he doesn’t know how she will react to seeing her mother.

“You look different,” Rhaenyra breathes out, stepping into the room and closing the door of the room.

Rhaenyra can’t believe that the woman standing in front of her is the same little girl that would run circles around her. Rhaenyra notices the prominent scar on Visenya's face. Daemon had told her how much Visenya had changed after they met last, but Rhaenyra still couldn’t believe how much she has changed. Rhaenyra can’t help but compare how Visenya and Ben look so much like her and Ser Harwin.

“It has been two, almost three years,” Visenya points out, she is trying to keep her voice calm, but Visenya can hear the hostility apparent in her own voice. Rhaenyra twists the rings on her fingers as she sighs.

“I need to talk to you, Visenya,” Rhaenyra tells her, looking at Ben. Rhaenyra has so much that she wants to ask the girl how she is doing. How did her time go in the iron islands? Why did she go to King’s Landing? Why didn’t she come back home? Why did she go north?

Visenya follows Rhaenyra's gaze and looks at Ben. The man seems to notice that he is being politely asked to leave and moves towards the door but stops once Visenya grabs onto his arm. There is no way that she is letting Ben go; she needs his support.

“Anything you wish to say to me, you can also say in front of Ser Blackwood,” Visenya responds. Visenya has told Ben everything about herself and her family in the past years they have been together. He knows she and her brothers are bastards. He knows more about Visenya than Rhaenyra does at this point.

“This is family matters, Visenya,” Rhaenyra reasons. Visenya takes a step before Ben and holds herself tall; she will not back down on this.

“Ser Blackwood is my brother in every way but blood,” Visenya states. The two genuinely love each other like siblings, beyond that. The bond and oath the two have taken for one another will stand the test of time.

“And I am your blood,” Rhaenyra points out. To her, she does not understand why Visenya cares so much about Ben being in the room, but Ben has been there for Visenya through the most challenging parts of her life.

“Blood doesn’t make us family. I am not Ser Laenor's blood, but I am his daughter in every way, so anything you wish to say to me, you can also do it in front of Ser Blackwood,” Visenya speaks out, and Rhaenyra feels her stomach sink as Visenya says those words so easily in front of Ben.

Visenya moves to sit down at the table in the room, waiting for Ben and Rhaenyra to do the same. They both do, and Ben moves for the wine on the table, but Visenya slaps his hand away.

“Þú eru stórr œrinn,” She tells him and he huffs out. Rhaenyra recognized the language; Ser Harwin had spoken hushed words in the same language to her.

You are fat enough

“Visenya, why are you here? In the past years, you have had no interest in what happens in this family, so why care now,” Rhaenyra asks. She does wonder why Visenya has suddenly put an interest in family drama.

“Princess Rhaenys sent me a letter asking me to come and support her claim to the Driftmark throne,” Visenya tells her. She wouldn’t lie to her mother about her reasons, leaving some truth out. While Rhaenys had sent her a letter asking her to come, Visenya wanted to see Aemond. But Visenya knows that her mother would not like to hear that.

“You are turning your back on your brother because of a letter,” Rhaenyra wonders. Is Visenya doing this because of Laenor? Does she still hate herself and Daemon for what she thinks they did?

Visenya leans back in her chair, and Ben watches her hand go to the dagger on her hip. He knows that Visenya wouldn’t hurt her mother, so Visenya must be reaching for the dagger subconsciously. Her first answer to any conflict is violence rather than words.

“In my time away, you sent me three letters. I have lost count of how many Princess Rhaenys has sent me,” Visenya points out. Rhaenys had sent the girl many letters in her time away, always asking if she was alright and needed more support. To write back, saying she needed help and that Rhaenys would fly Melesy to her as fast as possible. Visenya hadn’t been hurt by the lack of letters from her mother; truthfully, she wouldn't have read them.

“Lucarys is your brother,” Rhaenyra reminds Visenya.

“Yes. He also hates me for leaving if I remember correctly from his letter,” Visenya tells Rhaenyra. The letter from her brother hurt Visenya, writing that he now hates her for leaving and will never forgive her. “Do you wish to understand my standing in this, or do you only wish to jump to assumptions,”

Rhaenyra waves her hand for Visenya to continue. Just like her daughter Rhaenyra was not good at listening, she would instead let her mind jump to assumptions than hear the whole truth.

“I think that my grandmother has been making an amazing job ruling when Lord Corlys was in the step stones. I think Luke should have been living at Driftmark, learning and preparing to solidify his claim. I also think there should be a marriage to resolve any tension between the houses,” Visenya tells her mother. Visenya knew that her brother's claims for their thrones would be challenged, so she had thought about what could put a stop to anyone challenging them. “I have no choice but to support Luke even though Princess Rhaenys is the better fit. If I support her, then the question of why I am not supporting him. Luke will always be my little brother, and I will protect his honour as well as yours,”

“You have changed,” Rhaenyra tells Visenya after taking in her words. “My sweet baby girl is gone and grown into a strong and smart woman,”

“I changed when you had my father murdered to marry Daemon,” Visenya tells hers. While the war had changed Visenya, she stopped being a sweet little girl the second she learned of her father's death. Visenya stands, and Rhaenyra follows suit. Ben looks between the mother and daughter and chooses to remain seated. “Please tell Daemon that Ser Blackwood is not the man I fucked. I would hate for Daemon to kill him,”

Rhaenyra is shocked at the words leaving Visenya's mouth while Ben smiles at her.

“Aw, you don’t want me dead,” Ben sweetly says, and Visenya looks down at him. She gives him a bitter-sweet smile before cupping his cheek.

“I need you to sharpen my dagger and polish my sword. Who else can do it correctly,” Visenya responds in the same sweet tone as he did. She looks at Rhaenyra and is surprised at the look on her mother's face. “Don’t look so surprised, mother. I am your daughter,”

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond Targaryen x velaryon oc #daughter of Rhaenyra #daughter of daemon #house of the dragon #The Fire That Burns With Us

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fortunatelylori · 5 years

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Crypts of Winterfell teaser

The 3 headed wolf

So ... this thing dropped sometime this morning while I was still asleep ...

youtube

First thing’s first ... We finally have an official release date, guys! I kept wondering if the show would start at the beginning of April or the end of April but as it turns out, HBO really wanted to be contrary so it’s the middle of April ... the 14th, to be exact. :)))

One of the disadvantages of living in Europe as a GOT fan is that by the time you see the new teasers, a whole host of other people have already analyzed it so you can’t really bring that much at the table. But I’ll give it a shot anyway. :)

The feather makes a come-back!

No one really paid much attention to that feather, mostly because the last time the motif was revisited, it involved Sansa and we know how unimportant she is so why bother? Jonsa fans however have analyzed the symbolism behind it time and time again and what do you know? Here it is again, signaling the parentage reveal. Also, notice how the WW mist freezes the feather which in my mind can only mean that Jon will be in some kind of danger.

The immediate interpretation is, of course, related to the fight with the WW that will take place at Winterfell so the feather in this context is a visual way of showing that conflict.

It’s interesting that they chose the crypts for this teaser and involved the WW threat into it. A while back, I watched a video regarding how the crypts of Winterfell and the old kings of Winter might come into play in the story and considering this teaser, I think it’s worth revisiting this theory:

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Regardless of what secrets the crypts might hold in relation to the Starks relationship with the WW, the Winterfell crypts do pose a big problem for the humans fighting this war. If the NK can resurrect the dead, what is to say that he won’t raise the old kings from their crypts when he finally arrives at Winterfell? Imagine people taking refuge in the crypts during the final battle only for the dead to haunt them through the labyrinth. That would make for quite the sequence.

But the feather symbolism can’t be related only to the WW because why would the WWs care who Jon’s parents are? The freezing of that feather must also relate to another hidden danger Jon will face.

It’s interesting that they included Lyanna’s VO here:

Lyanna: You have to protect him.

Because this is where the feather and the VO come into play. Lyanna is asking Ned to protect Jon from Robert Baratheon. In that scene, if you remember, Lyanna says that if Robert were to find out who Jon is, he will kill him which leads Ned to keep the parentage of Jon a secret for almost 20 years. But let’s also remember where that feather came from ... it was Robert who placed that feather in the hand of Statue Lyanna.

So that feather is a visual reminder that Robert would have killed Jon had he found out who he is. In addition to being the son of the man Robert hated, Jon posed a threat to Robert’s kingship. As Rhaegar’s son, Jon had a claim to the throne Robert had taken for himself.

But ... Robert is dead. He poses absolutely no danger to Jon now. But the threat is still highlighted here and the idea that Jon is in need of protection is brought up again. So against whom will Jon need protecting? Is there another person in this story that might feel threatened by Jon’s claim? A person who has a huge army and at least one dragon and also a volatile temper? I would say that would be the person Jon would need protecting from. And as always with Jon, it seems that the people that will offer him protection will be named Stark.

The wolf must have three heads

(source: @undeadmanbun)

Perhaps we can now finally put to rest the theory of Jon, Tyrion and D*ny as the three heads of the dragon since this teaser strongly parallels Jon, Arya and Sansa to the original Ageon, Visenya and Rhaenys. Of course there are difference between the reiterations but if we were to look back at Aegon and his sisters, there are clues there that 3-way relationship was more in tune with Jon/Sansa/Arya then we might imagine.

Yes, Aegon was married to both his sisters but his romantic preference for Rhaenys is blatant. I’d go as far as to say that the only reason why he ended up married to both his sisters was because Rhaenys was the youngest. I doubt he would have married Visenya, had things been reversed. Visenya, though, is Aegon’s equal in terms of military matters, his most direct partner when it comes to waging warfare. They have a pretty contentious relationship, with Visenya going so far as to physically harm Aegon in order to prove a point about him needed better protection. She’s the one that comes up with the idea of the King’s Guard.

Speaking of which, let’s remember what Arya told Sansa in season 7.

Sansa: You shouldn’t have run from them. (the guards)

Arya: I didn’t run. You need better guards.

I can see Arya being the Visenya to Jon’s Aegon, without the sexual aspect. Pushing him, consulting with him on military matters, fighting with him when she believes he’s wrong while they work to achieve their common goal. I’ve said for a while that their relationship might be more strained than people imagine and I hold to that. I also think that no matter how many strains there are, they’ll always come together as a unit because of the incredibly deep bond they share.

So if Jon and Arya represent the warrior aspect of the 3 headed dragon/wolf, by extension, Sansa must represent the political aspect of it. Otherwise why include her in this teaser? Both Jon and Arya are more fight oriented to begin with. You need a political mind to balance everything out and this is where Sansa comes in. In addition to that, Sansa shares a lot of similiarties with Rhaenys due to their common love of music and stories, as well as being prone to flights of fancy. This might foreshadow a Sansa that begins to drop her barriers this season and gets back in touch with her softer side once again.

As people have already pointed out, Jon is placed next to Sansa and not in the middle between the two sisters as Aegon is usually depicted, making him visually closer to Sansa and thus stocking the Jonsa fires. Personally I would have preferred for Sansa to be at Jon’s left to make things even clearer but you can’t have everything in life.

Also placing Jon in the middle wouldn’t have been a wise blocking choice because of the differences in height.

(source: @iheartgot)

By placing Jon in the middle, you’d have what we call in my country a “donkey’s stair which is always a big no-no visually.

EDIT: Color me stupid but it’s been pointed out in the comments that in fact Sansa is on Jon’s left side if we look at the statues themselves. She’s also on his left side when he turns. So there is actually no other way to set the 3 of them up if you want to have that effect. Well ... this is even better!

Parallels to the House of Black and White promo

One thing that struck me the most about this teaser is the similarities to the promo for season 6.

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We are, once again, treated to effigies of both dead characters as well as live ones. Looking at it superficially this seems to spell doom for Jon, Arya and Sansa but I don’t think that’s the interpretation we should take from it.

After all, season 6 not only brought back Jon from the dead, it also marked the resurrection of House Stark from the ashes, culminating with Jon and Sansa taking back Winterfell and ending the season in control of the North, with Jon proclaimed King in the North.

Also, look at the VOs they used in that promo and how they related to the actual plot.

Ned: The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword.

Jon ends up passing the sentence on the NW brothers who assassinated him and swinging the sword at their execution.

Robb: I’ve won every battle but I’m losing this war.

Robb might have lost his war and Jon came close to losing the Battle of the Bastards but Sansa’s Kinghts of the Vale intervention and Wun Wun sacrifice got them back Winterfell and the North, readdressing the vaccum left by Robb’s murder.

Catelyn: Show them how it feels to lose what they love

I think this can be linked to Arya’s revenge on the Freys. She’s the most obvious representative of the eye for an eye type of revenge Catelyn is talking about in that quote.

Jofferey: Everyone is mine to torment.

Joff has been dead for a long time so his inclusion in this trailer feels odd but ... I don’t think this is related to him. This is about Ramsay, who is a more extreme version of Joffrey. Of course, the season ends with him being eaten by his own dogs, a sentence orchestrated by Sansa, the woman he tormented, proving that when you’re a monster who enjoys hurting people eventually you will have that come back to haunt you in the most extreme way possible.

Jon: The Long Night is coming and the dead come with it.

This not only foreshadows Jon spearheading the fight against the WW but also the fact that he is one of the dead that comes with the Long Night, hence his resurrection.

So, going by that parallel, what speculation can we draw from the season 8 teaser? Let’s look at the VOs:

Lyanna: You have to protect him.

I’ve already discussed this in the first section but aside from foreshadowing Jon coming under threat because of the parentage reveal, this also links back to the importance of who Jon’s mother is and the role she played, plays and will play in Jon’s life.

All his life Jon tried to model himself after Ned Stark, the man he believed was his father and that gave him the legitimacy of being included in the Stark family, a position he’s always wanted to maintain, even when being a Stark brought derision and insults (Allister Throne calling him the son of a traitor, for example). Part of the reason for this, I feel, is because Jon doesn’t know anything about his mother and more importantly fears that his mother doesn’t care about him and that she abandoned him (as per Jon’s last conversation with Ned). The parentage reveal will connect Jon to his mother and also erase those fears. Because Lyanna loved Jon. Her last words were concerning him and his well being. Also, Lyanna will replace Ned as the link between Jon and his Stark heritage.

Catelyn: All this horror that’s come to my family ... It’s all because I couldn’t love a motherless child.

This is probably the most controversial of the VOs quotes because some people feel that this is being used to attack Catelyn. I don’t see it that way. For one, I think it brings back into the conversation the idea of Jon being legitimized as a Stark since in that monologue, the true source of shame for Cat is that she made a vow to help legitimize Jon but didn’t follow through. The fact that this is placed in tandem with Sansa walking past her mother’s statue, seems to indicate that the way Jon will be legitimized as a Stark is through Sansa.

This interpretation is due to an anonymous ask I got last week. I’m going to link it here. Nonnie was the first to my recollection to point to this scene and it’s possible foreshadowing elements so huge kudos to them!

Ned: You are a Stark. You might not have my name but you have my blood.

This foreshadows, I think, the struggle that Jon will face once the parentage reveal hits. He’s going to feel lost, hurt and deprived of the Stark connection that has informed his entire life and all of his choices. But as Ned put it, he is a Stark and that’s what he will always be.

On another note, one of the most glaring absences in this teaser is Bran. You’d expect him to be in this teaser. For one, he’s the one that will reveal Jon’s parentage. He is also part of the pack, not to mention that he’s the key to defeating the WW. His absence does raise questions.

But I think that just like the Hall of Faces promo, the Crypts promo is deceiving. The Hall of the Faces promo leads one to believe that season 6 will be very focused on the House of Black and White and also that it will signal more loss for House Stark, in particular. But neither one of those things actually occurs in the actual season. The House of Black and White is a secondary plot line at best and as I’ve said season 6 is the season House Stark gets back on top.

So, I’m going to speculate that the Crypts promo isn’t really about the WW conflict as the ending might suggest, which would explain Bran’s exclusion. I think that taking all of the context into consideration, this teaser is really about the Dance of Dragons 2.0 and the three headed wolf replacing the three headed dragon.

Miscellaneous thoughts

The torch

I can’t say for sure why they decided to give Jon a torch, other than that it makes him look even more badass. However, the fact that it’s extinguished not only severs all connection between him and his dragon father but also serves as a reminder that fire is actually ineffectual against the WW. I don’t know how many other clues people need at this point that the dragons will be of no actual use in defeating the NK.

Sansa’s expression

(source: @bethnoel)

I was struck by Sansa’s expression here. We haven’t seen Sansa look so emotional since season 6. It kind of brings to mind Sophie’s quote about this season being about an emotional fight for Sansa.

Jonsa is coming!

#got s8 #got s8 speculation #got s8 trailer #jonsa #jon snow #arya stark #sansa stark #house stark

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chlostertalks · 5 years

Text

I Think I Know Who the Night King Is

It's Aegon the Conqueror. Here's why.

Background/A Reason to Fight for the Throne

Aegon I of House Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Conqueror, was first of his name and rode Balerion the Dread (the largest dragon skull shown in S7E2) to conquer all seven kingdoms. He was the first king of the Andals and the First Men, and Protector of the Realm. We hear more about him through the books Shireen used to read; he’s not to be confused with Grand Maester Aemon's brother, Aegon V.

He also had a sword, Blackfyre, the most popular Targaryen sword and one of the most powerful made of Valyrian steel; Talk the Thrones brought up that the Golden Company (the sellsword army working with Cersei) may still have this sword in their possession.

According to the books, Aegon I married both his sisters (ew, but it is known that House Targaryen traditionally committed incest to keep their bloodline going) and had a child with each: Aenys (pronounced like Enes Kanter) and Maegor. Aenys was a sickly boy, and ruled in a way similar to King Tommen on the show. Maegor's reign was cruel, and he rode Balerion to continue his tyranny.

These three kings were the first to rule Westeros, so they have claims to the throne. Especially in Aegon I's case, the ability to conquer lands means that he could do what he want with them, including the possibility of cutting down sacred trees. This action would anger the Children and give them reason to stab a man with dragonglass.

Fun facts: Aegon's sister-wives' names are Rhaenys and Visenya. Lots of repeating of prefixes through the years. Also, Balerion had four riders before his death at age 200 (how many dragon years is that?).

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Qyburn and Cersei in front of the skull of Balerion the Dread.

Only Targaryen can ride dragons

Dragons are smart. They know Targaryen blood when they sense it. That's why in last night's season premiere, Jon Snow was able to ride Rhegal (named for his father, coincidentally enough). This is also why Rhegal and Drogon sneered at the sight of Danaerys and Jon kissing at the waterfall, even though incest was common practice in House Targaryen. Even though the Night King had to shoot down Viserion in order to make the dragon part of the Army of the Undead, it would still take some sort of blood bond to ride the mysterious animal.

The Night King can temporarily extinguish fire as he walks–a more OP power than Danaerys

This reminds me of a scene in Naruto: Shippuden when Madara Uchiha points out that Lady Tsunade is not as powerful as her grandfather. For those unaware, Madara was a major villain in the series, and Lady Tsunade was the leader of her village, the title being hokage. Tsunade had the power to heal herself after suffering critical wounds, but she wasn't as powerful as her grandfather, Hashirama Senju, First Hokage. He could transform landscapes, fight nonstop for a day and still be fresh to continue, and heal quickly. In fact, his cells were used for amputations and mutations in the series.

Danaerys can walk through fire, an incredible feat within itself. However, the Night King can extinguish fire temporarily with a single step; moreover, his clothes do not burn as he walks over fire. Could Danaerys' power be a strand of a greater power of her enemy?

The White Walker army is not immune to dragonglass and Valyrian steel–the two weapons of the Targaryen family

We know that dragonglass can kill White Walkers, for that is why Jon and Danaerys are mining it for the war. I also believe the Children stabbed through their target with a dragonglass dagger to create the Night King in the first place. Jon has also killed a White Walker with Longclaw, his blade of Valyrian steel. Being that the Old Valyria is extinct and full of grayscale sufferers, there are but few Valyrian steel weapons left in the world. In addition to Jon Snow, Arya Stark, Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister, and Sam Tarly have such weapons.

Based on the below family tree, Aegon I was the son of Aerion Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone, and Velaena Velaryon of the Old Valyria. House Velaryon and House Targaryen have married each other several times throughout the course of history, and Valyrian steel soon became closely associated with House Targaryen. Could it be that the White Walkers are not immune to these two weapons because their leader's house used them?

Targaryen family tree. Reddit. Also, lol at Robert Baratheon hating Targaryens when he has the same great-grandfather as Danaerys.

Aegon I parallels to William the Conqueror, just like the show parallels the War of the Roses

Obviously, England and France didn't fight a thousand-year-old villain like the Night King, but this parallel may be important. William the Conqueror conquered and united England in 1066, just as Aegon I conquered and united the England-shaped Westeros. William's reign led to interlinking dynasties and wars between England and France, just as Aegon's reign led to the same results with Westeros and France-shaped Essos. Of all the major players in the War of Roses and Game of Thrones, one of the only major players in the former that has yet to have a place in the latter is William the Conqueror. Now would be a perfect time to introduce him to give us a backstory on how Westeros came to be. Not only does it set up a motive for a villain to return to his throne, but it also sets up the future Game of Thrones prequel.

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Spiral patterns similar to the Targaryen crest

We've seen spiral patterns that the Army of the Dead leaves behind throughout the series. It didn't dawn on me that the spiral resembles the Targaryen crest until Beric sets Ned Umber and the pinned arms and hands on fire last night.

THEORY: Either Aegon I or his sons, Aenys and Maegor, conquered too much and destroyed lands, causing the Children to interfere and stab one of them against the tree.

PROBLEM:

Aegon I died of a stroke four years after his last trek throughout Westeros, according to the books. There also could be a continuity error in the series, as the Night King has posed a threat on Westeros for thousands of years. Plus, to me, the man tied to the tree resembles more of Aenys’ appearance than Aegon I.

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But why make a character secondary to his father the main villain of a series? Anyway....

HOW THIS COULD PLAY OUT:

The Targaryen crest has three dragon heads. Each of the three dragons we've come to know and love has a rider of Targaryen blood. Plus, in the intro to every season of GoT, the last animal shown before the GoT logo is the animal of the family who is in power; for seven seasons, the last animals on the sundial were a lion and a stag for Houses Lannister and Baratheon, but season 8′s last animal is a dragon as a comet blazes by. The final battle is a fight to the death (possibly at this new location called Last Hearth), with one of the Targaryens coming out on top.

But who will it be?

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#game of thrones #theory #spoilers #written work #opinion #dem thrones #thrones y'all #aegon targaryen #night king #who is the night king

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moonlitgleek · 5 years

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I would love to hear your thoughts about Fire and Blood when you finish it! (Or not even when you finish it, just whenever, cuz you're amazing!) 💕

I have the best friends in the world! Love and hugs, lady.

I am halfway through and I intend to go back and reread each chapter once I finish since I keep blowing through pages because I want to know all the things, which is not very good for proper processing. But a few of the things that jumped at me so far:

(spoilers for Fire and Blood volume 1 under the cut)

1. Gyldayn seems more rambly and prone to ponder sexual scandals than Yandel. He spent waaaay too much time talking about that, and while sexuality is at the heart of some conflicts, the way he went on about the story of Coryanne Wylde and the sordid details of how she was “examined” really undermines his position as a historian and makes me overly iffy on him. Also, there are private conversations between Jaehaerys and Alysanne that I’d really like to know his source on.

2. Speaking of authors, what the actual fuck George? You’d think that in a book that goes so into detail about unconfirmed scandals he’d have the room to expand on someone like, idk, Argella Durrandon? He had the chance to make her story a bit better but he not only did he uphold her forceful loss of voice being the last we hear of her, he compounded the matter by also having Marla Sunderland’s tongue removed before she was packed off to the Silent Sisters. Literal stripping of women’s voices for defiance, by their own men no less, when it’s so unnecessary and so singular in its gendered use in the plot infuriates me. There is a lot of overlap between gender and silencing of voice in this (Argella, Marla, Ceryse Hightower, Rhaena Targaryen). UGH.

3. On the topic of women, Torrhen Stark’s daughter not only does not have a name, she is completely unmentioned in Jonos Arryn’s rebellion, nor by her nephew (?) Alaric with either Alysanne or Jaehaerys. Looks a bit peculiar since Alaric obviously brooded on the consequences of Targaryen decision for his family in the case of Jaehaerys and those he sent to the Wall, so is there any particular reason Torrhen’s daughter goes completely unmentioned even when the topic of marriage was raised and southern matches brought up, George?

4. Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys are outright referred to as the three heads of the dragon. It’s no longer symbolic or understood but an explicit connection. That’s way too obvious for me to buy that Rhaegar’s Aegon and Rhaenys don’t point straight to a recreation of the Conquest Trio.

5. The war of escalating atrocities between Dorne and the Targaryens is terrible but I feel like there is a conscious effort to make the Targaryens seem better somewhat? The mention of them trying to negotiate at this point before actually utilizing dragonflame is weird because it is not consistent with anything in the Conquest. I don’t know what to do with that part.

6. The First Dornish War makes Daeron I’s folly in the conquest more obvious. Dornish terrain is as much an element to conquer as Dornish people and it costs a lot to manage it. Keeping conquered Dornish ground is bloody hard even with dragons. Daeron even leaves a Tyrell in charge just like Aegon.

7. Is it just me or does the Targaryen succession look weird in early days? Jaehaerys is referred to as the rightful heir by all rights then a few pages later it’s nope, Aerea is then suddenly we’re talking about Rhaena’s claim even though every reference to Targaryen succession before that points to a male-preference primogeniture. Alysanne takes issue with Jaehaerys treating Aemon as his heir over Daenerys even though Jaehaerys’ accession is tarnished based on that principle. There is a distinct vibe of seeing the son of Rhaenys the Queen Who Never Was as the expected heir of Aemon rather than Rhaenys herself (though this could partly because Princess Rhaenys and Lord Corlys wanted to put forward a potential male heir to offset Baelon being seen as the natural successor - since when was Baelon seen as the natural successor though? That apparently wasn’t only Jaehaerys’ sentiment so was that a popular view while Aemon lived or a reaction to Baelon avenging Aemon? Was Aemon aware and that’s why he made a comment to Rhaenys about liking a grandson, or was that regular era preference of male heirs?). Main takeaway though is that Jaehaerys passing over Rhaenys had nothing with extant competing claims but was about regarding Baelon as a natural successor for his gender, age and prowess. Jaehaerys pretty much didn’t even consider Rhaenys. Headdesk. You’re killing me, man.

8. I feel like the characters of Rhaena Targaryen and Alyssa Velaryon are being walked back. The point where apparently Septon Barth comments that Alyssa undoubtedly wanted to do the right thing but didn’t know what that was flies in the face of her previously established actions. I don’t like how she was taken down from an active and conscious political player, to a confused and almost secondary player next to Rogar (much preferred him when he was Robar, both the name and the person) till their final tiff, to a womb and another casualty of childbirth with the emphasis being on her children. Rhaena may have called out the latter but the whole thing feels like a punishment for Alyssa for first opposing Jaehaerys and Alysanne then opposing Rogar. As for Rhaena, she swings between political sacrifice for the greater good to treating Jaehaerys and Alysanne with contempt for it. Resentment is perfectly normal and understandable but Rhaena surpasses that. She is purposely cast in an unfavorable light and her sexuality is strongly used to frame it.

9. There is a bit of exoneration after the fact to Jaehaerys sentencing most of Maegor’s Kingsguard to the Wall on contradicting arguments. I get his point about oathbreaking but punishing those who deserted Maegor because they didn’t uphold their vows to protect hum while also punishing those who didn’t desert him for defending and enabling a murderous usurper is extremely contradictory. That the two knights who deserted Maegor then deserted the Night’s Watch and a caused a conflict that claimed the life of Walton Stark neatly brushes this quandary off because it demonstrates that Jaehaerys was right.

10. I love how Septon Barth and Alysanne often work as a team in pushing Jaehaerys towards one policy or another. On more than one occasion, one of them makes the argument and the other comes with the definitive final strike. I love the women’s court and Alysanne’s Laws though I think there is a certain vagueness in the way Jaehaerys codified inheritance in the Widow’s Law. I’m still midway through Viserys I’s tenure though so I don’t know if this will be raised in any sort of legal argument for the Dance but it’s a non-issue so far.

11. I hate how Daella Targaryen was written. I hate how we keep adding names to the “death by childbirth” list. I hate how the child brides keep getting ignored. This is too conspicuous in the case of Daella and her daughter Aemma Arryn. Queen Alysanne held herself and especially Jaehaerys to blame for Daella’s death because she felt that, at 16-17, they wed her too early and that contributed to her death in childbed. But it’s treated like a non-issue that Aemma married Viserys at 11 and was bedded at 13.

12. I’m indescribably charmed by how Baelon the Brave got his epithet by booping a dragon on the nose. Also, the relationship between Aemon and Baelon, and Baelon and Alyssa. Too bad we can’t have nice things.

13. I already lost my shit over this in DMs with you but still, Aerea Targaryen! Aerea Targaryen! Oh my god. I was equally horrified and fascinated. A speculated trip to Valyria that resulted in the princess’ body being inhabited by “worms with faces” or “snakes with hands” made of fire and heat that cooked her body from the inside. This surpasses Valyria being a thin place or geophysically unstable. This means there is a Lovecraftian horror capable of using human bodies (and non-human bodies, Balerion was wounded as well but dragons are fire made flesh so that probably protected him) as vessels to… spread? Take over? Turn people into dragonic/fire abominations? Also, also, is that take over possible for anyone or is whatever is dormant in Targaryen DNA that tends to emerge with the use of magic in the form of babies with dragon-like qualities (though it appeared in non-magical cases) makes them more susceptible?

COMPARE TO THE OTHERS. A Lovecraftian horror made of ice and another made of fire. Blood magic probably behind the creation (calling?) of both. We still don’t know how the Others came to be and there has been legitimate rebuttals to the show’s version of their creations BUT I think what could be taken from the show is the suggestion that this is blood magic gone wrong.Both take over human bodies though differently (is this linked to living bodies being warm and dead ones growing cold? Is that why the fire-based monstrosity manifests in living creatures while the Others trades in dead bodies? The things beneath Aerea’s skin burst out either when they felt the cold of the ice bath the maesters put her in or when she suffered cardiac arrest and died. Either way it’s connected to cold) The cosmic balance between ice and fire has deeper roots….. now I’m really curious as to the nature of the magic of the Wall that keeps ice and fire firmly separated.

14. We are slowly building a succession history for the Starks: Torrhen Stark -> son (?) Brandon -> son Walton -> brother Alaric -> grandson Edric -> Ellard of undetermined relation. That’s how as far as I got in the book but that’s too far from the Benjen Stark that starts the Stark family tree in TWOIAF. Cregan Stark was already Lord of Winterfell by 129 so that’s a period of 28 years between that and the Great Council that also fits the aforementioned Benjen and his son Rickon, Cregan’s father and grandfather.

15. I’m so not a fan of the art in this book. It ranges from blatantly inaccurate (Aemond and Luke during the Dance, SIGH), to exaggerated (Elinor Costayne is weird in that art with Maegor. Also, did she wait to react till she climbed the entire Iron Throne? And Jaehaerys was cool and measured in his response to Maegor’s supporters after landing in the Red Keep. WHY does he look like he is yelling in the art?) to weird (Which of the Black Brides is dressed like a septa and why? Why does Jaehaerys look like all of 8 at his coronation when he was actually 14?). Perhaps that’s a bit nitpicky but I’m not impressed tbh.

16. GRRM overdid it with Jaehaerys’ reign imo. There is writing conflict because peace and prosperity is dull to write, and there is cramming every possible conflict under the sun in the story. Was there anything missing? I count family drama, political intrigues, succession questions, plague, policy changes, financial crisis, winter, and mini-rebellions. He reigned for a long time so I get it but at one point it was one conflict after another that I’m having trouble reconciling what I read with previous descriptions of Jaehaerys’ reign.

17. There is a lot to talk about with Jaehaerys and Alysanne but I want to get the timeline straight and give it some more thought. But I will say that as delighted as I am with all the women in Alysanne’s story and with Jaehaerys and Alysanne’s relationship reflected in policy, it’s monumentally disappointing to read about his relationship with his daughters. There was an underlining gentleness in how he treated his mother Alyssa and Rhaena that was sorely missing with some of his daughters. I came out of this part feeling really off and unsettled. And sad. So very sad. WTF, Jaehaerys. Just WTF.

That’s my preliminary thoughts on the first half of the book. It’s mostly feelings with a side of unsubstantiated and unresearched spiraling. Politics, worldbuilding and themes tend to appear on later reads.

(Edit: part two is here)

#joannalannister #ask box #fire and blood #fire and blood spoilers #fire and blood volume 1 #asoiaf #asoiaf speculation #asoiaf criticism #jaehaerys i targaryen #alysanne targaryen #aerea targaryen #rhaena targayen #alyssa velaryon

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