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istumpysk · 11 months

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Operation Stumpy Re-Read

TWOW: Barristan I

Welcome back! What's worse than a battle chapter?

A Barristan Selmy battle chapter.

Through the gloom of night the dead men flew, raining down upon the city streets. The riper corpses would fall to pieces in the air, and burst when they came smashing down onto the bricks, scattering worms and maggots and worse things. Others would bounce against the sides of pyramids and towers, leaving smears of blood and gore to mark the places where they'd struck.

Bodies are flying from trebuchets, so that must mean a Lannister is on the other side.

+.+.+

When Daenerys had taken the city, they had broken through that same gate with the huge battering ram called Joso's Cock, made from the mast of a ship.

Just a friendly reminder that this is a rape metaphor, and has nothing to do with Jon Snow's cock. My condolences to that fandom.

+.+.+

Now once again the market was a scene of carnage, though these dead came riding the pale mare. By day Meereen's brick streets showed half a hundred hues, but night turned them into patchworks of black and white and grey. Torchlight shimmered in the puddles left by the recent rains, and painted lines of fire on the helms and greaves and breastplates of the men.

Unfortunate timing: the rain stopped precisely when the threat of a city-state being engulfed by dragon fire reached its peak.

Perhaps the gods are not deaf after all, Ser Barristan Selmy reflected as he watched those distant embers. If not for the rain, the fires might have consumed all of Meereen by now. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

+.+.+

Ser Barristan Selmy rode past them slowly. The old knight wore the armor his queen had given him—a suit of white enameled steel, inlaid and chased with gold. The cloak that streamed from his shoulders was as white as winter snow, as was the shield slung from his saddle. Beneath him was the queen's own mount, the silver mare Khal Drogo had given her upon their wedding day. That was presumptuous, he knew, but if Daenerys herself could not be with them in their hour of peril, Ser Barristan hoped the sight of her silver in the fray might give heart to her warriors, reminding them of who and what they fought for.

Remember this, a great joke is coming.

+.+.+

Besides, the silver had been years in the company of the queen's dragons, and had grown accustomed to the sight and scent of them. That was not something that could be said for the horses of their foes.

Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

That was how Khal Jhaqo found her, when half a hundred mounted warriors emerged from the drifting smoke. - Daenerys X, ADWD

Westeros implications as well.

+.+.+

With him rode three of his lads. Tumco Lho carried the three-headed dragon banner of House Targaryen, red on black.

✨ banner ✨

+.+.+

Beneath the towering brick facade of Meereen's ancient Slave Exchange, five thousand Unsullied were drawn up in ten long lines. They stood as still as if they had been carved of stone, each with his three spears, short sword, and shield. Torchlight winked off the spikes of their bronze helmets, and bathed the smooth-cheeked faces beneath. When a body came spinning down amongst them, the eunuchs simply stepped aside, taking just as many steps as were required, then closing ranks again. They were all afoot, even their officers: Grey Worm first and foremost, marked by the three spikes on his helm.

This isn't terribly important, but it's never made clear where the other three thousand are. Is it a surprise?

+.+.+

Not far from them, about the ghastly monument the Great Masters called the Spire of Skulls, several hundred pit fighters had gathered. Selmy saw the Spotted Cat amongst them. Beside him stood Fearless Ithoke, and elsewhere Senerra She-Snake, Camarron of the Count, the Brindled Butcher, Togosh, Marrigo, Orlos the Catamite. Even Goghor the Giant was there, towering above the others like a man amongst boys. Freedom means something to them after all, it would seem. The pit fighters had more love for Hizdahr than they had ever shown Daenerys, but Selmy was glad to have them all the same. Some are even wearing armor, he observed. Perhaps his defeat of Khrazz had taught them something.

It wouldn't be a Barristan Selmy chapter if I didn't breakdown all the ways he's an imbecile.

Possibly Perhaps a Probable Predicament in the Battle #1:

We are not far removed from Barristan Selmy overthrowing Meereen's king and killing Khrazz, a pit fighter and the king's personal guard.

He now surrounds himself with other pit fighters, and is glad to be in their presence. 🚩🚩🚩

Selmy did not fear Khrazz, much less Steelskin. They were only pit fighters. Hizdahr's fearsome collection of former fighting slaves made indifferent guards at best. Speed and strength and ferocity they had, and some skill at arms as well, but blood games were poor training for protecting kings. In the pits their foes were announced with horns and drums, and after the battle was done and won the victors could have their wounds bound up and quaff some milk of the poppy for the pain, knowing that the threat was past and they were free to drink and feast and whore until the next fight. But the battle was never truly done for a knight of the Kingsguard. Threats came from everywhere and nowhere, at any time of day or night. No trumpets announced the foe: vassals, servants, friends, brothers, sons, even wives, any of them might have knives concealed beneath their cloaks and murder hidden in their hearts. For every hour of fighting, a Kingsguard knight spent ten thousand hours watching, waiting, standing silent in the shadows. - The Kingbreaker, TWOW

Could have another Tyrion / Mandon Moore situation on our hands.

+.+.+

Above, the gatehouse battlements were crowded with men in patchwork cloaks and brazen masks: the Shavepate had sent his Brazen Beasts onto the city walls, to free up the Unsullied to take the field. Should the battle be lost, it would be up to Skahaz and his men to hold Meereen against the Yunkai'i … until such time as Queen Daenerys could return. If indeed she ever does.

George will never slip an ellipsis of truth by me!

The takeaway? The battle will be lost ... until Daenerys returns with her weapon of mass destruction.

There's even more evidence of this when we get a preview of Dumbo's overconfidence in his next chapter.

He sees that ironmen are coming ashore, fighting the Yunkish, and says, surprised, "They are on our side!" The sellswords did not come to meet his charge because they were already preoccupied with the ironborn! Barristan is almost gleeful. "It’s like Baelor Breakspear and Prince Maekar, the hammer and the anvil. We have them! We have them!" - Summary of Barristan II, TWOW

None of this is much of a surprise. Moving on.

Possibly Perhaps a Probable Predicament in the Battle #2:

With Barry and his knights, the Unsullied, the Lhazarene, the sellsword companies, the Dothraki, and all the fighting freedmen outside the walls, Barristan has left Skahaz the Shavepoint (aka The Poisoner) and his Brazen Beasts in charge of Meereen. Uhhh, not ideal.

Ser Witless has forgotten why Daenerys believed this was such a bad idea in the first place.

"I know." The queen sighed. "What do you counsel, ser?"

"Battle," said Ser Barristan.

[...]

"Or five. And if I give you the Unsullied, I will have no one but the Brazen Beasts to hold Meereen."

[...]

When she opened her eyes again, Daenerys said, "I cannot fight two enemies, one within and one without. If I am to hold Meereen, I must have the city behind me. The whole city. I need … I need …" She could not say it. - Daenerys V, ADWD

And that's not the only thing he's forgotten.

The hostages again. He would kill them every one if I allowed it. "I heard you the first hundred times. No." - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

Speaking of outcomes that are fairly easy to anticipate:

A battle that looks lost + Skahaz the Shavepate in charge of all the child hostages and Hizdahr zo Loraq = ...

+.+.+

Across the city at other gates others forces had assembled. Tal Toraq and his Stalwart Shields had gathered by the eastern gate, sometimes called the hill gate or the Khyzai gate, since travelers bound for Lhazar via the Khyzai Pass always left that way. Marselen and the Mother's Men had massed beside the south gate, the Yellow Gate.

We remain on high alert regarding anything concerning Missandei's sole surviving brother.

+.+.+

Too many foes, Ser Barristan brooded. Their numbers must surely tell against us. This attack went against all of the old knight’s instincts. Meereen’s walls were thick and strong. Inside those walls, the defenders enjoyed every advantage. Yet he had no choice but to lead his men into the teeth of the Yunkish siege lines, against foes of vastly greater strength.

The White Bull would have called it folly. He would have warned Barristan against trusting sellswords too. This is what it has come to, my queen, Ser Barristan thought. Our fates hinge upon a sellsword’s greed. Your city, your people, our lives … the Tattered Prince holds us all in his bloodstained hands.

You had no choice? Really, you had no choice?

The best of them overcame their flaws, did their duty, and died with their swords in their hands. The worst …

The worst were those who played the game of thrones. - The Queensguard, ADWD

If the Shavepate speaks treason, he will leave me no choice but to arrest him. Hizdahr is my queen's consort, however little I may like it. My duty is to him, not Skahaz. - The Queensguard, ADWD

"Daenerys signed that peace," Ser Barristan said. "It is not for us to break it without her leave." - The Queensguard, ADWD

The Tattered Prince's bloodstained hands? The Tattered Prince?

+.+.+

Even if their best hope proved to be forlorn hope, Selmy knew that he had no other choice. He might have held Meereen for years against the Yunkai’i, but he could not hold it for even a moon’s turn with the pale mare galloping through its streets.

Here's that beautiful joke.

Who's the pale mare galloping through the streets, disrupting any chance of peace?

+.+.+

"You know our plan of attack," the white knight said, when the captains were gathered around him. "We will hit them first with our horse, as soon as the gate is opened. Ride hard and fast, straight at the slave soldiers. When the legions form up, sweep around them. Take them from behind or from the flank, but do not try their spears. Remember your objectives." "The trebuchet," said the Widower. "The one the Yunkai'i call Harridan. Take it, topple it, or burn it."

The plan is for Barristan to lead a sortie, destroy all the trebuchets, and give the Unsullied enough time to march and form up outside the gates.

And then they win, I guess? I don't know what the hell this guy is thinking.

+.+.+

He let it pass, and said, "These attacks should distract the Yunkai'i long enough for Grey Worm to march the Unsullied out the gate and form up." That was where his plan would rise or fall, he knew. If the Yunkish commanders had any sense, they would send their horse thundering down on the eunuchs before they could form ranks, when they were most vulnerable. His own cavalry would have to prevent that long enough for the Unsullied to lock shields and raise their wall of spears.

An Unsullied weakness has been emphasized by the author. I'm sure that will be important later in the story.

+.+.+

"At the sound of my horn, Grey Worm will advance in line and roll up the slavers and their soldiers. It may be that one or more Ghiscari legions will march out to meet them, shield to shield and spear to spear. That battle we shall surely win." "This one hears," said Grey Worm. "It shall be as you say." "Listen for my horn," Ser Barristan told them. "If you hear the retreat, fall back. Our walls stand behind us, packed with Brazen Beasts. Our foes dare not come too close, or they will find themselves in crossbow range. If you hear the horn sound advance, advance at once. Make for my standard or the queen's."

Possibly Perhaps a Probable Predicament in the Battle #3:

There's more than one person planning on sounding a horn during this fight.

"You will sail with me on Iron Victory," he told them, "but you will not join the battle. Boy, you're the youngest – you'll sound the horn first. When the time comes you will blow it long and loud. They say you are strong. Blow the horn until you are too weak to stand, until the last bit of breath has been squeezed from you, until your lungs are burning. Let the freedmen hear you in Meereen, the slavers in Yunkai, the ghosts in Astapor. Let the monkeys shit themselves at the sound when it rolls across the Isle of Cedars. Then pass the horn along to the next man. Do you hear me? Do you know what to do?" - Victarion I, TWOW

That might be an issue.

Not Barristan Selmy's fault, but I'll blame him anyway.

+.+.+

The Widower's horse sidled to his left. "And if your horn falls silent, ser knight? If you and these green boys of yours are cut down?" It was a fair question. Ser Barristan meant to be the first through the Yunkish lines. He might well be the first to die. It often worked that way. "If I fall, command is yours. After you, Jokin. Then Grey Worm." Should all of us be killed, the day is lost, he might have added, but they all knew that, surely, and none of them would want to hear it said aloud. Never speak of defeat before a battle, Lord Commander Hightower had told him once, when the world was young, for the gods may be listening.

"And if we come upon the captain?" asked the Widower. Daario Naharis. "Give him a sword and follow him."

The Widower and Jokin are Stormcrow captains.

I have no idea why they're ahead of Grey Worm in the line of command.

+.+.+

Though Barristan Selmy had little love and less trust for the queen’s paramour, he did not doubt his courage, nor his skill at arms. And if he should die heroically in battle, so much the better.

No way it will be that easy.

+.+.+

He had done his own praying earlier, as his squires helped him don his armor. His gods were far away across the sea in Westeros, but if the septons told it true, the Seven watched over their children wherever they might wander. Ser Barristan had said a prayer to the Crone, beseeching her to grant him a little of her wisdom, so that he might lead his men to victory. To his old friend the Warrior he prayed for strength. He asked the Mother for her mercy, should he fall. The Father he entreated to watch over his lads, these half-trained squires who were the closest things to sons that he would ever know. Finally he had bowed his head to the Stranger. "You come for all men in the end," he had prayed, "but if it please you, spare me and mine today, and gather up the spirits of our foes instead."

She sure does.

+.+.+

"Ser?" Larraq pointed with the Kingsguard banner, even as a wordless murmur went up from a thousand pairs of lips. Far across the city, where the shadowed steps of Meereen’s Great Pyramid shouldered eight hundred feet into a starless sky, a fire had awoken where once the harpy stood. A yellow spark at the apex of the pyramid, it glimmered and was gone again, and for half a heartbeat Ser Barristan was afraid the wind had blown it out. Then it returned, brighter, fiercer, the flames swirling, now yellow, now red, now orange, reaching up, clawing at the dark. Away to the east, dawn was breaking behind the hills.

The beacon!

"We have built a beacon atop the pyramid where once the Harpy stood. Dry wood soaked with oil, covered to keep the rain off. Should the hour come, and I pray that it does not, we will light that beacon. The flames will be your signal to pour out of our gates and attack. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

This beacon isn't as fun as Stannis' beacon. (Or is it??)

+.+.+

Another thousand voices were exclaiming now. Another thousand men were looking, pointing, donning their helms, reaching for their swords and axes. Ser Barristan heard the rattle of chains. That was the portcullis coming up. Next would come the groan of the gate’s huge iron hinges. It was time. The Red Lamb handed him his winged helm. Barristan Selmy slipped it down over his head, fastened it to his gorget, pulled up his shield, slipped his arm inside the straps. The air tasted strangely sweet. There was nothing like the prospect of death to make a man feel alive. "May the Warrior protect us all," he told his lads. "Sound the attack."

Earlier:

Ser Barristan smiled. "Well said … but take care that you do not seek death out there, or you will surely find it. The Stranger comes for all of us, but we need not rush into his arms."

Love that this moron continuously references the Faith of the Seven to a bunch of people who don't know what the hell he's talking about.

Final thoughts:

Can officially confirm Barristan Selmy still sucks in The Winds of Winter.

Next chapter: Victarion I

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#operation stumpy re-read #twow #barristan i

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lawonderlandwriter · 2 years

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Controversial opinion, wishful thinking, blah blah blah, I know, I already know what many of you will say.

That being said, I am not at all convinced, with all the news about SNOW today, that the new series will be a “doubling down” on Jon killing Dany and will be “more justification” of what Jon did.

Kit could not even speak out loud about the scene and had to create a hand-signal with Emilia because he was so emotional about it, could only speak in whispers when talking about it in an interview with James Hibberd, it was THE scene that made him cry during the table read, and as far as I’ve seen in his interviews, he has still yet to watch the final season, it hurt him so much.

Regardless of all the things Kit said in “official interviews” about Jon killing Daenerys and Daenerys’s end, it never felt like a plot line Kit was comfortable with or personally endorsed. And with him being THE person behind the Jon Snow spin-off, I can’t see the new series being more of that.

It’s like, if Emilia were to write a Daenerys spin-off, we’d all be behind that right, because we know how much she cares about Dany’s character?

And even though we all hate what Jon did in S8 and most of us count it rightfully as D&D fanfiction, the character Jon Snow in the hands of someone who cares about him as much as many of his fans.... doesn't feel so bad.

Now knowing that Kit is the person behind SNOW, rather than just him signing on to something that was pitched to him by someone else... Idk, I guess I kind of trust Kit. At least I trust him more than I would trust anyone else writing a spin-off set after the events of S8.

And for everyone saying he needs to just “move on” from it and let GOT die... well, WE didn't. We still write fan fiction all the time! We’re still wrapped up in this world and these characters too. We can’t just say Kit needs to move on when we’ve yet to do the same. When you love something this much, you don't want to move on, especially when the ending leaves you as broken as GOT left its fans and many of its actors - Kit included. Kit’s just got a whole hell of a lot more influence than we do and can actually make his fan fiction come to life, unlike us.

So can we really blame him for wanting to give Jon a proper ending that will feel fulfilling? (Because I honestly can't see this being a multi-season thing. It’s got 10 episode mini-series written all over it).

With Kit being as emotional as he was over what Jon did to Dany, and with Emilia being one of his best friends, I can’t see her even being mentioned in the new series out of respect for Emilia and Dany (unless, you know, they resurrect her which, with Kit creating this, I don't think we can entirely rule out).

I am a Dany stan down to my core, and only in the later seasons started to appreciate Jon’s character, and then in S8 hated him for all the things he did and didn’t do.

But I can’t help but feel this sense of optimism about SNOW now. I know it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. I may be entirely wrong here and have to eat my words if it goes to series. But for the moment, I don’t care. And if there is even a glimmer of hope that we get the retcon Season 9 we’ve all been fanficking in our heads the last three years where it was all a dream or Dany was mind-controlled or whatever, I’m gonna live in that while I can.

People can be critical of it if they want. But for now, until I hear otherwise, I’m gonna support Kit. Because after all, he's just a fellow fan fiction writer. And we fanfic writers gotta support each other.

#Kit Harington #Emilia Clarke #George RR Martin #GRRM #SNOW #Jon Snow #Daenerys Targaryen #Game of Thrones #Anti D&D #Anti GOT #Anti Season 8

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arosysoiaf · 2 years

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Aemond? Why not Aemon?

There is litterally no other characters named Aemond mentioned in Westerosi history.

I wonder how high-born names get communicated to the smallfolk or even the Citadel. Like, after a birth, does the castle Maester document the name and send it off to the Citadel and then the Citadel stores it in an epic genealogy super project? I know that after a wedding, or birth, locations like Kingslanding will have tourneys and feasting, but the names of whom is being celebrated isn't exactly written across banners. So how does a standard spelling take hold?

For instance, I look at a name like Aemond Targaryen, and I wonder who decided to add that extra “D.” A bit of tinfoil: He was initially just Aemon Targaryen, but, because of his brutal Maegor levels of bullshit, the maesters decided to differentiate him with an extra "D." Further, I suspect that Alicent named all her kids on her own and was maybe guessing about the appropriate Valyrian names and spelling. Her eldest was Aegon, of course, a greatest hit (note that two of her grandkids are named after Jaehaerys). Her second son was Aemond, named after her husband’s beloved uncle, Aemon. She and the maesters added a “d” in ignorance…or simply as a Westerosi spin on an old classic. Her other two children have what I'd consider regular real-world names. By the time of their births, Alicent had perfected the process by adding the Valyrian extra vowels to names. Daren and Helena becomes Daeron and Helaena.

Think about the other Aemons. Aemon, the rider of Caraxes and son of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, was a beloved prince and respected warrior. When he died, it was a great tragedy as described by the Maesters in Fire and Blood.

After Aemond; his half-sister's grandson, Aemon the Dragonknight, becomes celebrated and sung about as one of the most chivalrous and exciting knights in recent memory.

We don't know much about Aemon Blackfyre. He's more of an anecdote in the story of his father, Daemon Blackfyre. During the first Blackfyre Rebellion, Daemon is talked about as manifesting the warrior himself; a Faith of the Seven knightly concept. He was respected and embodied the general masculine unrest in the Lordly class. Even though Daemon was the focal point of a bloody rebellion, no one can bring themselves to say a single negative thing about Daemon, and, when he fell to his half-brother's arrows, his son, Aemon, carried his father's sword, Blackfyre, until he in turn got porcupined by his uncle. It's a tragic story of a son taking on his father’s burdens only to be cut down far too young.

The last Aemon was the third son of King Maekar Targaryen. He rejected the crown, and it passed to his brother, Aegon V. Aemon kept his vows to the Citadel and the Night's Watch as a maester and a Black Brother. The realm doesn't remember him, but he had some influence over Rhaegar and then later, presumably, Rhaegar's son, Jon Snow. Readers know him well enough, and my favorite theory is that Jon's original name was in fact Aemon. It would be neat if the one Targaryen that Jon gets to meet is in fact his name’s sake, but there's a duel meaning behind it because as a child Jon loved and pretended to be Aemon the Dragonknight while Robb pretended to be his liege, King Daeron the Young Dragon. ***Nervous laughter*** GRRM, FINISH YOUR BOOKS!!!

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albinokittens300 · 2 years

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Sanrion Prompt- Sharing!

A/N: Took an...interesting take on this prompt and since it was a little long I did it after taking a day for a break. I present to you- Dany watching Sansa and Tyrion sharing a moment before the Night King attacks! Had fun using Daenerys for a PoV for this. It may or may not be canon complaint but, I like it and hope you all do too. Will also add I love Dany as much as I love Sansa. Love her and loathe what S8 did to her...if you feel I am making her feelings feel reasonable here, I don't blame you cause I might be. Hope it's also clear how I am point out the ways it ISN'T reasonable as well.

Dany is returning from checking on Drogon and Rhagal when she hears it. Someone falling hard in the snow and cursing out loud through a groan. The crunch of the snow draws her attention. It sounds like Tyrion and she follows the sound, to be sure her Hand hasn’t been terribly injured now, just before the dead march on Winterfell. She sees him just outside of the godswood.

“Here.” The voice makes Dany freeze still. Sansa Stark extends a hand to her advisor, having to bend at the waist for him to grab her hand. With her help, he stands and brushes off the layer of snow and slush on him. The Dragon Queen remains behind the wagon as she watches, trying to piece together what would cause her to find the pair together like this. Sansa had made her feelings on her abundantly clear.

A sickening feeling in her belly whispers the thought of betrayal. Of the red-haired girl turning her Hand against her. For only a second though, before she shakes it off with the gently falling snow. No. Unwavering, unbending, and skeptical of her Sansa may be but she was Jon's sister, and there was no reason to label her a traitor.

It’s curiosity that nudges her forward. Staying far enough behind them as to not be seen, but close enough to see and hear.

They walk close to the Weirwood, and Sansa clears a bench of snow and sits while he makes his way through the snow to get closer to the tree and looks at it, the faces in the bark of the tree, without wavering for some time. It’s Sansa’s voice that speaks first. “If I may ask, is there a particular reason you asked me to bring you here? There is a Weirwood in Kings Landing.”

“Yes, but nothing like this. It’s different.” He says. Sansa makes a quiet agreeing sound without truly forming words and Tyrion continues. “I thought if we are to die, perhaps it’s best to see these things before we face death itself.”

“Possibly.” She says. “Or maybe it’s the opposite- if we avoid this place, perhaps we live. See it another day.”

Dany watches as they sit and stand in silence for a moment, and thinks it strange. The older Stark sister is without exception stoic and composed, cold whenever they interact. From her place, Dany can see a bit of ease in Sansas' shoulders though and notices her back isn’t forced so straight as she sits, watching the tree and watching him. Their past as a husband and wife could explain such ease, even if Tyrion had explained to her it was entirely his fathers doing.

“Do you know any stories, about the Weirwoods- or the Children of the Forest?” Sansa asks after a moment. Tyrion turns to face her, interest knitting his brow and he shakes his head.

Sansa's mask drops for a second, the briefest glimpse of her inner thoughts and feelings showing as the slightest bit of hesitation before it’s back to the mostly emotionless glance with the smallest hint at a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Clearing the snow off the bench beside her, Jon's sister offers him a seat beside her.

“I don’t remember the stories well anymore. Brans told me about them. They're real or were you know. He’s seen them, been protected by them. Or so he says.”

This makes Tyrion laugh from his chest. “Or so he says.”

Thinking deeply, Sansa begins to spin a tale of the stories Dany assumes are mostly told to children in the North. Though it seems deeper to her, the way her voice hushes telling them, almost like a secret she is wary of sharing, even when struggling to remember a piece of the tale. It’s when Tyrion asks something, words the violet-eyed woman can’t make out an overwhelming sense of being an intruder overcomes her, the feeling of being an outsider in the conversation and forming the strong urge to leave.

It can’t be shaken easily, not this feeling that maybe Tyrion isn’t something she can have all to herself. That his loyalty might be shared and it burns underneath her skin while making her way back into Winterfell's main courtyard.

#Sanrion #Sansa x Tyrion #Sanrion Prompt List #AJ Writes

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thelustybraavosimaid · 2 years

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Samwell Tarly Appreciation Week 2022: Day 1: Parallels - Jon Snow

LOSING VIRGINITY WITH THE FREE FOLK

His body had played the part eagerly enough. His lips on hers, his hand sliding under her doeskin shirt to find a breast, his manhood stiffening when she rubbed her mound against it through their clothes. My vows, he'd thought, remembering the weirwood grove where he had said them, the nine great white trees in a circle, the carved red faces watching, listening. But her fingers were undoing his laces and her tongue was in his mouth and her hand slipped inside his smallclothes and brought him out, and he could not see the weirwoods anymore, only her. She bit his neck and he nuzzled hers, burying his nose in her thick red hair. Lucky, he thought, she is lucky, fire-kissed. "Isn't that good?" she whispered as she guided him inside her. She was sopping wet down there, and no maiden, that was plain, but Jon did not care. His vows, her maidenhood, none of it mattered, only the heat of her, the mouth on his, the finger that pinched at his nipple. "Isn't that sweet?" she said again. "Not so fast, oh, slow, yes, like that. There now, there now, yes, sweet, sweet. You know nothing, Jon Snow, but I can show you. Harder now. Yessss."

A part, he tried to remind himself afterward. I am playing a part. I had to do it once, to prove I'd abandoned my vows. I had to make her trust me. It need never happen again. He was still a man of the Night's Watch, and a son of Eddard Stark. He had done what needed to be done, proved what needed to be proven.

The proving had been so sweet, though, and Ygritte had gone to sleep beside him with her head against his chest, and that was sweet as well, dangerously sweet. He thought of the weirwoods again, and the words he'd said before them. It was only once, and it had to be. Even my father stumbled once, when he forgot his marriage vows and sired a bastard. Jon vowed to himself that it would be the same with him. It will never happen again. (Jon III, ASoS)

Sam found himself kissing her back. I said the words, he thought, but her hands were tugging at his blacks, pulling at the laces of his breeches. He broke off the kiss long enough to say, "We can't," but Gilly said, "We can," and covered his mouth with her own again. The Cinnamon Wind was spinning all around them and he could taste the rum on Gilly's tongue and the next thing her breasts were bare and he was touching them. I said the words, Sam thought again, but one of her nipples found its way between his lips. It was pink and hard and when he sucked on it her milk filled his mouth, mingling with the taste of rum, and he had never tasted anything so fine and sweet and good. If I do this I am no better than Dareon, Sam thought, but it felt too good to stop. And suddenly his cock was out, jutting upward from his breeches like a fat pink mast. It looked so silly standing there that he might have laughed, but Gilly pushed him back onto her pallet, hiked her skirts up around her thighs, and lowered herself onto him with a little whimpery sound. That was even better than her nipples. She's so wet, he thought, gasping. I never knew a woman could get so wet down there. "I am your wife now," she whispered, sliding up and down on him. And Sam groaned and thought, No, no, you can't be, I said the words, I said the words, but the only word he said was, "Yes."

Afterward she went to sleep with her arms around him and her face across his chest. Sam needed sleep as well, but he was drunk on rum and mother's milk and Gilly. He knew he ought to crawl back to his own hammock in the men's cabin, but she felt so good curled up against him that somehow he could not move. (Samwell IV, AFfC)

#sam appreciation week 2022 #samfest2022 #jon snow #canonsamtarly #asoiaf #the key six™️

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thenerdybaker523 · 1 year

Text

12 Days of Christmas: December 23

@12daysofchristmas @zsjaywhite

Title: Simply Meant to Be

Theme: December 23 (Music/Songs)

Fandom/Character: Jon Moxley

Warnings: Fluffy Sweetness

Word Count: 1012

❄ I don’t own any of the GIFs or Photos in this.

❄ So I couldn’t think of a title so I had to go with a Nightmare Before Christmas line

Donna’s POV:

Getting the phone call from Jon the other night about his flight home was canceled because of the snow storm, I was upset but completely understood. He had called yesterday and told me he was trying to get home, but didn’t know if he’d get home in time for Christmas. Looking out the window I noticed it had let up some, but not by much. So making the best of the situation, I decided after eating breakfast to get a headstart on baking stuff for Christmas. Turning on some Christmas music, I started making cookies. After the cookies were in the oven, I was dancing around the kitchen gathering the supplies I’d need for pies that I didn’t hear or notice the door open. As “Once Upon a December” started, I couldn’t help but belt it out. Not noticing that I was being watched, I continued singing along while preparing the pie filling. When the song was over, I felt arms wrap around my waist, causing me to jump and scream. Spinning around, I couldn’t help but squeal.

“JON!!! How did you get home? I thought you said all flights were canceled.” I asked, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.

When we pulled away, Jon tucked some of my hair that had fallen loose from my bun. “I wouldn’t miss our first Christmas for anything. I ended up renting a truck and driving home. When I called yesterday, I was already on the road. I’m extremely tired though since I drove through the night, so I’m gonna go lay down for a while.” With that he kissed my forehead and headed upstairs.

I turned down the music and continued baking, happier than I was earlier now that Jon was home. I ended up baking until I saw it was almost time to make dinner. Deciding to make something easy for dinner, I got the stuff out to make chicken and dumplings. After getting the chicken cooked and the dumplings made and cooked, I combined them along with the veggies I cut up and let it simmer on the stove while I went upstairs to wake Jon up.

Getting upstairs to our room, I leaned against the door frame watching Jon. He was only in a pair of gym shorts and spread eagle on the bed. I couldn’t help but think about how lucky I was to have him in my life. When we’d met, I’d been in a bad place having just been cheated on, so I’d been unsure about trusting him. But once I gave him a chance, I knew I’d made the right decision. Shaking myself from those thoughts, I went over to the bed, lifting Jon’s arm and climbing in beside him. I started gently kissing his face to try and wake him. Hearing him grumble, he pulled me closer and buried his head in my neck, so I knew it was working.

“Honey, it's time to get up. I have dinner almost ready.” feeling him grumble something in my neck, I couldn’t help but giggle. “Jon, come on. You need to get up. I know you must be hungry.” At that moment Jon’s stomach decided it was the perfect time to growl, proving me right and causing Jon to groan. Knowing I won, I was getting ready to get up when Jon rolled over on top of me, pinning my arms above my head and kissing me. Just as I tried to deepen the kiss, he rolled off of me and got off the bed heading toward the bathroom. I layed on the bed for a second before heading downstairs to check on the chicken and dumplings.

Seeing that it was almost done, I grabbed bowls and spoons, setting them by the stove, then grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge and set them on the island. Turning on a different Christmas playlist, I turned off the stove and was getting ready to put the chickens and dumplings in our bowls, Jon came in, still with no shirt on, and wrapped his arms around me, kissing my head, then sat at the island. Smiling at him, I handed him his bowl and got mine then joined him at the island. As we ate, we talked about what would be going on Christmas day. When we both had our fill, I got up to do the dishes when Jon stopped me and made me sit back down.

“You’ve been busy all day, you sit and I’ll do the dishes.” With that, he kissed me on the lips quickly. Grabbing the bowls and spoons, he went to the sink and started filling it up. As he was waiting, he put up the leftovers, then put the pot by the sink to wash. I just sat watching the way the muscles in his back moved. When he was almost finished, I turned off the music in the kitchen and headed into the living room. Starting the fireplace since I was starting to get cold, I turned on Christmas music again. Grabbing the throw blanket from the couch I wrapped it around my shoulders and stood in front of the fireplace. Swaying to the music, I felt Jon wrap his arms around me and pull me against him. Turning my head, I looked up at Jon as he leaned down and gently kissed me on the lips before pulling away.

Turning in his arms, I looked up at him, “I love you Jon. I don’t know what I would have done if you wouldn’t have made it home in time for Christmas.”

“I love you too Donna. I wouldn’t have missed Christmas for the world.” With that he kissed me again. When we pulled away, he laid down on the couch and pulled me on top of him. Snuggling into him, I couldn’t help but yawn, realizing how tired I actually was. Feeling his breathing even out, the music in the background and the sound of his heartbeat lulling me to sleep not long after him.

#12daysofchistmas2022 #jon moxley fanfiction #aew fanfiction

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phosphorescent-naidheachd · 2 years

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I agree that Jon's sequel sounds like a money grab but apparently kit was the one who brought his own writing team to grrm so I'm hopeful however his vision of Jon doesn't really aline with mine so idek anymore. Will you be watching it or any of got spin offs? what do you think about the recent influx of fantasy adaptions (dune, shadow and bone, lord of the rings, etc) and have you watch any of them, if so what are your thought

Yeah, that's one of my many concerns. Show!Jon was always different from book!Jon, but GOT's (somewhat flat) characterization of him became worse than a flanderization of itself by the time we reached the final seasons. And while I don't have an issue with Kit Harrington or the other creative powers-that-be having a different vision of the characters, it doesn't make me eager to see what they create, either. More than anything, I dread The Discourse™ that will inevitably come with the show, particularly surrounding Sansa. Because you know haters will jump on the smallest of statements to vigorously bash her all over again. *sighs*

Eh, I might watch the Jon Snow sequel/spin-off; not sure at the moment. If I do watch it, though, I'll do what I always have: mentally put the show in its own little separate box in my head. Just as GOT and ASOIAF are two largely separate entities to me, Snow (or whatever it ends up being called!) will be its own entity. I know some fans use "fanfiction" in a pejorative sense when discussing GOT and its spin-offs, but I try to see the whole thing in a "two cakes" way. If nothing else, we'll get some more visuals fan artists can use for their manips!

Having said all of this, just because a show is in development doesn't necessarily mean it will make it to our screens. Bloodmoon is a perfect example of that. ;-)

I'm still going back and forth re: watching HotD. On one hand, it looks like it's going to be a delicious visual spectacle. On the other hand, I don't especially like any of the major characters of the Dance—at least, not as they've been depicted in GRRM's written works. Which to be fair, is kind of the point, but if I'm going to get into a story, I usually prefer to like at least one of the main characters. But you never know, I might end up stanning a HotD main character in the way Cersei fans often stan her; in a 'this character is the worst, isn't that great, they should definitely win over all the other terrible characters' way lol. It's also possible that HotD will manage to infuse some of the characters with a bit more humanity and nuance than we get in GRRM's novelettes/novellas and fake histories. So we'll see!

Re: the latest influx of fantasy adaptations, the genre has been on the rise for a while now, so it doesn't surprise me that we have so many of them. These things sort of ebb and flow in pop culture consciousness. I’ll be curious to see what happens next when we eventually reach the saturation point.

I haven't seen The Rings of Power series (I don’t think it’s even out yet?) or the newest version of Dune. While I love LOTR, I'll freely admit that I never got especially into the indices or The Silmarillion, and the trailers I’ve seen for TROP haven’t done much for me. Likewise, though I've read the first few Dune books and watched the 1984 TV movie adaptation, I never got majorly into the series, so I didn't feel an urge to see the latest remake.

I did watch the S1 adaptation of Shadow and Bone, and I enjoyed it for what it was; there are some elements that I think it handled well, and some that I think it handled not-so-well. Either way, I'll probably give S2 a try whenever it comes out.

What about you? Have you seen any of those adaptations, and if so, what did you think of them?

#phos replies #7thkarma #3~~#4~~#5~~#6~~#7~~#8~~#9~~#10~~#11~~#12~~#13~~#14~~#15~~#16~~#17~~#18~~#19~~#20~~#jon snow show #hotd #long post

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thesilverlady · 1 year

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https://twitter.com/DiscussingFilm/status/1646203900876275728?t=UYts_rNLy2Y7cDcgD78oJA&s=19

no them wanting to butcher another story 😭

for anyone curious, this is what the link I'd about

this is the only time I'll address the spin offs and listen, I appreciate all the asks I get but I really don't want this to turn into a hate page. I prefer discussing themes, ships, characters - whether based on canon or fanon it's fine with me!

So, eh I'm cautious about this but I don't have any feelings in particular because I've never read "A knight of the seven kingdoms" books. I really want to one day, but in a university students so I have little time for anything these days 😔

With that being said, I'm just very relieved the conquerors are safe. The amount of discourse I saw only from the possibility of a spin off was insane.

nowadays I think the only way to do asoiaf universe justice would be though an animation only. I've seen some fans trying and they've done a stunning job. So bigger studious could definitely do it.

Will it ever happen? In my dreams only.

I think what bothers me a lot about these spins offs is how they're about the Targaryens and the people who do them always turn up to be a hater of them, so it's valid why lots of people have negative feelings.

I have no idea if I'll watch it. Maybe after it airs, when the war between fans - of the show that will no doubt happen - will be more quiet and there's the apocalyptic silence, then I might seat down and give it a chance.

I've heard there are some other spin offs on the table; about Jon Snow, Corlys, Nymeria etc. I hope they do them so the fandom can shift the attention away from the targaryens

#not asoiaf #pls don't send me any more asks about the spin offs 😭 I already see so much about it twt #ask reply #anti hotd

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countrymusiclover · 2 years

Text

2 - Watchful Tyrion

Part 3

The Lion's Bride

Tyrion's POV

Wandering the halls of Winterfell I had to admit it was much better than the streets of King’s Landing. It's quiter and doesn't smell so bad. I had spoken with Jon Snow the bastard of Lord Stark in the stables the other night. Running a hand through my curly hair I turned the corner knocking on my brother's chamber door. It takes a few minutes before he opened the door his hair tousled about in a mess. "Brother, what are you doing here?" He questioned with a yawn as I entered his room closing the door and pouring myself some wine. "I saw you last night, the girl with red curly hair."

My brother sat down on the bed running a hand through his hair still half asleep. "You were spying on us?" Shacking my head I slip some of my wine leaning against the table. "No I was simply talking with the bastard Jon Snow. And it just so happened I saw you two run off." Jaime gets to his feet changing into a tunic and trousers grabbing his sword heading for the door. "You're in a hurry whatever for, brother?" I asked finishing my drink following him through the hallway where he ended up standing outside one of the Stark children's chambers. "Do you even know her name?" He glanced down at me answering before the door opened allowing me to be graced with the eldest Stark daughter who smiles. "Juliet, her name is Juliet, brother."

Juliet's POV

Opening my door I see Jaime and a dwarf who I can only guess I'd Tyrion because he has similar looks to Jaime. I curtsye even though I'm dressed in a tunic and trousers with a sword at my hip. My curls braided down my back. "No need for that, my lady. It's nice to meet you, I'm Tyrion." He extended his hand and I shake it with a grin glancing up to his oldet brother too. "It's nice to meet you too, Tyrion. Shall we?" Jaime let's me guide the way since I know where we won't get caught. The place that Arya and her friend go to practice sword training in secret. Drawing my sword Jaime followed slowly raising it to me. "Since your dominant in your right hand like I am. I'll go easy on you at first." He lightly swings for me but I pressed my sword roughly against his. "Don't go easy on me, Lannister. I'm not a damsel in distress."

Jaime pushed away spinning on his feet trying to hit me in the side but I swing my sword hitting his. Stepping back from him I try spinning my sword in my hands but fumbled a little. He lowered his sword, moving my arm gently to bend more. "Just twist your wrist more than your whole arm, Juli." Blinking my eyes quickly I blurted out the question never having anyone give me a nickname. "Juli?" Jaime rubs the back of his neck his cocky demeanor disappeared right before me. "I didn't mean to - I'm sorry Juliet." Putting my sword in its holder I rest my hands on his shoulders making him make eye with me. "I find it cute to be honest." He weakly smiled drawing his sword once more and I draw mine running forward towards him and he ran too having our swords aggressively hit one another. I have to admit he doesn't seem as bad as mother makes him out to be.

Tyrion's POV

Strolling the halls I hault in my tracks hearing the voices of Lord and Lady Stark alongside King Robert talking in the dining room. Pressing my ear up against the door I try and make out the conversation. "Ned, I'm not ready to let her go. Especially when you are leaving to become Hand to him." Lady Stark spoke to her husband who replied back to his wife. "I know Cat darling. But she is old enough for marriage now." King Robert sighs loudly through the door and I started to walk away until he spoke about my family. "Lisen, Ned, Cat. I'm not the one asking for this union. Tywin Lannister is the one who wants an alliance with the North." Pressing my hands on the stone wall near the door I whispered in a growl. "Why, why me!" Needed to know why father would wed me off without telling me. But the king of the seven kingdoms doesn't declare my name. "He wants your eldest to marry his son. He will be stripped of his Ser tilte and marry her. But only if you agree shall she marry Jaime Lannister."

Tyrion knows about the engagement

What should Juliet name her direwolf?

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#the lion's bride #jaime lannister #jaime lannister x reader #jaime lannister x reader fanfiction #jaime lannister x stark reader #nikolaj coster waldau #robb stark #richard madden #tyrion lannister #peter dinklage #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones #wattpad fanfiction #comments really appreciated

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weirwoodking · 3 years

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I have a small headcanon that Sansa has already skinchanged into a bird without her knowledge once before. This passage about Marillion in the sky cells in particular:

“When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest.”

What do you think?

Oh, absolutely. I do think that she’s experienced her powers in some way, she just hasn’t thought about them.

George does leave these little subtle hints in the text that point to the Stark kids abilities, the earliest being in chapter one:

Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly.

“What is it, Jon?” their lord father asked.

“Can’t you hear it?”

Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else.

“There,” Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him dismount where the direwolf lay dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling.

“He must have crawled away from the others,” Jon said. (Bran I, AGOT)

While on horseback, and halfway across the bridge, already far away from where a mute direwolf puppy was, Jon was able to “hear” him. Obviously, he didn’t hear Ghost, he sensed him. Already, he was bonded with Ghost, even though this was about a year and half before Jon had his first “true” wolf dream. And furthermore, it takes a while before he’s able to clearly remember these dreams:

The wolf dreams had been growing stronger, and he found himself remembering them even when awake. (Jon I, ADWD)

So, yes, I definitely think that Sansa could already be having skinchanging dreams with a bird/birds. She just might not remember it. Also, she doesn’t have to have been having direct dreams, but moments of using the bird’s senses. Not fully in the animal, just sharing it’s space for a moment.

Unlike the sh*w, where skinchanging is an on/off switch (you’re either inside the animal or not inside the animal), skinchanging in the books is more nuanced. Jon is able to brush his hand up against Ghost and tap into the wolf’s senses, without fully warging him. He can even taste blood in his mouth after Ghost kills, and he can feel the wolf’s hunger. The most notable instance of this “one mind in two bodies simultaneously” thing is with Arya and the Braavos street cat:

That night she dreamed she was a wolf again, but it was different from the other dreams. In this dream she had no pack. She prowled alone, bounding over rooftops and padding silently beside the banks of a canal, stalking shadows through the fog. (Cat of the Canals, AFFC)

The tavern was near empty, and she was able to claim a quiet corner not far from the fire. No sooner had she settled there and crossed her legs than something brushed up against her thigh. "You again?" said the blind girl. She scratched his head behind one ear, and the cat jumped up into her lap and began to purr. Braavos was full of cats, and no place more than Pynto's. The old pirate believed they brought good luck and kept his tavern free of vermin. "You know me, don't you?" she whispered. Cats were not fooled by a mummer's moles. They remembered Cat of the Canals.

[...]

The Lyseni took the table nearest to the fire and spoke quietly over cups of black tar rum, keeping their voices low so no one could overhear. But she was no one and she heard most every word. And for a time it seemed that she could see them too, through the slitted yellow eyes of the tomcat purring in her lap. One was old and one was young and one had lost an ear, but all three had the white-blond hair and smooth fair skin of Lys, where the blood of the old Freehold still ran strong. (The Blind Girl, ADWD)

"It is good to know. This is two. Is there a third?"

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

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

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

While Arya is not fully outside of her body and in the body of the cat, she’s able to use the cat’s eyes as her own. And she isn’t even aware that she’s doing it, it’s just occurring naturally. I do believe that the same cat she dreams as in AFFC is the tomcat that she sees through in ADWD.

So, yes, I do believe that Sansa could be looking through the eyes of a bird. She’s just not aware of it.

It does seem like the Stark kids are much more powerful than the average skinchangers/wargs, immediately bonding to the wolves without realizing it, and already connecting with other animals. Arya is able to warg Nymeria from an entirely separate continent, which probably isn’t standard behavior, especially not for someone who doesn’t even know what they’re doing and has no training. Even Varamyr, a man who has mastered the control of five animals, recognizes Jon’s power:

The gift was strong in Snow, but the youth was untaught, still fighting his nature when he should have gloried in it. (Prologue, ADWD)

So, the Starks seem to be pretty powerful. And that includes Sansa, as GRRM has confirmed that she is still a skinchanger, meaning that he’s definitely going to have a bond with an animal at some point. It would make sense for him to have already been leaving little hints about it.

A very important component to Sansa’s character, which could be affecting her skinchanging powers, is her memory. The way that Sansa’s mind has coped with her trauma is by suppressing and rewriting certain distressing, scarring, and confusing memories. This is something that all the Stark kids do, in different levels. For example, Bran believes that Rickon intentionally suppresses the memory of Ned being dead:

"Tell Robb I want him to come home," said Rickon. "He can bring his wolf home too, and Mother and Father." Though he knew Lord Eddard was dead, sometimes Rickon forgot... willfully, Bran suspected. (Bran V, ACOK)

Bran himself does this as well:

The dream he'd had... the dream Summer had had... No, I mustn't think about that dream. He had not even told the Reeds, though Meera at least seemed to sense that something was wrong. If he never talked of it maybe he could forget he ever dreamed it, and then it wouldn't have happened and Robb and Grey Wind would still be... (Bran IV, ASOS)

Sansa does this the most out of her siblings, it’s her primary coping mechanism. One example is how remembers (or tries not to remember) Jeyne Poole:

Sansa did not know what had happened to Jeyne, who had disappeared from her rooms afterward, never to be mentioned again. She tried not to think of them too often, yet sometimes the memories came unbidden, and then it was hard to hold back the tears. (Sansa II, ACOK)

She tries to not to think of her, because it’s too traumatic for her to do so.

Another example is how she’s trying to process the situations she’s in at the Eyrie.

I am not your daughter, she thought. I am Sansa Stark, Lord Eddard's daughter and Lady Catelyn's, the blood of Winterfell. She did not say it, though. If not for Petyr Baelish it would have been Sansa who went spinning through a cold blue sky to stony death six hundred feet below, instead of Lysa Arryn. He is so bold. Sansa wished she had his courage. She wanted to crawl back into bed and hide beneath her blanket, to sleep and sleep. She had not slept a whole night through since Lysa Arryn's death. (Sansa I, AFFC)

He is serving me lies as well, Sansa realized. They were comforting lies, though, and she thought them kindly meant. A lie is not so bad if it is kindly meant. If only she believed them...

The things her aunt had said just before she fell still troubled Sansa greatly. "Ravings," Petyr called them. "My wife was mad, you saw that for yourself." And so she had. All I did was build a snow castle, and she meant to push me out the Moon Door. Petyr saved me. He loved my mother well, and...

And her? How could she doubt it? He had saved her.

He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too... and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle... but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she'd known at King's Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei's ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters wed her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.

Except to get me out. He did that for me. I thought it was Ser Dontos, my poor old drunken Florian, but it was Petyr all the while. Littlefinger was only a mask he had to wear. Only sometimes Sansa found it hard to tell where the man ended and the mask began. Littlefinger and Lord Petyr looked so very much alike. She would have fled them both, perhaps, but there was nowhere for her to go. Winterfell was burned and desolate, Bran and Rickon dead and cold. Robb had been betrayed and murdered at the Twins, along with their lady mother. Tyrion had been put to death for killing Joffrey, and if she ever returned to King's Landing the queen would have her head as well. The aunt she'd hoped would keep her safe had tried to murder her instead. Her uncle Edmure was a captive of the Freys, while her great-uncle the Blackfish was under siege at Riverrun. I have no place but here, Sansa thought miserably, and no true friend but Petyr. (Sansa I, AFFC)

Sansa knows deep down (not even that deep, just down) that Petyr is untrustworthy. She knows he’s fed her lies, but she wants to believe them. She wants to be able to trust him. She wants to feel like she can be safe with him. She wants to be safe. It bothers me a lot whenever people say Sansa is “stupid” for trusting Petyr, or “uncaring” for not thinking often of Jeyne. She isn’t stupid or uncaring, she’s a traumatized thirteen year old whose brain is trying to cope with what she’s gone through and what she’s currently going through.

So, she has built a wall. And behind that wall are the memories of Lysa’s death, the truth about Jon Arryn’s murder, and Jeyne Poole. I think it would make sense if skinchanging, something that involves the mind, is also something that she’s subconsciously repressing. I talked about this sometime a while ago, but I believe that a big moment for Sansa in TWOW is going to be her confronting her memories. And most significantly, confronting Baelish about what happened to Jeyne Poole and exposing the truth of Jon Arryn and Lysa’s deaths. Thus, defeating Littlefinger, the mockingbird.

It would make sense if this coincided with her skinchanging abilities truly awakening. As her mind opens, her powers become stronger. I’m pretty deadset on Sansa’s bird being a falcon, not just for the House Arryn connection and because she’s gone hawking with a falcon before, but also because of the symbolism. Falcons symbolize “vision, freedom, and victory. Hence, it also connotes salvation to those who are in bondage whether moral, emotional, or spiritual”. I think that Sansa bonding with a falcon and “flying free” would be perfect for the conclusion of her caged bird arc.

Sorry, this got really long, it just kind of turned into all my thoughts about how skinchanger-Sansa might come to be in TWOW. I think it’s going to be an important part of her story, as you don’t just give four of your POV characters the ability to control animals with their minds and not have that matter. (And, it’s already an important part of Jon, Arya, and Bran’s stories, so it most likely will be for Sansa, too.)

#asoiaf #asoiaf meta #sansa stark #twow #the winds of winter #twow speculation #asoiaf speculation #long post #ask #jeynearrynofthevale

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targaryenimagines · 3 years

Text

Tempering the Storm

Daenerys Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 2,164

Summary:

Notes: For @alphawolfworld— I hope you enjoy it. I decided to make my own little spin on it, which I hope you enjoy.

The harsh winds of the North whip at your face as you step from the rowdy Great Hall. Your eyes watering slightly because of it. Pulling your cloak tighter to your body you begin to make your trek back towards your room. Thick plumes of your breath being the only thing that accompanied you on your journey.

You could still hear the faint sound of laughter and drunken shouts. Something that brings a small smile to your lips. Even if you couldn’t stand to be around the drunkards that inhabited the Great Hall, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of warmth that they were able to be so happy. That they were able to find something to be so carefree about. You just hoped that they didn’t end up regretting it in the morning.

With a smile, you hunker down against another strong surge of wind as you cross the courtyard. Your body canting to the side as you tried to right yourself. Alas, your body wasn’t used to the conditions that you had put it in. Something that you quickly discovered as your foot hit a patch of ice underneath the snow and your entire world flipped upside-down. The breath leaving your lungs in a whoosh of air as your back made contact with the cold stone of the ground. Thankfully it was slightly cushioned by the snow that made up the entirety of the North.

Groaning, you flop your head down-- not having the energy to rise from the ground. Trying with all your might to ignore the cool liquid seeping into your clothes. Your eyes slip shut on their own accord as you imagine that you were simply resting against the warm sands of Meereen. The sound of crashing waves taking the place of howling wind. The harsh bite of the weather giving way to the gentle touch of the sun. When your eyes open once more you could feel the way your mood drops when you’re not met with the crystalline blue sky of Essos. A sight that you never knew you would miss so much. What I would do for this snow to become sand.

The soft sound of laughter pulls you out of your thoughts. Craning your neck, you had to squint through the thickening barrage of snow to see the figure approaching you. Even though as it drew closer and closer you could make out the familiar silhouette of Sansa Stark. A woman that you had grown rather fond of during your time in the North. You watch as she stops next to you with a gentle smile curling her lips. The blue of her eyes standing out against the stark fairness of her skin. Familiar waves of auburn being kept in a simple braid. Her soft voice filled with both amusement and concern.

“Are you doing alright? I can’t imagine that you’re comfortable laying on the ground like that.”

You allow your own smile to appear as you looked up towards her. “I am doing quite alright down here. Why don’t you join me?”

Her nose wrinkles at the offer. Her blue gaze tracing the lines of your clearly soaked cloak with a disgruntled air. “I would much rather stay where I am.” She turns her head towards the Great Hall-- a slight frown furrowing her brow. As if she was piecing together a puzzle that didn’t make much sense to her. After a moment her gaze meets yours once more. “Where is Lady Daenerys? Should she not be out here with you also?”

A surprised look blossoms on your face at the question. Your own frown appearing as you mull over the words. The familiar warmth spreading through your chest as you thought about your dragon-- your Daenerys. But it quickly turns sour when memories of recent events come to the surface within your mind. Seemingly sensing your mood change, Sansa glances at the snow-covered ground with a pointed glare before she gingerly sits. Her back ramrod straight as she tried to ignore the feeling of it melting underneath her.

Offering Sansa a weak smile, you begin to speak. “Dany has a lot on her plate right now. With the impending battle with the Night King and Cersei being a constant threat in the background.” You pause as a small sigh escapes your mouth. “It’s enough to make anyone feel pressured.”

“Has she been neglecting you?” Sansa seemed enraged by the thought.

“No.” You shake your head at the mere thought of Daenerys doing so. “I just don’t see her as much I used to, but I know she tries her best to make time for me.”

Blue eyes darken at the thought. An expression flashing across her face that you couldn’t quite decipher. “I see.”

A silence settles over the two of you-- only the howling of the wind and far-off laughter permeating it. Opening your mouth, you try to figure out what you could possibly say to Sansa to soothe the situation. Even though you weren’t exactly sure what situation you were in. However, before you could, Sansa turns to you with a slight smile. Her expression much clearer than it had been a moment prior.

“Why don’t we start heading towards your chamber? I think a change of clothing and wine between friends is more appealing than sitting out here. Don’t you agree?”

Not knowing what to truly say, you simply nod.

And with more energy than you were expecting, Sansa springs to her feet and holds out her hands towards you. Her normally closed off eyes sparkling with affection.

“Then let’s go.”

---------

“Did Jon truly do such a thing?” You ask in an incredulous tone. Not believing that the silent brooding man could ever do something like that.

Sansa lets out an airy laugh. “I promise you it’s all true. Jon and Robb got into such mischief together.” A sad look flashes across her eyes before she can hide it. “I miss those days.”

Setting down your goblet of wine, you gently take Sansa’s hand in your own gentle grip. A look of complete understanding washing over your face. “I can understand that, but do you know who can also understand that. Better than anyone I have ever met?”

She shakes her head in response, but there was the same look in her eyes from before.

“Daenerys.” You frown at the small scoff that Sansa lets out in response. “I’m serious Sansa. Daenerys knows better than anyone how it feels to long for days long passed. To wish for a different future than the course you have been put on.”

Sansa lowers her head-- her voice dropping to a low whisper. “You seem to old the Dragon Queen in high-esteem.”

“I love her, Sansa,” you whisper back. “She has saved me more times than I can count. Has been there for me when I didn’t even know I needed someone. She has never given up on me. Has never faltered in her devotion for me. And I will never do so either.”

An almost pained look appears on Sansa’s face at the clear conviction within your tone. It was a look that you suddenly understood. For it was a look you had seen many times before. A look that many potential-suitors held when they finally understood your complete devotion to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.

Sighing softly, you offer Sansa an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Sansa.”

She offers a weak smile in return. “Not as sorry as I am.”

Tightening your hold on her hand, you pull Sansa into a warm hug. Wrapping your arms securely around her as she buries her face into the crook of your neck. A silent understanding passing between the two of you in that moment. That everything was going to be okay in the end.

The sound of your chamber door causes you both to jump away from one another. Your eyes widening at the slim figure standing at the threshold of the room. A furious violet gaze meeting your shocked one.

Standing you take a slight step forward. “Daenerys?”

You pause when her gaze seemingly freezes you in place. Her eyes turning to the woman behind you. A harsh look taking over her features at the sight.

“What in the Seven Hells is she doing here?”

With widening eyes, you begin to speak-- desperately wanting to salvage the situation. “Sansa and I met earlier in the courtyard, and after a brief discussion we decided to convene in my chambers for some wine.” You gesture behind you towards the goblets. “And after another brief discussion I decided it best that I should hug her farewell.”

Daenerys’s eyes narrow. “Then why is she still here if you were simply hugging her farewell?”

You flounder for an answer. Your brain seemingly short-circuiting as you tried to speak. Luckily, a soft voice speaks up behind you.

“I was just leaving.” You wince internally at the sharp quality to Sansa’s tone, but you smile gratefully towards her as she passes you. Thankful that she was able to speak when you couldn’t.

Pausing for a brief moment beside you, Sansa murmurs. “I shall see you tomorrow.” She shoots Daenerys a thinly-veiled glare. “I hope you sleep well.”

With that she exits the room. The banging of the door being the only sound in the room for some time. Taking a chance, you glance towards Daenerys’s still figure. Only to find that she was still staring at you with an expression you couldn’t decipher.

You take a small step towards her. Your expression open and honest. “Dany, I promise what you saw isn’t what you think it was. I was simply offering her a hug as a friend. Nothing more.”

Her mouth twists down in a frown. “I am well aware of your intentions, my love.” She turns from you and moves towards the window. Her expression pensive as she takes in the sights just beyond the glass. “It’s hers that I am vexed with.”

You frown. “What do you mean, Dany?”

She turns to you with a slight smile curling her lips. The first she had offered you since entering the room. “Oh you must realize how she stares at you, my love. Must realize how she speaks towards you without a care of who overhears.” She turns her gaze back towards the outside world. “Her gaze is filled with that of longing. A deep-rooted longing for something that she can never have. The type of longing that keeps one awake at night. Her words simply highlighting the fact. For they show no inkling of self-perservation as she tries to take something that is already someone elses.” Sighing, Daenerys moves towards the bed where she gingerly sits down. “So, no, it’s not you I am worried about, my darling.”

Clearly seeing the anguish within Daenerys’s violet gaze, you move to sit beside her. Taking her still gloved hands in your own. Your eyes pleading with her to listen to you.

“Dany,” you mumur with a soft look on your face. Your hand coming up to caress her cheek. “There is no other person that I could ever see myself with. No other person that I could ever see myself loving as much as I love you.” You dip your head as your next admission comes out. “I am aware of Sansa’s feelings towards me. Even though I had no knowledge of it when I entered this room with her. She has since become aware of my complete devotion towards you. Something that will never change.”

Daenerys’s eyes flash with various emotions. Though you could tell clear as day that her insecurities were eating away at her.

“Truly?” She asks with a small tilt of her head. “Even when my plans have to take me away from you for long periods of time? When I can’t spend time with you like I used to?”

You smile. “Even then. For I know that you will be just as miserable as I am. That we will both be wishing for the day that we can be in each others arms once more.” You bring your lips to hers in a small, chastised kiss. “I am yours, Daenerys. For now and forever.”

Daenerys smiles back at you. Her violet eyes sparkling with warmth and affection. “And I am yours, my love.” She wraps her arms around your neck and pulls your body flush against hers. Her mouth ghosting across your cheek towards your ear. Her warm breath fluttering against the shell of your ear. “I just hope you realize that the next time Sansa Stark tries anything I won’t be so forgiving.”

Chuckling, you turn your head and press your lips against hers. Relishing the feeling of having her in your arms. Any other thought leaving your mind as your hold her tightly to you.

For there would never be anyone else you would ever need.

Not as long as you had her.

#daenerys targaryen #daenerys targaryen x reader #daenerys x reader #daenerys targaryen imagine #daenerys #daenerys imagine #daenerys stormborn #got imagine #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones

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vivilove-jonsa · 3 years

Note

Hey for the prompt thing 'Dancing in the rain'. Also I love your work🥰

Thanks so much, Anon!

Here's a little Canon Divergent AU for you where Sansa leaves the Vale and winds up in Braavos before heading North :)

****

The plan was to take her from the Vale by ship into White Harbor. The plan, like so many others Sansa had known, has not worked out that way.

An autumn storm at sea brings her to the shores of Braavos, more drowned rat than girl. She has nothing of value save a dozen knights to assert her claim and the price on her head which will do her little good.

The men who had accompanied them find shelter though, a room for herself and Myranda upon an active square beside the busy canal.

“It’s temporary, ladies. Just until we can secure a ship with a captain we can trust.”

A fortnight passes in Braavos while Sansa Stark waits for the right ship to carry her home and hopefully lead an army, in name at least, to reclaim Winterfell and the North.

It rains here, day and night, it seems. Fog, rain, fog, rain and sometimes freezing rain. Autumn in Braavos.

One of the knights has been talking to some girl down by the harbor, a very clever girl named Cat, who speaks the Common Tongue and says she will find them the right ship for a fee. The name Cat brings her mother to mind and Sansa has asked to meet the girl but the men refuse saying the queen might have spies even here.

From her window, she waits and watches. What else is there to do? She cannot readily walk out among others, can she? Her hair is auburn once more. She’s so tired of waiting by windows like some princess locked in a tower though. She’s done more than her share of that in Kings Landing and later the Vale.

“We wait but now we’re only waiting to go to war. We can stand a bit more waiting, can’t we, my lady?” Myranda asks, her lilting tone raising Sansa’s spirits.

Sansa agrees, glad to have a friend by her side with what is to come, and returns to her watching.

There is only a gentle drizzle the evening when she first sees him.

A man of the Nights Watch, she would swear by his black cloak and clothes but surely not. Why would the Nights Watch send a sworn brother here? And isn’t his cloak quite tattered? It is only a black cloak like so many other common ones and he is just a man, no one to Sansa.

Still, she watches the stranger in the square beside the canal from her window seat as he makes his way through the sea of people. He seems to be seeking something or someone. His cloak hides part of his face but he is not an old man. His movements are too graceful and quick.

His eyes find hers, she’s nearly sure of it. His head tilts to the side and Sansa realizes that with night starting to fall and the lantern behind her, she is illuminated for him. Her hair must be quite noticeable if nothing else.

What prompts her to raise her hand and wave? She cannot say but she does.

He raises his hand as well and, by the light of the moon, she can just make out a sweetly puzzled smile. His eyes are still mostly in shadows but she decides then he is handsome.

But then, distracted by her, he bumps into another man and must beg pardon with a gesture. It will not do. The other man seems to be eager for a fight. The Braavosi love their swordplay, water dancing, they call it. Like dancing in the rain. No dance should be so deadly.

Shouts and drawn swords, the clash of steel from the other side of the glass has her covering her eyes. When the steel is silent once more, she looks. The man in black still stands while his opponent is being carried away by his friends.

He wipes off his sword with the hem of his tattered cloak, turns back to the window where Sansa sits…and bows to her.

Silly girl that she is, it makes her giddy when he does it, almost as if he was a knight fighting the other man for her favor. She nods in reply, thankful he cannot make out her blush in the meager lighting.

Six more nights, Sansa watches for the man from her window and every night he comes.

What is he looking for? Who does he seek? She makes up stories in her mind about it, about him.

And every night, when he spies her at her post, that wistful smile plays at his lips as she raises her hand to wave at him and he returns the gesture. Before he leaves the square, he always bows to her, a knight bowing to his lady. She sighs whenever he does it. She’s sure she could fall in love with her mysterious knight in black given half a chance.

But on the seventh night, he is not alone. She watches as a girl approaches him with dark hair. They clasp hands, speak and then embrace. They are clearly very dear to one another. It must be her he’s been seeking.

They are so busy holding on to one another that he never raises his eyes to find Sansa in her window. She’s left feeling most bereft over it and names herself a fool for wishing her knight would notice her. Of course, he is not her knight. She has knights waiting to ferry her across the Narrow Sea and back to her homeland and he is only a stranger.

If he loves that girl and is happy, Sansa will wish them well. She decides to close the curtains though. It hurts too much to make up stories of happy endings that can never be.

Word comes at last. A ship has been found. Cat of the Canals has come through with a trusted captain and her knights are all eager to sail off to Westeros and to war. Tomorrow, Sansa will leave her long watch of waiting behind.

“There’s a festival tonight, my lady,” Randa says, coming up with their supper from the kitchen.

“A festival?”

“Yes, down in the square there. People dancing, singing and drinking in the rain, the madness of it.”

Dancing in the rain.

She smiles at the thought until some sort of madness grips her, too.

Before anyone can stop her, Sansa slips out the door of her room, past her knights gaming in the tavern below and out into the square.

She draws a deep breath and expels it along with all the waiting she has done.

Couples in wet clothes dance and sing in the rain around her. They’re all so merry. The smell of spirits and bodies surrounds her but she does not care. She tilts her head back and tastes the rain on her tongue. She laughs and spins and wishes for a partner to dance with.

She is still laughing when someone touches her shoulder. She wonders if it might be her knight. Perhaps he was here dancing with his long, lost girl. Perhaps the girl would not begrudge him one dance with a stranger.

It is him but without his girl.

“You came down from your window.” His voice is gruff but sweet. He speaks the Common Tongue and sounds distinctly…Northern.

“I came down from my window,” she replies, too happy in this instant to think things through.

His hands find her waist. It’s very bold of him but she does not mind his touch. Carefully, she places her hands upon his shoulders. Do they dance now? Is he waiting for her to take the first step?

“I told Arya it couldn’t be you. I told Arya…it’s not that I’m not happy to see you. Of course, I am. I cannot believe it. I am so very happy. But I wanted you to be someone else because from the moment I first saw you, I…you’re so beautiful and I saw you there so many nights and…”

He ducks his chin as if he is embarrassed while her mind is busily catching up. Arya? Why is the stranger speaking of her long, lost sister? And he knows her! Is she in danger?! Is he one of the queen’s spies after all?!

Panicked, she starts to pull away. “I…please, don’t-”

“No, Sansa. Don’t be afraid.”

And it is then he pulls back the hood of his cloak to reveal himself. Her knight in black is none other than her half-brother, Jon Snow.

Joy explodes within her chest as they embrace. Jon is alive and here. Arya is alive and here somewhere. She is going home and they will come with her.

And yet…there is something inside her that feels like disappointment when she breathes in Jon’s scent and relishes the way his arms hold her so perfectly as they sway together in the rain in their happiness.

Why is that? she wonders...as if she does not know.

#jonsa #jonsa fanfic #vivilove-jonsa fic #prompts #anon ask #canon divergent au #jon and sansa in braavos

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amymel86 · 3 years

Text

A continuation of 'Muse' that I haven't posted here before (already on AO3)...

“So...” this is taking her a while to get her head ‘round. “Why did you never just... ask me out?” Sansa takes a sip of her wine as she leans back into Jon’s couch. They’ve moved over to his cozy little seating area – a ‘snug’ an estate agent might call it, since there’s a formal living room that looks as though it’s barely been touched one room over. The sofa they’re on now is grey and ‘L’ shaped as it faces a fireplace that Jon can turn on with the flip of a switch. Fancy. Romantic. It make her wonder how many other women he’s brought here and if they’d been suitably impressed. The thought makes her sit a bit straighter when really, she’d like to kick off her heels and curl her legs under herself to get properly comfortable. He could do with a few more cushions and a throw, come to think of it.

But it’s not really Jon Snow’s dull but neat decor that Sansa really wants to concentrate on right now.

He smirks at her over his glass and takes a deep inhale before talking. “And would you have said yes?”

Would she? When she was younger Jon had been an annoying presence – taking Robb away from her. Even Arya preferred him.

He had been handsome though.

Sulky too.

Jon’s lips twitch when no answer comes. “Besides, when exactly was I meant to man up and ask you out? You were always with some jackass or another.” He leans forward, placing his wine glass on the table before resting back on the couch, arms spread along the back. “Are you even single now?”

Good question. This ‘thing’ with Harry is barely a ‘thing’ at all. She’d call it ‘friends with benefits’ if anything but when Sansa really stops to think about it, she wonders when exactly would she reap the benefits of that particular friendship? Whatever it is she’s going to label it, it is the sort of thing that she’d need to break off if she were going start a new ‘sort of thing’ with someone else.

But what even is this that Jon’s asking her to be?

As if the universe had been eavesdropping in on this whole scenario, Sansa’s phone pings with a text from Harry. She glances at it briefly before shoving it back in her clutch.

Hey babe – u around for some fun? ;)

Jon eyes the movement. “Christ, you are aren’t you? You’re with someone again?” he says, scrubbing his hands down his face.

“Technically no,” she offers, which seems to perk his interest. “But since I’m here to inspire some ‘crimes of passion’ writing from you, wouldn’t it be better if I were? Isn’t that the whole point?” Sansa asks, tipping the berry wine to her lips and raising her brows. “To get you all jealous?”

Jon leans forward, elbows to his knees. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Well then, his name is Harry and he’s a banker. He wears shirts that are a size too small because he thinks it makes his chest look broader and he seems to be of the opinion that going at it like a jackhammer is enough to get a girl off. Don’t you just hate him?”

“Sweetheart, I hated him the minute he has any connection to you.”

Sansa blinks but Jon holds her gaze. She can feel the heat of her blush creeping up her neck so she clears her throat and takes another sip of wine for a lack of a better thing to do. “Jon-“ she says his name in a admonishing sort of laugh – warning him that he can’t just say things like that to her. He never says things like that to her. She can’t look at him but can still feel his stare. “I’m not even your type anyway.”

Jon snorts. “Oh yeah? What’s my type?”

“Well,” Sansa ponders, glancing up to the ceiling as she spins her wine glass by the neck. “Ygritte was-“

“A redhead.”

That gets her attention and she gapes at him for a second or two. “Wh-... you’re telling me that you only dated Ygritte because-“

“Her hair reminded me of you, yeah.”

“Jon! That’s awful!”

He shrugs with a smile. “Hey, I was a dumb teenager back then.”

“What about that other one? The blonde, pretty one.”

“Val?”

“Yeah, Val. She was outdoorsy and bold and brave – didn’t she go travelling the world all by herself?”

“She did yeah.” He’s watching her again and Sansa waits – she wants to say something, prompt him to connect the dots – she is nothing like Val or Ygritte (red hair notwithstanding). “Are you trying to say you’re not brave, Sansa?” he asks leaning over a little. “Because that simply isn’t true. You’re plenty brave, sweetheart.”

For a moment she’s stuck on that word again. Sweetheart. She likes how that sounds tripping from his mouth. When she speaks it comes out hoarse as she stares at his lips. “I’m not outdoorsy though.”

Jon snickers and shakes his head. “You wanna know a secret, Sansa Stark? Val called all the shots in that relationship. She pursued me. She wasn’t my choice.”

Sansa stares at him, trying to fathom this all out in her head. “This is a lot to take in.”

“I know,” he sighs, pushing his hand through his hair. “And you don’t have to say yes, but I figure if this doesn’t work, nothing will. I wrote the best pieces of my career while still hopelessly strung out over you. No one else has affected me that way.”

“And you’re not anymore? ‘Hopelessly strung out over me,’ that is?” Why is her heart thumping so painfully in her chest?

His dark eyes shine with the flicker of the flames in the fireplace as they move down her frame and then back again. “That entirely depends on how you define ‘hopelessly,’ sweetheart.”

#jonsa #jon x sansa #modern au #posted this a few weeks ago on ao3

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broadstbroskis · 3 years

Text

ivy- morgan rielly

a/n: i wrote a thing, don’t hate me. very much inspired by ivy from the absolutely incredible new tswift evermore album (you should listen to the whole thing if you havent already and def this song)

warnings: infidelity (it’s a central theme), angst (lots)

-----

The arm draped over her waist tightens just as Ophelia begins to move away. She bites her lip and closes her eyes and she feels Morgan bury his face in her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Don’t go.” He whispers.

“I have to.” She wouldn’t. She’d stay here all night if she could. She’d stay until morning, she’d stay forever...but she can’t. “You know that.” It’s just as quiet, as if they’re both afraid of breaking the spell over them, but by now, they both know that prolonging the inevitable leads only to more pain, more difficulty leaving.

Morgan presses another kiss to the top of her head before rolling away; she feels the cold of his absence immediately, a loss that’s going to stay with her until she manages to find an escape to be with him again.

Her clothes are scattered everywhere tonight, it seems, which merely means she feels Morgan’s eyes following her around his room as she gathers them. “Stop that.”

There’s the smallest of smiles of his face when she looks up at him, after pulling her sweater back on. “Stop looking at you? Never.” And she’s really supposed to be leaving, but how’s Ophelia not supposed to kiss him after that?

Morgan’s thumb strokes over her cheek after they break apart, a gentle caress that expresses so much of all the things she knows he can’t-or won’t-say. “Text me when you get home, yeah?”

“I will.” Ophelia squeezes his hand gently, understanding the true message behind his words, the I love you, that’s just too much to say outright. And then, because it’s too much for her to actually say goodbye, she squeezes his hand once more, and then slips out of his room.

It’s dark still when she opens the door to her apartment a few floors down and the silence is deafening. By all accounts, it should be warmer and homier than the bachelor pad she just left. She’d put a lot of work and effort into making it a home, a place for a relationship to grow, to start a family.

Right now, it just felt cold and unwelcoming, and Ophelia drops her keys on the table by the door in their usual spot, making a beeline for the master bathroom, not turning any lights on in the apartment until she makes it there. The sound of the shower finally drowns out the silence that’s ringing around her, stops her thoughts from running wild, and only when she steps inside does she let the tears fall.

-----

Ophelia blinks once, and then again, adjusting her eyes to the bright sun shining in through the windows. The other side of the bed is empty, but warm still, like it’s only been recently vacated, and she musters up the energy to climb out of bed and find her slippers before she wanders out into the kitchen.

“‘Morning.” Jon’s scrolling through his phone at the table, likely checking emails, or possibly moved onto his morning social media read thru, his coffee still steaming in front of him. “There’s more in the pot.”

“Thanks.” She returns the small smile he’d sent her and pours a mug for herself, settling in at the table next to him and taking a moment to get used to the usual silence. “When’d you get in last night?”

Jon hums for a second, like he’s thinking about it. “3, I think?”

“Jesus.” She shakes her head; she doesn’t need to look at the clock to know that it’s too early for him to be up and dressed to go back to the office already then. “You need to sleep more.”

Jon stands up with his mug and kisses the top of her head. “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

The thing is, she’s not sure he’s kidding. It’s an attitude that he shares with the rest of his firm, a top financial group filled with people just like Jon, always pushing themselves to do the absolute most. It’s not-she’d never begrudge him his success, but really, how well can he be taking care of himself when all he does is go to work, go to the gym, and travel for days at a time?

“That’ll be sooner than you think if you keep going on four hours of sleep.” Ophelia chides gently, standing to send him off.

Jon laughs. “I’ll be home early tonight; how’s that? We’ll go out somewhere for dinner and then come back to bed,” He waggles his eyebrows. “And then go to bed.”

“Hmm, I’ll believe it when I see it.” Ophelia says, and accepts the kiss he presses to her cheek on his way out the door.

(He doesn’t make it to dinner, but Ophelia's not shocked; she hadn’t bothered to change out of her gym clothes and orders takeout for herself instead.)

-----

Probably a long shot, but are you free at 3 to go see a house? Ophelia sends Jon the second their realtor confirms the showing, unsurprised when he sends back a thumbs down emoji. She sighs, and confirms with the realtor that she’ll be attending alone-again-and then scrolls around the neighborhood, looking at other houses for sale. If she’s going all the way out to Etobicoke, she may as well check out a few others while she’s there.

Showings confirmed, she dresses for the spin class she’s hitting first and makes her way downstairs, catching Morgan in the parking garage. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He smiles. He’s got a couple teammates with him, the only thing stopping her from burying her face in his neck and slipping her hands into his hoodie pocket. “How’s it going?”

“Good.” She answers truthfully. It’s been a couple days since they’ve talked, longer since she’s seen him, even just in passing like this; he’s been out of town a lot this month for games. “You happy to be home for a bit?”

“Yeah,” Morgan nods, meeting her eyes, and she hadn’t intended the question to be anything more than what it is, but she catches the double meaning in his answer right away. “I am.”

“Yeah.” She catches herself mindlessly agreeing with him, forgetting about the teammates standing with him watching their every move and smiling gently at Morgan, instead. “It’ll be nice.”

Someone coughs, lightly, but it’s enough to break the moment. She suspects, from the look on Morgan’s face, that whichever one of his friend’s had interrupted had done so on purpose, is putting some kind of story together, and she’s taking that as her cue to go. “I’ll talk to you soon, I’m sure. Catch you in the halls.” She tries to joke, but it falls flat, so she makes her goodbyes instead, and even though they’re not alone, it’s impossible not to reach out and brush her fingers against his arm for just the quickest of touches as she passes.

-----

“What do you think?” Ophelia can feel Pam studying her, but she bites her lip before she answers, knowing that she’s being an absolute pest.

“I just-I don’t really love it.” She says finally, and to her absolute credit, her realtor doesn’t even blink, even though this is the fifth house this afternoon she’s said that exact same thing about.

“What didn’t you love?”

What didn’t she love? Jesus, fucking everything. The bedrooms were too small, the kitchen was laid out terribly, the whole floor plan was a mess. Even petty little things, like the shape of the breakfast nook bothered her about this house. She explains her issues with the house, promising to make a list of what she’s absolutely looking for, and to send over any places she wants to take a look at, before slipping into her car and taking a deep breath.

There’s a text waiting for her from Jon. Going to be late at the office tonight, working on a pitch. Don’t wait up.

Another deep breath. She shoots off a response, a quick ok, and then swipes to another thread. Are you home?

Morgan’s response comes almost immediately. Yeah, just about to order dinner. You want in?

She does, absolutely. Be there in an hour.

Morgan has dinner waiting in takeout containers and plates ready, but Ophelia’s perfectly happy to ignore both of those in favor of pressing herself as close to him as she can and pushing up for a kiss. “Hi.” She says, a little breathlessly.

“I’m certainly not complaining, but what’d I do to deserve that?” He pulls her back in, entangling her fingers with his one hand and using the other to pull her closer. She loves when he holds her like this, keeps her so close that it feels like nothing can come between them, that nothing matters besides the two of them.

She traces a pattern along his hand and feels him pull her in even more tightly. “Just for being you.” It’s a little sappy, too sappy maybe, but she cherishes every moment she’s gotten to spend knowing him and growing with him.

The kiss Morgan pulls her in for at that is soft and promising, but he pulls back, looking as if it almost pains him. “Dinner first?” And because she can hear his stomach rumbling, she nods in agreement, with a smile and the smallest of laughs.

“Dinner first.”

-----

It’s snowing.

It’s snowing and the pond is frozen, but it’s empty, surrounded by evergreens and mountains, already coated in white. The air is crisp, that winter crispness that can only truly be felt in the middle of nowhere, and Ophelia breathes deeply, taking in the distinct scent of winter that she never really gets in Toronto, before it’s overpowered by a familiar one.

When Morgan skates up behind her, he doesn’t stop; instead, he only slows down enough to catch her arm and pull her along with him.

“Morgan!” Ophelia scolds, but she’s laughing when she does, so he can’t possibly take her seriously.

“Ophelia!” He mimics, picking up speed, ignoring her sudden shriek and skating around in front of her to take both of her hands.

“Showoff.” She nods at him, still leading the two of them around the pond, only moving backwards now, so as to still be looking at her.

“Nah, just want to look at that pretty face more.”

When she stops, it doesn’t even catch him off guard; Morgan just glides the half step closer to her, still grinning as she teases him. “You get to look at my face all the time now.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m ever tired of it.” She loves him so much. How open and honest he is, that he always says what he’s thinking, from the sweetest things like that to anything he’s unclear about. His gentle touches, the warm caresses. His stupid dad jokes. She’d spend forever laughing at them just to see the smile on his face when she does.

“Not yet, at least.” She teases. “‘Ever’ is a lot of time.”

“Still not enough.” Morgan says, and then slips one of his hands into his pocket, coming back out with a velvet jewelry box. “Maybe forever?”

“Hey.” It doesn’t sound right, too distant and too unenthusiastic; it doesn’t match the pure joy in Morgan’s eyes looking at her.

“Yes.” She says, smiling and nodding at him.

“Phel,” there’s a gentle nudge against her neck and she blinks awake. There’s Morgan...but…she blinks the fuzziness of the dream away. He looks unhappy, reluctant, and she gets it, suddenly, when he continues. “It’s late.”

“Oh.” She says quietly, swallowing the lump in her throat. He presses a kiss to the back of her neck, another one on the soft skin where it meets her shoulder. “Mo-“ Morgan lifts his head to look at her, but there’s nothing she could say right now that would bring happiness to his face, nothing that would come even close to the unbridled excitement in her dream, so she keeps the memory close to her heart and gives him a soft kiss instead, before she has to go.

-----

“Glass of red, as requested.” Ophelia smiles in thanks as Jon passes her a glass, but her attention is directed at the monstrosity of a tie that his coworker and best friend has shown up to a corporate event wearing.

“Kevin.” She says, and from the grin on his face, her disbelief is clear. “What is that?”

“It’s fashion, Ophelia.” Kevin says, putting an act of superiority on, but then going right back to his usual, kind of goofy, self. “Naw, I found it when we were in Dallas last week. It’s lit, isn’t it?”

“Lit.” She repeats dryly, taking a sip of her wine to hide a smile as he and Jon laugh.

The laughs don’t last long, as the three of them are approached by Jon’s boss, and the small talk begins. There’s a client there they want to land tonight, or at least make dinner plans with for a later date, and that’s top priority, but don’t forget to make time for this person too because their contract is up in March, and of course, you can’t ignore the Leafs, especially not so-and-so from the such-and-such’s office because they’re looking to renew the sponsorship agreement after the season, and...

She blanks on all the names. All she needs to do is smile pretty anyway.

She excuses herself after Keith Williams (the client, who agrees to dinner later in the week, another night she’ll be alone) to refill her wine glass, and is waiting by the bar when she feels someone slide in next to her just a step too close. Instead of feeling tense though, it relaxes her immediately, and she leans against Morgan. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles back at her. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Ophelia’d noticed him the minute he’d walked the door, noticed the way his suit was perfectly cut, that the navy brought out his eyes, had had a hard time looking away. “You look okay, I guess.”

Morgan laughs. “Okay, I guess?” He repeats, nudging her side.

“Very handsome.” She accepts her glass of wine from the bartender and smiles in thanks before he leaves them. “It’s a good suit on you.”

She’s sure he’s going to make a comment about how it’s an even better suit off him, but they’re interrupted. “Mo!” Someone says behind them, and Ophelia hadn’t even realized how close they were standing, that she’s curling into him and he’s leaning back, until they have to separate to turn around.

“Mitchy.” Morgan greets, sounding as calm as usual, while Ophelia feels like her heart’s going to beat out of her chest. “Finally made it, huh?”

“Matts couldn’t decide on what shoes he wanted to wear.” Mitch grumbles as the blonde next to him snickers into her palm.

“Worth the wait.” Ophelia looks over at the voice and realizes it’s one of the teammates Morgan had over the other week. She quickly realizes from the look on his face that he’s putting together the same pieces.

“Was it though?’ Mitch is asking him. “That’s the last time we agree to carpool.”

He’s ignored though. “We’ve met before, yeah?”

Ophelia nods. “Uh yeah, I live in the same building as Morgan.” She transfers her wine glass to her left hand to offer her right hand out to shake, catches the blonde’s eyes immediately go to her ring, and ignores the feeling in her stomach as she introduces herself to them.

They’re all friendly enough-Auston, Mitch, Mitch’s girlfriend-but she can’t help but feel like they’re just trying to feel her out for something; she makes polite chit-chat for a few minutes and then excuses herself away from them to go back to Jon.

“Hey.” She says quietly, slipping back into his side.

“All good?” He asks quietly. “You were gone for a while.”

She nods. “ Just ran into someone I know.” He hums noncommittally and she feels a moment of fear for Morgan, but then they’re moving toward that guy from the Leafs office he’s supposed to be talking with and he’s back to all business.

-----

“Can we talk about this later?” Jon zips his suitcase and then looks over at her. “I’ve got to go.”

“When do you want to talk about it?” Ophelia cries frustratedly. “You’re always fucking going.”

Jon glares at her.” Jesus Christ, Ophelia.” He starts rolling his suitcase down the hall and she follows, unable to resist.

“Should I even bother looking at houses still? Or should we just stay stagnant?”

“Do whatever the fuck you want, Ophelia. I don’t care right now.” The door slams behind him, but for once, she can’t bring herself to be mad about it, too furious about the fight they just had, shouting in circles about things they’ve already fought about.

Stewing in her anger isn’t going to do her any good, so she changes and heads to the gym, each pounding step on the treadmill relieving the thrumming under her skin. She’s feeling better, by the time she slows it down to her cool down- not quite calm, by any means, but enough that she feels she can run the errands she needs to for the day without snapping at anyone who doesn’t deserve her ire.

She’s in the grocery store when her phone starts ringing. “Hey.” She smiles when she sees it’s Morgan.

“Hey.” She can practically hear him smiling, even through the phone, her airpods still in her ears. “I’m home.”

She’s in the snack aisle at the food store, absolutely beaming at the simplest words, just because he’s been gone for a week. “You are?”

“For a few days now.” He confirms.

“You want to come for dinner tonight?” She studies the cart in front of her. “I’ll cook.”

“You’re cooking? Tell me when to be there.” Morgan already sounds excited. It’s not often she gets a chance to cook for him, but every time she does, he raves about it.

She laughs. “I’m at the store now; I’ll text you when I get home.”

He’s actually waiting for her in the parking garage when she pulls in and she laughs at him fondly as she parks her car. “Welcome back.”

“Hmm, good to be back.” The kiss he gives her in greeting is quick, too quick, but he makes up for it when he pushes her back against the counter as soon as they’re in her kitchen and the groceries are on the counter.

“Do you want risotto tonight or not?” Ophelia laughs against his lips, laughs again as she watches how torn Morgan looks. “We have time.”

He squeezes her hand. “Never enough.” And she kisses him again, because it’s true. These stolen moments, this borrowed time, none of it felt like enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough to show him all the love she has for him, to show him everything he does for her, all the pain he takes away and the joy he brings to her life.

“Could you go pick out a bottle of wine?” She says quietly, nodding toward the wine fridge, instead of saying the things they both know are true, but will only lead to her saying something stupid, like asking him to run away with her.

-----

The house comes in Pam’s daily email and Ophelia loves it from the first picture. She requests a showing for as early as possible and goes through her morning routine, trying not to get overly excited each time her phone buzzes with a new notification, until finally, Pam responds that she’ll meet her there at noon.

It’s only two hours, but it’s two hours that she can’t seem to fill, no matter what she does. Time feels like it’s stopped, until finally she gets in her car and drives over.

The stone exterior is even more beautiful in person than in the pictures. The kitchen is straight out of her dreams. The bedrooms are spacious, the family room is open, the basement is huge. She walks the entire house once, goes through again and again, smile growing wider each time.

Ophelia can picture it perfectly. The laughter filling all these nooks and crannies. A small blue-eyed boy always bouncing around, begging for anyone to play hockey with him. A girl, the shine of her dark hair catching all the natural light, eagerly trying to keep up with him. Morgan throwing his bag down the second he walks in the door and scooping them both into his arms to say hello, before coming to her and a baby, greeting them both just as tenderly.

It’s abrupt, the crash back to reality. This house, this beautiful, gorgeous, house can’t be hers. That life isn’t hers. It can’t be hers. It won’t be theirs.

Ophelia doesn’t feel her legs crumble out from under her, but she finds herself on the floor, hand brushing over the carpet. She doesn’t feel the tears start either, but it’s not long before the sobs are wracking her entire body and she’s unable to stop.

#morgan rielly fanfic #morgan rielly imagine #hockey fanfic #hockey imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl imagines #toronto maple leafs imagine #my hockey fics

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agentrouka-blog · 4 years

Note

When Jon think about wanting winterfell and it's Lord he felt hunger which he later connect with ghost's hunger. Do you think that passage is implying something?

Hi anon!

I think the passage has many layers when it comes to symbolism and foreshadowing.

ASOS, Jon XII is a fun chapter. Jon’s been through a lot. His trip North of the wall left him traumatized and disillusioned in a way that’s hard to sum up. Anything he had hoped to be proud of in life was obliterated, he suffered serious injury, has been separated from ghost, learned that all his family are dead or missing, fought a viciously cruel battle, feels responsible for the death of his stockholm-syndromy abuser, was stripped of all respect and honor by his superiors, and he got to see a woman die in childbirth. Now Stannis and Mel are squatting at Castle Black, and the threat to the North keeps looming.

Life sucks.

We’d been introduced to some options that were denied to him in life:

His lord father had once talked about raising new lords and settling them in the abandoned holdfasts as a shield against wildlings. The plan would have required the Watch to yield back a large part of the Gift, but his uncle Benjen believed the Lord Commander could be won around, so long as the new lordlings paid taxes to Castle Black rather than Winterfell. "It is a dream for spring, though," Lord Eddard had said. "Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on."

If winter had come and gone more quickly and spring had followed in its turn, I might have been chosen to hold one of these towers in my father's name. Lord Eddard was dead, however, his brother Benjen lost; the shield they dreamt together would never be forged. (ASOS, Jon V)

“If the boy shows any skill with sword or lance, he should have a place with your father’s household guard at the least,” Jon said. “It’s not unknown for bastards to be trained as squires and raised to knighthood. But you’d best be sure Gilly can play this game convincingly. From what you’ve told me of Lord Randyll, I doubt he would take kindly to being deceived.” (ASOS, Samwell IV)

One fails because of the seasons, the other was prevented by Catelyn. The Watch has been a soul-destroying nightmare, Ygritte’s offer of taking over a Tower “after” is not even worth a moment’s consideration to him. Every hope he ever had about his life has been disappointed.

Jon’s just about sixteen and is completely done. Sam notes how much time Jon spends in the training yard, even though he’s injured and off-duty for the title of turncloak. He does not bother voting in the Lord Commander election. A maligned outcast again. Forever.

The warg, I’ve heard them call me. How can I be a warg without a wolf, I ask you?” His mouth twisted. “I don’t even dream of Ghost anymore. All my dreams are of the crypts, of the stone kings on their thrones. Sometimes I hear Robb’s voice, and my father’s, as if they were at a feast. But there’s a wall between us, and I know that no place has been set for me.” (ASOS, Samwell IV

He is lonely. Even Ghost is gone, his one proof that he belongs to something.

Stannis alienates Jon by talking ill of Robb, but he offers Jon recognition for the things he did right, a rare thing, and then he offers him legitimization. Basically, “You proved your worth and you have the Right blood. All you ever wanted can be yours. For the small price of breaking your oaths for real and of your own volition and forsaking your gods.” Downright mephistophelian.

Jon is torn, can’t sleep, fights. For the first time he has a real choice. He remembers the traumatic incident where his bastardy became a true concept to him.

That morning he called it first. “I’m Lord of Winterfell!” he cried, as he had a hundred times before. Only this time, this time, Robb had answered, “You can’t be Lord of Winterfell, you’re bastard-born. My lady mother says you can’t ever be the Lord of Winterfell.”

I thought I had forgotten that. Jon could taste blood in his mouth, from the blow he’d taken. (ASOS, Jon XII)

And Jon’s response is a near black-out rage against his sparring partner. All his suppressed feelings of grief and anger and longing and loneliness are just broiling inside him.

Why am I so angry? he asked himself, but it was a stupid question. Lord of Winterfell. I could be the Lord of Winterfell. My father’s heir.

Jon soaks in the hot tub and thinks of Winterfell, mulls restoring it versus not belonging and destroying its soul in the process

When Jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. The weirwood was the heart of Winterfell, Lord Eddard always said … but to save the castle Jon would have to tear that heart up by its ancient roots, and feed it to the red woman’s hungry fire god. I have no right, he thought. Winterfell belongs to the old gods

The tree is almost described like a person. A person with Tully coloring, like all his siblings save Arya. Like Sansa. The hot springs in Winterfell have a potential link to his decision to join the Watch, or at the very least to his siblings in general. The castle of Winterfell is juxtaposed with the heart, with the purpose and point of it all. Save a structure by destroying what made it a meaningful place? Betray his family in his heart, the person whose castle is truly is, betray all his values and his gods?

He takes a walk past sites of all his recent experiences and North the Wall over the recent battle field and just sits to think.

Ygritte wanted me to be a wildling. Stannis wants me to be the Lord of Winterfell. But what do I want? The sun crept down the sky to dip behind the Wall where it curved through the western hills. Jon watched as that towering expanse of ice took on the reds and pinks of sunset.

There’s an essay I could write about walls, Tyrion, Jon and Sansa (the sun to Arya’s moon) and how they all interact in the books, but let’s say just like this word play, the fact that Jon answers his own question is not an accident:

"Close your beak, crow. Spin yourself around, might be you'd find who you're looking for."

Jon turned.

The singer rose to his feet. (ASOS, Jon I)

The singer rose. Lyanna, his mother, the riddle. But also Sansa, who unwittingly took up her mantle. One unlocks his path to the other and everything that follows in his imagination:

I would need to steal her if I wanted her love, but she might give me children. I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall. I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister’s son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly’s boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We’d find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance’s son and Craster’s would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade. A hunger … he could feel it. It was food he needed, prey, a red deer that stank of fear or a great elk proud and defiant. He needed to kill and fill his belly with fresh meat and hot dark blood. His mouth began to water with the thought.

Jon paints a picture of recreating his own childhood with his wolf pack at Winterfell, only this time there are no outcasts, and he is the Father. He gets to be Ned. The Lord of Winterfell with a lady’s love. And a son, something he had, apparently, dreamed of until he stoppped.

He has always wanted this thing that he has no right to and it filled him with a guilt strong enough to concern the gods. But he admits it to himself, lets himself truly feel it. The feeling flows through him the same way the rage did earlier. powerful and all encompassing.

Like a dragonglass blade. There we have some lovely foreshadowing for a) potentiall the origin of the Others, b) Jon’s paternity, and c) his own death when his desire to abandon his vows and head to Winterfell is met with, you know, some blades. Not to mention d) his desire to have these things.

Each of these is answered by his primal hunger response. Which is of course, his connection to Ghost. The wolf he has so woefully said goodbye to, that he missed deeply and bitterly, chooses this moment to reappear. This moment where Jon returns to his own feelings, his true self.

a) the answer to the Others are the direwolves, the Starks, their magical connection to Winterfell and what happened way back when.

b) the answer to Jon’s paternity is a violent embrace of his mother’s side.

c) the answer to his own stabbing will be warging into Ghost and biding his time in there, becoming more wolf than he ever anticipated.

d) the answer to his heart’s desire...

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. “Ghost?” He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. “Ghost!” he shouted, and the direwolf broke into a run. He was leaner than he had been, but bigger as well, and the only sound he made was the soft crunch of dead leaves beneath his paws. When he reached Jon he leapt, and they wrestled amidst brown grass and long shadows as the stars came out above them. “Gods, wolf, where have you been?” Jon said when Ghost stopped worrying at his forearm. “I thought you’d died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I’ve had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams.” The direwolf had no answer, but he licked Jon’s face with a tongue like a wet rasp, and his eyes caught the last light and shone like two great red suns.

Red suns. Arya’s wolf has golden coins (haggling for death, faceless men coins, spinning fates), Grey Wind has molten gold (like a crown that kills you).

Jon’s wolf has red suns. Like the colors that the sun painted on the Wall. The direwolf in heart tree colors, inverted bastard colors of house Stark, Tully colors, Sansa colors.

Red eyes, Jon realized, but not like Melisandre’s. He had a weirwood’s eyes. Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one. And he alone of all the direwolves was white. Six pups they’d found in the late summer snows, him and Robb; five that were grey and black and brown, for the five Starks, and one white, as white as Snow.

He had his answer then.

Not the red gods, not fire. The old gods. the heart tree, the wolves. He may be a Snow, but the old gods gave him Ghost. His own wolf. His white wolf. His place was made by their will.

There is honor in that choice. No matter what anyone else says, Jon knows who he is and he has that power: to reject betraying his heart.

How does this choice led by Ghost fit the layers?

a) The answer to the Others: don’t steal, don’t trick. Be honest. Accept what was painful. Not the Wall matters, the answer is in the heart tree.

b) The Dragon father does not Need to guide his decisions. He can let that go. He is a Snow.

c) Being in Ghost will lead him back to himself. Not fire, not Melisandre. The old gods.

d) Well... What does Jon want? What IS his answer?

Jon is filled with sudden energy. He strides back, rejects Val in his mind, stalks dramatically into the dining hall and is suddenly voted Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. We close on this:

So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow. But only one. The Wall was his, the night was dark, and he had a king to face.

Jon’s answer? We never hear it in this chapter.

We hear it in ADWD, Jon I:

"By right Winterfell should go to my sister Sansa."

And ADWD, Jon IV:

Jon said, "Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa."

The chapter is followed by? Sansa. Rebuilding Winterfell out of snow.

When Jon lets go of pretense, honestly asks himself what he wants, shame or not, his wolf takes over and helps him find the answer and the path. The answer is not in taking the Castle and creating a mimicry of what it was, it is in honoring what it truly was and truly means. The heart over the structure.

And in giving supremacy to the heart, to the red-white heart, he unknowingly paves the way for his own place: Winterfell built of Snow. He doesn’t have to steal the castle, he will be invited to belong.

That’s my own humble interpretation, anyway.

#asoiaf #jon snow #ASOS #Ghost the direwolf #asoiaf speculation #layered symbolism #foreshadowing #jonsa #Starklings

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