#The Chainless Defenders

[saphirered]

Hi! Hello! Greetings! Loved your Briarwood!Reader fix can I request a part 2 of that? Thanks!

I got carried away in the angst again but here it is! 😘

Night has fallen but the doomed dinner still is an hour or two away. You have another opportunity to sneak away. The entire way to the rebel hideout you find yourself twisting those damned chainless shackles around your wrists, feeling that phantom tug calling you back to your parents. You don’t know why you decided to go after all. ‘Later’ was not exactly time constrictive. You talked yourself into believing if you were reminded on why you’ve been doing what you’ve been doing for years, then your choice might be easier, or maybe you’d be reminded they don’t really need you anymore, not now Vox Machina is here. Is your task done? Not yet. Not quite yet. Shrouded in layers and a cloak you move through shadows, avoiding eyes of all creatures but those who stare into the shadows themselves, live within them until you reach your destination.

Resting in the room so generously provided by the rebels would be a blessing considering it is relatively safe and comfortable compared to what’s on the other side of the door, if not for the company in close quarters. Too many people. Too little a space. Claustrophobic almost. But there is a saviour. A saviour that Percy can’t seem to shake. Were he a man of faith he might have deemed your fates intwined but he is not. It’s simple matter of circumstance and of course his invitation to speak with you privately. A good excuse to leave the less than spacious room at last. The knock of the door couldn’t come a moment too soon. It’s Vax who opens the door, the rogue quick on his feet as ever but Percy is not far behind.

“Hello there.” Vax greets and gently guides you inside but you stay close to the door as you lower your hood. “Percy has told us next to nothing about you and I speak for all of us when I say we are excited to get to know you better.” He winks, hoping to ease out some embarrassing stories from Percy’s past. All Percy let shine through from what little they got from him was that the two of you were close and you took care of him, helped him escape when the Briarwoods murdered his family.

“We know your name, well what Percy calls you that is but where are you from? Family? Friends? Interests or hobbies?” The gnome dressed in purple leans in as if looking for a juicy bit of gossip, or maybe a nice ass. You might just have both. He’ll be satisfied with either. Percy rolls his eyes. Scanlan will always be Scanlan. He just hopes you wouldn’t lower yourself to the gnome’s level, no pun intended. Nevermind the burning ache within his chest at the thought of the gnome charming his way into your bed. Is that a hint of jealousy? No. He’s above some petty jealousy. Though, that utterly indifferent expression that gives nothing away directed at Scanlan leaves Percy feel a bit more confident.

“Wildemount. You’ve met them. No real close connections of any kind until this one showed up, status still to be seen.” You raise an eyebrow at Percy as if to say; ‘lets go’. “As for hobbies and interests? Does sparking rebellion and constantly undermining my cursed family and disgracing their legacy count?” There’s a moment of silence as Percy is at your side, ready to leave. In this moment of silence the pieces are put together and realisation drops. Instantly some reach for their weapons. Percy raises his hand.

“There’ll be no need for that. We can trust them. More than anyone in this entire bloody city.” Percy defends you, taking up a place where you’ve got some cover behind him but you make it a point not to hide. These people can’t bring you anything you fear, but they don’t know that. Though, you’ll face come what may.

“How can you be so sure? They’re a Briarwood, Percy! You saw what they did to Uriel. You’ve seen the state of this city! How can you trust them.” Vex argues, arrow drawn.

“You’ll just have to trust my judgement on this one. Now if you’ll excuse us.” Percy leaves no room for argument but they still protest despite that. That’s when you step in front of him.

“I don’t expect you to trust me, let alone offer me friendship. All I ask is you trust my work, let it speak for itself. I can’t alleviate your worries until actions prove them to you so I will not waste anyone’s time trying to do so.” You’re not here to make friends. You won’t pretend to be. You’re here to talk to Percy. You’re here to make your bloody decision and finally pick a side; the people or your own hide. You don’t get a reply and you don’t expect one either. You just feel eyes following you as Percy pulls you out into the hallway and begins directing you towards the exit. You let him.

Once outside you wander in silence. So much for talking. Perhaps neither of you have the courage to say the first words. Not after what happened in that room. Not while strolling around in the streets of something once good, now nothing but rubble; broken, just like the two of you. You both suffer the curse of the bright ones. Those who shine brightest often burn twice as quick. Your lives are set out through metaphors and perhaps the saddest truth of them all is that they describe your lives perfectly. You’re but wandering through shards of the past until something disturbs them and forces you into the shadows. One day you might have the courage to rebuild, use that hatred you wield for something other than destruction, turn it to creation instead.

You find yourselves in one of the abandoned buildings in hiding of the patrols and a moment away from the larger view of everything you’ve grown to loathe. Inside this building lay the remaining traces of the people that once called it their home. Tossed furniture and possessions, a cloak over the back of a chair, some shoes by the cold hearth, a plate with food long since rotten and eaten by the vermin. All is covered in a thick layer of dust but it suffices the privacy you need and wouldn’t get with other company around. Percy pulls up his nose at the rotten remains of the meal, picking up the dust covered fork at the side and fiddling with it as he moves about. Neither of you have spoken a word. Neither broken the silence. Unsure where to start. It’s in that doubt, and Percy’s own distraction you’re the one taking the first move. You take the fork from his hand, toss it onto the table rather unceremoniously and wrap your arms around his middle, pulling yourself against him in an embrace. He’s caught off guard and it takes him a moment to process what just happened before he wraps his arms around you in return.

There’s a million reasons why. That’s what his mind concludes trying to justify you seeking comfort in him rather than acknowledging a deeper connection between the two of you that’s been left unresolved, and unexplored when you were younger. While something deep within tries to deny it, Percy knows, this is kindness, this is compassion, this is love and affection, this is hope and desperation. Eventually you pull back and separate, with a ragged breath wiping furiously at your cheeks. Your eyes are slightly bloodshot. Percy can’t imagine how long you’d have gone without any of that true affection, the one that doesn’t make your skin crawl. He always had his sister, he always had you and after you were gone he could somewhat substitute that void you left with others but you did not have these options. You were stuck, forced to play perfect child, though by the looks of it, failing to live up to these expectations came with punishments of their own; your own torture, you’d never be able to escape, not like he did, and without the power to gain your freedom on your own.

That’s why you did it, isn’t it? You joined the resistance to stand a fighting chance, every day of your life as risky as the next. You’re looking for your own salvation, absolving yourself of the condemnation the sacrifices for your own freedom would bring. You’re two sides of the same coin, however much he might wish circumstances were different. You’re good, you’re kind and you’re so tainted by the life you were forced into, so much so your own morals became muddled and so faded, for the sake of survival. It’s a surprise you’ve lasted this long. He’d never have the strength. You’ve always been stronger than him. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe you just know how to patch yourself up each time you get knocked down. Each time you fight for your life you assure your own survival. So why is there a sense of desperation and conflict within you?

“You came back.” Your voice cracks as you hold onto Percy’s shoulders, afraid he might fade and this might just be some torturous illusion or twisted figment of imagination, finally driven mad.

“I still have to offer fate a guiding hand when dealing what those who wronged us deserve.” Pompous prick, you think even though the words dignify the curling of your lips. A brief moment where the reality and gravity of that statement falls away, however short it may be but then that smile turns to a frown followed by a sigh, and you looking away, hands falling from Percy’s shoulders as you wrap your arms around yourself.

“Percival-“ You begin but Percy stops you.

“Believe me when I say, I’ve already been hounded enough and I don’t need more arguing, especially not from you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his voice, the begging for something familiar, yet free of burdens. You close your eyes, and sigh. What you wouldn’t do for a sense of normalcy, ignoring the real world, ignoring where you’re standing or the existence of the lives you’ll have to return to, responsibilities you’ll have to face, and choices you’ll have to make. But that is not a life either of you have. You never will, no matter how far you run it will always follow you. You will never be granted the gift of normalcy, not even when your enemies are six feet under.

“I’m not here to argue with you, Percy. I know well enough that your mind is not one to be changed and your choices are your own.” Percy breathes a thank you. “You are as stubborn as a mule.” He had that one coming didn’t he? At least he can see the humour in it. He won’t admit it out loud and maybe that specific wording is-lacking he is stubborn and knows it. Were you anyone else he might have argued for the sake of his integrity, or just to prove a point.

“Then why are you here? If I may be so bold.” He raises an eyebrow waiting for your answer and your face turns to that familiar indifference, though you let the cracks show you’re not truly facing him like you would the wolves in this place.

“I live here.” You deadpan.

“Very funny.” He retorts sarcastically. “You know what I meant.” The faintest of smiles crosses his features and yours follows suit.

“Is that sarcasm I hear, Lord Percival? That’s not very becoming of someone of your status, is it?” You offer a mocking bow. Despite the specific wording striking a chord that is quickly discarded Percy steps up and adjusts your bow, following the motions with you to make it more suited for the court he once attended.

“Sarcasm is the wit of any noble and your footwork is horrendous. I expected your mother to have instilled some values of the nobility in you.” You bow again, this time adjusted before you straighten again, tilting your head. You know those words should have risen something within you but they don’t they just rise that sense of warmth, and familiarity. For the first time in a long time you feel good, like you’re not constantly drowning.

“Then you might be appalled at my next choice of words; she can go screw herself for all I care.” That earns you a laugh. It’s been an eternity since you’ve heard a proper laugh not rooted in pain or malice.

“I missed this, Percy. I missed you.” You admit. Percy might have quipped back about you admitting you must have grown fond of him and truly becoming the rebel you were always meant to be but with the silence that follows your statement it hardly seems appropriate. You’re being vulnerable like once upon a time he was too. So the roles truly have switched. You’re the prisoner now but might he be your saviour? He won’t assume, even if that faint spark of good within his heart wishes nothing more than to be that what you had been for him.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Percy whispers as he takes your hand, lacing your fingers together searching for that familiar contact, stroking his thumb over the back of it like you had done for him a thousand times before. A reminiscing shadow of a smile crosses your features, though it is hinted with pain as you stare at your interlocked fingers. You give his palm a light squeeze.

“You might not have, did these cursed things not work.” You turn your wrist to show him the heavy bracelets more reminiscent of shackles the closer attention he pays. “Controlling me wasn’t good enough. That little parlour trick is not fool proof, and might not last. My father can't exactly rely on his victim slipping from control just telling him they’re regaining their freedom of mind. As I managed to lie to them before, they couldn’t be certain with me and they couldn’t risk me becoming a liability just yet. They still need me for something but they’ve been holding back, keep me on a need to know basis only. Mother still blames you for corrupting me and my straying from their path.”

“Why do I feel there’s more to this than you’re telling me?”

“Because there is. I won’t lie to you.” You sigh. “Mother informed me that tonight, at dinner they might just take these chains off for good. Apparently I’ve been on my best behaviour and my ‘talent should not be wasted now it might be useful in what is to come’. I don’t trust the reasonings for a second but they are sincere in offering my freedom.”

“Which happens to coincide with the rescue mission of tonight… And you cannot be in two places at once.” You shake your head. You wish you could but you can’t.

“I don’t know what to do, Percy but I have to make a choice.” Somewhat crestfallen Percy puts aside his desire to tell you to stay with him and his friends, see this through but you’re being offered your own shot at freedom on a silver platter. If he were in your shoes he’d have chosen certainty over the sliver of a possibility. He knows he will kill your parents along with those who aided them, or he’ll die trying. Even for those who help him, they know there’s no true certainty they’ll make it out alive either. Even if they save Archie, that’s just a battle. Not the war. But then again, why should you put your life on the line? It’s not your fight… maybe it’s his after all.

“Claim your freedom.” Percy states and your eyes shoot up towards his in shock. That was not the kind of answer you expected. “You’ve been stuck for years. If this is your chance to escape then take it. Live to fight another day. One of us has to.”

“You truly have changed, haven’t you? No terrified boy anymore.”

“Don’t deflect. It doesn’t suit you.” You’d argue differently. “You’ve stayed behind and from what I’ve been told you have been helping the people of Whitestone. You’ve already given enough. Now it’s someone else’ turn to return the favour.” His turn, Percy thinks. It’s his turn to step up now. He might not want to lead, nor does he plan to, that hasn’t changed but he will repay the sacrifices you’ve made in his name. Your mind tells you to argue, trying to counter like it does every step of the way sending you into inner turmoil until you can’t avoid it anymore, but you don’t let it. Percy quells the inner doubt. He’s right. He’s the only voice in this place, perhaps even the world you’d put your trust in blindly.

“Okay.” You nod letting the reality of your decision sink in. “Tell Archie I said hello and I’m sorry. Make sure he raises hell on my behalf.” You’d been caring for the dwarf through his imprisonment under the guise of getting the rebel leader to talk and counter the ways others failed. You can’t help but notice a brief sliver of jealousy pass through Percy.

“I will raise hell on your behalf.” You raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat. “We all will.” Percy quickly adds as you squeeze his hand and step closer until you’re toe to toe. There it is again, that feeling of ease and comfort and warmth in the dead of winter. It seems Percy feels it too as he moulds into your grasp the moment your fingers slide across his cheek and cup the side of his face.

“I’ll hold you to it. But be wary. Vengeance is a path of poison. Don’t let it consume you.” You know your words will do little to change anything that might take place but at least you spoke them.

“How poetic of you? Can I expect a copy of your book of wisdoms once you get the freedom to write it?” You laugh and those embers in his stomach turn to flames.

“First print, signed and all. I promise.” The smiles falter slightly and expressions grow more serious. “I mean it, Percy. It’s not worth it if you allow yourself to be your own undoing. You have your friends, your family. They need you to live. I need you to live. I won’t ask you to make a promise you can’t keep so instead I’ll just ask you to try. This is the price I ask for whatever favours you might have owed me.”

You wait but Percy doesn’t have the heart to answer you so instead he takes your hand from his cheek and brings it to his lips the way he had all those years ago, placing a light kiss on your knuckles instead. For someone who cares little wether people like him or not, outside of regarding him as a well mannered respectable man, he cannot bring himself to tell you how much he’s condemned himself already. There’s no way back for him. It’s too much to unpack and with not knowing where you’ll go after, if he’ll ever even see you again, he’d rather not taint your memory of him. Remember him for the boy you knew, the man he grew into and the heart he’s held for you, instead of the man who sold his soul for vengeance, set himself on a path of rage and ruin, one who would pay any price to achieve what he desires most, even if that means he loses himself in the process; a willing sacrifice. He’d rather you remember him for who he was, not what he will become, has become.

Percy never felt any regret for his choices. Not until now. Not until he looked into your eyes and saw them full of life but tainted by pain and horrors. He never regretted it because he never had anything of old to return to. Sure he made new friends but in the end he’d be willing to part with them to uphold his part of the bargain. He’d be fine with his blood be spilled to end the vicious cycle of death and ruin, end a reign of terror. It’s in these moments he finds himself wishing desperately you’d returned to his life or remained in it because he can’t begin to imagine how different his life would have been if you had been there to keep him on the right path. He got lost in the dark without his saviour to light the path and lead the way out of darkness. Instead he embraced it and sought for other light, but those dancing shadows came from flame and brimstone, not radiance. He longs for that warmth like the sun, but here you are, leaving once more. Percy is not ready to say goodbye.

“You have to go soon. You’ve got a hero to play after all.” You break the silence and Percy’s train of thought but after there is only silence; taking in each other’s presence, ingraining it into memory. Wether it is the icy wind blowing through the broken windows or something else entirely you both feel the cold run through you and instinctively seek that warmth. Familiar-no. Home. A reminder of home. Warmth like a hearth. Comfort like found only in another person. If this is it, wallow in that warmth before it disappears. Slowly leaning in, neither of you know if it is because of hesitancy of your own, or giving the other the opportunity to step away, say this is wrong and you shouldn’t, shouldn’t complicate things or distract. Neither of you do and so your lips meet. While the kiss is chaste rooted more in emotion and that indescribable longing for the company only you can offer each other, it weighs heavy with burden. It feels like a goodbye and then you pull away.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a very long time.” Percy breathes as you snort.

“Is it too late to say I’d have let you?”

“A little. Could have said so earlier but drama and conflict make for good motivation.”

“Well then, need I ask you to kiss me or are you going to wait until the world comes falling down again?” That earns you a chuckle and a light peck to your lips. You pout, somewhat disappointed with the limited contact.

“Let’s see where we go. We still have some time. Granted, it might be less than desired but I’m sure we can be creative, if you are willing that is.” Mischief gleams in your eyes as you go to lean in, halting but an inch away as you wrap your arms around Percy’s neck.

“That sounds like a promise.” You muse.

“Because it is.” And with that you close the distance. This kiss while fuelled with the emotions of the years past, from your reunion and the uncertainty of what may come, is loving and warm. The dead of winter holds no candle to your flame. The drums of war could be drowned out by by the melody of your stories intertwining and for just those moments the weight of the world disappears. You’re not prisoners. You’re not saviours. You’re home with each other.

[hinamesh]

“Prince Aegon is a man grown, Princess” (Spoilers)

This post that I made on Reddit but I decided to share it here as well.  For those people who think Young Griff/Aegon was just a stupid boy.

It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You [Tyrion] were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad [Aegon] forbade it.

Here we've seen a glimpse of his compassionate side. Do not think of him like Joffrey, he gives Tyrion a chance to live on, showing him mercy.

Perhaps you should be the fool instead of me. Trust no one, my prince. Not your chainless maester, not your false father, not the gallant Duck nor the lovely Lemore nor these other fine friends who grew you from a bean. Above all, trust not the cheesemonger, nor the Spider, nor this little dragon queen you mean to marry. All that mistrust will sour your stomach and keep you awake by night, ’tis true, but better that than the long sleep that does not end.”

Meeting Tyrion is truly the turning point of his life. Because of Tyrion he learns to be doubtful and wary of the people around him, he stopped being the naive boy that he once was. As you can see in the future passage after Aegon met with Tyrion, he started to changed.

"I like the sound of that. My army.” A smile flashed across his [Aegon] face, then vanished. “Are they, though? They’re sellswords. Yollo [Tyrion] warned me to trust no one.”

He is not stupid and that naive anymore. He is starting to question stuffs. He didn't ignore Tyrion's advise and actually listen because his advise actually a good one. Showing a bit of his capability as the judge, a skill that needed for a future leader like him.

That dwarf had already planted enough doubts in his young head. “Not every man is what he seems, and a prince especially has good cause to be wary … but go too far down that road, and the mistrust can poison you, make you sour and fearful.” King Aerys was one such. By the end, even Rhaegar saw that plain enough. “You would do best to walk a middle course. Let men earn your trust with leal service … but when they do, be generous and openhearted.”

The boy [Aegon] nodded. “I will remember.”

Fortunately JonCon was on his side, he gave him a wise advise to walk a middle course. I don't think Aegon will walk on the path where he will be distrustful towards everyone like Tyrion's advise, but he will try to be in the middle following JonCon's advise as he said that he will remembered that. This is showing his grown from a boy to a man grown. He has good skill of listening to what is good for him.

This proof with his next action in ADWD, to earn the men's trust.

“The demon road is death. We will lose half the company to desertion if we attempt that march, and bury half of those who remain beside the road. It grieves me to say it, but Magister Illyrio and his friends may have been unwise to put so much hope on this child queen.”

No, thought Griff, but they were most unwise to put their hopes on you.

And then Prince Aegon spoke. “Then put your hopes on me,” he said. “Daenerys is Prince Rhaegar’s sister, but I am Rhaegar’s son. I am the only dragon that you need.”

He is starting to take charge of his own path. The golden company did not just give their allegiance towards Aegon easily, it was Aegon who actually pursued their trust and won it himself, using his words. But some of you quick to dismissed this skill of his.

Griff put a black-gloved hand upon Prince Aegon’s shoulder. “Spoken boldly,” he said, “but think what you are saying.”

“I have,” the lad insisted. “Why should I go running to my aunt as if I were a beggar? My claim is better than her own. Let her come to me … in Westeros.”

Yes, some of you would say he was just being a brat here, but he was not. He was trying to recruit them onto his team, showing his confidence and claim. A bit of pride that a leader must have. And this was actually work. One of the golden company squires, Franklyn Flowers actually bite the idea.

Franklyn Flowers laughed. “I like it. Sail west, not east. Leave the little queen to her olives and seat Prince Aegon upon the Iron Throne. The boy has stones, give him that.”

Aegon is actually earned the man interest and manage to impress him in the process.

“Has the sun curdled your brains, Flowers? We need the girl. We need the marriage. If Daenerys accepts our princeling and takes him for her consort, the Seven Kingdoms will do the same. Without her, the lords will only mock his claim and brand him a fraud and a pretender. And how do you propose to get to Westeros? You heard Lysono. There are no ships to be had.”

“Which plan?” said Tristan Rivers. “The fat man’s plan? The one that changes every time the moon turns? First Viserys Targaryen was to join us with fifty thousand Dothraki screamers at his back. Then the Beggar King was dead, and it was to be the sister, a pliable young child queen who was on her way to Pentos with three new-hatched dragons. Instead the girl turns up on Slaver’s Bay and leaves a string of burning cities in her wake, and the fat man decides we should meet her by Volantis. Now that plan is in ruins as well.

He did not received a full approval of the idea immediately from the group, some did counter his idea, but the other started to question their original plan. Considering Aegon's idea more seriously.

“Prince Aegon,” said Tristan Rivers, “we are your men. Is this your wish, that we sail west instead of east?”

“It is,” Aegon replied eagerly. “If my aunt wants Meereen, she’s welcome to it. I will claim the Iron Throne by myself, with your swords and your allegiance. Move fast and strike hard, and we can win some easy victories before the Lannisters even know that we have landed. That will bring others to our cause.”

These words of his manage to bring the golden company to his cause. He managed to pursue them, they approved his idea, not Varys/Illyrio's plans. An important note that people often forget. It was Aegon who gave the decision for the path to Westeros not someone else.

When all of them began to speak at once, Griff knew the tide had turned. This is a side of Aegon I never saw before. It was not the prudent course, but he was tired of prudence, sick of secrets, weary of waiting.

The side that JonCon himself never have seen before, Aegon capability as a leader who manage to bring men follow his wishes and idea. The tide had turned because of him, he was the one who responsible for the changing plan not JonCon/Illyrio/Varys. I think that was an impressive side of him that we must take note for the future books.

One by one, the men of the Golden Company rose, knelt, and laid their swords at the feet of his young prince[Aegon]. The last to do so was Homeless Harry Strickland, blistered feet and all.

When they knelt before him, it was Aegon's succeed, he earned the men trust. He didn't even ask nor order them to bow and kneel at him, they were doing it because they wanted to.

A solid man, and true, Connington thought as he watched Duck dismount, but not worthy of the Kingsguard. He had tried his best to dissuade the prince from giving Duckfield that cloak, pointing out that the honor might best be held in reserve for warriors of greater renown whose fealty would add luster to their cause, and the younger sons of great lords whose support they would need in the coming struggle, but the boy [Aegon] would not be moved. "Duck will die for me if need be,” he had said, “and that’s all I require in my Kingsguard. The Kingslayer was a warrior of great renown, and the son of a great lord as well.”

This passage again shows that he isn't just a stupid boy, he learns from history and not that naive anymore. He knows what will protect him and not. A man grown who has his own belief and thought of what's right and wrong.

No, I want Duck to stay.” The prince sat. “We’ve been talking with Strickland and Flowers. They told us about this attack on Storm’s End that you’re planning.”

Jon Connington did not let his fury show. “And did Homeless Harry try to persuade you to delay it?”“He did, actually,” the prince said, “but I won’t. Harry’s an old maid, isn’t he? You have the right of it, my lord. I want the attack to go ahead … with one change. I mean to lead it.”

Again, he is not Joffrey who cowardly hides himself behind his army, Aegon takes the initiative to lead himself, ready to risk his own life. (Spoiler TWOW) He does sucessfully doing so based on Arianne II TWOW, where they manage to take Storm's End. I think Lysono Maar has seen his bravery to the point he quicks to defend him from her insult by saying "Prince Aegon is a man grown." which I think as a reader should not dismissed it easily and give him some space to develop as a character.

Bonus, a chapter that showing a glimpse of his fighting skill..

When they fought with mace or blunted longaxe, Ser Rolly’s greater size and strength would quickly overwhelm his charge with swords the contests were more even. Neither man had taken up a shield this morning, so it was a game of slash and parry, back and forth across the deck. The river rang to the sounds of their combat. Young Griff landed more blows, though Duck’s were harder. After a while, the bigger man began to tire. His cuts came a little slower, a little lower. Young Griff turned them all and launched a furious attack that forced Ser Rolly back. When they reached the stern, the lad tied up their blades and slammed a shoulder into Duck, and the big man went into the river

So stop saying he was just a stupid feign boy, he is a character that still growing and hasn’t shown his full potential yet. So please give him a chance to show that in the next book. This person is Dany’s future rival and do you think GRRM will write him as just a lame character? No, I think he won't just throw this chance easily, he will sure use this to make the plot more thicken.

[ericfruits]

More of Florida’s former felons may finally get to vote

IN AMERICA’S hierarchy of elections, the presidentials sit squarely at the top, drawing the most voters and interest. Next are the mid-terms. Off-year elections come last. On November 5th, three states will choose governors, two others will elect state legislators and some districts will elect mayors or replacement congressmen. In most of America, a tiny share of the electorate will trudge dutifully to the polls to choose school-board officials and vote on ballot or tax questions. But Marq Mitchell, a 29-year-old Floridian, can barely contain his glee about this autumn’s election—it will mark the first time he votes.

Mr Mitchell grew up a ward of the state; his father was absent, his mother addicted and his grandmother died when he was in his early teens. By the age of 22 he had two felony convictions, one for trying to escape from a juvenile-detention centre, the other for fighting. But he eventually found his feet. After spending several years in a series of mundane jobs he cashed in his savings to start Chainless Change, a charity to help ex-felons adjust to civilian life.

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Yet as admirable as Mr Mitchell’s life has been recently, under Florida law he was ineligible to vote. Florida permanently disenfranchised felons—which just three other states do—from its constitution of 1868 until last year, when voters overwhelmingly approved a constitutional amendment restoring the voting rights of ex-felons, other than those convicted of murder and sexual offences. But earlier this year, Florida’s legislature passed a law that, depending on your view, either clarified or, in effect, invalidated this change. It stated that felons must pay all fines, fees and restitution before they can vote.

That may sound reasonable enough. If you embezzled money from your employer, your sentence should include restitution. But jurisdictions in Florida impose a dizzying array of fees on convicts designed to raise revenue for the state: a $50 “application fee” for a public defender, $100 each for the public defender and the prosecutor’s “costs”, and various crime-specific surcharges. These can quickly add up—particularly for poor felons. When they cannot pay, collection agents step in; they can assess additional fines of up to 40% of the amount owed.

Jurisdictions often do not communicate with each other, or those whom they fine. Mr Mitchell found out he owed $4,000 only when he applied for an occupational licence. And many ex-felons owe more than they can ever repay. Karen Leicht, for instance, served 30 months in prison for her part, which she says was unwitting, in a fraud scheme. She pleaded guilty and helped the prosecution, but she still owes $59m in restitution.

The amendment itself did not mention financial restitution; it simply stated that “any disqualification from voting arising from a felony conviction shall terminate...upon completion of all terms of sentence including parole or probation.” But Jeff Brandes, a Republican senator, argued that to enact the law, “we needed to define what ‘all terms’ meant.”

He points to a letter written by the American Civil Liberties Union, a watchdog, and other backers of the change, acknowledging that “all terms...includes any period of incarceration, probation, parole and financial obligations imposed as part of an individual’s sentence.” He also notes that in oral arguments in 2017, a lawyer in favour of the amendment agreed when a judge asked if all terms “would also include the payment of any fines.”

The amendment’s backers sued, arguing that the new law amounted to a poll tax, which is unconstitutional. On October 18th a federal court in Tallahassee enjoined Florida from imposing the law against the 17 plaintiffs named in the case, including Mr Mitchell. The ruling did not reach a final decision on the law’s constitutionality; that is for another federal court to decide, in a trial scheduled to start in April 2020. The legislature may soften the law before then; the ruling noted that “plaintiffs have a constitutional right to vote so long as the state’s only reason for denying the vote is failure to pay an amount the plaintiff is genuinely unable to pay.”■

This article appeared in the United States section of the print edition under the headline "Fined out"

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[bereithalten]

When they killed him, they killed themselves. With each bullet, they saved another for themself. Each drop of blood fortold their own loss. To kill is the final statement of allegiance and I no longer have any delusions of who is who or what is what. Golden memories turned black. There's no going back.

Tonight, the pigs sleep in the pen. Tomorrow, sleep may not come so easy. Tonight, I sleep gun in hand. Tomorrow, I keep it with me.

Do you ask yourself whose side you are on? Do you ask yourself what your actions say? Does your heart yearn for the chainless prairie, yet you sit there pathetically grasping at what can no longer be? The past is dead and soon, its defenders too! All the skeptics, the cowardly citizens with their heads in the sand filled with visions of the future, they too will perish. What vision ever saw the yet to be decided? What prophet ever brought anything but reaction? Only the fearless remain, those eagerly burning down all that exists and delighting in the world as it plays out, not as it could be. Nihilists! Anarchists! Iconclasts! The future is not ours, it is nothing. All we have is the world we live in and create. Come dance, come sing and screech your songs of love, abandon, and joy!

Rest in power Will.