#because she has the will and want to connect to her ancestors more than lying about her linneage

[angeloncewas]

My DM gave us 3 options and one of them was a dream sequence where we face our demons and you know my fearful symmetry loving self jumped on that right away so anyway my character got turned into a lizard

[starqueensthings]

Surprise self-rec time! Pick 3 of your favorite things you’ve written and share them here, then put this in the inbox (anonymously or not) of your fellow writers to spread the positivity and help celebrate already written fics 💞

First of all, when the heck did my anon function turn on 😆 I genuinely thought I’d had that shit turned off! Apparently not!

Second, I heckin love when these self rec chains go around. There is little more beautiful in this world than watching a creator gush about their work when given the platform to do so… something they’re so proud of… something that brought them so much joy, all they want to do is share it with the people they love.

In true Holly fashion, I am going to be long winded about this, so please accept a read more as to not clutter up your feed.

1. Colder Weather - A 3-part post-stasis/Pirate Kix x fem!reader ficlet that promises to punch you right in the heart. This is probably the most emotional thing I’ve ever written, and while I know it’s not for everyone… boy am I ever proud of it.

2. Dork Love - A 4-part Tech x GN!reader ficlet that was supposed to only be one, but pulled a Miley Cyrus and couldn’t be tamed. It’s a mostly lighthearted little story about hard work, altruism, navigating a sudden and unexpected crush, and how one’s perception is not always reality. Because the fandom is extremely protective about Tech and his characterization in fanon extensions of canon, I’m sure this won’t be for everyone either… but writing something that read ND!Tech x ND!Reader was important to me.

3. The Only Exception - A fem!OC x Captain Howzer Longfic. I started writing it what feels like a lifetime ago, and I swore to my distant ancestors that it would never see anyone’s eyes but my own… That plan changed when I met some very supportive, OC-loving friends that encouraged me to share it with the world, and I’ve since been slowly tweaking it chapter by chapter to ensure my passive verbs and run-on sentences are brought to a level that’s readable for others hahaha it’s a very slow work in progress, but it’s the most throughout, detailed work I’ve ever funnelled energy into, and I’ll forever cherish June and her experiences learning and growing. (Not a self insert, though I wish it was. June is more bad ass than I could ever hope to be, though she has no clue.)

**snippets below the cut**

1. Colder Weather - Part One

Those optimistic moments often saw you rambling, thoughts slipping easily from mind to mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him connected to you; resolute in keeping him both physically and mentally present; urgently trying to protect him from the monster on his shoulders long enough for him to realize that everything he could ever want was lying peacefully beside him. Periodically, if your chosen topic was one he found particularly amusing, his eyes would crinkle under the embrace of a smile, and — if the universe deemed you worthy that night — a hoarse chuckle would pour from his lips. Despite your continued pleas to the stars, it was a sound that graced your ears with a tragic infrequence, yet the way its radiance illuminated your soul had you shamelessly begging the universe that it continue to spill from his lips for all eternity.

But despite the prophetic bond that kept him returning to your side, only once had the bliss of your union softened his guard enough to let something… slip. Only once had he mentioned a brother: Jesse, a man spoken of thoughtlessly as Kix snickered his way through the recollection of a frantic speeder ride across the plains of Saleucami. But the music of his laughter utterly vanished upon voicing the name that he never meant to speak, the silence that filled its wake so polluted in unexpressed grief, that even the hushed sounds of your breath felt inappropriate, and despite having watched the light leave his eyes so often in the past, you’d never seen it replaced with a darkness as deep and as sorrowful as then.

“Tell me about him,” you probed instantly, hopeful that the delicate touch of your hand on his shoulder would be enough to ground him there in the bed with you; hopeful that the soft caress of your fingers would prevent him from conceding to his anguish, tossing the sheet aside and leaving you with nothing but the familiar sight of his retreating back and the bittersweet smell of him lingering on your pillow.

2. Dork Love - Part Four.

“An apology is not required,” Tech spoke instead. “It would appear that I jumped to an inaccurate conclusion upon arriving here to find you missing. It was a most uncharacteristic overreaction, and one from which I now-suffer a great compunction.”

“Compunction?” you repeated, brows furrowing at the implications of his confession as you reached to pull the coils from his shoulder. “Why?”

Tech hesitated for only a breath, watching your nimble fingers blanch under the weight of the wire as you took it from him. “Well… several years of advanced training and exposure therapy have rendered me effectively inured to a multitude of scenarios that others may deem distressing,” he divulged as something near concern wiped the smile from your lips. “Yet, I failed to maintain control of my emotions in the face of your disappearance. I became largely inexorable, making objectively impetuous and questionable decisions.”

“Tech,” you uttered in little more than a consoling whisper, his stomach lurching as your free hand collected his from somewhere near his hip, those slightly chilled fingers weaving their way in between his before the soft, consoling brush of your thumb nearly weakened his knees. “There is nothing to regret. Worrying about someone is nothing to be ashamed of, and arguably even less so if that person is someone you care greatly about. In fact, an initial surge of panic followed by attempts to verify their safety is likely the expected psychological response to such concerns. You walked into what looked like a very foreboding situation and had no data to disprove your suspected theory.”

“I suppose that is correct,” Tech shrugged, dropping his gaze to the toe of his oily boot, “Though it has been several years since I last studied the sympathetic subsection of the autonomic nervous system in response to traumatic stimuli.”

“Sounds like an interesting read,” you mumbled through a sarcastic smile that prompted the return of his gaze. “Tell me– if the same situation presented itself again, would you not react similarly? Would you not do everything within your power to make sure that someone was okay while everything around you was telling you they’re not?”

“Of course I would.”

“Then that’s that,” you answered simply. “There’s no reason to regret your actions, just like I don't suffer any contempt for getting myself stuck on Ryloth. Making the trip there was the best and potentially only solution based on the information available to me at the time. Things went awry… and that’s okay, because we should always do what our gut is telling us to do when it comes to things and people that we care greatly about.”

And there it was: that intemerate benevolence that he wholly adored about you, reemerging to knock him over the head with a validation that he’d never experienced before… and the subsequent moment, as his eyes locked on yours and his grip on your hand tightened, he felt truly seen as himself. Not Tech the highly-skilled soldier… not Tech the ingenious mechanic responsible for keeping the GAR’s most elite squad in the air… not Tech the pilot who loved his datapad above all else and never slept. You saw Tech… accepting and welcoming him as he is; validating his infrequent displays of vulnerability as if humanity was something he could and should experience first hand without fear of persecution or judgement.

“Oh, and don’t think I didn’t catch that,” you added, brow shifting into a devious arch as a playful smirk tugged at your lips.

“Catch what, exactly?”

“The oxymoron you dropped in there: ‘found you missing’. Someone can’t be found and missing, hun. But keep dropping them– I’ll catch ‘em every time.”

3. The Only Exception - Chapter Two.

‘He’s just a soldier,’ she reminded herself with a snort of self-directed derision, desperately trying to extract her password from the depths of her distracted brain.

And he was. There was nothing overtly different or unusual about CT–5863 in relation to the hundred-or-so other clones that had passed in and out of her care since the war began. Quite frankly, there couldn’t be anything different about him, it was genetically impossible. So why had one look from this set of honeyed eyes seen her stomach careening into the next dimension and her nerves prickling as if every shift of his gaze left a trail atop her skin?

Thrice she tried and failed to enter her secure information into that software, yet its repeated beeps toward the inevitable system lock-out fell on entirely deaf ears, and it wasn’t until the screen strobed that she’d near-reached the maximum login attempts did some glimmer of awareness surge back to her.

“I’m Dr. Kiore,” June told him, attempting to banish that myriad of improper thoughts by corralling every cooperating neuron into entering her password, and the breath she’d unintentionally held in her lungs was granted their escape atop a sigh of relief as that familiar landing screen emerged in front of her. “What’s your name?”

“CT–58—”

“No, Captain, your name.”

“My name?” A puzzled pause preceded his answer, that brief second of hesitation having failed to lessen any of the obvious confusion behind those two words, and the notion that she may have to formally explain such a simple concept was the first to pull a smile to June’s lips.

But, “Howzer.” He recovered quickly, offering his name in the same tone he’d used upon hearing her tap on the door, and the small creases now wreathing those twinkling eyes as they narrowed in something close to suspicion entirely laid bare his continued bewilderment at her behaviour.

“Howzer,” she repeated, offering him a casual smile as she swiped her finger across the monitor and entered the information next to his designation number. “It’s nice to meet you.”

A moment’s innocent silence fell between them as she typed, masterfully toggling between different pages of his medical chart and familiarizing herself with the details of his treatment history. For an active soldier, particularly one that appeared as if he’d spent several respite-free rotations laying in the foreign dirt of a distant planet, his chart was remarkably vacant, the only few noted injuries being quickly treated in the field and recorded somewhat haphazardly by the trio of different medics who had seen him.

“I– I think that might be the first time a civilian’s asked me that,” he contemplated under his breath, eyes unfocussing as he rubbed that dirty palm across the stubble on his chin

“Yeah, well… they were supposed to ask downstairs,” June scoffed, the grumble swaddling her tone readily exposing the disdain for the repeated shortcomings of her colleagues. “I’ve asked them four billion times to try and remember, but of course no one listens to the youngest.”

While his lungs expanded to utter what was undoubtedly going to be another humorous quip, the sentiment was stolen off his tongue by a sudden and salient cringe of discomfort. In that otherwise banal motion of sitting up straight, hand reaching upward to thoughtlessly push those dark waves further back from his forehead, a spasm of pain quickly froze his actions, that sharp jaw quickly clenching behind olive cheeks as a muted grunt rumbled in his chest.

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Found Treasure - A NeShiki AU fic

Summary: An AU where Neku and Shiki are Ben and Abigail from "National Treasure 2: Book of Secrets." Shiki loved Neku with all her heart... but when it became clear to her that, in some ways, he valued that big brain more than listening to her, she knew she had to end the relationship. But she gets pulled back into his world when he's bound and determined to clear his ancestor's name and needs her help to do it. And she might be starting to fall for him again, too. Because, after all, the adventure is fun. And even more than that, people DO change. Oneshot.

Found Treasure

Shiki's PoV

Shiki loved Neku with her whole heart. She did. But when it became more and more clear that in many ways, he valued his intelligence more than he did her—and would never ask her opinion on things, in being all assuming—she knew she had to break up with him.

And maybe in her heart of hearts, there had been a part of her hoping that he would change and they’d find their way back to each other—since he had touched her soul like no one else had—but she couldn’t waste her life waiting for a miracle. She had too much self-respect for that.

And so, Shiki had tried to move on. In fact, it was when she’d invited her new love interest over to her house for the first time that her and Neku’s lives would end up colliding again.

Neku had broken into her house with the key he’d yet to return to her… which surely would have been the biggest offense—if Shiki hadn’t noticed right away that he had Joshua working on something on her computer, and was trying to keep her from noticing it.

“Neku, are you kidding me?! You can’t just do these things anymore!” Shiki reprimanded her ex, stomping up to him in her little black dress and heels, and still one hundred percent being a force to be reckoned with even in this getup.

And Neku must have realized this, because he didn’t try to lie and pretend that he hadn’t tried to pull a wool over her eyes, or wasn’t at this very moment wasn’t using her government connections, but he just looked at her with despairing eyes and said, “Please, Shiki. You know how much my family’s name means me to me. And I think I found a clue to clear us. Just let me find it, and then I’ll be out of your way.”

Well, there was no way she could deny that, was there? Shiki had heard how Shiba Miyakaze had shown the world today that the Sakurabas had been part of the plan to assassinate Abraham Lincoln. And Shiki didn’t want to believe it for a second, so if Neku had found proof to show that he was lying… who was she to stand in his way? She knew that if it was her family that someone had said were linked to such an awful conspiracy, she’d be fighting it tooth and nail, too.

And, admittedly, she was curious to see how this turned out…

“Alright, Neku. Find this link. But then you really have to leave,” Shiki whispered, knowing that her date, Shuto, would be done looking at her collection from working in the museum any minute now, and would see that her ex was here and she was speaking to him.

Neku didn’t have to be told twice, and disappeared back into the den with Joshua after giving Shiki that heartbreaking smirk that had made Shiki fall in love with him in the first place. Though she refused to be pulled back in again, unless he changed. And she had yet to see that he really had. Though him being so thankful towards her again was definitely a start…

“Damn, Shiki!” Shuto exclaimed, as he joined her back in her living room, about just as soon as she’d assumed she would. And suddenly—despite how it would have ruined everything—Shiki found herself wishing that Neku would have seen Shuto, so he would have realized that she was on a date with someone else. She wondered if he would have been jealous. Or if he would have cared at all… “You weren’t kidding about the impressive presidential pin set that you have! I wish I had one like it!”

Shiki had to laugh at that, as she strode toward her current date and tried to put thoughts of her former love behind her.

“I also store all the best outfits that I’ve sewn right beside them, if you didn’t see that. I love my job as a curator. But sewing is definitely my favorite hobby, and I might have chosen a career there if things had gone differently.”

…

Shiki, in a million years, would have never thought that she would have ended up at Beckingham Palace—on another date with Shuto—at the same time that Neku happened to be there. Yes, she had once thought that the two of them might be soulmates… but seriously, what were the chances of this? Especially since Shiki thought she had done a pretty bang-up job of putting Neku behind her these past days, and she was actually starting to enjoy Shuto Dan’s company.

The museum curator would have been happy to pretend she’d never seen Neku and return her later, when he wasn’t at the location, if he hadn’t immediately recognized her and pulled her into a rather large argument that was completely out of character for him.

“Shiki… I just can’t believe you broke up with me and won’t even tell me why. And this coming from you: the girl who was always prattling on and on in my ear!”

Shiki was doing her very best not to react to this and create a bigger scene, but she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t irked. How dare Neku insult her for talking too much, like he had when they’d first met?! Didn’t he know how much saying such a thing would hurt her?!

And was he seriously saying he had no idea why she broke up with him? Wow: talk about even more proof that he didn’t listen to her and she was right in her decision.

“Oh, you are just so insulting,” Shiki shot back, trying not to be too loud, but still wanting him to hear her as she fought him, of course. “And if you’re still wondering why our relationship ended, then we never should have dated in the first place, Neku. You just don’t listen!”

“Oh, because I’m just always the wrong one in our relationship, aren’t I?” Neku spat. “Men always are... Kind of like how you think I’m wrong about my ancestor Isamu Sakuraba being innocent!”

Shiki was about to respond to that and remind him that she didn’t feel that way at all, because she’d let him use her computer for his ancestor’s sake, hadn’t she? When she looked Neku in the eye and it suddenly became very clear to her that this whole thing was an act. Oh. Was the next clue he needed to prove Isamu Sakuraba’s innocence here? Undoubtedly.

And if the way Neku was carrying on, it had to be in a place that was off limits to the general public… unless they made a scene. Well, if that was the case, Shiki found she definitely wanted to help him. But first she needed to get Shuto out of the way…

“Wow, you really dated this jerk?” Shuto asked incredulously, unknowingly giving Shiki the perfect excuse to send him away.

“Yes, unfortunately. And he- he seems drunk, doesn’t he? I’m afraid he’s going to do something stupid! Shuto, I left my purse in your car, that has my pepper spray in it. Do you mind going to get it in case I need it?”

“I-I guess,” Shuto said reluctantly, though it seemed to Shiki that he really didn’t want to do this and there were a lot of things he would have rather said here instead. But nonetheless, he was a gentleman and left to fulfill Shiki’s request.

“Alright, that’s enough you two,” a guard said as he took Shiki’s arm and then Neku’s. “We’re not having a confrontation like that in public. And we’re not having it get violent. If you’re determined to have an ex-lover’s spat, do it in private.”

“Hey, get your hands off of me! I have a right to defend myself!” Shiki protested, as she was led away, half-hamming it up and half-serious.

“You see? You see what I deal with? Thank you for defending me, at least,” Neku gave his own piece, as he was pulled away right behind her.

“Neku, go screw yourself!” Shiki bellowed, when they were both finally slammed into a cell.

“Not when you do it so well, honey,” Neku zinged.

Shiki stuck her tongue out at him. And though she knew Neku was really acting here, she was tempted to do much more. But she knew that would just make things worse for them and ruin their plan.

“Wow, do you two need couple’s therapy,” one of the guards said, shaking his head at them. “I’m going to give you two a minute to think things through, work it out, and if you don’t do that, I’m calling the police. If I were you, I’d really think about if whatever he or she did is worth time behind bars.” And then all of the guards were, miraculously, gone. That had to be a mistake… right?

But once they were, Shiki turned to Neku with a raised eyebrow. “Okay, Neku. What the hell is going on?”

“I have to get to the queen’s resolute desk…”

Shiki nodded her head, acting like this was the most natural thing in the world, even though it was of course anything but. “And you didn’t think you could try to tell me that through, I don’t know, Morse Code or something, before you gave me a heart attack in thinking you lost it?!”

That seemed to embarrass Neku for a second, that he didn’t think of that, and he hid behind his collar for a second before shrugging. “Didn’t really think about it. ‘Sides, it might have affected your acting, and I wasn’t sure if your new beau knew Morse Code or not. And things worked out well enough.”

“Sure they did, Neku. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re locked up! How are we supposed to get out of here, to-”

But before she had finished the sentence, the door to the cage swung open and Neku grabbed her hand and was leading her along.

“Sometimes, I hate that you and Joshua are friends,” Shiki complained. “He’s part of the reason you don’t put others first and think you’re infallible. But whatever, I guess. We’ll once again save this conversation for another time. Lead the way… Since I’m assuming we’re on a time crunch here.”

“Naturally, Chic. Is it fun in any other way?” Neku asked as he turned back to look at Shiki and offered her a small smile.

Despite herself, she couldn’t help but return it as the two of them began running together. “No, I guess not.”

And their maneuver to find the item that would help Neku proved to be fun in its own right, too. It turned out the queen’s resolute desk was half Japanese puzzle box, half desk. And Shiki and Neku ended up having to maneuver every which way to solve it. As a very clever girl, Shiki had to say that she enjoyed the brain tease and doing this sort of thing with Neku again. And she would even admit she liked this one moment where she had to be under Neku, so she could dial in a number via a tumbler as Neku told her the correct combination from above. She was only human, after all. The intense car chase they ended up in with Shiba in his men afterwards helped to make Shiki feel alive again, too.

So all of this was how Shiki once again found herself pulled back into Neku’s world, completely forgetting Shuto, and going with him to his last destination that seemed like it would take them to the City of Gold (the whole point of all of this, it seemed. Shiba had framed Neku’s ancestor just so he would help him find this), but Shiki didn’t want to get her hopes that it was said city just yet…

Except the moment that Shiki, Neku, his parents Koki and Uzuki, and Shiba were all trapped in a room filling up with water together, Shiki found herself wishing she’d never hoped that this was Eldorado. She was now certain it was, but at what cost? They were all going to drown for their knowledge of it!

“There’s no way we can all swim to the exit in time,” Koki said far too calmly, as far as Shiki was concerned. “The way this trap is designed, someone’s weight has to hold the lever down to keep the door open. And, yeah: the door stays open for a few seconds it looks like. But not fast enough for the person holding the door open to swim out. It’s meant for someone to sacrifice themselves.”

“Ugh!” Uzuki screamed, ripping her hair out before looking at everyone in turn. “Koki, swim over there and sacrifice yourself for your son, his lovely girl, and moi, your lovely ex-wife,” Uzuki cajoled, but Shiki could tell her heart wasn’t really in it. Whatever issue the two of them had been having, they’d since made up on this journey. And no doubt, she really wished Shiba would do this, but knew that he wouldn’t.

“No way, Mom,” Neku protested, immediately gaining Shiki’s attention as she turned to him with a sharp glance. “I’ll stay. I’m closest to the lever, anyway. And the longer we stay in here arguing, the room is filling up. Go.”

“Neku, absolutely- absolutely not!” Shiki protested, whilst she tried her best to swim to him. But it was getting hard to do so, as a wave rose up and tried to take her under: Neku was right. It was getting way too deep in here. “I- Okay, so I don’t regret my reasons for breaking up for you, and those are things we still need to work on, but I do regret that I ended the relationship. We could have tried to deal with it together. I love you, Neku. I just got you back. And I- I won’t lose you.

“And, damnit! You’re being sexist! I could totally sacrifice myself too, you know!” Shiki protested, having finally made it close enough to Neku so she could lean her forehead against his and press a hand to his cheek. She very much wanted to kiss him, too, but their lips were so close to being underwater, anyway, and unfortunately, there really wasn’t enough time for it.

“I bet you could, Chic,” Neku laughed, rising up and kissing her forehead. “But unfortunately, you really aren’t close enough. So go.”

“Neku,” Shiki whined, looking at her partner with tear-filled eyes. She didn’t care what he said. She didn’t. She would not leave him here. She would die with him, if she had to.

Except that Koki was already beginning to pull her away. Shiki shouted and tried to fight it, but it was no use, until-

“Now hold on, sheeple!,” said Shiba unexpectedly, as he pulled Shiki out of Koki’s arms and somehow sent her sprawling into Neku, so he was spinning away from the lever now.

“Shiba, what the hell are you doing?!” Neku protested. “If we keep this up, the weight of the water will be such that the door won’t even open! Do you want to drown?”

“Yes.”

“What?!” Everyone said at once. Shiki had not seen that coming, but perhaps she should have from someone who had already gone to these lengths to be famous. But to die over it?

“Well… no,” he swiftly corrected. “But I have no choice. Let’s be honest, Sakuraba. Your dinky arms could have never held the lever down to keep the door open long enough for your precious family to get out, and I’m the closest to it beside you. I will sacrifice myself for all of you. On one condition: When you tell the press who made this discovery, it was me.”

“Of course,” Neku said, looking at Shiba with nothing but respect in his eyes, Shiki saw. She might have tried to gauge even more then, but there was simply no time. Shiba made a soul screeching cry as he tried to press the lever down, the door opened once more and then Shiki found herself rocketing out of it into… some golden area if her eyes could be trusted?

Koki and Uzuki were just in front of Shiki, and she was so thankful to see that Neku’s parents had made it out, but then she was desperately looking behind her to see if Neku was there. Shiki didn’t have to look far. As she continued to glide on the water that was finally starting to slow down, she felt a hand slip into hers on her right side: a hand that Shiki had never been so glad to feel in her life. And the seamstress knew that if she hadn’t been afraid of finding more booby traps, she might have tried to tackle hug him right then.

Finally, the two of them got to their feet and took in the City of Gold, and it truly was a marvelous sight. Don’t get Shiki wrong. But she still didn’t really think it was worth everything that had happened to get here. And she thought she’d probably appreciate it more in the morning, when she was looking at it with the press and police, surely. Right now, she just wanted to sleep…

And Neku seemed to understand that sentiment, bless him, because he and his parents took care of most things for the moment: like finding an exit and calling said police to get them out of here.

…Though, unfortunately, the latter didn’t end up happening right away. Surely because Neku had told them about Shiba and because it wasn’t every day one found a City of Gold, after all.

But the police had been so kind as to get Shiki some coffee, and she was feeling much rejuvenated now, as she sat on a railing and talked to Neku who stood below her.

“I really do want to give us another try, Shiki… But I’ll always be me. I’ll still jump to assumptions, and that sort of thing.”

“That’s not a bad thing when it comes to figuring out puzzles, and whatnot. But with people… you still need to ask, Neku. Yes, you know I’d love to go to a dance with you know… but it still feels nice to be asked and cherished that way, you know? To not feel taken for granted?”

“I think I get it…” Neku smirked up at her. “So, how’s this as an example of me asking? Shiki Misaki, will you marry me?”

Shiki gasped. She was pretty smart, herself (book smarts and in reading Neku) and she had not seen this one coming. And yes, Neku was pretty suave at times, but damn had he knocked this one out of the park. Shiki didn’t think he’d been planning this when they’d been together before. So that meant he must have decided this recently: during the up and down rollercoaster when they found their way to each other again, and that somehow made it all the more special to her.

“I think you get an A+, you genius, you,” Shiki said, before pulling on Neku’s collar to bring him in for a sweet kiss. But when they broke apart, he still seemed confused, proving that even geniuses needed help sometimes. Somehow, the thought thrilled her. “And yes, I’ll marry you.” This time, it was Neku who kissed Shiki. And was it hot in here or was it her?

She was definitely seeing fireworks with him again… though part of that might have had to do with some of the policeman setting some off in their excitement in seeing the City of Gold. But the couple were none the wiser of that, and continued on happily kissing to the news of their engagement.

Author's Note: For BlueRosesBurnBlue/Liz, as I’ve been meaning to get this story to you for, like, two years now. I am SO sorry it took so long. I guess now it can be like a Christmas gift to you?

I also meant to get this story done for NeShiki Day back in August. But better late than never, I suppose:)

I may do more in this universe in the future, perhaps. This was actually a lot of fun!

[atlabeth]

hey! i love your zuko fics so much and was wondering if you’d like to write this, because the idea just popped up: maybe a zuko x reader fluff that takes place before/during LOK? maybe they’re reminiscing about their past adventures w the Gaang while helping out the new Team Avatar? idk it’s just that every time I see old zuko it makes me soft and emotional 🥲🔥❤️ anyways, much love! (and don’t feel pressured to do this at all, I was just thinking abt who I could submit this request to, and obvi my first choice was you 💕)

reminiscence - zuko x fem!reader

summary: just because you and your husband are retired doesn’t mean you don’t have amazing advice for the new team avatar.

a/n: this is so cute omg!! thank you so much for requesting this and thank you for much for your kind words i'm honored <33 im so sorry this took so long

sorry im posting so much lately im trying to stop slacking and publish things that have been wips for over a month sdkjfh

wc: 1.3k

warning(s): none bc i choose to ignore the news of zaheer’s plan right after this scene

-

Retirement was… nice.

You had spent your childhood fighting with the Avatar to end the Hundred Year War, a feat that was only made more difficult with your Fire Nation roots and connection to the banished prince. But all that’s well ends well, and you ended up getting your happy ending together — you had to fight hard for it, though.

You married Zuko at nineteen, three years after he ascended to the throne, and spent the subsequent years balancing your duties as Fire Lady and taking care of your daughter. Ruling the Fire Nation was a lot, but you knew you could get through anything with your husband at your side.

When he told you his plans to abdicate the throne, you were more than supportive. One of Zuko’s biggest fears was becoming his father, and by giving up his position willingly to Izumi, it guaranteed that he wouldn’t fall victim to the power-obsessed ways of his ancestors. It also gave him a well-deserved break after decades of being Fire Lord, and you were more than ready to get out of the world of Fire Nation politics. You had sat through enough meetings to fill multiple lifetimes.

But just because the two of you weren’t as involved in every day affairs of the world didn’t mean that you were completely out of it. No, that was far from the truth. You and Zuko were still some of the most important people in all of the nations, which meant it wasn’t a rare occurrence for your husband to be called off on some sort of mission.

One such mission was stopping the Order of the Red Lotus for the second time; Zuko had been part of the team that stopped them from kidnapping Avatar Korra as a child, so it was no surprise that he had been called to help for a second time. You knew even in his old age that your husband was powerful, but you couldn’t help but feel concerned about everything he was doing.

This concern was ultimately what led you to join Zuko on his trip to meet with Chief Beifong and Chief Tonraq in the Misty Palms Oasis. He had originally been against your involvement, claiming that the Red Lotus was far too dangerous, and he didn’t want to risk you getting injured in any way. You, of course, weren’t having it. “The Avatar’s in trouble, and I’d like to think I know a few things about getting out of trouble.”

One thing was certain after you arrived — it had been far too long since you had ridden on the back of a dragon. You truly adored Druk, and you felt bad for everyone that would never have the opportunity.

After conversing with Lin and Tonraq inside, you all exited to greet the new Team Avatar. If what you were told was true, then they had been through quite a lot since leaving Zaofu. For as long as you had been involved in foreign affairs, you had never met Avatar Korra nor her friends, so you didn’t know what to expect — an awestruck boy that could barely speak wasn’t at the top of your list though.

“Oh my gosh. It’s Lord Zuko and Lady Y/N. I can’t believe it!” He stared at the two of you with wide eyes, his voice getting higher and higher as he whimpered. He looked like he was going to fall over until another black-haired boy pulled him out of the way, his tone apologetic.

“Uh, forgive my brother,” he said as he put his fist against his open palm, his brother following suit. “We’re just really honored to meet you both.”

“It’s no problem,” you smiled as you and Zuko returned the greeting. It had been years since someone had reacted that way towards you, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t amuse you. “It’s a pleasure to meet you as well.”

The two boys straightened again as the taller one gestured to them each in turn. “I’m Mako, and this is Bolin. We’re Korra’s friends.”

“Ah, she’s got her own Team Avatar?” You inquired with a twinkle in your eye. “You know, I traveled with Avatar Aang years back along with my husband.”

“Of course I know!” Bolin exclaimed. “Oh, I’ve heard so many stories about your adventures, they’re all so amazing!” His eyes widened and you actually thought that he was going to fall over. “Oh, oh, could you tell us about some of the things you went through?”

“Bolin, we really shouldn’t bother them—” Mako started, but you laughed and waved it off.

“I assure you, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s not often I get to relive my journeys to such avid listeners. What would you like to hear about?”

He thought for a couple seconds then shot back up again. “What was it like when you escaped the Boiling Rock together? You guys were the first people to ever break out, right? That had to be amazing!”

You and Zuko both laughed as you shot him a look. “It was… interesting,” he said.

“By interesting, he means it was a complete disaster,” you corrected. “Everywhere something could’ve gone wrong, it went wrong. They had originally come there to rescue Sokka’s dad, but instead they found Suki and I. Then Zuko got found out and thrown into prison, our first escape plan failed, Sokka almost got found out, Azula showed up… it was honestly a miracle we made it out at all.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” he protested. “Getting thrown into prison was part of the plan, we wouldn’t have been able to get the cooler out if I hadn’t been found out.”

“I guess I can’t complain,” you chuckled. “I did get to punch you a couple times.”

“They are so cool,” Bolin whispered as the two of you went on in the background. He elbowed Mako in the shoulder and gestured towards the couple with his head. “Come on, ask them something! This is a once in a lifetime opportunity!”

“I’m not going to ask them something, Bolin—”

“Excuse me, my brother has something he wants to ask too!” Mako shot him a dirty look which quickly disappeared when you and Zuko turned to him attentively.  

“Oh, um…” He coughed and scratched his head. “I guess.. is there any advice you have for us? With this whole Team Avatar thing, I mean.” You smiled at Mako and took Zuko’s hand.

“The friendships you forge during your journey are the most important thing — they’re the things that will keep you going during your darkest moments, and they will last a lifetime. There will be mountains and valleys, ebbs and flows, but no matter what, you will hold an unbreakable bond.”

You felt Zuko squeeze your hand and turned your smile on him as you returned the sentiment then nodded for him to continue. “Never take anything for granted, and trust in fate. You’re where you are for a reason — everything will end up working out in the end.”

You grinned and kissed him on the cheek, humming in agreement. “It did, didn’t it?”

-

After a few more minutes of talking with the two brothers, they went off to join the rest of their group. It was strange being on the outside of it all after how intense your childhood was, but it was… refreshing not to have the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore.

“The world’s in good hands with them,” you murmured as you leaned your head on Zuko’s shoulder.

“They all have that same fire you had when I first met you,” Zuko chuckled. You watched the four of them conversing and a smile graced your lips.

“Oh? Then I think the world’s in very good hands.”

-

perm tag list: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin

[robininthelabyrinth]

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 13 - ao3 -

The wedding of a sect leader with the stature of Wen Ruohan was, as Lao Nie had predicted, an experience unlike any Lan Qiren had ever had before.

It was also, as Wen Ruohan had predicted, loud and full of crowds, things that Lan Qiren didn’t especially like. Luckily, despite being the groom’s ‘brother’, Wen Ruohan wasn’t requiring Lan Qiren to actually participate in any way, and he was just able to watch from a distance.

He tried not to think of Wen Ruohan’s casual admission that he had, in fact, devised the marriage just to deal with the issues with Lan Qiren’s reputation – and Lao Nie’s concern thereof, no doubt – and reassured himself that the bride was undoubtedly well prepared for her new life and would soon find her footing as the mistress of the Wen sect, where she would more than likely be happy in time.

That was how such things went, wasn’t it? Even with his sect’s notorious tendency towards love-madness, the people like his father, who married for love, were the exception and not the rule…

(He also tried not to think about the fact that Wen Ruohan accepted all the toasts for his wedding using a drinking bowl in Gusu style, painted with a border of vermilion birds, or the fact that, despite Lan Qiren having gifted a set, it was the only one of its kind on the table, leaving Wen Ruohan's new bride to drink from a much fancier gold-gilded bowl – but that was more because he didn’t understand what it meant, and wasn’t sure he wanted to.)

“Did you even get a chance to see him?” his brother asked when they returned, looking coldly disapproving.

“I did,” Lan Qiren said, thinking to himself less of the dinner that they’d shared with Lao Nie and more of the brief moment when the Lan sect delegation been about to leave, a servant appearing and whisking him off briefly back to the family quarters where Wen Ruohan, looking as composed as ever, pressed a too-familiar hand to his head and told him that he was sure he’d be seeing him again soon. “He didn’t say much.”

Nothing his brother would care about, anyway.

His brother nodded, looking unsurprised, and dismissed him, remarking unnecessarily, “You missed the first few days of classes,” as if Lan Qiren wasn’t aware of when each season of classes started for the disciples better than him. After all, Lan Qiren hoped to become a teacher one day, when he tired of traveling, and to do for future generations of the Lan sect what his teachers had done for him, and he took it as seriously as he did anything else.

The seasonal classes were his favorite, largely because such classes were open not only to the Lan sect disciples but to certain guest disciples – typically the children of rogue cultivators that the Lan sect wanted to encourage to join the sect, which meant that they had to pass through the same rigorous standards applicable to the usual sect disciples. Lan Qiren had always thought it was a shame that their classes were so limited in scope, although he acknowledged there wasn’t much to be done about it; after all, how many sects would be willing to send their children to be taught by outsiders?

A puzzle for another day.

For now, Lan Qiren made his way to the classroom, taking advantage of the lunch break to settle his things in his familiar seat at the side of the room. He hoped that coming in during the middle of the day would reduce the number of whispers that seemed to invariably greet him these days – luckily much more inclined to see him as a source of information rather than a victim or, worse, a perpetrator – but he didn’t have much faith in it.

“Hey, you’re in my seat.”

Lan Qiren looked up: it was a female disciple. Her face was unfamiliar to him, which suggested she was a rogue cultivator – while men and women lived separately in the Cloud Recesses, they came together for meals and other such events, and despite his introversion, Lan Qiren knew most if not all of his peer group by now.

“Sanren,” he said politely, rising and saluting. “Forgive me, but this has always been my seat.”

She frowned at him. “You didn’t claim it at the start of classes.”

“I missed the start of classes due to an unavoidable conflict.”

“I’ve been using it all week,” she said, and looked at him expectantly, as if anticipating an answer.

Lan Qiren wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say here. “I’ve been using it all my life. What’s your point?”

“So you’re not going to give it up for me?”

Lan Qiren stared at her. “Obviously not.”

She grinned toothily at him. “All the boys give up their seats for me. I understand that it’s a matter of etiquette.”

“Whoever told you that was lying,” he said flatly.

“Oh, I like you,” she said, and crossed her arms – an aggressive posture, although her tone, like Wen Ruohan’s, seemed more amused than anything else. How strange to see a sudden resemblance, when they very clearly had nothing else in common. “How would you know? Maybe it’s in the rules.”

Well, that was a mistake.

“Really,” Lan Qiren said, and smiled. “Why don’t we examine that supposition?”

She blinked at him, suddenly wary, but it was too late: if there was one thing Lan Qiren knew, it was his sect’s rules. Learning how to beat people over the head with them on purpose was a more recent development, and he was still working on fine-tuning that – most people started begging for mercy while he still felt irritated, but when they continued listening with apparent interest, as the rogue cultivator girl did, he swiftly forgot that he was trying to make a point and shifted over to actual enthusiasm for the subject.

“Cangse Sanren!”

Lan Qiren’s listener started and very nearly fell over – she’d put her chin on her hands at some point during the discussion of the origin of the rules regarding interactions between men and women, and hadn’t accounted for that when twisting to see who was calling her.

It was a mixed group of sect disciples, with some of Lan Qiren’s cousins and disciples of other surnames that he recognized, plus a few more that were likely rogue cultivators’ children as well.

“Oh,” she said. “You. What is it?”

“I see you got caught up in one of Lan-er-gongzi’s boring rule lectures,” one of the disciples said – one of Lan Ganhui’s friends, with Lan Ganhui himself nearby, grimacing at him in an attempt to make him stop. Lan Ganhui had gotten a lot more likely to leave Lan Qiren alone ever since Lan Yueheng had decided to befriend him, even intervening to make his friends leave off, but this time the other disciple ignored him, his eyes too focused on those ahead of him to pay him any mind; he was smiling intently at the rogue cultivator girl in a way that was clearly attempting to seem charming. “Don’t feel like you have to listen to him just because he’s main branch, you know! No one else does.”

“You shouldn’t say that,” one of the others muttered, glancing warily at Lan Qiren. It wasn’t apparent whether he was concerned about Lan Qiren’s rank, personality, or family connection.

For his part, Lan Qiren just felt tired. He would like to think that they were all part of the same sect, learning the same things, but he knew that wasn’t how the world worked. There were good people and bad in every sect, and the undercurrents that came with any community were inescapable.

“You’re joking, right?” the girl – who had the title of Cangse Sanren, apparently – said unexpectedly. “His explanation is three times more interesting than the stupid learning by rote we’ve been doing so far.”

“Learning by repetition has a long history of being the most effective way of learning something,” Lan Qiren objected. “Even the most unrepentant scoundrel would learn the rules by heart if he had to copy them down for a month, and then when that was done and the foundation built, you could get started on explaining the why of them.”

“But repetition’s not as interesting,” Cangse Sanren said. “I really liked that story about Lan Yi.”

Lan Qiren looked at her suspiciously. He’d never outgrown his tendency to speak in a dull monotone – one of his peers had once compared it to the thudding of grinding stones in a mill – and it was the rare person who actually appreciated the rules the way he did. His teachers, of course, and some of the other more studious disciples did, but even with them he’d be hard pressed to say they actually liked his rambling.

She held up her hands. “Really! I feel like I understand why she put the rule in place now, whereas before it felt like I was just learning the rule for the sake of learning the rule.”

“That’s because you need to learn the rules before you learn the background,” he said. “The rules are a house built without nails, each piece in its place doing its part to maintain the whole - one rule backs another, while being supported in turn. Only once you know what the rules are can you move to understanding the reasons behind them.”

And from understanding to accepting, allowing our ancestors’ wisdom to act as a guiding light that clears the fog from your path, he wanted to say, because he loved the rules, truly and sincerely.

People made fun of him sometimes, thinking him boring or stuffy or overly strict, with no flexibility and too little empathy, saying he was obsessed with the rules for no beneficial purpose, but to him the rules were a gift from the past to the future. The Wall of Discipline represented the accumulated life experience of dozens if not hundreds of Lan sect disciples before him, turned through debate and contemplation into advice they thought would be able to help guide those that came after them to living a good, clean, happy life. As their descendant, how could he fail to honor that which those people, who had loved him without knowing him, had strained themselves to give him?

In just the same way, it was his duty to love the future generations that had yet to be born, to act as the bridge to that unknown future, entrusted by his ancestors to carry to them the rules that would be both his inheritance and his legacy. Those nameless faces dressed in Lan white, unborn children with his brother’s face or even his own, of his cousins and fellow disciples alike, all those souls that had yet to enter this world but who he loved so much already – if he could spare them a single iota of pain through his own experience, how could he not do so, and gladly? How could he not do everything he could to give them everything he had received from the rules, that sense of pride of their history, the strength and wisdom that could be passed down no other way? How could that be a burden?

Lan Qiren had never really had the chance to explain any of that to anyone, his tongue too stiff and clumsy to convey what sometimes he felt could only be expressed in song or poetry, and he did not have such a chance now: as usual, the other disciples were already laughing, dismissing him as a teacher’s pet, overly rule-bound, obsessed with homework and test-taking, a boring old fart whose soul was prematurely aged.

“What’s wrong with being old?” Cangse Sanren asked, her voice flatter than it was before, and the boys in front of her suddenly scrambled to start apologizing so fast that Lan Qiren was left wondering what exactly he’d missed.

“Class is starting soon,” he said instead of asking, though he promised himself he’d ask around later. Surely someone would know. “Everyone should take your seat – no, Cangse Sanren, as I’ve said, that one is mine.”

She grinned unrepentantly at him and stepped back over where he’d kicked his foot out to block her. “You win, this time,” she said, and took the seat next to him with absolutely no remorse for whoever might have been sitting there before. “Watch yourself, stick-in-the-mud.”

Lan Qiren glared, though somehow Cangse Sanren’s teasing didn’t feel as annoying as the other disciples’ usually did. Even if she did make several more attempts on his seat over the course of the day, causing him to have to fend her off or think ahead to evade her latest attempt.

He initially thought that she might try to come to class early the next day to try to claim it before he did, but instead she dragged herself in only moments before class was due to start, face haggard as if waking up at the very tail end of mao hour was the equivalent to rising at yin, although she was back to her regular form soon enough, bright and clever enough to make any teacher fond of her.

This became something of a pattern, in fact – sluggish wakening, intellectual jousting during class and an unspoken competition over the seat that had formerly been reserved for him outside of it. In the afternoons she usually went off with the more martially minded disciples, while he spent his time in the library or musical halls, though at some point she started dropping off random foodstuffs by his door in the early evening as if she thought he was too thin.

“Maybe she has a crush on you!” Lan Yueheng said enthusiastically; bizarrely enough, he seemed to like romance as much as his explosions or his math.

“I think it’s a little closer to treating me like a stray cat that she found and took a shine to,” Lan Qiren said, shaking his head. All the boys in the sect would have paid in gold and jewels for Cangse Sanren to give them a second look, and she didn’t care one whit for the best of them; there was no need for her to go courting when she could get three serious offers of marriage just by winking. “Give them here, I’ll redistribute them to the younger children.”

“You can’t do that!” Lan Yueheng looked offended. “It’s her sincere offering! From the heart!”

“It’s food she purchased in town,” Lan Qiren said doubtfully. “It’s not as if she baked them herself. Anyway, I can’t eat this many sweets without getting a stomachache. What else am I supposed to do with it? Let it rot?”

“Qiren-xiong, you’re the most unromantic person I’ve ever met.”

“I’m going to assume that’s a bad thing,” Lan Qiren said, not taking offense. “Do you want some? Last offer before they’re gone.”

“…well, I mean, if you’re going to give them away anyway…”

He told Cangse Sanren what he was doing the next day, as a matter of politeness in the event that she wanted to stop once she knew what he was doing, and she just laughed – she always laughed at just about everything, he’d found. She didn’t stop delivering food, either, which he might have expected, though she did shift over into items that were easier to distribute.

Their entire mode of interacting was simultaneously very annoying and also not, and Lan Qiren didn’t have the slightest idea about what to do with it.

And then he got his first letter from Wen Ruohan.

[zozophoenixxx]

Serotonin Booster :D 🐉

How to train your dragon edition

Here are some things I had forgotten or little details I just noticed on my rewatch, maybe even Unpopular Opinions 🤭👀

✨Race to the Edge✨

SEASON 6

I love how the twins were basically the reason Hiccup figured out that Johan was the spy

NOOO THE WAY GOTHI WENT TO TRY AND STOP STOICK FROM THROWING AWAY HER MEDICINE AND THEN GOT THROWN OFF THE CLIFF WAS SO FUNNY [ep2]

Omg that fight between Hiccup and Stoick in ep2 was crazy whenever Stoick said "I'm talking to the expert in getting duped by Trader Johan" and THEN HICCUP WAS LIKE "but I was only duped for half as long as you were. So what does that make you?"

Awww the way both Toothless and Skull-crusher were trying to get them to talk

And also Astrid being the only one that wasn't caught by the Hunters right away, she's just superior bro

I love how both of them were right - Stoick was right to not trust the merchants and Hiccup was right about Johan's plan

Toothless is actually so strong like he's not only agile and clever, I mean he just flew up to the ballista and crashed against it and destroyed it without using his Plasma Blast 😎🤩

Mala and Dagur fighting over where the Dragon Eye lenses are gonna be hidden is hilarious. Mala is so calm I love it

I got chills when Atali was like "no, Hiccup, this is my island I will defend it"

I really want to know the origin of the Wingmaidens, like where did all these women come from? How come they're still there?

I love Minden and Snotlout's relationship, the way he tried to convince her to not give up AND SHE KISSED HIM!!!

Krogan's Singetail actually cares about him

Never gonna get over Adelaide Kane voicing Mala

Also Snotlout running when the dude had the razorwhip on him LIKE HE WAS LITERALLY FLYING AND HE WAS STILL RUNNING Y'ALL HAVE TO WATCH THAT SCENE I JUST DONT KNOW HOW TO DESCRIBE IT ITS IN EP3

Generations ago Fishlegs's ancestors were dragon hunters

The Loyal Order of Ingerman - decimated the Dramillion dragons, pushing them to the brink of extinction

Grump is amazing I love him

Dramillions - have both a lava blast and a magnesium blast. Omnivores. Still being hunted.

The Hunters were founded by Ingar Ingerman

The Dramillion trying to take the manacle off his tail🥺

And when Fishlegs threw his helmet and THEN THE HAND THING 😭🥺

I love the Dramillions they're so smart they learned how to get rid of the manacles by just looking at what Meatlug and Stormfly were doing 🥺

I just realized that the twins are 19 AND I FIND THAT ABSOLUTELY CRAZY HOW CAN THEY BE THAT OLD

I really wish we knew each of their birthdays like I wanna know which one's older and which one's younger

I feel like for some reason the twins would be the oldest ones then Fishlegs then Astrid then Snotlout and lastly Hiccup. Idk I'm still iffy on this

Most Thorstons don't make it to 19

I love the twins' relationship, they love each other so much that they would rather be alone and not form part of a clan than leave each other alone and the fact that other people know this too? Plsss like the only reason Gruffnut got them back into the fake induction trials was by telling them how bad it'd be for each other to not be part of a clan.

Titanwing Zippleback HOW DO THEY KNOW ITS A TITANWING IT LOOKS THE SAME AS THE OTHER ZIPPLEBACKS

"Ughh, what's the point of winning alone? Being a Thorston means nothing without him. We are one Thorston."

I love them and also technically Ruffnut won the induction trials.

THE LAST LENSE GOSH

Love how Fishlegs cares about global warming

I'm all Snotlout, Toothless and the Triple Stryke reacting to Mala and Dagur- I'm also Mala whenever someone tickles me I'LL KILL U

UGHHH I HATE HOW SNOTLOUT MADE HICCSTRID UNCOMFY FOR HAVING A DIFFERENT RELATIONSHIP

Astrid overthinking 🥺😭

"How would you like your yak cooked?" JSHDHHA

bro I love how both Tuff and Toothless noticed the betrothal necklace

"So want to deliver some scrap metal?" Hiccup baby? Why are you so oblivious?

At least he asked her if she was alright in the armorwing's island 😩

No but if I was Astrid I'd be pissed too, the dude saw a dragon eye lens from far way and didn't notice her betrothal necklace? 🙂😤

No I can't that scene was too harsh to watch, I mean I loved to see Hiccup noticing something was wrong with Astrid but then the way Astrid compared their relationship to Mala and Dagur's and then threw him the betrothal necklace... And the way he caught it too I can't- 😭😞😖😭😓🤧

Seeing the twins trying to capture Mala was hilarious JAHDHDHHSHA

I love how when they're fighting Astrid's still there for him whenever he's expected to have all the answers. She ignored her anger and went over to him and grabbed his hand and that single thing was what gave him confidence in a moment of panic 🥺

"I'm with you"

"I know"

That final Hiccstrid scene in Mi Amore Wing was just too perfect, we have Hiccup grabbing Astrid's hand to bring her outside and talk to her, the sunset in the background, every little thing Hiccup told her about being there for her and loving her with everything he had and that he should've noticed the necklace right away AND THEN THAT KISS WAS JUST AMAZING❗️❗️❗️ it was passionate and sweet and Astrid was blushing and then Fishlegs was all uncomfortable and Mala was like "okaaayyyyy😏" and Dagur like "alrighhtttt👌🏼" ig the only thing I didn't like is that Astrid didn't say I love you back 😭 but it's ok cause yk she does I just wished she had said it.

Baby razorwhips love the water

Tuffnut named the baby razorwhip that bonded with Ruffnut, Wingnutt

Top scenes of Ruff Transition ep7

Tuffnut throwing up in Ruffnut's mouth and Ruffnut throwing up in Wingnutt's mouth just do that he could be fed- seeing the windmaiden's reactions is the best lmao

Hiccup trying to teach Ruffnut how to fly (with his dragon flight suit) and then Ruffnut losing balance but Hiccup helping her regain it BUT we still get overprotective Tuffnut jumping off of Toothless to try and help but all he did was make things worse HIS SCREAM WAS HILARIOUS nonono and the way Toothless tried to help BUT AGAIN MADE THINGS WORSE 😩😮‍💨😂

Ruffnut finally figuring out how to connect with Wingnutt and fighting the dragon hunters and saving Atali was so badass and then Atali riding Barf 😭🤩

Hiccstrid kiss count (approximately) : 6😘

The way he slightly and carefully touches her face to reassure her that he'll be fine

The Singetail's only predator is the Skrill

The Berserkers used to use metal daggers to lure Skrills into traps. The dragon is drawn to it due to its electrical properties

VIGGO JUST DID THE HAND THING THING WITH THE SKRILL WTF

If I could have any dragon it'd be in this order

Skrill - it's so badass and powerful

Nightfury - it's badass, powerful, pretty, strong and fast

Deadly Nadder - it's extremely fast and agile, has multiple attacks and the spikes

Dramillion - has multiple attacks and is very smart

Just realized that ep8 is called Triple Cross because 1st Johan crossed Viggo 2nd Viggo fake crossed Hiccup and 3rd Viggo and Hiccup crossed Johan and Kogan

That episode was basically jusr to show Viggo's arc and the way he changed for the better and learned to respect dragons

That's why the Singetails wouldn't leave in ep9 whenever they were trying tp free the Deathsong- their eggs! They're in that island.

I can't with Hiccup and Astrid sitting together just chilling but with Astrid feeling guilty and Hiccup assuring her that he was also at fault 😭

I love Narrator/Author Snotlout! The titles of the chapters of his book remind me of the ones from Pjo

Stoick and Skullcrusher acting as 1 and being worried about each other 🥺 I love their relationship

Also the way Stoick bats off the shots from the Singetails with his axe just like Astrid. They're both truly warriors

No but Toothless asking for a head scratch from Gobber bc he's worried abt both Hiccup and Stoick🥺

The way Toothless tried to make Hiccup feel better- I mean the man blamed himself for putting Stoick in "his deathbed" it was just so awful seeing Hiccup in that state and the way everyone was trying to make him feel better but it was ultimately Astrid who managed to get through to him😭

I love it when they put scenes of the movies

I love how Astrid always knows what to say without lying

Looks like it's you and me, then.

Always... was that corny or-

Probably. Nice, though.

The way Astrid is so natural at being a leader and putting everyone on their places 🤩

That lil moment they had in ep12 where he holds her face and thanks her for everything and I just love them too much 😭

I love how Spitelout is so happy when he's beating ass, this dude literally goes "I'm sure I've had more fun than this. But at the moment, I can't remember when"

Have I mentioned I love the Dramillions before? I love them way too much they're amazing and the sound they make is so 😩 I love it

The Dramillion is a distant cousin of the Changewing which means the Titanwing Dramillion shares the de-cloaking ability with its subspecies.

Stormfly's spine clone was literally so badass, my girl was surrounded and she finished every single dragon flyer with it. Badass move. Wish we had seen it more throughout the series

It really pissed me off that Hiccup had to choose between getting Tuff, Ruff and Snotlout out of that sinking ship when he could've been following Krogan. Like ofc it was the right decision but that wouldn't have happened if the twins and Snotlout didn't follow Gruff into the ship :/

I love how strong Barf and Belch are! They literally carried the a Titanwing Dramillion on their own.

That scene when they figured out that the Titanwing Dramillion is not the King of Dragons but instead the last piece of the puzzle to get to the King of Dragons

When the Wingmaidens got to the battle it was amazing

Also the way Dagur was so proud that the King of Dragons was a Berserker and how Ruff was so excited to see Wingnutt and Snotlout to see Minden🥺

THEY REALIZED THAT BBYS AREN'T AFFECTED BY THE KING OF DRAGONS BC OF THE BABY RAZORWHIPS

that last Hiccstrid Scene where Hiccup is worried about Astrid's safety- I mean his face 🥺🥺🥺 and she told him that his dad would be proud and that she's proud too and when she was about to leave he held her back and kissed her 😭😭

Ik I said this before but I simp for Astrid as a leader, she's just so natural at it

Also I love how the King of Dragons has ice powers instead of fire

WAIT SO IS THE EGG THAT HICCUP FINDS IN THE FINALE THAT THEY GIVE TO VALKA IS THAT THE KING OF DRAGONS THAT VALKA CARES FOR IN HTTYD2?!!

Valka being friends with the Wingmaidens sits absoluteky right with me

no but the way Toothless hesitated when Hiccup told him to leave him and get the egg

I love how all the dragons arrived to fight the dragon flyers, it was just so poetical to me, the dragons finally getting to fight the people that hurt them 🤩

I FINISHED IT AND NOW I'M SAD!!! I loved the end tho and I'm glad we got to see Shattermaster at Dagur's wedding, also Astrid's outfit change- we love that. And them leaving the edge is just so sad bro 😭but I love how we got to see some "insight" ig u could call it on HTTYD2 😭 also seeing Snotlout and Fishlegs's love for Ruffnut start forming was hilarious

[fellowstrangetownappreciator]

The Strange Case of The Strangetown Metamorphosis

There is a mysterious Sim that appears in Strangetown.

That's like saying "there is a fish that appears in the ocean", I know, so I'll be a little more specific.

They are an adult whose memories show inconsistencies with those of their family members. Something is missing!

Alright. That's also not saying much, that's like half of the premades in vanilla, non-clean hoods.

They are immediately recognizable by their appearance and, dare I say it, have distinguishing features unique to them.

Well, that also kinda fits everyone...

They feature in more than one installment of the series.

Again, not that helpful. I mean, almost everybody from the base game hoods is (for better or worse) represented in TS3 or TS4.

They appear in TS2 for PSP!

Hmm...

They are a member of a wealthy family connected to science and paranormal.

And...

They are somehow connected to (possible) cloning.

I imagine that now you’re probably rolling your eyes and asking: Why didn’t I just simply say I was going to talk about Bella Goth?

Because... I’m not!

It’s Loki Beaker. In this mini-essay I’m going to speak about Loki, what is the mystery around him, what hints are there and what are some of the theories and which one do I fancy.

It’s basically a routine round of the popular game “connect EAxis’ oversights and glue them together into a headcanon”.

So without further ado, let me introduce you to:

The Mystery of Loki Beaker!

0: Preface: Loki who?

“As soon as he perfects his latest invention, Loki is sure to get the recognition he knows he deserves. In the meantime, he keeps himself busy by trying to assemble a nuclear reactor out of common household items.”

On the first glance, Loki as a Sim seems quite straightforward. He is a Knowledge Sim with a very eccentric personality. All his trait points are in the extremes, as you can see:

He is a scientist, a competent one at that, as proven by his high career level and the fun fact that some of the game’s horrible machinery you can buy for Aspiration points is attributed to his creation.

(It explains why are the Beakers the only ones who have the stuff lying around by default. It is normal for a Strangetown family to own a non-buyable reward object or two but those are career rewards, the Beakers are the only one who canonically own Aspiration points rewards.)

Even though he knows his stuff when it comes to his profession, he is very corrupt and tests his questionable projects on his captive, Nervous Subject.

To say that Loki is unpopular would be an understatement. No one but his wife Circe likes Loki, even his own sister is indifferent towards him. Yes, he has a sister. Her name is Erin and she also lives in Strangetown with a colorful collection of roommates.

Nothing mysterious about him so far. (apart from his eyebrows)

1: Characterization fallen apart

And then The Sims 3 happened. It was actually quite late into the game’s life cycle, the early 2013, when a beautiful nordic-themed world was released on TS3 Store. Its name was Aurora Skies and it featured Loki, Erin and their parents.

TS3 Loki is a child and Erin is a toddler.

Now I haven’t actually played Aurora Skies. I own (and love) TS3 but the price range for the Store worlds is too high for me, content-to-money wise. So there might be some hidden clues about the Beakers in their house or relationship panels that I haven’t been able to inspect but... not to sound cynical but I doubt it. I doubt such attention was given to detail of this family in Aurora Skies, as they don’t even have individual bios.

But... that is... fine? I mean, we have Loki’s TS2 bio...

Nope. Sure we do. And it would be fine if hair color and ambitions weren’t the only thing Loki and his younger self (from now on referred to as smol Loki) had in common.

Let’s take a look on smol Loki’s personality.

The first noticeable thing is that there is not a trace of Loki’s trademark villainy. He’s not Mean Spirited, he’s not Evil, he’s not even a No Sense of Humor Sim. His extreme neatness and hyperactivity are nowhere to be seen either. While it is true that TS3′s capabilities of defining personality are very limited as it picks “outstanding points” rather than a position of each trait on a scale, and it only has 5 slots (and tiny teeny 3 for children), it doesn’t make any sense still for the devs not to pick some more loki-esque traits for the precious slots they had.

Unless...

They didn’t care about Loki’s personality and there were no deeper intentions.

Unless the devs were trying to purposefully show us new angles of his character that either got suppressed while he was growing up, or manifest in ways that TS2′s scale system wasn’t able to show.

Could the Lucky trait in particular have had something to do with the change?

(Also, those traits of smol Loki are reason why I usually go for a Family Secondary Loki in TS2 and thus make Strangetown the purgatory of two unstable blonde Knowledge/Family sciency guys.)

We also must not omit that even though smol Loki didn’t display any of them, he still had all of Loki’s signature traits in him, as Loki in TS2 has his actual personality synced with the genetic one, meaning that there was something in there that caused him not to act so mean that got lost as he grew up. In other words, something brought up the worst in him.

And that’s not all. Smol Loki is not a regular TS3 child. You see, in TS3, premade children aren’t particularly known for being highly skilled experts. Neither are in TS2, for that matter, and it’s okay. It’s realistic.

Smol Loki has a skill maxed.

It is very rare for a premade regardless of age to already start with a maxed skill and I personally don’t know of any other premade children that do.

And it’s writing.

What does writing have to do with Loki? Does Loki write? Probably he has to, those academic papers aren’t gonna spawn out of thin air, but that’s not what the writing skill in TS3 (or the hidden writing skill in TS2) are about. They’re about creative writing only.

Ok, ok. How high is Loki’s Creativity skill, then? In TS2, skills are much broader, they more resemble skillsets than individual skills, and writing categorizes under Creativity. Bring out the skill panel!

Two. He has 2 points in Creativity. That is... low. That is actually very low, especially for a Sim that has supposedly been writing for fun since childhood. (and was a prodigy, while we’re at it) It is safe to say, I think, that if the player doesn’t make him do it, Loki doesn’t write anymore and he hasn’t been doing that for a long, long time.

While I would cynically admit that the dissonance in personalities might be just the lack of damns given from EAxis’ side, this seems to me too on the nose to be unintentional.

They would have no reason to bring the Beakers back without the “evil scientists” thing in mind. I mean, that’s what they’re iconic for. That’s what they’re recognizable by. (apart from their eyebrows)

So the person who was in charge of creating smol Loki probably knew they were recreating “Loki the mad scientist”.

So when they were picking the skill they use to demonstrate that this kid is gonna go far, they thought... “evil scientist = writing”...?

I would understand going for Creativity in general. I mean, Loki’s an inventor. That comes with the territory. But creativity as such isn’t really a skill in TS3. It’s divided to different activities.

Wouldn’t it make more sense just in general to pick logic, then? I mean, Loki isn’t that extremely logical by default but it is his second strongest skill and a feature unmistakably connected to being a scientist.

That’s what leads me to believe that writing plays a role in the story and it was chosen on purpose.

So how did a sweet little family-oriented boy talented with words transform into the ruthless catboy inventor we know and love?

And that, my friends, is the mystery of Loki Beaker.

2: A closer look at our environmentalist friends, the Beakers

If we want to get the full picture and come to a satisfying conclusion of some sorts, we need to inspect smol Loki’s surroundings. Maybe there is a clue to the continuous force or a traumatic event that shifted smol Loki’s direction in life?

Loki’s and Erin’s parents are named Gundrun and Bjorn. Even though their age would still allow it, they’re not present at the start of TS2′s Strangetown play, they’re long dead. Bjorn died before Erin became an adult and Gundrun died shortly before her son’s engagement to Circe. Because they died by the time Loki had (presumably) already long enrolled in his current life-path, we can safely rule out any tragic early death of parental figures scenario as a possible answer.

Gundrun is the only Beaker that canonically also writes. She has 5 points in the writing skill. She also shares some traits with Loki, namely the smarts and ambition.

But she has little to do with science and is way more business-oriented which is a trait she shares with Circe’s ancestors, for example her father. Maybe the families knew each other from business ventures even before they moved to Strangetown? It is stated in their memories that Loki and Circe first met when they were children. But I digress!

Anyway, I don’t see anything in Gundrun that would suggest any abusive behavior towards her son that might have triggered his drastic change. Possibly but not necessarily she might’ve been a bit absent but nothing out of ordinary.

And now the father, Bjorn.

Bjorn is the sciency half of the couple and works as an Aquatic Ecosystem Tweaker. Again, he has zero traits that would raise any red flags and he shares 4 out of 5 traits with either smol Loki or Loki. (I don’t know if Loki is a “natural cook” but he cooks quite well, so I think that counts.)

What’s interesting about Bjorn, though, is his speech that serves as a flavor text for the Aurora Skies store page.

(Image transcript: “Do it for science! Science is everywhere around us, but at Aurora Skies it’s not just something you learn; it’s something you do!  We need bright young minds to make the dreams of the future a reality. Even now we’re finding more uses for garbage to help the planet. Charging batteries, powering machines - the sky is the limit. Just this last year we created a modified Hot Air Baloon using garbage as fuel and turning it into pure air with a pine breeze scent.  Now you can have efficient travel and an amazing romantic adventure with no cost to the ozone (or your nose)! Every year we’re creating more and more exciting things in the world of science. Garbage-powered hearts, heart-powered cars, solar-powered cats; what will you think of next!  It’s all up to you. Do it for Science! Did you know? Hot Air Balloons are an epic form of travel based around the simple principle that hot air is lighter than cold air.  They lift in the air based on the heat system in the balloon. Increasing the temperature of the air inside the balloon makes it lighter than the air outside and the balloon begins to float.  More air is required to lift heavier things; that’s why the balloons have to be so huge! How cool (or hot!) is that?”)

From this piece of text we can see Bjorn’s passion and dedication to “green” science. Nothing in his traits suggests he fakes it, so I think it’s safe to believe that this peppy idealist is a glimpse into Loki’s father’s genuine self.

He might have encouraged his children to follow in his footsteps (”We need bright young minds to make the dreams of the future a reality.“) and smol Loki, who later in life seemed to have similar levels of enthusiasm (science is his One True Hobby), might have been receptive to that.

Now just close your eyes for a second and imagine an alternate reality in which Loki picked up where Bjorn left and instead of a energy-refilling machine that electrocutes you if you’re not happy enough, he invented “solar-powered cats”.

Still no hints on what could’ve messed Loki up, though.

Let’s take a look at the parents in TS2. Even though they’re not present and aren’t even resurrectable, they’re still coded in the game for purposes of genetics, memories and family trees, so some of their characteristics are salvageable.

And by the Watcher, they were both Romance Sims.

They were workaholic Romance Sims who cared about the environment and liked recycling (and Hot Baloons).

And they were both extremely Nice and very Sloppy, if their personalities on wiki are something to go by. Which they unfortunately aren’t, at least not completely because most ancestors don’t simply have “their own” personalities and use presets instead, so they tend to be quite similar.

The same goes for most of the Beaker clan, unfortunately. Fun fact is that there is no Knowledge Sim in sight (before Loki, of course). Maybe they weren’t a scientist family, but a bunch of Romance Sims who used to spend their free time in between woohoos saving the planet with eco-science. (3 out of 6 of Loki’s and Erin’s ancestors were Romance Sims, 2 were Fortune and 1 was Family)

But! There is one outlier. Her name is Gertrude Beaker. She is Loki’s paternal grandmother.

And similarly to her grandson, she certainly has a personality to remember.

She doesn’t use a preset, this is a personality that someone went and manually assigned (...or generated) for her. And she is Neat, Outgoing and doesn’t have a nice bone in her body. But unlike Loki, she has a sense of humor (which makes her even more dangerous, in my opinion) and is extremely Lazy.

She is a Fortune Sim and the only Beaker who shares the darker sides of Loki’s personality. (to be clear, I don’t mean their taste for cleaning but the round 0 of Nice points)

Because she doesn’t feature in TS3 at all, it is safe to say that she wasn’t in her grandchildren’s lives until the family moved to Strangetown. Could she be the corrupting influence on smol Loki?

As far as personality comparison goes, she seems to be the only possible culprit, the only one who’s personality shares the same unpleasant qualities he became infamous for. But! That’s not saying much. There is no evidence she actually did anything.

There’s not even any evidence that she ever met her grandson, given he has no memory of her dying which means she might have died before he was even born. That would be a solid evidence on the contrary and would rule her out. But I’m leaving some maneuvering space for theories here because she is the only Beaker ancestor with custom personality, after all, and that is suspicious.

That’s all the Beakers we know of if not counting Atom and Ceres, who came after Loki, so they’re not relevant to the question of his childhood. Or... are they?

3: And that’s when the trouble began

Another part of this question that might help us discern what happened to Loki is the when. All we know so far is that there is a big void of unknown between smol Loki and regular Loki and the point of transformation happened in there somewhere.

Thankfully, we have something to give us an idea. It’s this snapshot in storytelling pictures for the Beakers:

It shows smol Loki destroying a dollhouse. It seems to be in an impersonal environment of some sorts. The cheapest bed in the game is against a bare white wall, the window is hid behind blue curtains and there doesn’t really seem to be anything else but the dollhouse, a teddy bear in the background and that... very unpleasant bed.

It clearly tells us that Loki’s shift started in his pre-teen years.

And seeing that room which is definitely not in the Beaker Castle at 1 Tesla Court, it makes me think of a hotel or a cheap apartment the family was staying in while moving from Aurora Skies to Strangetown. Maybe the castle-like something the household inhabits at the start of the game wasn’t a property of the Beakers at all, maybe that was where the Salamises used to live and now it belongs to Circe?

Anyway, could it had been leaving Aurora Skies that sent smol Loki down an existential crisis and settling in the not exactly welcoming environment of Strangetown, enrolling in a local school, that sealed it?

But why all the stuff with writing? This would work with any other hobby but somehow it had to be writing and it’s our task to find out why.

4: Not your average tragedy

Now in our search we already have some ideas but it wouldn’t be thorough if we didn’t take into account smol Loki’s actual personality. I mean, we went into what traits he doesn’t have but what about those he has?

Namely Lucky and Family-Oriented.

I think Lucky is a very interesting choice. There’s nothing inherent about Loki Beaker that would make you go “that’s one lucky guy!” (if you don’t count his relationship with Circe as a stroke of luck, that is) and the same goes for smol Loki.

But... it could be a clue. His metamorphosis either couldn’t be triggered by trauma because he’s lucky and it would avoid him, or it must’ve been something tremendously horrid so he’s lucky he’s still alive.

Now we know we are searching for something that happened in his late childhood, verging on the start of his teenage years. His family was going through the turmoil of moving to a desert and he has already known his future partner Circe. Meanwhile Erin-

Oh, wait. Erin.

Smol Loki was Family-Oriented which implies he would probably have a good relationship with his little sister, as he would’ve naturally inclined to protect her and help his parents take care of her. But!

Not only do they have an amicable but distant relationship as adults but Erin seems to forget that Loki even existed in her childhood.

He has the usual set of memories of a sibling growing up well but she doesn’t, she has no Loki-related memories at all, not even of his marriage, which was a quite recent event.

Could the reason for Loki’s “downfall” be somehow related to his sister? Was there a dramatic event in which she lost a part of her memory?

5: Theories!

Ok, we’re finally here! Now I try to present some theories about what might’ve happened.

1. Burdens of the golden child

In Aurora Skies, Loki used to be the little wonder every relative was gushing about. With his father as an acclaimed scientist and a very liked person in general, there was little to no adversity his son had to face. He followed his passion and having nobody to really compare himself to, nor anybody who would terrorize him, he prospered.

But then the Beakers moved. Strangetown was... different. It was way smaller than Aurora Skies, so everybody inherently knew everybody and everybody had to interact with everybody... because the small space of a desert community didn’t leave them with any choice. And it was bleak and unfriendly. No one except for the Salamises knew the Beakers, so they found themselves under scrutiny from their new neighbors.

So Loki, who used to live thinking he was unique, was now sitting everyday in a much smaller classroom with Pascal and Vidcund Curious, whom he was immediately being compared to. But he wasn’t like the Curiouses. He was a kid of a scientist but wasn’t a science kid. He didn’t have much in common with Pascal who approached him and tried to befriend him at first but he wanted to. In Strangetown, nothing seemed to be cooler than being really, really into science. Pascal’s and Loki’s communication attempts were rather poor, though, and in the end, they never made friends. Loki slowly began to disdain the oldest Curious boy and it culminated a few years later in high school when Pascal made an attempt to woo Circe. It was even worse with Vidcund. Ever since Loki’s first day at the new school, Vidcund had been eyeing him with a disgusted look and Loki became quick to reciprocate.

In Strangetown, nothing seemed to be cooler than being really, really into science. Even Circe was on it! She was the only person his age he has know in Strangetown before his family moved in and he liked her. Not “like” liked her, yuck! But he thought she was cool. Her family used to visit the Beakers in Aurora Skies and they played together. She was a friend! Or so Loki thought. She seemed to like hanging out with the Curiouses much more.

In Strangetown, nothing seemed to be cooler than being really, really into science, yes. But not in the eyes of Buzz Grunt, the son of a general who lived in Strangetown. Their family were the self-proclaimed protectors of the hood but at the same time they weren’t shy to show a strong distaste for all that made Strangetown an important desert settlement in the first place. And little Buzz, although Loki doubted he understood the nuances, was very fond of asserting his dominance over his less sporty and hyper-masculine classmates.

Suddenly jealous of the Curious brothers, under pressure from both the adults and his peers comparing him to them and bullied by Buzz, Loki’s social life fell apart. He started having problems... and he came up with solutions. He has always liked science but from back then on he hyperfixated on it to prove everybody who picked on him for being a worthless parody of a science kid wrong.

Not only his social life and self-confidence were busted, though. Moving away from Aurora Skies to Strangetown that had much higher prices for housing because of the limited space, the living standards for the Beakers lowered. It was chaotic and uncomfortable. Plus, almost everybody in Strangetown was loaded. Why, Circe and her parents lived in a small castle! Loki felt like they’re the only “poor” family around and it played into his new-found insecurities.

And then there was Erin’s accident. She suffered a severe head injury and even though she fortunately survived, she was never... the same. She had issues with her memory. Loki tried to convince himself that he’s big enough not to cry but when they were visiting Erin in the hospital and she didn’t recognize him, he cried. It was his little sister! And... it was all his fault anyway! If he was quicker and pushed her to safety, she would’ve been fine! Or even better, he wished the car would’ve hit him instead.

Loki was becoming more and more snappy, focused on his grades and projects, unavailable. The siblings never mended their relationship, Erin, even though she recovered, never got to make new memories with her brother. Not remembering them growing up together, he was like a stranger to her. A scary mean teenage boy she didn’t know and, even though she was a very friendly child, she was too intimidated to willingly spend time with him. And Loki was always busy and moreover, he felt guilty and inexplicably angry, so he postponed approaching her, until it was too late, he was in college, she was in high school and it was too awkward.

And... there was no time to write anymore.

2. Gertrude the Neat and Mean (and Lazy)

Ok, Loki doesn’t have any memories of his grandma. But hear me out! Erin does not have any of him either and yet they met. This theory doesn't require any additional write up – he simply got under the influence of his 0 Nice points granny and she cultivated him to be just like her.

My personal take: This is maybe my least favorite theory of them all, even though it is quite straightforward. It doesn't take much into consideration and demonizes Gertrude, who as far as we know, might not done anything wrong.

3. The accident

This theory takes advantage of TS3's canon sciency machinery, namely Cerebralizing Brain Enhancing Machine 2.0.

It can, among other things, change a Sim's personality. There is (quite unfortunately, in my opinion) no chance of consequential failure in the actual game, the most it can do is to (non-fatally) electrocute your Sim. But...

Imagine smol Loki sneaking into his dad's laboratory, most probably at his workplace.

He was curious. Ever since his father showed him all the equipment in there, all he could think of was the machine that made people smarter.

Maybe it could make him smarter?

I mean, Loki knew he was already quite smart. At least, he's been told he was and he had no reason not to believe it.

But he could be even smarter.

He could be like his dad. Or his mom. Or Erin. Everyone was talking about how clever young Erin seemed. Loki was proud of her but part of him just wanted that, too.

So what if... he went to dad's laboratory, just for a little while, and made himself smarter?

He made all the necessary preparations. It meant to memorize dad’s schedule, so he knew just the time when he could sneak into the laboratory. It also meant to get a good costume so he won’t be recognizable on the security footage!

And then finally, he was ready. To infiltrate the laboratory was easy enough but it only made Loki more nervous. He was on the edge but determined. He wanted to make it big in the world. He needed to seize the opportunity. And fear... fear was there to be ignored! Hands, stop trembling!

His confidence grew a bit once he got to the machine itself. He knew how to run it thanks to his dad and it made him feel competent and ready.

Little did he know that there was a huge oversight. Although Loki could operate the technology on a very basic level, his knowledge went nowhere near deep enough for him to detect that the machine has yet another set of settings and those currently expect an adult user. It wasn’t configured for a child patient.

But unaware of that, the boy in his patchy dinosaur costume climbed on top of the machine and with his eyes wide open and his heart racing he connected the Brain Enhancer to his system. Then, with his hand sweating, he pushed a button on a remote he was clutching to.

When Bjorn, alerted by Loki’s screams, rushed into the laboratory, it was way too late.

As his terrified father was calling the ambulance, the child was alive and even still awake. He was too weak to cry. He just watched Bjorn, wishing for death and looking for signs of wrath in father’s eyes.

There were none. Only fear.

Physically, Loki Beaker managed to recover just fine. With the power of advanced medicine and plastic surgery, the burns he suffered were reduced to nothing but almost invisible scars.

But inside, he was never the same. Literally. Even though the procedure backfired horribly, it still worked to some extend - but even that extend was warped. Loki succeeded in giving himself the Genius trait but several of his traits were replaced also, including the Lucky trait that probably saved his life.

6: Conclusion!

I like Loki very much. (no sh*t, who would’ve guessed) He’s a very controversial and over-the-top character who tends to be rather unpredictable in the actual gameplay. I started writing this giant thing to find an answer to his backstory that would satisfy me and hopefully also some of you.

With a heavy heart I conclude I’m not successful.

First I have to admit I originally planned to present 5 theories instead of 3 but I scrapped 2 of them.

First was about Atom time traveling and replacing Loki, creating himself again and again in a time loop (would explain the huge personality difference between smol Loki and Loki-Atom) and it was very far-fetched but fun, alas I realized it was out of character for Atom, since he seems to love his sister and his Plumbot so much he would hardly leave them behind to pull that off.

The second was about Nervous and the corrupting power of Death he has inside that would slowly drive Loki and Circe “evil” even though it’s unclear whether they first adopted him with being a lab-rat in mind. But it would not make sense since a change like that would be visible on their personality panels. That’s not that important, though. What made me not include this theory is that it feels uncomfortably victim blame-y. It’s not directly since it wouldn’t be Nervous’ fault anyway but any attempt to shift the blame from Loki and Circe in this situation feels uncomfortable.

(To be clear, I don’t think the Beakers deserve demonization. In my opinion, the best way to treat them narrative-wise is like eccentric people capable of feeling love and doing good things sometimes, yet irredeemably self-centered, morally bankrupt and deserving a lifetime in jail for child abuse they have done on Nervous. Not one-dimensional but still villains and still objectively bad people.)

And those 3 theories above? They could’ve been better.

I think I like the first the most, even though I still feel like something is missing. I just tend to like relatively grounded explanations and this one doesn’t feature the supernatural nor any deus ex machina gadget.

What about you? And do you have any other theories? Sky’s the limit! It’ll make my day to hear them!

Whatever your takes are, they’re all valid.

[aegonbeingfakeisracist]

I love a6 but its unfair how he has more connections to the rhoynish culture than his martell family members. This is why it should have been rhaenys instead.

It was certainly a choice to have Arianne and Quentyn so disconnected from that heritage. It’s not that it’s unrealistic from a modern perspective, at all, but when it comes to the specific context of the story, where all people can recite very detailed stories from their family history and they are extremely proud of the impressive feats of their ancestors, to have Arianne and Quentyn take such an academic view on the Rhoynar, rather than having any kind of emotional connection, is questionable. It’s especially egregious in Quentyn’s case.

Arianne can at least provide Myrcella with an explanation - Nymeria burning her ships, the orphans of the Greenblood mourning, the songs to Mother Rhoyne. Quentyn literally looks at the Rhoyne and does not think about his ancestors. His reaction to the dragons has no connection to his forebears’ experiences. Arianne at least identifies strongly with Princess Nymeria and so there’s a theme present in her chapters about leadership and women in power that’s couched in Martell family history. But Arianne, too, is disconnected. She explains the Rhoynar on Garin’s behalf. She thinks of and admires her country’s national heroine, but never really in terms of how she led her people to safety and brought elements of their culture into Dorne. This is despite the fact that Arianne is in a unique position among her family members in terms of what framing her story in terms of her cultural heritage could yield. On a surface level, yeah, because she’s a woman from a family descended from a legendary female figure and where the balance of power has historically been led by women, but there’s much more to it. 

Think about the Rhoynish legends of the Long Night - their story doesn’t involve a sword ending it but a negotiator. Just as Nymeria won her people a home through negotiating for an alliance with Mors Martell, by leaving Ny Sar instead of fighting, the Rhoynish story of what ended the Long Night was a diplomat. That’s Arianne’s entire thing - she’s good with people. She likes people. Every success she has is a result of her talking to people and convincing them to see her way. This makes her unique amongst her family, because who else do we see with that skillset? Not Oberyn, who prefers to act, physically fighting the Mountain with his spear. Not Quentyn, who fails in his negotiations with Daenerys. Not even Doran, who for all his similarities with Arianne lies. But Arianne, whose manipulations don’t involve lying, who doesn’t fight physically, who succeeds when she sets out to convince people to side with her. It would be so cool for this to be tied with an actual cultural connection to the Rhoyne.

I’m not sure I agree about the Aegon thing. Certainly, if it can only be one character with that connection, I’d want it to be Arianne every day of the week. And I definitely agree that it would have been more powerful for Rhaenys to have lived. However, I don’t think I agree that this specifically is one of the reasons that’s true. Aegon is every bit as Dornish as Rhaenys is, even though he resembles their father moreso than their mother. He deserves to have this connection to his maternal heritage. And I think it would be a not-great choice for the emphasis being on Dornish-looking Rhaenys having more of a connection to her mother’s heritage than her brother when she is the elder. As compelling as her potential struggle with this conflict could be and as much as it could be very interesting for her to want to lean into the side of her family that embraces her in a way that her grandfather never did,  Rhaenys also has more reason to lean into the idea of being a Targaryen than either Aegon or Daenerys - she was a Targaryen princess in real terms. She actually lived in Westeros. Aerys sneered at her, but Rhaella loved her. If handled delicately, the idea of her clinging to her Targaryen heritage and eventually forging an identity that is both Martell and Targaryen, or even ultimately renouncing what’s Targaryen in favour of what’s Martell, could be powerful. But it’s iffy to have Rhaenys, the Targaryen princess with a better claim to the throne than Daenerys and actual firsthand experience with being a Targaryen, be more heavily associated with the other side of her family than her white passing half brother, you know? He may not look it, but it’s his, too.

The issue really to me is Arianne and Quentyn. Because with Rhaenys and Aegon, it would be a kind of gross point no matter which of them it was - the Targaryens get more of a connection to Rhoynish culture than the Martells??? They should get that connection. But Arianne and Quentyn should also have that.

[ragrottend0ll]

School Crush (Vinira Fanfic)

(In december I posted this little idea and now I decided to started it, hope you enjoy and forgive the misspelling, english isn’t my first lenguage)

Chapter one:

‘‘I like girls’’. Emira started.

‘‘I like girls, too’’. Amity seconded after a few seconds of silence.

‘‘Ok...’‘. Alador responded a little shook. ‘‘I-- Wow, yeah, ok.’’

‘‘Is that all you are gonna say, dad? Really?’’. Asked Emira. She didn’t spend seven years in the closet for just to get an ok.

Alador shruged a little. ‘’Congratulations...?’’

‘‘Fine, that’s better’‘.

The Blight siblings and Alador were hanging out. This was something that have been happening some time ago. At first it started as a sisters’ night, just for Amity and Emira, but then Edric discovered this and was begging, crying and basically annoying his sisters for let him ‘’in’’. 

He finally achived it.

So, every friday night, while their parents were in important meetings or fancy restaurants, the three would reunited in Emiras’s room and just talk. Sometimes they watched a series or practice some makeup. Even tried on clothes from either Edric or Emira. Sometimes they would sing a karaoke or just talk about their day, their friends, Luz, and throw bullshit of their parents.

They didn’t need to worry about the mansion’s staff. They all like them and have never said something bad of them to their parents. Plus, some have sewn up mouths so... Anyway.

What they did not expected was that, one night, their father would return early. 

Alador was honestly tired. He have been awake for three days straight and needed some sleep. Even when his lovely wife, Odalia, told/demanded him to stay awake and attend another important meeting, he denied. Alador was sure that, if he stayed awake for another hour, his body will just collapse.

When he arrive to the mansion, the buttler (he never can remember his name, really) was there and took his coat. Alador didn’t wait more and went upstairs. The Bight manor was splendant, huge and, now that he was walking alone through the corridors full of old portraits in the middle of the night, he would consider it spooky.

The portraits gave him chills in his back. He felt like the eyes of his wife’s ancestors were following him in every step he took. 

‘‘I wouldn’t be surprise’‘, Alador tought. ‘‘They may be haunted for real’’.

‘‘I should probably ask Odalia about it’’.

Alador walked to his bedroom’s door, and when he was about to open it he heard something.

It was a scream. 

‘‘The kids’’. He tought.

Alador ran as fast as his tiredness allow him to the wast wing, where the children’s bedroom were. The screams kept going, ‘’Where is the staff?’’ Alador asked himself mentally. His kids could be diying and non of the guards he hired were even near.

The screams were coming from Emira’s room. But the shouting didn’t sounded like Emira.

He looked at Amity’s and Edric’s doors. They haven’t come out and their doors were closed. Alador was tempted to open the other two door, but decided not to. If his children were being kidnaped, he’ll deal with the kidnapper in Emira’s room first.

Alador took a deep breath and casted a spell, ready to attack if he needed to. He opened the door, fast and hard. What he saw let him speechless.

There was no kidnapper. There was no danger.

But, he really didn’t know what to think about the scene that was display infront of him.

Emira’s room was a disaster. There were snacks in the ground, Alador wonder if Odalia would be mad about it, he answered himself almost inmediatelly with a yes. The room was dark, except for the karaoke that, Alador supposed, one of the twins bought.

Edric was lying in the floor with a microphone in his left hand, while his right hand where finger-brushing his hair. Oh, and he was using Emira’s lastest grom dress and a twelve centimeters tall heels. 

Amity was sitting in the little sofa that Em buy two years ago. Her face had some very excentric makeup, specially her eyes. A wildly combination of pink, glitter and black. With red-sparkled lip gloss. Her triangular earings were replaced with a pair of Emira’s expensive earings that were only used for important meeting or fancy parties. She was wearing her regular pajamas, with the slight difference that, over her pants, she was wearing a puffy skirt. And that her feet were covered with long cowboy boots. 

 Emira was sitting in her bed, face was covered in some kind of skin care treatment. A phosphorescent green skin care treatment. Even with that, she was the most normal looking of the three. All her makeup was in the bed, (probably the responsable of Amity’s face) and her hand was grabbing her scroll, that was recording Edric’s  performance, before he opened the door, at least. The scroll was still recording, by the way. Em didn’t have time to stop it before his father abruptely came in the room.

The Blight siblings were looking at him like deers flashed by a light. Each of them praying in their heads that if they don’t move Alador wouldn’t be able to see them, like some of the animal in the isles.

‘‘You... uhm,... arrived early’‘. Edric stated the obvious, crearly nervous. But, can you blame him? Not everyday your dad found you wearing a dress and using heels . Actually that never really hapened to him. 

The music of the karaoke was still playing. Alador connected the dots and figured out that his son was the responsable of the screams.

‘‘Yes, I did’‘ Alador responded. He never had been a man of words, but in this moment he didn’t know what would be the correct way to react.

Should he scold them for being up at one in the morning making a fuss? Or He should just close the door and pretend that none of it happened?

He was definitely going to ask the servants if this was something that happened often and why they had not reported those... meetings that their children did.

‘‘Mom’s here, too?’‘ Amity asked. Her face now was now also covered with a strong blush of embarasment, that reached even her neck.

‘‘No, she is still in the meetong with the Hogson’s’‘ Alador answered.

‘‘Do you want to talk this now, or would you preffer to wait until the sun comes out?’‘ Alador asked. He wan’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but the words came out of his mouth even before he could think about it. That was something that didn’t happened to him since high school.

The kids glare at eachother and said a ‘’now’’ at the same time. If they waited for the sun, Odalia was probably going to arrive and they didn’t wanted to have that conversation with their mother. 

None conversation, actually.

‘‘Alright’‘ their father said ‘‘Clean your faces and put on presentable clothes’‘ 

And with that he leave the room.

‘‘That could have been worse, right?’’ Edric said. He finally stoped doing the pose with his hand trought his hair.

‘‘Yeah...’’ Emira answered him ‘‘Mom could have catch us’’

‘‘Titan forbid’’ Amity said.

Once they cleaned their faces and put on their pijamas, the three siblings made their way to Alador’s office, who has completely forgot how tired he was.

They were nervous, Edric, specially. And were honestly surprised when the scolding was more about how they broke the curfew than about all the mess they did. 

And after that, things evolved rapidly. The kids felt better in Alador’s pressence than ever before. They trusted their father even more because he didn’t said a thing to Odalia, and even gave the order to the servants to keep those meetings as a secret. 

 Two months later, Alador found himself spending the family-bonding-time, as Edric renamed it, with his children. The bonding-time had to be moved to saturday’s night, because Alador had the obligation to go to the meeting on friday. But the kids weren’t mad at all.

‘‘Dad?’’, Edric called for him. It has been five minutes since Emira and Amity’s comming out and Alador haven’t said anything esle since the congratulations. ‘‘Girls, I think you shouldn't have done it at the same time; now you’ve killed him’’.

‘‘We didn’t!’’ Amity shouted inmediately.

‘‘No, I think we actually did it, Mittens’’ Emira seconded.

‘‘I’m fine’’ Alador said some time later. The twins were disscussing if they should call an ambulance or just leave their dad there. Emira was drafting in her mind all the possible ways to hide Alador’s corpse in the manor, too. You have to be careful, right?

Alador sit up straight in the couch were she was lying. Before his both daughters come out to him some minutes ago, they were all watching a movie. If Alador had to be honest, he wasn’t really paying attention. He was falling asleep. This week has been rough, but for no reasom he would cancel the saturdaynight bonding time™. 

‘‘None of my kids are straight, huh?’’ Alador thought. 

Ok, to be fair, Edric haven’t come out to him (yet), but Alador prectically confirm his son’s orientation when he founded him performing when he discovered that friday sisters’ night. No straight, cis, man would use a dress and heels. Not even walk on them in the propper way Edric managed to do. 

‘‘So, uhm, are you... mad or...?’’ Amity began.

‘‘Oh, no. No!’’ Alador answered, with a little laught that lately the siblings were more used to hear ‘‘I’m actually kind of relive.’’

‘‘Relieve?’‘ Edric asked, genuinely curious.

‘‘Indeed. I don’t have to worry about any potencial boyfriend and the concecuences that would imply-’’

‘‘Shut!’’ Amity and Emira shouted at the same time. ‘‘The school already teach us that. No need to repeated.’’ Emira continued.

‘‘I was talking about a heartbroken, but yes, sexual education is very important too.’’ Alador said. And, tho he seemed serious, he was teasing his daughters.

‘‘So, you are ok with this?’’ 

‘‘Yes, Amity.’’ 

Actually, I’m kind of a pansexual, myself. Alador tought,  but keep shut.

The movie was paused. Probably since some time ago but Alador didn’t notice. He glare at Emira’s wall clock. 12:05, it marked.

It was early, Odalia wouldn’t be back until three in the morning. Anyway he open his scroll to verify that his wife haven’t texted him or something.

There was nothing, as expected. Only Odalia’s last message where she told him that she was going to leave the party at 1:45 and was expecting been home around 3:00 a.m.

‘‘So,’‘ Alador started ‘‘any particular reason to tell me your orientation?’’ 

Yes, it was sweet, but Alador did knew his daughter a little and can almost tell that, at least Emira had something else to say. 

‘‘No, no reason.’’ Amity answered. ‘‘Just to tell you with Em.’’

Alador look at his older daugher, waiting for her answer. 

Yes, they were closer than bever before, but the sad truth was that even if his children did trusted in him, he didn’t think that they trusted him that much. 

It was reasonable, not less hurting, but understandable.

‘‘Well...  You see, er. Ok, so. I actually wanted to tell you because, uhm....’’

Alright, now this was new. Alador never in his life had heard Emira stutter.

All his children were raise to be the embodinment of perfection, as Odalia describe it. The three took classes of everything. From music to etiquette, and diction was not left behind.

Now, Alador was sincerely curious.

‘‘There’s this girl in the school, and well-’’

‘‘Emira has a big crush on her.’’ Edric interrupted.

‘‘But Emira can be around her without being a red mess.’‘

‘‘You are one to talk, huh, Mittens.’’ Emira asked. Her cheeks were already a little blushy.

Amity looked away and Emira continue: ‘’My point is, that, her dad is kinda, a little... short budget. And-’’

‘‘Emira, I love you, but if that girl is using you for your money-’’

‘‘No! She isn’t! Sh doesn’t even know that I liked her’’

‘‘Well that’s debatable’’ Edric said ‘‘It’s really obvious and Viney it’s not as oblivious as Luz, plus-’’

‘‘Who’s Luz?’‘ Alador asked.

‘‘It doesn’t matter right now’’ Emira stated. ‘‘The point is, dad, that she didn’t even tell me his dad was in a little hurry. I was walking towards her and she was talking to her friends about it and I just heard a little. When I told her I could give her some snails she declined and actually was pretty mad about it, until last week, when I apologized. But I really want to do something about it.’’ Em talked fast, but Alador, as the good listener he had always been, didn’t missed anything.

‘‘And how can I help?’’ Alador asked.

‘‘Well, you can make him get a job? Maybe here in the manor or somewhere else. Her dad is in the construction coven, I think he is like, the right hand of the leader.’’ 

Alador hummed. Contruction coven right hand? He was a right hand once, before he was level up to coven leader. And he knew very well the salary of the seconds on board. It was a great amount of snails.

‘‘And before you say something like ‘she’s scamming you’, I want you to know that her family is really big. She has like, twelve siblings, not including her.’’

Alador sigh.

‘‘She really is a good person, dad. And if I can help her, I will.’’

‘‘She’s one of the noblest people we’ve met. There’s no danger’’ Edric said in favor of Emira’s propose. 

Alador looked to Amity, who haven’t said much, and asked her with his eyes for her opinion.

‘‘I don’t hang out with her a lot, but she’s indeed good.’’

‘‘Well, I guess I have no other option, do I?’’

‘‘Thank you, dad!’’ Emira shouted and jump to her dad’s lap to trap him in her arms in a tigh hug.

‘‘I don't promise anything, but I'm going to see what I can do.’‘ Alador responded and hug Emira back. 

He looked at Edric and Amity and with a head movement he invited both of them to join the hug. 

Edric took Amity’s hand and join to it.

Well, Alador thought, I guess I have some work to do now.

[sockodot]

Writer’s Month Day 3: Outside

So this is about Aloy and Varl from Horizon: Zero Dawn. Varl goes outside of his comfort zone about the Old Ones and Aloy goes out of it by trusting him. This is a snippet of probably a larger work but here you go.

Word Count: 1073

   Varl stares down at the focus in his hand. “It’s Old One’s tech.” Forbidden is what he doesn’t say. Aloy doesn’t think, wraps her fingers around his wrist.

   “It was meant for you.” At that, Varl looks up at her sharply, confused. “This school, this place of learning was meant for the children here-” she squeezes his wrist “-your ancestors. If things had gone to plan, then everything would be different. The whole world would have been different. We would constantly be using Old One’s tech.” She looks away, bitterness creeping up. “Instead, Apollo’s dead and HADES was almost unleashed upon the world.” She still gets angry when she thinks about what she discovered at GAIA Prime. Apollo’s fate, the Alphas’ fate. Fucking Ted. Varl speaks again and she looks back at him.

   “You said All-Mother- GAIA created you to stop HADES.” Aloy tilts her head, not knowing where this is going.

   “Yes.”

   “Then you wouldn’t have existed if things had gone to plan.”

    He’s not saying anything she hasn’t considered before. This thought is one of the many that creep on her at night. But she’s not sure they’re thinking the same way. “And I don’t think I want to live in a world without you in it.” Definitely not what she meant. It’s like her breath has been punched from her with his statement.

   It’s still weird to feel wanted. All her life, being shunned and cast aside. She’s not used to someone wanting her around, it’s always came with a condition. Help me find my sister, take care of these bandits, find this person, stay in Meridian to become my second and let’s get together. Okay, she did forgive Avad for that but now its less embarrassing and more ridiculous. And she was happy to help her friends because it’s the right thing to do. She can help these people so she should. Rost’s last lesson…

   And Varl- something’s just different. He doesn’t call her Anointed anymore, has less of that reverence when he’s with her. She can be a person with him. And he wants her around, not for her to do anything for him but simply because he wants.

   “Oh.” Is what she settles on. Varl smiles at her, sheepish.

   “Yeah well.” He ducks his head, rubs the back of his neck. He stares down at the focus once again and belatedly she realizes she’s still holding his wrist. Jerkily, she lets go, lets her hands hang at her sides. Now she’s all too aware of them. “How does this work exactly?” Aloy breathes a sigh of relief. Old One’s tech she knows, feelings not so much.

   “It lets you read and see Old One’s tech and writings. Explains how they work. Shows valuables around an area, how machines work, their weaknesses, and tracks. It works for any enemy really.” She tilts her head. “It’s very… knowledgeable.” She scratches the back of her head. “I’m not entirely sure of the inner workings of it.” They meet eyes once more and she chuckles a little. “Didn’t want to take mine apart in case I couldn’t put it back together again.” He smiles.

   “Smart, but now you have a whole slew of them.” Varl spreads an arm around them.

   “True. In fact,” she walks over to another stall, and another, and another, gathering up focuses. “You reminded me on why I came here in the first place.” She grabs two more. Some to tinker with.

   “Oh?” Varl questions.

   “I said I was planning on going west?” At his nod, she continues. “Well, I have some ideas.”

   “You want to give the focus’ out, right?” She nods, once again relieved that he’s picking this up.

   “I- I’m used to working alone, fighting alone. But with the battle of HADES, everything I’ve learned and been through, everyone I’ve met… It wouldn’t be bad to have a few backups and a way to contact people given that I’ll be so far.” She hesitates again, still that small bit unsure, still just that much untrusting. She said it, she’s not used to allies, to friends. “And people want to help me. I’m…. trying to accept that.” She looks at Varl again, not sure when she looked away. His smile lights up the room better than the screens around them. He takes a step forward, and another one.

   “That’s good Aloy.”

   “Yeah.” She looks away again. They’re right back to feelings and emotions. And her plan isn’t even finished yet, by the sun its barely even a draft but- it seems useful, strategical, and there’s a part of her that wants it.

   Ever since she was a little girl she wanted that connection, that community. It’s gotten smaller over the years, of course, but it’s still there. She wants people, even if she has no idea how to interact with them and sort of hates doing so. There’s a reason she keeps company with ghosts and secrets, after all.

   “Anyways,” she clears her throat. “I should be able to like, sync these so we can communicate over distances.”

   “You can do that?” With Varl’s excitement she’s able to push away her own complicated feelings.

   “Yeah. Think of like a net across the world, linking focuses.” She uses Sylen’s own example because it just makes the most sense right now. For Varl and for her. “You just need to activate your focus.” She stares down at his hand. She meets his eyes. “That is, if you want to.” Once again, he brandishes the focus, lying flat in his hand.

   “Okay.” Varl looks up and a jolt of excitement shoots through her. He tilts his head, squinting. “Okay. Where do I-” She tilts her own head for him and seconds later he’s pressing it to his ear. Finally, finally someone she can trust is wearing one, is learning with her. Joining her.

  She steps forward, lifts a finger to poke it. “To activate it, just press it.” She’s close enough to hear the little whoosh it gives. She watches as he startles, just a bit, eyes wide as he takes in the new visuals. He looks her up and down.

   “You’re purple!” Aloy laughs.

   “Yeah! Allies and good things are purple. Enemies and their weaknesses are orange.” Varl looks around the room, eyes scanning.

   “This is so…”

   “Different?”

   “Cool!” He looks back at her with that wide smile back on her face.

   It makes her heart pound.

[witchbitchheadedtoaditch]

Shadow Work Prompts Part 2

Hello my loves! I'm going to add some more shadow work prompts (primarily because... Kaye needs to do shadow work and maybe this will convince them to do it. (It won't. We all know it won't. But we can hope....))

I'm gonna put these below the cut just so people don't have to scroll through this long as fuck list on their dash if they don't want to see them lol

Some of these are really, really heavy, and do touch on things like sexual assault, abuse, death, etc., so this is the trigger warning for you.

A lot of these are also focused on women and AFAB folks because I'm trying to reconcile with my femininity and whatnot.

Anne Carson Quotes

You remember too much, my mother said to me recently. Why hold onto all that? And I said, Where can I put it down?

Why does tragedy exist? Because you are full of rage. Why are you full of rage? Because you are full of grief.

Words bounce. Words, if you let them, will do what they want to do and what they have to do.

Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. ... Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me.

Desire is no light thing.

It is easier to tell a story of how people wound one another than of what binds them together.

Reality is a sound, you have to tune in to it not just keep yelling.

All mortals owe a debt to death.

...sex is a substitute, like money or language.

...your story begins the moment Eros enters you. That incursion is the biggest risk of your life. How you handle it is an index of the quality, wisdom, and decorum of the things inside you.

Myths are stories about people who become too big for their lives temporarily, so that they crash into other lives or brush against gods. In crisis their souls are visible.

Philosophers say man forms himself in dialogue.

There is no person without a world.

If there is anything dearer than being alive, it's dark to me.

We humans seem disastrously in love with this thing... life.

The underworld's a blank and all the rest just fantasy.

Caught between the tongue and the taste.

What is mortality after all but divine doubt flashing over us? For an instant God suspends assent and poof! we disappear.

Girls are cruelest to themselves.

What really connects words and things?

Blessed be they whose lives do not taste of evil

Perhaps the hardest thing about losing a lover is to watch the year repeat its days.

Consider incompleteness as a verb.

You can get used to anything, my mother was in the habit of saying.

I am talking about evil. It blooms. It eats. It grins.

I don't want to be a person. I want to be unbearable.

Beauty makes me hopeless.

The dead... are victims of love, many of them.

To live past the end of your myth is a perilous thing.

You read a hundred military manuals you won't find the word kill they trick you into killing.

I went mad, a god hurt me, I fell.

Those nights lying alone are not discontinuous with this cold hectic dawn. It is who I am.

Love does not make me gentle or kind.

Your grief is as great as your splendor was: some god is weighing the one out equal to the other.

You can never know enough, never work enough, ... never leave the mind quickly enough.

Language is what eases the pain of living with other people, language is what makes the wounds come open again.

Where does unbelief begin?

Everything that is me is with me.

A wound gives off its own light...

I began to think I was someone thirsting for God.

You are a person in love with the impossible.

When we are denied a story, a light goes off.

Some conversations are not what they're about.

I lack myself.

Who knows what will happen if I'm alone with my grief.

I... forbid that you should ever lose your screams.

You are not a god. You are not that enlarged self. Indeed, you are not even a whole self, as you now see. Your new knowledge of possibilities is also a knowledge of what is lacking in the actual.

There is a loneliness that fills the plain.

The women of mythology regularly lose their form in monstrosity.

We live by waters breaking out of the heart.

Time as hunger. Time passing and gazing. Time as perseverance. Mountain time. Time as paper folded to look like a mountain. Time compared to the wild fantastic silence of stars.

What are we made of but hunger and rage?

When I look at you, even for a moment, no speaking is left in me.

Kelly Cherry Quotes

I didn't find my story; it found me.

There is blood everywhere and I am lost in it. I breathe blood, not air.

The story of [their] great-grandfather [or any ancestor]... was [their] own story, too.

Ashe Vernon Quotes

Don't you dare, for one minute, believe that my kindness makes me anything but insurmountable.

Understand that I am not your next victim in a laundry list of broken girls.

I will eat you alive before I let you make a meal of me.

What they don't tell you about standing up for what you believe in is that your feet will bruise and your legs will ache.

I'd like to take a moment to submit a formal apology to my soft parts because they kept me warm when I was trying to freeze to death, and I hated them for it.

I let myself be afraid.

When you learn you are only as good as your beauty routine, you forget how to define yourself by anything else.

I will know how to be vulnerable with you, but I won't know how to not regret it.

I know how to put my body inside someone else's but not how to make it beautiful.

I love better at a distance.

I am as much lion as I am lion tamer.

I got good at inflicting pain the same way I got good at soothing it.

Quit picking old wounds and going tor walks in the aches and pains you already made it through--you call it healing, but it sounds like a good way to take a haunting home with you.

I am a cathedral of almost-lovers

Louise Gluck Quotes

We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

I thought that pain meant I was not loved. It meant I loved.

The soul is silent. If it speaks at all it speaks in dreams.

Intense love always leads to mourning.

You will never let go, you will never be satiated.

It will feed you, it will ravish you, it will not keep you alive.

Why love what you will lose? There is nothing else to love.

I speak because I am shattered.

I don't need your praise to survive.

Whatever returns from oblivion returns to find a voice.

Nakedness in women is always a pose. I was not transfigured. I would never be free.

The unsaid, for me, exerts great power.

I am tired of human... I want to live on the sun

Death cannot harm me more than you have harmed me, my beloved life.

There are places like this... you enter as a young girl... you never return.

Writing is a kind of revenge against circumstance, too: bad luck, loss, pain. If you make something out of it, then you've no longer been bested by these events.

The riddle was: why couldn't we live in the mind. The answer was: the barrier of the earth intervened.

It is true that there is not enough beauty in the world. It is also true that I am not competent to restore it. Neither is there candor, and here I may be of some use.

You're not a creature in body. You exist as the stars exist, participating in their stillness, their immensity.

And then, suddenly, something is over.

You must be taught to love me. Human beings must be taught to love silence and darkness.

Sappho Quotes

Someone will remember us/I say/even in another time.

Their heart grew cold. They let their wings down.

What cannot be said will be wept.

What is beautiful is good, and who is good will soon be beautiful

Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done.

Love shook my heart like the wind on the mountain rushing over the oak trees

Love is a cunning weaver of fantasies and fables.

I know not what to do, my mind is divided.

The female creature is a letter.

No holy place existed without us then

She who loves roses must be patient and not cry when she is pierced by thorns.

Because I prayed this word: I want.

If you had a desire for good or beautiful things and your tongue were not concocting some evil to say, shame would not hold down your eyes but rather you would speak about what is just.

Wealth without virtue is no harmless neighbor.

I am weary of all your words and soft, strange ways.

Paisley Rekdal Quotes

Does it offend you to watch me working in it, touching my hands to the greening tips or tearing the yellow stalks back, so wild the living and dead both snap off in my hands?

I can wait longer than sadness.

It is such a small thing to be proud of.

Should I, too, not be loved?

We are even now still so young

I loved him. I loved forgiving him.

Yasmin Belkhyr Quotes

Contrary to wound, I still know nothing of defeat.

Contrary to ache, I still know nothing of guilt.

I help: a good daughter.

Someone always ends up holding something mangled.

It wasn't enough to feel... he had to see, to know.

Adrienne Rich Quotes

There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep and still be counted as warriors.

Lying is done with words, and also with silence

Responsibility to yourself means refusing to let others do your thinking, talking, and naming for you; it means learning to respect and use your own brains and instincts; hence, grappling with hard work.

When a woman tells the truth she is creating the possibility for more truth around her.

My heart is moved by all I cannot save: so much has been destroyed

If you are trying to transform a brutalized society into one where people can live in dignity and hope, you begin with the empowering of the most powerless. You build from the ground up.

Until we know the assumptions in which we are drenched, we cannot know ourselves.

The truth of our bodies and our minds has been mystified to us.

It will take all your heart, it will take all your breath. It will be short, it will not be simple.

You look at me like an emergency.

The unconscious wants truth. It ceases to speak to those who want something else more than truth.

In a world where language and naming are power, silence is oppression, is violence.

There is no 'the truth', 'a truth'--truth is not one thing, or even a system. It is an increasing complexity. The pattern of the carpet is a surface. When we look closely, or when we become weavers, we learn of the tiny multiple threads unseen in the overall pattern, the knots on the underside of the carpet.

The moment of change is the only poem

There is nothing revolutionary whatsoever about the control of women's bodies by men. The woman's body is the terrain on which the patriarchy is erected.

The scars bear witness but whether to repair or to destruction I no longer know.

Not biology, but ignorance of ourselves, has been the key to our powerlessness

What kind of beast would turn its life into words?

Truthfulness, honor, is not something which springs ablaze of itself; it has been created between people.

You touched me in places so deep I wanted to ignore you

Silence can be a plan rigorously executed, the blueprint to a life, it is a presence, it has a history, a form. Do not confuse it with any kind of absence.

Most women have not even been able to touch this anger, except to drive it inward like a rusted nail.

We have lived with violence for so long.

This is my body, take it and destroy it

We have been raised to fear the yes within ourselves, our deepest cravings. And the fear of our deepest cravings keeps them suspect, keeps us docile and loyal and obedient, and leads us to settle for... many facets of our own oppression.

Every journey into the past is complicated by delusions, false memories, false namings of real events.

A language is a map of our failures.

The more I live the more I think two people together is a miracle.

Poetry is, among other things, a criticism of language.

How do you make it, all the way from here to morning?

An honorable human relationship--that is, one in which two people have the right to use the word "love"--is a process, delicate, violent, often terrifying to both persons involved, a process of refining the truths they can tell each other.

You grieve in loneliness, and if I understand you fuck in loneliness.

We write from the marrow of our bones.

The liar has many friends, and leads an existence of great loneliness

We must use what we have to invent what we desire.

William Styron Quotes

We're all in this game together.

In depression this faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come-not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute.

It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul

We each devise our means of escape from the intolerable.

Reading--the best state yet to keep absolute loneliness at bay.

Judging whether life is or is not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental question of philosophy.

Let your love flow out on all living things.

Loss in all of its manifestations is the touchstone of depression--in the progress of the disease and, most likely, in its origin.

Kai Cheng Thom Quotes

I wanted to protect you, but I'm starting to think that the best thing you can do for people is teach them how to protect themselves. Every girl needs to be at least a little dangerous.

A sanctuary is a place where the door only locks from the inside.

Sometimes to be somebody else, you have to be nobody first.

You will be able to stop hurting people when you stop hurting yourself.

When you're a child trapped in a situation of physical or psychological depravation, you learn shame as an efficient, elegant mechanism of survival: shame simultaneously shields you from the reality that danger is out of your control (since the problem is not that you're unloved and deprived; it's that you're Bad) and prevents you from doing or saying anything challenging that might provoke a threat.

It's good for you to cry sometimes. Even if there isn't a reason.

When you live in a community of queers, anarchists, & activists, crisis is the baseline and stability an outlier.

You are mine like nothing has ever been before.

Safety is, I believe, an inherently classed, raced, and gendered experience that frequently runs the risk of being used for regressive ends--ironically, for restricting the freedoms of the vulnerable, those who are never really safe. Often, we see the call for safety actually reinforce the power of oppressive institutions, like the police and the prison system, in our lives. When we choose safety over liberation, our movements fail.

When they looked at me and my sister, even their love was hungry.

Some people will cling on to anything that makes them feel even a little bit free.

Forget, if you can, all the promises you've ever made and the lies that you've told.

Once you start hurting people, you can't stop

I feel tired. I don't want to be myself anymore.

Sometimes it's important to be alive.

Sometimes, there is nothing you can do but surrender.

You are always disappearing in the hope of being seen. You are always shrinking to fit into someone else's arms. You are collapsing ever inward, a galaxy to become smaller.

Gregory Orr Quotes

If we're not supposed to dance, why all this music?

Even hell is holy.

I was born with a knife in one hand and a wound in the other.

Maybe she loved me, maybe not--who knows? Not even the gods can see into a human heart--it's that dark.

Writing often reveals us to ourselves, lets us name what's important to us and what has been silent or silenced inside us.

And to live only once--what if that's not enough?

Maybe it was always simple: loss surrounds us. Who would deny it? We ourselves are loss, are lost.

I want to study the book of the world: every vanishing page.

The dead sing us songs I'm learning to answer.

[moonlightserenadeeznutz]

Remus shows Sirius around Wales (part 3)

I’m afraid there’s a lot of Welsh in this chapter, but as usual, translations are at the end! (And I’m getting better at writing out the pronunciation). Hope you enjoy!

For @daylily-evans

(Part 1)

(Part 2)

~ The next morning, Sirius awoke before Remus. He usually always did. Moony wasn’t a morning person, and Padfoot was. A strip of sunlight highlighted the bed. They’d both fallen asleep in each other’s arms and had remained in pretty much the same position throughout the night. And while Sirius was eager to get up and start the day, he was also perfectly content to stay where he was, with Remus’s arm lying across his chest, the boy snoring lightly every so often. Sirius liked looking at him.

He was, however, slightly- instinctually- nervy. Even though it had been three years since he’d set foot in Grimmauld Place, he still expected to be woken abruptly by someone- most likely his mother- barging into his bedroom without knocking. While Sirius’s eyes were fixed on a lock of brown hair that had fallen over Remus’s eyelid, his ears were straining for any outside noise, any movement from the landing, that would warn him to quickly jump out of Remus’s bed and back into his own. But none came. A late start must have run in the family.

Sirius brushed the lock of hair away, tucking it behind Remus’s ear, and as he did so, Remus’s breathing grew quieter, almost inaudible. An indication that he was waking up. Sirius kissed him. When he pulled away, he saw Remus looking at him with half-lidded eyes.

“How do you say good morning in Welsh?” Asked Sirius, in no more than a murmur.

“Bore da,” replied Remus, his voice thick with sleep. Sirius kissed him.

“Bore da, carru.”

Breakfast was toast and cereal. Lyall didn’t join them at the table.

“He works late,” explained Remus. “Sometimes he sleeps till almost midday.” Sirius chuckled.

“Like father like son,” he said, eating a spoonful of now soggy cornflakes.

“Oh, Remus, I hope you’re not staying up so late,” reprimanded Hope, who was sitting at the table with them, reading the paper with her second cup of coffee.

“No, mam,” Remus sighed, the two boys knowing full well that he was lying.

“So, what are you two planning on doing today?” Hope continued, not taking her eyes off whichever article had caught her interest.

“I’m gonna show Sirius around. See the village maybe.”

“Oh that’s nice. You should visit Mrs. Hughes, she’d love to see you.”

“Yes, Remus, you really must introduce me to this Mrs. Hughes. I’m dying to meet her. I can already feel a connection.” Remus simply smiled and rolled his eyes.

~

The sun was bright, although it wasn’t throwing off a lot of heat in the early morning hours, so Remus and Sirius walked side by side wearing jackets and scarves. They were ambling down the lane outside Remus’s house, with the birds singing. It was the only noise they could hear. Sirius had never felt more relaxed in his life.

The first stop on Remus’s tour was a little stream that stood at the end of a wall-lined alleyway. Brambles grew all over the walls and Sirius noticed clusters of blackberries hidden among the leaves. Remus picked a few.

“I used to come down here when I was a kid,” began Remus. “I’d pick the blackberries and wash them in the stream, then eat them with my feet in the water.” Sirius picked some himself, and the two made their way towards the stream, the gentle sound of the water reaching their ears as they drew nearer. The two banks of the stream were connected by a stone bridge. Sirius looked over the side at the water lapping over the stones and pebbles, reflecting the sunlight. Along with the birdsong, the whole setting was completely idyllic. He knew places like this existed in the UK, but he’d never seen them before. He’d spent his whole life in the dark, gloomy street of Grimmauld Place, where he’d never even met his neighbours because they were muggles, and he’d therefore been banned from going near them. Besides, his muggle neighbours didn’t even know that he or his house even existed.

The Potter’s house too, while much nicer and far more friendly than Grimmauld Place could ever dream of being, and while it too was tucked away in the countryside, it still felt rather cut off, and the countryside felt... empty.

But here... here it felt like a community, and Sirius had yet to even meet another person.

“S’mae, Remus!” Said a woman, suddenly breaking the silence. She was walking past with some shopping bags. She only looked around forty, maybe fifty years old, but she dressed like someone much older: short blonde hair curled tightly into ringlets, and a long, flowery skirt with a matching beige blouse.

“S’mae, Mrs. Cooper,” replied Remus. “Ti’n iawn?”

“Rwy’n iawn, diolch. Ywyt ti newydd ddychwelyd o'r ysgol?”

“Ydw.”

“Pwy yw dy ffrind?”

“This is Sirius,” said Remus, switching back to English to include Sirius in the conversation. “He’s a friend from school. He’s English.”

“Oh, how awful for you!” Mrs. Copper called to him, in the thick Welsh accent that Sirius simply loved. Sirius smiled good-naturedly. “Whereabouts in England are you from?”

“Islington,” Sirius replied. “It’s in London.”

“I went to London once. Very loud. Very bright.” Sirius nodded. Mrs. Cooper began to walk on. “I’d best be off. Don’t want the milk to turn.” She held up one of her shopping bags, indicating that there was some milk inside. “See you, loves.”

“Hwyl!” Called Remus. Sirius repeated him. They watched her leave, and Sirius sat down upon the bridge. It had railings on either side as barriers, and Sirius put his legs through two gaps in the bars so they swung over the side. A duck came floating past, quacking every so often. Sirius threw the blackberries that he still had in his hand into the water for it to eat. Remus copied him.

“It’s so... quaint here,” observed Sirius eventually. “And I swear I mean that in the best way possible.” Remus threw another blackberry. The duck dived headfirst into the water to pick it up.

“Yes, well... not much has really changed since the fifties. Forties even. This place wasn’t much affected by either of the muggle wars, and progress isn’t exactly rife in the north-west Welsh countryside. It’s like a time warp here.” He looked almost sad, but Sirius couldn’t understand why. Of course, he knew what it was like to deal with people who were stuck in their ways, and their time, and their ancestors’ time, but the people here seemed nice enough. And even so, at that moment, Sirius felt that throwing blackberries at a duck and sitting next to his best friend on a bridge was all he needed in life.

“You know...” he began. “I never saw myself as a countryside person. Too quiet and boring. I thought of myself as more of a city person. All loud and bright like Mrs. Cooper said. But... I don’t know... I can see myself living here. With you.” Remus looked at him.

“That’d be nice...” A silence passed before Remus slapped his palms on the railings. “Come on,” he instructed, his voice louder and more confident. “Lots to see!” He started to walk ahead, and Sirius stood up to follow, grinning.

“Ooh, Moony. I like a man who can take charge.”

~

The two walked a few more miles until they reached the village. It was a nice place. Quaint. The shops all looked like cottages, and trees lined the street, some of the foliage entangled with bunting. People were milling about with shopping bags and buggies and bikes. The shop names were all in Welsh, as were the signs, but they all had the English translations printed underneath in small lettering, so Sirius didn’t have to pester Remus every five minutes.

Remus eventually stopped outside a shop that Sirius recognised: chairs and tables sat underneath a frilled, baby pink canopy. Remus held out his arm.

“Mrs. Hughes’s cake shop,” he announced. Sirius clapped his hands excitedly. A bell tinkled as the door opened, and a short, plump lady with curly dark hair appeared from within an adjoining room. She spotted Remus and smiled brightly.

“Remus! Mae wedi bod cyhyd! Sut mae, cariad? Edrych pa mor denau ywyt ti! Ywyt ti wedi bod yn bwyta?” She drew him into a hug, and Sirius was starting to get the impression that Remus was well-liked in his village. This was of no surprise to Sirius. What wasn’t there to like about his friend?

“S’mae Mrs. Hughes. Mae’n dda eich gweld chi.” Mrs. Hughes stepped back finally and turned to Sirius.

“Bore da. Nid wyf wedi eich gweld o gwmpas yma o'r blaen. Ydych chi’n ffrind i Remus?” Sirius blinked awkwardly, as Remus quickly cut in.

“Nid yw’n siarad Cymraeg. Mae’n dod o Llogr. Ei enw yw Sirius.”

“Oh... hello. It’s nice to meet you,” she said, rather slowly, as if she was concentrating on each word.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Hughes.” She smiled and nodded, before quickly returning behind the counter.

“Ywyt ti dau newydd gyrraedd?” She asked, taking out a tray of cupcakes from behind the glass and rearranging them into neat little rows. They all had chocolate frosting on them, and they looked delicious. Sirius couldn’t help but stare rather longingly.

“Ydyn. Fe gyrhaeddon ni nôl ddoe i.”

“Taith braf?”

“Oedd, diolch.” Remus saw that Sirius was struggling to participate, so Remus attempted to involve him in the conversation. “Mae Sirius yn fy mlwyddyn yn yr ysgol,” he said to Mrs. Hughes, who turned back to Sirius with interest.

“Wyt ti’n hoffi’r ysgol?”

“She asked if you like school.”

“Oh! Yes, very much. It’s fun.” Remus quickly translated.

“Hwyl!” Mrs. Hughes remarked. “Yn fy niwrnod, roedd ysgolion yn ymwneud â dysgu. Gwaharddwyd hwyl.”

“She says schools shouldn’t be fun.”

“Well, they weren’t till I arrived.” Sirius grinned as Remus rolled his eyes and reluctantly translated. Mrs. Hughes let out a bark of a laugh.

“Ryw’n hoffi ti!”

“She likes you.” 

“I like you too, Mrs. Hughes.” Mrs Hughes giggled, not needing Remus to translate. She brought out a tray of small but very tasty looking muffins. She picked up two and held them out.

“Am ddim i'm dau fachgen!” She said, as Remus went to take them. He handed one to Sirius.

“Diolch, Mrs. Hughes!” Said Remus. Sirius repeated him, and the two left the shop, walking out into the sunshine, muffins in hand. Sirius quickly took a bite.

“Shit, Remus,” he began, having barely swallowed his mouthful of muffin. “I may have to ditch you and run off with Mrs. Hughes instead.” Remus laughed.

“You’d have to learn Welsh first.”

“No need. I will happily sit in silence as she brings me muffins everyday. No Welsh required.”

~

Sirius didn’t want the day to end, but he was content in the thought that he’d wake up tomorrow and they could do it all again, and the next day, and the next, until the holidays ended. He couldn’t believe that Remus hardly talked about this place. If he was Remus, he’d never shut up about it. He almost felt angry. He hated his house, his street, his parents. He never wanted to talk about them. He was happy to forget all about them. Remus had a lovely house, and a lovely street and lovely parents. So why did he pretend otherwise?

“Do you think you’ll live here when you’re older?” Asked Sirius. They were sitting on a wall that bricked in a nice green. The green was filled with trees and a little playground area. As the sun grew lower and three o’clock rolled around, a few children started to filter into the playground, laughing and carefree after what must have been their last day at school. Hogwarts finished a day early so everyone had a chance to prepare for their journey back on the Express.

Remus pondered Sirius’s question.

“I don’t know,” he said eventually. “It is nice. And I do love Wales, of course I do...”

“But?”

“I don’t know,” seemed to be his final answer. But Sirius was too curious to let it drop so soon.

“But everyone here seems to love you. Mrs. Hughes. That lady with the shopping bags. Don’t you like it here?”

“The people are nice, but they talk. They talk about me. They pretend otherwise, but I know they have their own rumours. About why I go off to boarding school every year. Why I have scars on my face. Why...”

“Why what?”

“My mother and I are very close. They know that.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Remus looked at him steadily.

“You know what they say about boys who are close to their mothers.”

“Oh.” The two fell silent. Until Remus decided to speak again.

“In the real world, it’s 1976. Here it’s 1953. The people say good morning and bake you muffins and drink tea with their neighbours, but that’s about all you can do. You’re either married or widowed, and your kids go to the local school and leave the village when they’re eighteen to go off to London, or Cardiff, or some big city that they can write about to their families. I don’t fit in here. Not really. And I think the people know that. They’re nice to me because they feel sorry for me. Maybe not Mrs. Hughes. She really is nice. But I can’t stay just for Mrs. Hughes, can I?” Remus wanted to end his little speech on a light-hearted note, and usually Sirius would take the cue, grin and say “I would.” But he was letting Remus’s words sink in, and suddenly feeling guilty about his previous anger. Yes, Remus’s life was completely different to his, but scratch the surface and they were still in the same boat. Outcasts in a conformist society, waiting for the day they could leave and never come back. 

Remus jumped down from the wall.

“Come on. We can head back and I can show you the TV set if you want.” Sirius jumped down after him, realising that Remus was keen to change the subject. Sirius permitted him to.

“I’d forgotten about that. I’d love to see it.”

~ Welsh translation:

Bore da (b-oar-reh d-ah): Good morning

Ti’n iawn? (Tin y-ow-n): How are you? (Informal)

Rwy’n iawn, diolch (R-ooh-n y-ow-n dee-ol-kh): I’m well, thanks

Ywyt ti newydd ddychwelyd o'r ysgol? (Ow-eet tee neh-with th*-uh-kh-wel-eed or ee-sg-ol): Have you just returned from school?

Ydw (uh-doo): Yes

Pwy yw dy ffrind?: (p-wih ee**-oo d-ee fr-ih-nd): Who’s your friend?

Hwyl! (H-w-eel): Bye/Goodbye

Mae wedi bod cyhyd! (M-eye weh-dee bod kuh-heed): It’s been ages!

Sut mae, cariad? (Sit m-eye, kah-ree-ad): How are you, sweetheart?

Edrych pa mor denau ywyt ti! (Eh-dr-ee-kh pa m-oar deh-n-eye ow-eet tee): Look at how thin you are!

Ywyt ti wedi bod yn bwyta (ow-eet tee weh-dee bod ee-n b-oo***-ee-ta): Have you been eating?

Mae’n dda eich gweld chi (m-eye-n th-ah ay-kh gw-eld kh-ih): It’s good to see you.

Nid wyf wedi eich gweld o gwmpas yma o'r blaen. (N-ih-d oo-ee-v weh-dee ay-kh gweld oh g-oo-mp-ah-s ee-ma or bl-eye-n): I haven’t seen you around here before.

Ydych chi’n ffrind i Remus? (Uh-dih-kh kh-ih-n f-rih-nd ih Remus): Are you a friend of Remus?

Nid yw’n siarad Cymraeg. (Nid ee-oo-n sha-rad Cum-r-eye-g): He doesn’t speak Welsh.

Mae’n dod o Llogr. (M-eye-n dod o Ll-oh-gr): He’s from England.

Ei enw yw Sirius. (Ay en-oo ee-oo Sirius): His name’s Sirius.

Ywyt ti dau newydd gyrraedd? (Ow-eet tee d-eye neh-with g-uh-r-eye-th): Have you to just got back?

Ydyn (Uh-deen): Yes

Fe gyrhaeddon ni nôl ddoe i. (F-eh g-uh-rh-eye-th-on nee n-uh-l th-oi ee): We got back yesterday.

Taith braf? (T-ay-th b-rah-v): Nice journey?

Oedd, diolch (oi-th dee-ol-kh): Yes, thanks

Mae Sirius yn fy mlwyddyn yn yr ysgol (m-eye Sirius ee-n f-ee ml-oo-uh-th-een ee-n ee-r ee-sgol):  Sirius is in my year at school.

Wyt ti’n hoffi ysgol? (Wih-tin h-oh-f-ee ee-sgol): Do you like school?

Hwyl! (H-w-eel): Fun!

Yn fy niwrnod, roedd ysgolion yn ymwneud â dysgu. (ee-n f-ee nih-wr-nod, r-oi-th ee-sgol-ee-on ee-n ee-m-wn-ay-d ah**** d-uh-sg-ee): In my days, schools were about learning.

Gwaharddwyd hwyl. (G-wa-har-th-wih-d h-w-eel): Fun was banned.

Rywn hoffi ti! (R-ew-n hoh-f-ee tee): I like you!

Am ddim i'm dau fachgen (Ah-m th-im im d-eye vah-kh-g-en): Free for my two boys

*pronounced th as in that or this

**very short ee; yw sounds very similar to yew.

***short oo

****long ah

Bonus British translation:

Buggies: Strollers

[butterflies-dragons]

DUNK SNOW

Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow are more similar than we thought... 

A Knight of The Seven Kingdoms is a book full of Dunk and Jon parallels and hints of Jon Snow’s true parentage. Here is what I found in my last re-reading.  

A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms is a collection containing the first three Dunk and Egg novellas by George R. R. Martin:

The Hedge Knight

The Sworn Sword

The Mystery Knight

It was indirectly confirmed that Brienne of Tarth is a descendant of Ser Duncan The Tall, and they share a lot of parallels. Some readers have also speculated that Ser Duncan The Tall is an ancestor of certain pair of tall brothers, and have also drawn parallels between those characters.    

But while I was writing another meta, I was amazed by all the similarities between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow, and I wondered, why there was not metas about it?   

Also, while reading the tales, you can find that Dunk and Egg, at some point, sound very much like all the Stark kids, even Rickon. Dunk and Egg can be romantics like Sansa, but they would also call “stupid” certain “feminine” or “romantic” things like Arya does, but at the same time they both dream of being knights of the Kingsguard like Bran, and always try to be fair and honorable like Jon Snow.    

But, in this post I’m going to explore the parallels between Ser Duncan The Tall and Jon Snow.  

DUNK AND JON

Thinking fast, we can say that,  

Dunk and Jon are both orphans and presumed bastards.  

Dunk defending Tanselle resemblances Jon defending Samwell.

Despite not being “proper knights” both are knights that remember their vows.

Their sexual awakening was with a red haired woman. 

Both met Maester Aemon.

Despite the prejudice against their low status, both became Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard and Night’s Watch, respectively.  

Both have connections with the North, Dunk visited Winterfell and scorted Maester Aemon to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, etc.

But there is much more.

THE  HEDGE KNIGHT

This tale is full of  Dragonflies and Dragons imagery. GRRM is telling us about dragons that don’t look like dragons, about Targaryens that don’t look like Targaryens, about princes in disguise and secret identities.

Dunk and Jon share the wish to prove the world they are worthy

Yet however fine their pavilions were to look upon, he knew there was no place there for him. A threadbare wool cloak would be all the shelter he had tonight. While the lords and great knights dined on capons and suckling pigs, Dunk's supper would be a hard, stringy piece of salt beef. He knew full well that if he made his camp upon that gaudy field, he would need to suffer both silent scorn and open mockery. A few perhaps would treat him kindly, yet in a way that was almost worse.

A hedge knight must hold tight to his pride. Without it, he was no more than a sellsword. I must earn my place in that company. If I fight well, some lord may take me into his household. I will ride in noble company then, and eat fresh meat every night in a castle hail, and raise my own pavilion at tourneys. But first I must do well. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the tourney grounds and led his horses into the trees.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

There are a lot of hints of Jon’s true parentage in this tale, not only Egg being a Targaryen prince in disguise, but also a dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

He sat naked under the elm while he dried, enjoying the warmth of the spring air on his skin as he watched a dragonfly move lazily among the reeds. Why would they name it a dragonfly? he wondered. It looks nothing like a dragon. Not that Dunk had ever seen a dragon. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. 

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did. 

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Don’t call me “My Lord”

Egg smiled. 

"Yes, my lord."

"Ser," Dunk corrected. "I am only a hedge knight." 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

“That is a longsword, not an old man’s cane,” Ser Alliser said sharply. “Are your legs hurting, Lord Snow?

"Jon hated that name, a mockery that Ser Alliser had hung on him the first day he came to practice. The boys had picked it up, and now he heard it everywhere. He slid the longsword back into its scabbard. "No,” he replied.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“So how do you like the taste of your victories now, Lord Snow?”

“Don’t call me that!” Jon said sharply, but the force had gone out of his anger. Suddenly he felt ashamed and guilty. “I never … I didn’t think …”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

“And the grumkins and the snarks,” Tyrion said. “Let us not forget them, Lord Snow, or else what’s that big thing for?”

“Don’t call me Lord Snow.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

She wiped her hands on her skirt. “M'lord—”

“I’m no lord.”

But others had come crowding round, drawn by the woman’s scream and the crash of the rabbit hutch. “Don’t you believe him, girl,” called out Lark the Sisterman, a ranger mean as a cur. “That’s Lord Snow himself.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

“Rise. I have heard much and more of you, Lord Snow.”

“I am no lord, sire.” Jon rose. “I know what you have heard. That I am a turncloak, and craven. That I slew my brother Qhorin Halfhand so the wildlings would spare my life. That I rode with Mance Rayder, and took a wildling wife.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

“Words. Words are wind. Why do you think I abandoned Dragonstone and sailed to the Wall, Lord Snow?”

“I am no lord, sire. You came because we sent for you, I hope. Though I could not say why you took so long about it.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk thinks that Tanselle is prettier than the blonde Lady Ashford. Jon doesn’t compared the blonde Princess Myrcella with anyone, but there is an interesting contrast between calling Princess Myrcella “stupid” & “insipid” and then calling his half sister Sansa “radiant”

The banner-bearer was a tall knight in white scale armor chased with gold, a pure white cloak streaming from his shoulders. Two of the other riders were armored in white from head to heel as well. Kingsguard knights with the royal banner. Small wonder Lord Ashford and his sons came hurrying out the doors of the keep, and the fair maid too, a short girl with yellow hair and a round pink face. She does not seem so fair to me, Dunk thought. The puppet girl was prettier.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Talking about Tanselle and Lady Ashford, both girls share parallels with Sansa Stark:

Sansa Stark and Lady Ashford

Sansa and Lady Ashford are noble ladies.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are of the same age.

Sansa and Lady Ashford are associated with tourneys.

Lady Ashford was the reigning Queen of Love and Beauty during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, while Sansa was unofficially crowned as the Queen of Love and Beauty during the Hand’s Tourney.  

Lady Ashford’s original champions were Androw Ashford, Robert Ashford, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Ser Tybolt Lannister defeated Ser Androw Ashford, Ser Lyonel Baratheon defeated Ser Robert Ashford.  A Lannister and a Baratheon defeating Lady Ashford’s older brothers remind us of Tywin Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon conspiring to kill Sansa Stark’s father (Ned) and brother (Robb).   

The last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow were Ser Tybolt Lannister, Ser Lyonel Baratheon, Lord Leo Tyrell, Ser Humfrey Hardyng and Prince Valarr Targaryen.

Sansa’s suitors surnames match the surnames of the last five champions after the first day of jousting during the Tourney at Ashford Meadow. 

Sansa Stark and Tanselle Too-Tall

Sansa and Tanselle are tall girls.

Sansa and Tanselle are familiar with the tales of Florian and Jonquil.

Tanselle plays Jonquil in the puppets play, while a fat woman plays Florian.

Sansa saves Dontos Hollard’s life. Dontos was an old, fat, drunk knight turned fool.  

Dontos calls Sansa Jonquil and plays to be Sansa’s Florian, Sansa also called Dontos her Florian, but she would prefer him to be younger, like the real Florian.

Dunk defended Tanselle from Prince Aerion Targaryen, a character with some similarities with Joffrey Baratheon.

Dontos, as a fool, try to distract Joffrey and defend Sansa while she was being beaten and later helped her to scape King’s Landing. 

Dunk and Jon know how to treat a girl 

(This could be nothing but I know a character that is called “good girl” and “sweet lady” a lot)

Also take note that by selling Sweetfoot, Dunk got his own armor.

It was cool and dim in the stables. An unruly grey stallion snapped at him as he passed, but Sweetfoot only whickered softly and nuzzled his hand when he raised it to her nose. "You're a good girl, aren't you?" he murmured. The old man always said that a knight should never love a horse, since more than a few were like to die under him, but he never heeded his own counsel either. Dunk had often seen him spend his last copper on an apple for old Chestnut or some oats for Sweetfoot and Thunder. The palfrey had been Ser Arlan's riding horse, and she had borne him tirelessly over thousands of miles, all up and down the Seven Kingdoms. Dunk felt as though he were betraying an old friend, but what choice did he have? Chestnut was too old to be worth much of anything, and Thunder must carry him in the lists.

(...)

Dunk stroked Sweetfoot’s mane and told her to be brave. “If I win, I’ll come back and buy you again, I promise.” 

(...)

Dunk handed a few of the coppers right back, and nodded at Sweetfoot. “That’s for her,” he said. “See that she has some oats tonight. Aye, and an apple too.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The mare whickered softly as Jon Snow tightened the cinch. “Easy, sweet lady,” he said in a soft voice, quieting her with a touch. Wind whispered through the stable, a cold dead breath on his face, but Jon paid it no mind. He strapped his roll to the saddle, his scarred fingers stiff and clumsy.

“Ghost,” he called softly, “to me.” And the wolf was there, eyes like embers.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Dreams of a highborn lady 

While Dunk wishes to have sex with a highborn lady instead of paying a whore for sex, Jon wishes his mother were a highborn lady and not a whore

Dunk stopped to watch the wooden dragon slain. When the puppet knight cut its head off and the red sawdust spilled out onto the grass, he laughed aloud and threw the girl two coppers. "One for last night," he called. She caught the coins in the air and threw him back a smile as sweet as any he had ever seen.

Is it me she smiles at, or the coins? Dunk had never been with a girl, and they made him nervous. Once, three years past, when the old man's purse was full after half a year in the service of blind Lord Florent, he'd told Dunk the time had come to take him to a brothel and make him a man. He'd been drunk, though, and when he was sober he did not remember. Dunk had been too embarrassed to remind him.

He was not certain he wanted a whore anyway. If he could not have a highborn maiden like a proper knight, he wanted one who at least liked him more than his silver.

(...)

Wet to the knee, he trudged past the empty lists. Most of the pavilions were dark, their owners long asleep, but here and there a few candles still burned. Dunk heard soft moans and cries of pleasure coming from within one tent. It made him wonder whether he would die without ever having known a maid.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Words won't make your mother a whore. She was what she was, and nothing Toad says can change that. You know, we have men on the Wall whose mothers were whores."

Not my mother, Jon thought stubbornly. He knew nothing of his mother; Eddard Stark would not talk of her. Yet he dreamed of her at times, so often that he could almost see her face. In his dreams, she was beautiful, and highborn, and her eyes were kind.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

A red-haired whore 

The same way Dunk almost lost his virginity with a whore, the Jon Snow from the Show almost lost his virginity with a red-haired whore named Ros ¿Maybe the Show took inspiration for that scene from this passage to create Ros? 

The winesellers and sausage makers were doing a brisk trade, and whores walked brazenly among the stalls and pavilions. Some were pretty enough, one red-haired girl in particular. He could not help staring at her breasts, the way they moved under her loose shift as she sauntered past. He thought of the silver in his pouch. I could have her, if I liked. She'd like the clink of my coin well enough, I could take her back to my camp and have her, all night if I wanted. He had never lain with a woman, and for all he knew he might die in his first tilt. Tourneys could be dangerous . . . but whores could be dangerous too, the old man had warned him of that. She might rob me while I slept, and what would I do then? When the red-haired girl glanced back over her shoulder at him, Dunk shook his head and walked away.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Sam: I’ve never… been with one. You’ve probably had hundreds. Jon: No. As a matter of fact, I’m the same as you. Sam: Yeah. Yeah, I… I find that hard to believe. Jon: I came very close once. I was alone in a room with a naked girl, but… Sam: Didn’t know where to put it? Jon: I know where to put it. Sam: Was she… old and ugly? Jon: Young and gorgeous. A whore named Ros. Sam: What colour hair? Jon: Red. Sam: Oh, I like red hair. And her, um… Her… (boobs) Jon: You don’t want to know. Sam: What, that good? Jon: Better. Sam: Oh, no. So why exactly did you not make love to Ros with the perfect? Jon: What’s my name? Sam: Jon Snow. Jon: And why is my surname Snow? Sam: Because… you’re a bastard from the North. Jon: I never met my mother. My father wouldn’t even tell me her name. I don’t know if she’s living or dead. I don’t know if she’s a noblewoman or a fisherman’s wife… or a whore. So I sat there in the brothel as Ros took off her clothes. But I couldn’t do it. Because all I could think was what if I got her pregnant and she had a child, another bastard named Snow? It’s not a good life for a child.

—GOT S01E04 – Cripples Bastards and Broken Things

Complaining about getting bad seats

On the eastern verge of the meadow, a quintain had been set up and a dozen knights were tilting at it, sending the pole arm spinning every time they struck the splintered shield suspended from one end. Dunk watched the Brute of Bracken take his turn, and then Lord Caron of the Marches. I do not have as good a seat as any of them, he thought uneasily.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

There were times—not many, but a few—when Jon Snow was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them.

He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Its grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson: the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but down at this end of the hall his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the fire, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations.

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

"Then you saw us all. Prince Joffrey and Prince Tommen, Princess Myrcella, my brothers Robb and Bran and Rickon, my sisters Arya and Sansa. You saw them walk the center aisle with every eye upon them and take their seats at the table just below the dais where the king and queen were seated."

"I remember."

"And did you see where I was seated, Mance?" He leaned forward. "Did you see where they put the bastard?"

Mance Rayder looked at Jon's face for a long moment. "I think we had best find you a new cloak," the king said, holding out his hand.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon I

Dunk and Jon admire the same heroes

Dunk stared at the grassy lists and the empty chairs on the viewing stand and pondered his chances. One victory was all he needed; then he could name himself one of the champions of Ashford Meadow, if only for an hour. The old man had lived nigh on sixty years and had never been a champion. It is not too much to hope for, if the gods are good. He thought back on all the songs he had heard, songs of blind Symeon Star-Eyes and noble Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, Ser Ryam Redywne, and Florian the Fool. They had all won victories against foes far more terrible than any he would face. But they were great heroes, brave men of noble birth, except for Florian. And what am I?

Dunk of Flea Bottom? Or Ser Duncan the Tall?

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

“Daeren Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Yet he saw the castle clear in his mind's eye, as if he had left it only yesterday; the towering granite walls, the Great Hall with its smells of smoke and dog and roasting meat, his father's solar, the turret room where he had slept. Part of him wanted nothing so much as to hear Bran laugh again, to sup on one of Gage's beef-and-bacon pies, to listen to Old Nan tell her tales of the children of the forest and Florian the Fool.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Every morning they had trained together, since they were big enough to walk; Snow and Stark, spinning and slashing about the wards of Winterfell, shouting and laughing, sometimes crying when there was no one else to see. They were not little boys when they fought, but knights and mighty heroes. "I'm Prince Aemon the Dragonknight," Jon would call out, and Robb would shout back, "Well, I'm Florian the Fool." Or Robb would say, "I'm the Young Dragon," and Jon would reply, "I'm Ser Ryam Redwyne."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

A dragon that doesn’t look like a dragon

The meadow was a churning mass of people, all trying to elbow their way closer for a better view. Dunk was as good an elbower as any, and bigger than most. He squirmed forward to a rise six yards from the fence. When Egg complained that all he could see were arses, Dunk sat the boy on his shoulders. Across the field, the viewing stand was filling up with highborn lords and ladies, a few rich townfolk, and a score of knights who had decided not to compete today. Of Prince Maekar he saw no sign, but he recognized Prince Baelor at Lord Ashford's side. Sunlight flashed golden off the shoulder clasp that held his cloak and the slim coronet about his temples, but otherwise he dressed far more simply than most of the other lords. He does not look a Targaryen in truth, with that dark hair. Dunk said as much to Egg.

"It's said he favors his mother," the boy reminded him. "She was a Dornish princess."

(...)

A few feet away, the Young Prince [Valarr Targaryen] sat at his ease in a raised camp chair before his great black tent. His helm was off. He had dark hair like his father, but a bright streak ran through it. A servingman brought him a silver goblet and he took a sip. Water, if he is wise, Dunk thought, wine if not. He found himself wondering if Valarr had indeed inherited a measure of his father's prowess, or whether it had only been that he had drawn the weakest opponent.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

The boy absorbed that all in silence. He had the Stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away. Whoever his mother had been, she had left little of herself in her son. 

—A Game of Thrones - Tyrion II

She might have overlooked a dozen bastards for Ned’s sake, so long as they were out of sight. Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned than any of the trueborn sons she bore him.

—A Game of Thrones - Catelyn II

“A shade more exhausting than needlework,” Jon observed.

“A shade more fun than needlework,” Arya gave back at him. Jon grinned, reached over, and messed up her hair. Arya flushed. They had always been close. Jon had their father’s face, as she did.

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

Sansa could never understand how two sisters, born only two years apart, could be so different. It would have been easier if Arya had been a bastard, like their half brother Jon. She even looked like Jon, with the long face and brown hair of the Starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring. 

—A Game of Thrones - Sansa I

“Who’s this one now?“ Craster said before Jon could go. “He has the look of a Stark.”

“My steward and squire, Jon Snow.”

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Fascinated by a Knight

Dunk was fascinated by a brown haired Targaryen Prince (Like Jon Snow) while Jon was fascinated by a Kingsguard that later became Lord Commander (Like Dunk)

The three challengers took their places as the three champions mounted up. Men were making wagers all around them and calling out encouragement to their choices, but Dunk had eyes only for the prince [Valarr Targaryen]. 

(...)

Farther away, Ser Joseth Mallister was being carried off the field unconscious, while the harp lord and the rose lord were going at each other lustily with blunted longaxes, to the delight of the roaring crowd. Dunk was so intent on Valarr Targaryen that he scarcely saw them. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Ser Jaime Lannister was twin to Queen Cersei; tall and golden, with flashing green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife. He wore crimson silk, high black boots, a black satin cloak. On the breast of his tunic, the lion of his House was embroidered in gold thread, roaring its defiance. They called him the Lion of Lannister to his face and whispered "Kingslayer" behind his back.

Jon found it hard to look away from him. This is what a king should look like, he thought to himself as the man passed.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Not allowed

A hedge knight cannot challenge a prince. Valarr is second in line to the Iron Throne. He is Baelor Breakspear's son, and his blood is the blood of Aegon the Conqueror and the Young Dragon and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, and I am some boy the old man found behind a pot shop in Flea Bottom.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

"Why aren't you down in the yard?" Arya asked him.

He gave her a half smile. “Bastards are not allowed to damage young princes,” he said. "Any bruises they take in the practice yard must come from trueborn swords."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya I

A Death with Honor

He wondered if they expected him to saddle a horse and flee. He could, if he wished. That would be the end of his knighthood, to be sure; he would be no more than an outlaw henceforth, until the day some lord took him and struck off his head. Better to die a knight than live like that, he told himself stubbornly.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

It did not bear thinking about. Pain throbbed, deep in his fingers, as he clutched the reins. Jon put his heels into his horse and broke into a gallop, racing down the kingsroad, as if to outrun his doubts. Jon was not afraid of death, but he did not want to die like that, trussed and bound and beheaded like a common brigand. If he must perish, let it be with a sword in his hand, fighting his father's killers. He was no true Stark, had never been one … but he could die like one. Let them say that Eddard Stark had fathered four sons, not three.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Warg imagery

I am Thunder and Thunder is me, we are one beast, we are joined, we are one. 

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

When he finally put the quill down, the room was dim and chilly, and he could feel its walls closing in. Perched above the window, the Old Bear's raven peered down at him with shrewd black eyes. My last friend, Jon thought ruefully. And I had best outlive you, or you'll eat my face as well. Ghost did not count. Ghost was closer than a friend. Ghost was part of him.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Ser Alliser Thorne shattered the silence. “The turncloak graces us with his presence at last.”

Lord Janos was red-faced and quivering. “The beast,” he gasped. “Look! The beast that tore the life from Halfhand. A warg walks among us, brothers. A WARG! This … this creature is not fit to lead us! This beastling is not fit to live!”

Ghost bared his teeth, but Jon put a hand on his head. “My lord,” he said, “will you tell me what’s happened here?”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

“Then you had best be on your way, boy.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you, bastard.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Dolorous Edd took hold of Slynt by one arm, Iron Emmett by the other. Together they hauled him from the bench. “No,” Lord Janos protested, flecks of porridge spraying from his lips. “No, unhand me. He’s just a boy, a bastard. His father was a traitor. The mark of the beast is on him, that wolf of his … Let go of me! You will rue the day you laid hands on Janos Slynt. I have friends in King’s Landing. I warn you—” He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him up the steps.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon II

Self doubt 

When his eyes opened he was on the ground again, sprawled on his back. The mud had all been knocked from his helm, but now one eye was closed by blood. Above was nothing but dark grey sky. 

His face throbbed, and he could feel cold wet metal pressing in against cheek and temple. He broke my head, and I'm dying. What was worse was the others who would die with him, Raymun and Prince Baelor and the rest. I've failed them. I am no champion. I'm not even a hedge knight. I am nothing. He remembered Prince Daeron boasting that no one could lie insensible in the mud as well as he did. He never saw Dunk the lunk, though, did he? The shame was worse than the pain.

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

A grim day. Jon Snow wrapped gloved hands around the bars and held tight as the wind hammered at the cage once more. When he looked straight down past his feet, the ground was lost in shadow, as if he were being lowered into some bottomless pit. Well, death is a bottomless pit of sorts, he reflected, and when this day's work is done my name will be shadowed forever.

Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a son as Robb. I made a botch of that. Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

It should have been you

Valarr, the Young Prince, stood vigil at the foot of the bier while his father lay in state. He was a shorter, slimmer, handsomer version of his sire, without the twice-broken nose that had made Baelor seem more human than royal. Valarr's hair was brown, but a bright streak of silver-gold ran through it. The sight of it reminded Dunk of Aerion, but he knew that was not fair. Egg's hair was growing back as bright as his brother's, and Egg was a decent enough lad, for a prince.

When he stopped to offer awkward sympathies, well larded with thanks, Prince Valarr blinked cool blue eyes at him and said, "My father was only nine-and-thirty. He had it in him to be a great king, the greatest since Aegon the Dragon. Why would the gods take him, and leave you?" He shook his head. "Begone with you, Ser Duncan. Begone."

* * *

"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly.

Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.

"I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."

Jon did not know what to say. "It wasn't your fault," he managed after an awkward silence.

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."

Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. "Good-bye," he said.

He was at the door when she called out to him. "Jon," she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.

"Yes?" he said.

"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

Old Gods

Sometimes I sit under that tree there and look at my feet and ask if I couldn’t have spared one. How could my foot be worth a prince’s life? And the other two as well, the Humfreys, they were good men too.” Ser Humfrey Hardyng had succumbed to his wounds only last night.

“And what answer does your tree give you?”

“None that I can hear.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

Even now, he did not know if he was doing the honorable thing. The southron had it easier. They had their septons to talk to, someone to tell them the gods' will and help sort out right from wrong. But the Starks worshiped the old gods, the nameless gods, and if the heart trees heard, they did not speak.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

A Tree on a Shield

Dunk’s sigil was an elm tree with a shooting star above, while the Mystery Knight called The Knight of the Laughing Tree [Jon’s mother Lyanna Stark] was a weirwood tree with a laughing red face

“What color paint do you have?” he asked, hoping that might give him an idea.

“I can mix paints to make any color you want.”

The old man’s brown had always seemed drab to Dunk. “The field should be the color of sunset,” he said suddenly. “The old man liked sunsets. And the device…”

“An elm tree,” said Egg. “A big elm tree, like the one by the pool, with a brown trunk and green branches.”

“Yes,” Dunk said. “That would serve. An elm tree…but with a shooting star above. Could you do that?”

The girl nodded. “Give me the shield. I’ll paint it this very night and have it back to you on the morrow.”

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

But late on the afternoon of that second day, as the shadows grew long, a mystery knight appeared in the lists.

Bran nodded sagely. [...] “It was the little crannogman, I bet.”

“No one knew,” said Meera, “but the mystery knight was short of stature, and clad in ill-fitting armor made up of bits and pieces. The device upon his shield was a heart tree of the old gods, a white weirwood with a laughing red face.”

[...]

“Whoever he was, the old gods gave strength to his arm. The porcupine knight fell first, then the pitchfork knight, and lastly the knight of the two towers. None were well loved, so the common folk cheered lustily for the Knight of the Laughing Tree, as the new champion soon was called.”

—A Storm of Swords - Bran II

Dragonflies or Dragons

“That can be changed,” said Maekar. “Aegon is to return to my castle at Summerhall. There is a place there for you, if you wish. A knight of my household. You’ll swear your sword to me, and Aegon can squire for you. While you train him, my master-at-arms will finish your own training.” The prince gave him a shrewd look. “Your Ser Arlan did all he could for you, I have no doubt, but you still have much to learn.”

“I know, m'lord.” Dunk looked about him. At the green grass and the reeds, the tall elm, the ripples dancing across the surface of the sunlit pool. Another dragonfly was moving across the water, or perhaps it was the same one. What shall it be, Dunk? he asked himself. Dragonflies or dragons? A few days ago he would have answered at once. It was all he had ever dreamed, but now that the prospect was at hand it frightened him. “ Just before Prince Baelor died, I swore to be his man.”

"Presumptuous of you," said Maekar. "What did he say?"

"That the realm needed good men."

"That's true enough. What of it?"

"I will take your son as squire, Your Grace, but not at Summerhall. Not for a year or two. He's seen sufficient of castles, I would judge. I'll have him only if I can take him on the road with me." He pointed to old Chestnut. "He'll ride my steed, wear my old cloak, and he'll keep my sword sharp and my mail scoured. We'll sleep in inns and stables, and now and again in the halls of some landed knight or lesser lordling, and maybe under trees when we must."

—The Hedge Knight

* * *

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. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

Jon said, “Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.”

“I have heard all I need to hear of Lady Lannister and her claim." The king set the cup aside. "You could bring the north to me. Your father's bannermen would rally to the son of Eddard Stark. Even Lord Too-Fat-to-Sit-a-Horse. White Harbor would give me a ready source of supply and a secure base to which I could retreat at need. It is not too late to amend your folly, Snow. Take a knee and swear that bastard sword to me, and rise as Jon Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.”

How many times will he make me say it? "My sword is sworn to the Night's Watch.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon IV

The Prince of Dragonflies

As you can see, The Hedge Knight is a tale full of Dragonflies and Dragons imagery around Ser Duncan the Tall. And this dichotomy repeated with Prince Duncan the Small.      

Years later of his adventures as the Squire of Ser Duncan the Tall, Egg became Aegon V Targaryen, and named his first born Duncan Targaryen, probably in honor of Ser Duncan the Tall.   

Prince Duncan Targaryen was the heir to the Iron Throne, the Prince of Dragonstone, also known as Prince Duncan the Small. But since he gave up the throne for love in order to marry Jenny of Oldstones, he began to be known as the Prince of Dragonflies.

Prince Duncan Targaryen favored her mother’s Betha Blackwood features and had dark hair, like Jon Snow.

The Black Prince and the White Guardian

In my unfinished meta about the Tourney at Ashford Meadow, I argue that the two facets of Jon Snow: bastard and hidden prince, are represented in this tale by Dunk and Valarr. 

This is one of my favorite findings since I started writing ASOIAF metas.  I shared this one with some of you, the seven gods know this unfinished work has more than 3 years in the making... So here you go.    

Valarr is called The Black Prince and the White Guardian:

Ser Joseth thumped on Ser Humfrey Hardyng's diamonds. And the black-and-white knight, Lord Gawen Swann, challenged the black prince with the white guardian.

—The Hedge Knight

And this is a clear reference to Jon Snow, the black prince, and Ghost, his white guardian:

Robb looked relieved. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

Jon forced himself to smile back. "It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?"

—A Game of Thrones - Jon II

He was clad in black from head to heel; high leather riding boots, roughspun breeches and tunic, sleeveless leather jerkin, and heavy wool cloak. His longsword and dagger were sheathed in black moleskin, and the hauberk and coif in his saddlebag were black ringmail.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon IX

Jon was armored in black ice, but his blade burned red in his fist. As the dead men reached the top of the Wall he sent them down to die again.

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XII

"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the litter was grey.

—A Game of Thrones - Bran I

And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VI

Red eyes, red mouth, white fur. Blood and bone, like a heart tree. He belongs to the old gods, this one.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XII

I have more reasons to believe that GRRM wrote Valarr as a representation of Jon Snow. George purposely created Valarr with certain features to make us think about Jon Snow. These reasons find solid ground in a particular work of literature that George has declared it served him as inspiration to write ASOIAF. Maybe One day I will finish this meta and I will show you all.  

For now, lets go to the second tale...

* * *

THE SWORN SWORD

This tale is full of  love, romance and marriage imagery, doomed romances, forbidden romances, unrequited loves, lost loves, platonic loves, sexual loves, marriages alliances, loveless marriages, unfruitful marriages and lovers farewells.   

A Mysterious Red Lady

Rohanne Webber, Lady of Codlmoat, also known as the Red Widow, is a character that reminds us several women that crossed paths with Jon Snow 

Dunk wanted no trouble with the Lady of the Coldmoat. At Standfast you heard ill things of her. The Red Widow, she was called, for the husbands she had put into the ground. Old Sam Stoops said she was a witch, a poisoner, and worse. 

Two years ago she had sent her knights across the stream to seize an Osgrey man for stealing sheep. “When m’lord rode to Coldmoat to demand him back, he was told to look for him at the bottom of the moat,” Sam had said. “She’d sewn poor Dake in a bag o’ rocks and sunk him. ’Twas after that Ser Eustace took Ser Bennis into service, to keep them spiders off his lands.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

(...)

“Whenever she gives birth, a demon comes by night to carry off the issue. Sam Stoops’s wife says she sold her babes unborn to the Lord of the Seven Hells, so he’d teach her his black arts.”

“Highborn ladies don’t meddle with the black arts. They dance and sing and do embroidery.”

“Maybe she dances with demons and embroiders evil spells,” Egg said with relish. “And how would you know what highborn ladies do, ser? Lady Vaith is the only one you ever knew.”

(...)

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.” 

—The Sworn Sword 

The wicked reputation of the Red Widow, makes me think about another red haired woman with a wicked reputation, Danelle Lothston, Lady of Harrenhal, also known as Mad Danelle. 

And talking about Harrenhal, Mad Danelle is probably an ancestor of Lady Minisa Whent, that later became Lady Minsa Tully, the mother of Lady Catelyn Tully, that later became Lady Catelyn Stark, the mother of Lady Sansa Stark, Jon Snow’s radiant and red haired half sister, another redhead with certain reputation:  

He smiled at her. “Now, wolf girl, if you can put a name to me as well, then I must concede that you are truly our Hand’s daughter.”

—AGOT - Sansa I

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

—ASOS - Arya XIII

“May the Father judge him justly,” murmured a septon.

“The dwarf’s wife did the murder with him,” swore an archer in Lord Rowan’s livery. “Afterward, she vanished from the hall in a puff of brimstone, and a ghostly direwolf was seen prowling the Red Keep, blood dripping from his jaws.”

—ASOS - Jaime VII

“Your Grace has forgotten the Lady Sansa,” said Pycelle.

The queen bristled. “I most certainly have not forgotten that little she-wolf.” She refused to say the girl’s name. “I ought to have shown her to the black cells as the daughter of a traitor, but instead I made her part of mine own household. She shared my hearth and hall, played with my own children. I fed her, dressed her, tried to make her a little less ignorant about the world, and how did she repay me for my kindness? She helped murder my son.

—AFFC - Cersei IV

A man’s pride

“Common boys fight with wooden swords too, only theirs are sticks and broken branches. Egg, these men may seem fools to you. They won’t know the proper names for bits of armor, or the arms of the great houses, or which king it was who abolished the lord’s right to the first night…but treat them with respect all the same. You are a squire born of noble blood, but you are still a boy. Most of them will be men grown. A man has his pride, no matter how lowborn he may be. You would seem just as lost and stupid in their villages. And if you doubt that, go hoe a row and shear a sheep, and tell me the names of all the weeds and wildflowers in Wat’s Wood.”

The boy considered for a moment. “I could teach them the arms of the great houses, and how Queen Alysanne convinced King Jaehaerys to abolish the first night. And they could teach me which weeds are best for making poisons, and whether those green berries are safe to eat.”

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

It is too cold for this mummer's show, thought Jon. “The free folk despise kneelers,” he had warned Stannis. "Let them keep their pride, and they will love you better." His Grace would not listen. He said, "It is swords I need from them, not kisses."

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon III

Dunk has dreams with dead Targaryen Princes while Jon has dreams with dead Stark Kings 

You are dead, Dunk wanted to scream, you are all three dead, why won’t you leave me be? Ser Arlan had died of a chill, Prince Baelor of the blow his brother dealt him during Dunk’s trial of seven, his son Valarr during the Great Spring Sickness. I am not to blame for that. We were in Dorne, we never even knew.

(...)

“Begone with you, Ser Duncan,” Valarr said. “Begone.”

—The Sworn Sword 

* * *

He dreamt he was back in Winterfell, limping past the stone kings on their thrones. Their grey granite eyes turned to follow him as he passed, and their grey granite fingers tightened on the hilts of the rusted swords upon their laps. You are no Stark, he could hear them mutter, in heavy granite voices. There is no place for you here. Go away. He walked deeper into the darkness. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VIII

Egg taught Dunk how to talk to a lady the same way Sansa taught  Jon how to talk to a lady  

“I don’t know how to talk with highborn ladies,” he confessed as they were pouring. “We both might have been killed in Dorne, on account of what I said to Lady Vaith.”

“Lady Vaith was mad,” Egg reminded him, “but you could have been more gallant. Ladies like it when you’re gallant. If you were to rescue the Red Widow the way you rescued that puppet girl from Aerion…”

“Aerion’s in Lys, and the widow’s not in want of rescuing.” He did not want to talk of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall was her name, but she was not too tall for me.

“Well,” the boy said, “some knights sing gallant songs to their ladies, or play them tunes upon a lute.”

“I have no lute.” Dunk looked morose. “And that night I drank too much in the Planky Town, you told me I sang like an ox in a mud wallow.”

“I had forgotten, ser.”

“How could you forget?”

“You told me to forget, ser,” said Egg, all innocence. “You told me I’d get a clout in the ear the next time I mentioned it.”

“There will be no singing.” Even if he had the voice for it, the only song Dunk knew all the way through was “The Bear, the Bear, and the Maiden Fair.” He doubted that would do much to win over Lady Webber. 

(...)

“I thought how you should speak to Lady Webber, ser. You should win her to your side with gallant compliments.” The boy looked as cool and crisp in his chequy tunic as Ser Eustace had in his cloak.

Am I the only one who sweats? “Gallant compliments,” Dunk echoed. “What sort of gallant compliments?”

“You know, ser. Tell her how fair and beautiful she is.”

Dunk had doubts. “She’s outlived four husbands, she must be as old as Lady Vaith. If I say she’s fair and beautiful when she’s old and warty, she will take me for a liar.”

“You just need to find something true to say about her. That’s what my brother Daeron does. Even ugly old whores can have nice hair or well-shaped ears, he says.”

“Well-shaped ears?” Dunk’s doubts were growing.

“Or pretty eyes. Tell her that her gown brings out the color of her eyes.” The lad reflected for a moment. “Unless she only has the one eye, like Lord Bloodraven.”

“My lady, that gown brings out the color of your eye. Dunk had heard knights and lordlings mouth such gallantries at other ladies. They never put it quite so baldly, though. Good lady, that gown is beautiful. It brings out the color of both your lovely eyes. Some of the ladies had been old and scrawny, or fat and florid, or pox-scarred and homely, but all wore gowns and had two eyes, and as Dunk recalled, they’d been well pleased by the flowery words. What a lovely gown, my lady. It brings out the lovely beauty of your beautiful-colored eyes. “A hedge knight’s life is simpler,” Dunk said glumly. “If I say the wrong thing, she’s like to sew me in a sack of rocks and throw me in her moat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"Black brothers are sworn never to take wives, don't you know that? And we're guests in your father's hall besides."

"Not you," she said. "I watched. You never ate at his board, nor slept by his fire. He never gave you guest-right, so you're not bound to him. It's for the baby I have to go."

"I don't even know your name."

"Gilly, he called me. For the gillyflower."

"That's pretty." He remembered Sansa telling him once that he should say that whenever a lady told him her name. He could not help the girl, but perhaps the courtesy would please her. "Is it Craster who frightens you, Gilly?"

—A Clash of Kings - Jon III

Marrying a Lady

In another world, Dunk could get married with a lady, like Alysanne Osgrey or Rohanne Webber

“You are a good man, Ser Duncan. A brave knight, and true.” Ser Eustace gave Dunk’s arm a squeeze. “Would that the gods had spared my Alysanne. You are the sort of man I had always hoped that she might marry. A true knight, Ser Duncan. A true knight.”

(...)

“Ser Eustace said I was the sort of man he’d hoped to have his daughter wed. Her name was Alysanne.”

“She’s dead, ser.”

“I know she’s dead,” said Dunk, annoyed. “If she was alive, he said. If she was, he’d like her to marry me. Or someone like me. I never had a lord offer me his daughter before.”

“His dead daughter. And the Osgreys might have been lords in the old days, but Ser Eustace is only a landed knight.”

“I know what he is. Do you want a clout in the ear?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I’d sooner have a clout than a wife. Especially a dead wife, ser. The kettle’s steaming.”

(...)

Egg drew water to fill it for the third time, then clambered back onto the well. "You'd best not take any food or drink at Coldmoat, ser. The Red Widow poisoned all her husbands."

"I'm not like to marry her. She's a highborn lady, and I'm Dunk of Flea Bottom, remember?" He frowned. "Just how many husbands has she had, do you know?"

“Four,” said Egg, “but no children.

(...)

“You wanted blood for blood.” He laid the dagger against his cheek. “They told you wrong. It wasn’t Bennis cut that digger, it was me.” He pressed the edge of the steel into his face, slashed downward. When he shook the blood off the blade some spattered on her face. More freckles, he thought. “There, the Red Widow has her due. A cheek for a cheek.”

“You are quite mad.” The smoke had filled her eyes with tears. “If you were better born, I’d marry you.”

“Aye, m’lady. And if pigs had wings and scales and breathed flame, they’d be as good as dragons.” 

—The Sworn Sword

Maybe I’m seeing too much here, but the reference to Alysanne Osgrey [Os-Grey] makes me think of Sansa Stark, because: 

Sansa shared a lot of parallels with Good Queen Alysanne. 

The surname Osgrey has the word grey in it. 

Alysanne Osgrey became a Silent Sister. 

Silent Sisters wear always grey. 

Silent Sisters are known as the Stranger's wives. 

According to Melissandre, the Grey Girl of her visions is Jon Snow’s Sister. 

The Grey Girl will probably be Sansa Stark. 

Grey is also the color of House Stark, so Sansa is, in a way, a Grey Girl.

Jon is a man that will defeat death and come back to life, like the Stranger that walks between the two worlds. 

The Stranger’s face is half animal, like Jon who is a warg, half man and half beast.     

In another world, Jon also could get married Ygritte, without the cultural and social barriers that separate them.

A Lady Mother

In another world, Rohanne could be... Dunk’s mother?

“If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

—The Sworn Sword

The parallel with Jon wishing his mother were a highborn lady is plain, but it’s funny how Dunk was resented with Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, which reminds me of Jon being resented with “his father’s redhead wife”, Catelyn Stark.     

Marrying a Sister / Bedding a Sister

“You’ve known queens and princesses. Did they dance with demons and practice the black arts?”

“Lady Shiera does. Lord Bloodraven’s paramour. She bathes in blood to keep her beauty. And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.”

Egg spoke as if such incest was the most natural thing in the world. For him it is. The Targaryens had been marrying brother to sister for hundreds of years, to keep the blood of the dragon pure. Though the last actual dragon had died before Dunk was born, the dragonkings went on. Maybe the gods don’t mind them marrying their sisters. “Did the potion work?” Dunk asked.

“It would have,” said Egg, “but I spit it out. 

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte pushed herself onto an elbow. “I am nineteen, and a spearwife, and kissed by fire. How could I be maiden?”

“Who was he?”

“A boy at a feast, five years past. He’d come trading with his brothers, and he had hair like mine, kissed by fire, so I thought he would be lucky. But he was weak. When he came back t’ try and steal me, Longspear broke his arm and ran him off, and he never tried again, not once.”

“It wasn’t Longspear, then?” Jon was relieved. He liked Longspear, with his homely face and friendly ways.

She punched him. “That’s vile. Would you bed your sister?”

“Longspear’s not your brother.”

“He’s of my village. You know nothing, Jon Snow. A true man steals a woman from afar, t’ strengthen the clan. Women who bed brothers or fathers or clan kin offend the gods, and are cursed with weak and sickly children. Even monsters.”

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Joining a celibate brotherhood

This conversation between Dunk and Egg resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon  

I don’t want a wife, I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard and live only to serve and defend the king. The Kingsguard are sworn not to wed.”

“That’s a noble thing, but when you’re older you may find you’d sooner have a girl than a white cloak.” Dunk was thinking of Tanselle Too-Tall, and the way she’d smiled at him at Ashford.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

He had thought on it long and hard, lying abed at night while his brothers slept around him. Robb would someday inherit Winterfell, would command great armies as the Warden of the North. Bran and Rickon would be Robb's bannermen and rule holdfasts in his name. His sisters Arya and Sansa would marry the heirs of other great houses and go south as mistress of castles of their own. But what place could a bastard hope to earn?

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

You’re not going...

Another conversation between Dunk and Egg that resemblances a conversation between Benjen and Jon 

You will stay and help Bennis with the smallfolk, he told Egg. And don’t give me that sullen look. He kicked his breeches off and climbed into the tub of steaming water. Go on and get to sleep now, and let me have my bath. You’re not going, and that’s the end of it

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Three days after their arrival, Jon had heard that Benjen Stark was to lead a half-dozen men on a ranging into the haunted forest. That night he sought out his uncle in the great timbered common hall and pleaded to go with him. Benjen refused him curtly. "This is not Winterfell," he told him as he cut his meat with fork and dagger. "On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns. You're no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the smell of summer still on you."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon III

Warg imagery again...

This old master of yours, the knight of Pennytree…did he fight in the Blackfyre Rebellion? He did, m’lord. Before he took me on. Dunk had been no more than 3 or 4 at the time, running half-naked through the alleys of Flea Bottom, more animal than boy. 

—The Sworn Sword

Dunk’s age and the line “more animal than a boy” reminds me of Rickon Stark, but it’s also another warg reference. And after coming back to life, Jon Snow will probably be more animal than man.     

Usurping another’s place 

Roger of Pennytree is to Dunk, what Robb is to Jon

“Ser Arlan never liked to speak about the battle. His squire died there too. Roger of Pennytree was his name, Ser Arlan’s sister’s son.” Even saying the name made Dunk feel vaguely guilty. I stole his place. Only princes and great lords had the means to keep two squires. If Aegon the Unworthy had given his sword to his heir Daeron instead of his bastard Daemon, there might never have been a Blackfyre Rebellion, and Roger of Pennytree might be alive today. He would be a knight someplace, a truer knight than me. I would have ended on the gallows, or been sent off to the Night’s Watch to walk the Wall until I died.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, an oathbreaker, and a murderer. He was glad that Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon X

When Jon had been very young, too young to understand what it meant to be a bastard, he used to dream that one day Winterfell might be his. Later, when he was older, he had been ashamed of those dreams. Winterfell would go to Robb and then his sons, or to Bran or Rickon should Robb die childless. And after them came Sansa and Arya. Even to dream otherwise seemed disloyal, as if he were betraying them in his heart, wishing for their deaths. I never wanted this, he thought as he stood before the blue-eyed king and the red woman. I loved Robb, loved all of them . . . I never wanted any harm to come to any of them, but it did. And now there's only me. All he had to do was say the word, and he would be Jon Stark, and nevermore a Snow. All he had to do was pledge this king his fealty, and Winterfell was his. All he had to do . . .

. . . was forswear his vows again.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon XI

Dunk met Rohanne Webber the same way Jon met Ygritte, they confused them with another person. And Lucas Inchfield is the Orell of this tale   

Nearby a squire was loosing shafts at the archery butts, while a freckled girl with a long braid matched him shot for shot. 

(...)

…and one soft, fleshy lady of high birth, garbed in a gown of dark blue damask trimmed with Myrish lace, so long its hems were trailing in the dirt. Dunk judged her to be forty. Beneath a spun-silver net her auburn hair was piled high, but the reddest thing about her was her face.

“My lady,” Ser Lucas said, when they stood before her and her septas, “this hedge knight claims to bring a message from Ser Eustace Osgrey. Will you hear it?”

“If you wish it, Ser Lucas.” She peered at Dunk so hard that he could not help but recall Egg’s talk of sorcery. I don’t think this one bathes in blood to keep her beauty. The widow was stout and square, with an oddly pointed head that her hair could not quite conceal. Her nose was too big, and her mouth too small. She did have two eyes, he was relieved to see, but all thought of gallantry had abandoned Dunk by then. “Ser Eustace bid me talk with you concerning the recent trouble at your dam.”

(...)

“M’lady, could we continue our discussion in some…more private place?”

“A silver says the great oaf means to bed her!” someone japed, and a roar of laughter went up all around him. The lady cringed away, half in terror, and raised both hands to shield her face. One of the septas moved quickly to her side and put a protective arm around her shoulders.

“And what is all this merriment?” The voice cut through the laughter, cool and firm. “Will no one share the jape? Ser knight, why are you troubling my good-sister?”

“It was the girl he had seen earlier at the archery butts. She had a quiver of arrows on one hip and held a longbow that was just as tall as she was, which wasn’t very tall. If Dunk was shy an inch of seven feet, the archer was shy an inch of five. He could have spanned her waist with his two hands. Her red hair was bound up in a braid so long it brushed past her thighs, and she had a dimpled chin, a snub nose, and a light spray of freckles across her cheeks.

“Forgive us, Lady Rohanne.” The speaker was a pretty young lord with the Caswell centaur embroidered on his doublet. “This great oaf took the Lady Helicent for you.”

Dunk looked from one lady to the other. “You are the Red Widow?” he heard himself blurt out. “But you’re too—”

“Young?” The girl tossed her longbow to the lanky lad he’d seen her shooting with. “I am five-and-twenty, as it happens. Or was it small you meant to say?”

“—pretty. It was pretty.” Dunk did not know where that came from, but he was glad it came. He liked her nose, and the strawberry-blond color of her hair, and the small but well-shaped breasts beneath her leather jerkin. “I thought that you’d be…I mean…they said you were four times a widow, so…”

(...)

“I…I am sorry for all your losses, m’lady.” A gallantry, you lunk, give her a gallantry. “I want to say…your gown…”

“Gown?” She glanced down at her boots and breeches, loose linen tunic and leather jerkin. “I wear no gown.”

“Your hair, I meant…it’s soft and…”

“And how would you know that, ser? If you had ever touched my hair, I should think that I might remember.”

“Not soft,” Dunk said miserably. “Red, I meant to say. Your hair is very red.”

“Very red, ser? Oh, not as red as your face, I hope.” She laughed, and the onlookers laughed with her.

All but Ser Lucas Longinch. “My lady,” he broke in, “this man is one of Standfast’s sellswords. He was with Bennis of the Brown Shield when he attacked your diggers at the dam and carved up Wolmer’s face. Old Osgrey sent him to treat with you.”

“He did, m’lady. I am called Ser Duncan the Tall.”

(...)

“Ser Duncan, I should not have teased you in the yard, when you were trying so hard to be gracious. It was only that you blushed so red…was there no girl to tease you, in the village where you grew so tall?” 

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see, Rohanne and Ygritte share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne was red haired, like Ygritte. Dunk and Jon liked their red hair.

Rohanne was small, like Ygritte.

Dunk confused Rohanne with her auburn haired good sister lady Helicent Uffering, like Jon confused Ygritte with a man. Point aside, Lady Helicent having auburn hair and wearing a silver hairnet makes me think of Sansa Stark. Also I have to laugh at the comment about Dunk wanting to bed Lady Helicent... This is too much George.  

It seems that Rohanne was good with bow and arrow, like Ygritte.

Rohanne wasn’t wearing a gown but breeches, like Ygritte.

Rohanne was older, bolder and teased Dunk a lot, like Ygritte was to Jon.

Rohanne openly flirted with Dunk, like Ygritte did with Jon.  

Dunk was sexually attracted to Rohanne, the same way Jon was sexually attracted to Ygritte.

Rohanne and Ygritte weren’t maids, while Dunk and Jon were virgins when they met both women.

Later Dunk will have sex dreams with Rohanne, like Jon’s dreams with Ygritte.

In his dreams, Rohanne shoots arrows at Dunk, like Ygritte did to Jon.    

Lucas Inchfield, almost as tall as Dunk, was jealous of him regarding Rohanne’s attentions. The same way, Orell, a warg like Jon, was jealous of him because he fancied Ygritte.

Later, a mentor figure will suggest Dunk to kill Rohanne, in a similar way that Qhorin Halfhand suggested Jon to kill Ygritte.  Dunk and Jon have the same doubts about killing a woman.

Rohanne share some of the violence impulses and inclinations that Ygritte had. These details also links Rohanne with another women in Jon’s arc like Val, and eventually Daenerys.  More about this later.    

Dunk killed Lucas Inchfield, the same way Jon killed Orell.

The sexual tension between Dunk and Rohanne was instantly, both find each other attractive; in contrast, Jon finds Ygritte unattractive, but only at first...    

The Red Widow looked Dunk over from his heels up to his head though her gaze lingered longest on his chest. “A tree and shooting star. I have never seen those arms before.” She touched his tunic, tracing a limb of his elm tree with two fingers. “And painted, not sewn. The Dornish paint their silks, I’ve heard, but you look too big to be a Dornishman.”

“Not all Dornishmen are small, m’lady.” Dunk could feel her fingers through the silk. Her hand was freckled too. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. His mouth was oddly dry. “I spent a year in Dorne.”

“Do all the oaks grow so tall there?” she said, as her fingers traced a tree limb round his heart.

“It’s meant to be an elm, m’lady.”

“I shall remember.” She drew her hand back, solemn. “The ward is too hot and dusty for a conversation. Septon, show Ser Duncan to my audience chamber.”

“It would be my great pleasure, good-sister.”

“Our guest will have a thirst. You may send for a flagon of wine as well.”

(...)

“M’lady,” Dunk called after her. “My squire was made to wait by the gates. Might he join us as well?”

“Your squire?” When she smiled, she looked a girl of five-and-ten, not a woman five-and-twenty. A pretty girl full of mischief and laughter. “If it please you, certainly.”

(...)

She smiled a smile that made him wish that she was plainer. 

(...)

She was distracting him, with her snub nose and her freckles.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Ygritte watched and said nothing. She was older than he'd thought at first, Jon realized; maybe as old as twenty, but short for her age, bandy-legged, with a round face, small hands, and a pug nose. Her shaggy mop of red hair stuck out in all directions.  

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

The wildlings seemed to think Ygritte a great beauty because of her hair; red hair was rare among the free folk, and those who had it were said to be kissed by fire, which was supposed to be lucky. Lucky it might be, and red it certainly was, but Ygritte's hair was such a tangle that Jon was tempted to ask her if she only brushed it at the changing of the seasons.

At a lord's court the girl would never have been considered anything but common, he knew. She had a round peasant face, a pug nose, and slightly crooked teeth, and her eyes were too far apart. Jon had noticed all that the first time he'd seen her, when his dirk had been at her throat. Lately, though, he was noticing some other things. When she grinned, the crooked teeth didn't seem to matter. And maybe her eyes were too far apart, but they were a pretty blue-grey color, and lively as any eyes he knew. Sometimes she sang in a low husky voice that stirred him. And sometimes by the cookfire when she sat hugging her knees with the flames waking echoes in her red hair, and looked at him, just smiling . . . well, that stirred some things as well.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

A Suitor / A Husband

Despite Dunk being no Lord, there is a lot of talking about him being a suitor of Lady Rohanne.  The same way the freefolk just assumed that Jon stole [married] Ygritte   

Dunk snorted. “She has no need to poison me,” he whispered back. “She thinks I’m some great lout with pease porridge between his ears.”

“As it happens, my good-sister likes pease porridge,” said Septon Sefton, as he reappeared with a flagon of wine, a flagon of water, and three cups. “Yes, yes, I heard. I’m fat, not deaf.” 

(...)

“She does like pease porridge,” the septon said, “and you as well, ser. I know my own good-sister. When I first saw you in the yard, I half hoped you were some suitor, come from King’s Landing to seek my lady’s hand.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

And when the Thief was in the Moonmaid, that was a propitious time for a man to steal a woman, Ygritte insisted. "Like the night you stole me. The Thief was bright that night."

"I never meant to steal you," he said. "I never knew you were a girl until my knife was at your throat."

"If you kill a man, and never mean t', he's just as dead," Ygritte said stubbornly.

(...)

"Craster's more your kind than ours. His father was a crow who stole a woman out of Whitetree village, but after he had her he flew back t' his Wall. She went t' Castle Black once t' show the crow his son, but the brothers blew their horns and run her off. Craster's blood is black, and he bears a heavy curse." She ran her fingers lightly across his stomach. "I feared you'd do the same once. Fly back to the Wall. You never knew what t' do after you stole me."

Jon sat up. "Ygritte, I never stole you."

"Aye, you did. You jumped down the mountain and killed Orell, and afore I could get my axe you had a knife at my throat. I thought you'd have me then, or kill me, or maybe both, but you never did. And when I told you the tale o' Bael the Bard and how he plucked the rose o' Winterfell, I thought you'd know to pluck me then for certain, but you didn't. You know nothing, Jon Snow." She gave him a shy smile. "You might be learning some, though."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

A Lady’s claim

Rohanne’s claim is coveted by many suitors

“And yet she must wed again, and soon.”

“Must?” said Dunk.

“Her lord father’s will demands it. Lord Wyman wanted grandsons to carry on his line. When he sickened he tried to wed her to the Longinch, so he might die knowing that she had a strong man to protect her, but Rohanne refused to have him. His lordship took his vengeance in his will. If she remains unwed on the second anniversary of her father’s passing, Coldmoat and its lands pass to his cousin Wendell. 

(...) 

Lord Rowan has upheld the will, so her ladyship has only till the next new moon.”

“Why has she waited so long?” Dunk wondered aloud.

The septon shrugged. “If truth be told, there has been a dearth of suitors. My good-sister is not hard to look upon, you will have noticed, and a stout castle and broad lands add to her charms. You would think that younger sons and landless knights would swarm about her ladyship like flies. You would be wrong. The four dead husbands make them wary, and there are those who will say that she is barren too… though never in her hearing unless they yearn to see the inside of a crow cage. She has carried two children to term, a boy and a girl, but neither lived to see a name day. Those few who are not put off by talk of poisonings and sorcery want no part of the Longinch. Lord Wyman charged him on his deathbed to protect his daughter from unworthy suitors, which he has taken to mean all suitors. Any man who means to have her hand would need to face his sword first.” He finished his wine and set the cup aside. “That is not to say there has been no one. Cleyton Caswell and Simon Leygood have been the most persistent, though they seem more interested in her lands than in her person. Were I given to wagering, I should place my gold on Gerold Lannister. He has yet to put in an appearance, but they say he is golden-haired and quick of wit, and more than six feet tall…”

“…and Lady Webber is much taken with his letters.”

(...)

“My first husband perished on the Redgrass Field. My father found me others, but the Stranger took them too. I no longer trust in men, no matter how ample they may seem. I trust in stone and steel and water. I trust in moats, ser, and mine will not go dry.”

(...)

She gave him back the ring. “I cannot return to Coldmoat empty-handed. They will say the Red Widow has lost her bite, that she was too weak to do justice, that she could not protect her smallfolk. You do not understand, ser.”

“I might.” Better than you know. “I remember once some little lord in the stormlands took Ser Arlan into service, to help him fight some other little lord. When I asked the old man what they were fighting over, he said, ‘Nothing, lad. It’s just some pissing contest.’ ”

Lady Rohanne gave him a shocked look but could sustain it no more than half a heartbeat before it turned into a grin. “I have heard a thousand empty courtesies in my time, but you are the first knight who ever said pissing in my presence.” Her freckled face went somber. “Those pissing contests are how lords judge one another’s strength, and woe to any man who shows his weakness. A woman must needs piss twice as hard, if she hopes to rule. And if that woman should happen to be small… Lord Stackhouse covets my Horseshoe Hills, Ser Clifford Conklyn has an old claim to Leafy Lake, those dismal Durwells live by stealing cattle… and beneath mine own roof I have the Longinch. Every day I wake wondering if this might be the day he marries me by force.” Her hand curled tight around her braid, as hard as if it were a rope, and she was dangling over a precipice. “He wants to, I know. He holds back for fear of my wroth, just as Conklyn and Stackhouse and the Durwells tread carefully where the Red Widow is concerned. If any of them thought for a moment that I had turned weak and soft…”

(...)

Ser Lucas Inchfield looked at Lady Rohanne, his face dark with fury. “You will marry me when this mummer’s farce is done. As your lord father wished.”

“My lord father never knew you as I do,” she gave back.”

—The Sworn Sword

And as you can see, Rohanne Webber and Sansa Stark also share a lot of similarities:

Rohanne and Sansa are red haired.

Rohanne and Sansa have a “wicked” reputation. 

Rohanne and Sansa are ladies with a claim to their paternal lands and rights.

Rohanne’s and Sansa’s succession rights has been put in a difficult position in their father’s and older brother’s will, respectively. 

Rohanne and Sansa have a long list of suitors that covet their claims.

Rohanne and Sansa have suffered forced marriages.

Rohanne and Sansa have become disillusioned with men.

Rohanne asked Dunk to swear his sword to her, but he rejected the offer. Brienne, Dunk’s descendant, has already sworn her sword (made of Ice) to Sansa Stark. 

Jaime Lannister, Rohanne’s descendant has also sworn a vow for Sansa Stark: “Sansa Stark is my last chance for honor.” [A Storm of Swords - Jaime IX]

Later, Rohanne married Gerold Lannister and became Lady Lannister of Casterly Rock, she was the mother of Tytos Lannister and grandmother of Tywin Lannister.  Sansa was betrothed with Tywin Lannister’s grandson Joffrey, and later married Tywin Lannister’s son, Tyrion Lannister. Point aside, Stannis Baratheon tried to convince Jon to accept his Winterfell offer, calling Sansa, Lady Lannister.     

Rohanne physically hurt Dunk / Ygritte physically hurt Jon  

Lady Rohanne’s face was stone. “Come closer.”

He did not know what else to do, but to obey. The dais added a good foot to her height, yet even so Dunk towered over her. “Kneel,” she said. He did.

The slap she gave him had all her strength behind it, and she was stronger than she looked. His cheek burned, and he could taste blood in his mouth from a broken lip, but she hadn’t truly hurt him. For a moment all Dunk could think of was grabbing her by that long red braid and pulling her across his lap to slap her arse, as you would a spoiled child. If I do, she’ll scream, though, and twenty knights will come bursting in to kill me.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

He lay on the ground afterward, clutching his prize and bleeding quietly, too weak to move. After a while, he realized that if he did not make himself move he was like to bleed to death. Jon crawled to the shallow stream where the mare was drinking, washed his thigh in the cold water, and bound it tight with a strip of cloth torn from his cloak. He washed the arrow too, turning it in his hands. Was the fletching grey, or white? Ygritte fletched her arrows with pale grey goose feathers. Did she loose a shaft at me as I fled? Jon could not blame her for that. He wondered if she'd been aiming for him or the horse. If the mare had gone down, he would have been doomed. "A lucky thing my leg got in the way," he muttered.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Bastards

"The old High Septon told my father that king's laws are one thing, and the laws of the gods another," the boy said stubbornly. "Trueborn children are made in a marriage bed and blessed by the Father and the Mother, but bastards are born of lust and weakness, he said. King Aegon decreed that his bastards were not bastards, but he could not change their nature. The High Septon said all bastards are born to betrayal . . . Daemon Blackfyre, Bittersteel, even Bloodraven. Lord Rivers was more cunning than the other two, he said, but in the end he would prove himself a traitor, too. The High Septon counseled my father never to put any trust in him, nor in any other bastards, great or small."

Born to betrayal, Dunk thought. Born of lust and weakness. Never to be trusted, great or small. "Egg," he said, "didn't you ever think that I might be a bastard?"

"You, ser?" That took the boy aback. "You are not."

"I might be. I never knew my mother, or what became of her. Maybe I was born too big and killed her. Most like she was some whore or tavern girl. You don't find highborn ladies down in Flea Bottom. And if she ever wed my father . . . well, what became of him, then?" Dunk did not like to be reminded of his life before Ser Arlan found him. "There was a pot shop in King's Landing where I used to sell them rats and cats and pigeons for the brown. The cook always claimed my father was some thief or cutpurse. 'Most like I saw him hanged,' he used to tell me, 'but maybe they just sent him to the Wall.' When I was squiring for Ser Arlan, I would ask him if we couldn't go up that way someday, to take service at Winterfell or some other northern castle. I had this notion that if I could only reach the Wall, might be I'd come on some old man, a real tall man who looked like me. We never went, though. Ser Arlan said there were no hedges in the north, and all the woods were full of wolves." He shook his head. "The long and short of it is, most like you're squiring for a bastard."

For once Egg had nothing to say.

—The Sworn Sword

I’ve never knew my mother?

Maybe I killed my mother at birth?

After reading this passage it’s impossible not to think about Jon Snow. The parallels here don’t need major explanation...

The Ice Dragon

There were stars in the sky as well, more stars than any man could ever hope to count, even if he lived to be as old as King Jaehaerys. Dunk need only lift his eyes to find familiar friends: the Stallion and the Sow, the King’s Crown and the Crone’s Lantern, the Galley, Ghost, and Moonmaid. But there were clouds to the north, and the blue eye of the Ice Dragon was lost to him, the blue eye that pointed north.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

So many stars, he thought as he trudged up the slope through pines and firs and ash. Maester Luwin had taught him his stars as a boy in Winterfell; he had learned the names of the twelve houses of heaven and the rulers of each; he could find the seven wanderers sacred to the Faith; he was old friends with the Ice Dragon, the Shadowcat, the Moonmaid, and the Sword of the Morning. All those he shared with Ygritte, but not some of the others. We look up at the same stars, and see such different things. The King's Crown was the Cradle, to hear her tell it; the Stallion was the Horned Lord; the red wanderer that septons preached was sacred to their Smith up here was called the Thief. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon III

Thunder rumbled softly in the distance, but above him the clouds were breaking up. Jon searched the sky until he found the Ice Dragon, then turned the mare north for the Wall and Castle Black.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

Rohanne was called a whore / Ygritte was called a whore

Osgrey’s eyes grew narrow. “Did that woman offer to take you into service? Are you leaving me for that whore’s bed?”

“I don’t know that she is a whore,” Dunk said, “or a witch or a poisoner or none of that. But whatever she may be makes no matter. We’re leaving for the hedges, not for Coldmoat.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

"I suppose it was also the Halfhand who commanded you to fuck this unwashed whore?" Ser Alliser asked with a smirk.

"Ser. She was no whore, ser. The Halfhand told me not to balk, whatever the wildlings asked of me, but . . . I will not deny that I went beyond what I had to do, that I . . . cared for her."

"You admit to being an oathbreaker, then," said Janos Slynt.

Half the men at Castle Black visited Mole's Town from time to time to dig for buried treasures in the brothel, Jon knew, but he would not dishonor Ygritte by equating her with the Mole's Town whores. "I broke my vows with a woman. I admit that. Yes."

—A Storm of Swords - Jon IX

Rohanne Vs Tanselle

Dunk has an internal debate between his platonic and romantic feelings for Tanselle and his sexual desires for Rohanne

And she was there as well, the Red Widow, Rohanne of the Coldmoat. He could see her freckled face, her slender arms, her long red braid. It made him feel guilty. I should be dreaming of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall, they called her, but she was not too tall for me. She had painted arms upon his shield and he had saved her from the Bright Prince, but she vanished even before the trial of seven. She could not bear to see me die, Dunk often told himself, but what did he know? He was as thick as a castle wall. Just thinking of the Red Widow was proof enough of that. Tanselle smiled at me, but we never held each other, never kissed, not even lips to cheek. Rohanne at least had touched him; he had the swollen lip to prove it. Don’t be daft. She’s not for the likes of you. She is too small, too clever, and much too dangerous.”

—The Sworn Sword

This internal debate is somehow similar to Jon Snow, due his bastard status, repressing his deep and true wishes to love and be loved by a highborn lady, and settle himself with his own notion of a warrior woman, or to be more precisely, a woman from a warrior culture, or simply, not a lady.

Sex Dreams

Drowsing at long last, Dunk dreamed. He was running through a glade in the heart of Wat’s Wood, running toward Rohanne, and she was shooting arrows at him. Each shaft she loosed flew true, and pierced him through the chest, yet the pain was strangely sweet. He should have turned and fled, but he ran toward her instead, running slowly as you always did in dreams, as if the very air had turned to honey. Another arrow came, and yet another. Her quiver seemed to have no end of shafts. Her eyes were grey and green and full of mischief. Your gown brings out the color of your eyes, he meant to say to her, but she was not wearing any gown, or any clothes at all. Across her small breasts was a faint spray of freckles, and her nipples were red and hard as little berries. The arrows made him look like some great porcupine as he went stumbling to her feet, but somehow he still found the strength to grab her braid. With one hard yank he pulled her down on top of him and kissed her.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

If I could show her Winterfell . . . give her a flower from the glass gardens, feast her in the Great Hall, and show her the stone kings on their thrones. We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the old gods watched over us.

The dream was sweet . . . but Winterfell would never be his to show. It belonged to his brother, the King in the North. He was a Snow, not a Stark. Bastard, oathbreaker, and turncloak . . .

—A Storm of Swords - Jon V

When the dreams took him, he found himself back home once more, splashing in the hot pools beneath a huge white weirwood that had his father's face. Ygritte was with him, laughing at him, shedding her skins till she was naked as her name day, trying to kiss him, but he couldn't, not with his father watching. 

—A Storm of Swords - Jon VI

Killing a woman 

Dunk faced the possibility to kill Rohanne / Jon faced the possibility to kill Ygritte  

“Ser Duncan, do you remember the story that I told you?”

“I might, ser,” said Dunk. “Which one?”

“The Little Lion.

“I remember. He was the youngest of five sons.”

“Good.” He coughed again. “When he slew Lancel Lannister, the westermen turned back. Without the king there was no war. Do you understand what I am saying?”

“Aye,” Dunk said reluctantly. Could I kill a woman? For once Dunk wished he were as thick as that castle wall. It must not come to that. I must not let it come to that.

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the sleeper stirring, and knew he must finish his man quick. When the brand swung again, he bulled into it, swinging the bastard sword with both hands. The Valyrian steel sheared through leather, fur, wool, and flesh, but when the wildling fell he twisted, ripping the sword from Jon's grasp. On the ground the sleeper sat up beneath his furs. Jon slid his dirk free, grabbing the man by the hair and jamming the point of the knife up under his chin as he reached for his—no, her—

His hand froze. "A girl."

"A watcher," said Stonesnake. "A wildling. Finish her."

Jon could see fear and fire in her eyes. Blood ran down her white throat from where the point of his dirk had pricked her. One thrust and it's done, he told himself. He was so close he could smell onion on her breath. She is no older than I am. Something about her made him think of Arya, though they looked nothing at all alike. "Will you yield?" he asked, giving the dirk a half turn. And if she doesn't?

"I yield." Her words steamed in the cold air.

"You're our captive, then." He pulled the dirk away from the soft skin of her throat.

—A Clash of Kings - Jon VI

Killing a Royal Child

Rohanne told Dunk about the possibility to kill Egg, despite knowing he was a Targaryen Prince / Val told Jon about the possibility of killing Princess Shireen 

“Lady Rohanne’s fingers closed around it. She glanced at Egg and old Ser Eustace. “You took a great risk in showing me this ring, ser. But how does it avail us? If I should command my men to cross…” “Well,” said Dunk, “that would mean I’d have to fight.” “And die.” “Most like,” he said, “and Egg would go back where he comes from, and tell what happened here.” “Not if he died as well.” “I don’t think you’d kill a boy of ten,” he said, hoping he was right. “Not this boy of ten, you wouldn’t.”

—The Sworn Sword

* * *

Once outside and well away from the queen’s men, Val gave vent to her wroth. “You lied about her beard. That one has more hair on her chin than I have between my legs. And the daughter … her face …”

“Greyscale.”

“The grey death is what we call it.”

“It is not always mortal in children.”

“North of the Wall it is. Hemlock is a sure cure, but a pillow or a blade will work as well. If I had given birth to that poor child, I would have given her the gift of mercy long ago.”

This was a Val that Jon had never seen before. “Princess Shireen is the queen’s only child.”

“I pity both of them. The child is not clean.”

—A Dance with Dragons - Jon XI

Another similarity between Rohanne and Val is their braided hair.  Like Rohanne, Val sometimes is described to have “reddish” hair and she also wears it in a long braid.    

The Wall

“Where will you go?” The septon was panting heavily. Even with Dunk on a crutch, he was too fat to match his pace.

“Fair Isle. Harrenhal. The Trident. There are hedges everywhere.” He shrugged. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall.”

(...)

“Which way is south?” he asked Egg. It was hard to know, when the world was all rain and mud and the sky was grey as a granite wall.

“That’s south, ser.” Egg pointed. “That’s north.”

“Summerhall is south. Your father.”

“The Wall is north.”

Dunk looked at him. “That’s a long way to ride.”

“I have a new horse, ser.”

“So you do.” Dunk had to smile. “And why would you want to see the Wall?”

“Well,” said Egg, “I hear it’s tall.”

—The Sworn Sword

Once again the Wall is mentioned as a place Dunk always wanted to see. Maybe in hope to find his long lost unknown very tall father there, or maybe because he wants his adventure to never ends...  

Fire and Blood

Curiously enough, we can find similarities between Rohanne and certain mother of dragons...

“Osgrey can keep his silver. Only blood can pay for blood.”

(...)

“It is Bennis I want, and Bennis I shall have.”

(...)

“...and she breeds the finest horses in the Reach. We have a dozen mares about to foal.”

(...)

Go, or I will find a sack large enough for you if I have to sew one up myself. Tell Ser Eustace to bring me Bennis of the Brown Shield by the morrow, else I will come for him myself with fire and sword. Do you understand me? Fire and sword!

(...)

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

—The Sworn Sword

As you can see we can find Targaryen and Dothraki references in Rohanne Webber. Who woulda thought?

Like a certain Mother of Dragons, Rohanne is determined to get what she wants, even if it has to be under threat of “Fire and Sword”.

Like a certain Khaleesi with a horse called “Silver” for the resemblance of her own hair, Rohanne had a horse called “Flame” for the resemblance of her own fiery hair.  There is also the issue with Rohanne’s long braid, like the Khal’s braids that remain untouched until they are defeated.       

Dunk cut Rohanne’s long braid with his dagger tho... 

Something To Remember Me By

Rohanne presented Dunk a fine horse as a farewell gift, but Dunk  rejected the horse and TOOK something else that wasn’t offered... 

He did not see her till the day they took their leave.

(...)

“She was waiting for him inside the stables, standing by the yellow bales of hay in a gown as green as summer. “Ser Duncan,” she said when he came pushing through the door. Her red braid hung down in front, the end of it brushing against her thighs. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

You never saw me on my back, he thought. “M’lady. What brings you to the stables? It’s a wet day for a ride.”

“I might say the same to you.”

“Egg told you?” I owe him another clout in the ear.

“Be glad he did, or I would have sent men after you to drag you back. It was cruel of you to try to steal away without so much as a farewell.”

She had never come to see him while he was in Maester Cerrick’s care, not once. “That green becomes you well, m’lady,” he said. “It brings out the color of your eyes.” He shifted his weight awkwardly on the crutch. “I’m here for my horse.”

“You do not need to go. There is a place for you here, when you’re recovered. Captain of my guards. And Egg can join “my other squires. No one need ever know who he is.”

“Thank you, m’lady, but no.” Thunder was in a stall a dozen places down. Dunk hobbled toward him.

“Please reconsider, ser. These are perilous times, even for dragons and their friends. Stay until you’ve healed.” She walked along beside him. “It would please Lord Eustace too. He is very fond of you.”

“Very fond,” Dunk agreed. “If his daughter wasn’t dead, he’d want me to marry her. Then you could be my lady mother. I never had a mother, much less a lady mother.”

For half a heartbeat Lady Rohanne looked as though she was going to slap him again. Maybe she’ll just kick my crutch away.

“You are angry with me, ser,” she said instead. “You must let me make amends.”

“Well,” he said, “you could help me saddle Thunder.”

“I had something else in mind.” She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over. “How well do you know horses?”

“I ride one.”

“An old destrier bred for battle, slow-footed and ill-tempered. Not a horse to ride from place to place.”

“If I need to get from place to place, it’s him or these.” Dunk pointed at his feet.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over. Too large for most palfreys. They’d look like ponies with you perched upon their backs. Still, a swifter mount would serve you well. A big courser, with some Dornish sand steed for endurance.” She pointed to the stall across from Thunder’s. “A horse like her.”

She was a blood bay with a bright eye and a long, fiery mane. Lady Rohanne took a carrot from her sleeve and stroked her head as she took it. “The carrot, not the fingers,” she told the horse, before she turned again to Dunk. “I call her Flame, but you may name her as you please. Call her Amends, if you like.”

For a moment he was speechless. He leaned on the crutch and looked at the blood bay with new eyes. She was magnificent. A better mount than any the old man had ever owned. You had only to look at those long, clean limbs to see how swift she’d be.

“I bred her for beauty and for speed.”

He turned back to Thunder. “I cannot take her.”

“Why not?”

“She is too good a horse for me. Just look at her.”

A flush crept up Rohanne’s face. She clutched her braid, twisting it between her fingers. “I had to marry, you know that. My father’s will…oh, don’t be such a fool.”

“What else should I be? I’m thick as a castle wall and bastard-born as well.”

“Take the horse. I refuse to let you go without something to remember me by.”

“I will remember you, m’lady. Have no fear of that.”

“Take her!”

Dunk grabbed her braid and pulled her face to his. It was awkward with the crutch and the difference in their heights. He almost fell before he got his lips on hers. He kissed her hard. One of her hands went round his neck, and one around his chest. He learned more about kissing in a moment than he had ever known from watching. But when they finally broke apart, he drew his dagger. “I know what I want to remember you by, m’lady.”

Egg was waiting for him at the gatehouse, mounted on a handsome new sorrel palfrey and holding Maester’s lead. When Dunk trotted up to them on Thunder, the boy looked surprised. “She said she wanted to give you a new horse, ser.”

“Even highborn ladies don’t get all they want,” Dunk said, as they rode out across the drawbridge. “It wasn’t a horse I wanted.” The moat was so high it was threatening to overflow its banks. “I took something else to remember her by instead. A lock of that red hair.” He reached under his cloak, brought out the braid, and smiled.

—The Sworn Sword

OMG I have so many things to say about Dunk and Rohanne Farewell... I will make a summary, if not, this would be too long, and this post is already too long...

This passage is full of innuendos:

She reached out her hand for his, a freckled hand, her fingers strong and slender. I’ll bet she’s freckled all over.

“You have large feet,” she observed. “Large hands as well. I think you must be large all over.

¡¡¡SEVEN GODS!!! 

Dunk resented Rohanne for marrying Ser Eustace Osgrey, despite knowing she did it to keep her claim. Despite knowing a marriage between them was impossible.

Dunk called himself a bastard and a fool. Florian the Fool you say?  

Rohanne offered Dunk a Dornish sand steed, telling him it would be a better mount for him. Tanselle was also Dornish. But Dunk rejected the horse anyway.

Dunk kissing Rohanne and then cutting her long braid with his dagger is giving me a lot of Jon killing his aunt vibes... 

But the fact that Dunk rejected Rohanne’s original gift and took what he wanted instead, also gives me heavy non con vibes and I hate it, I really hate it. Cutting a woman’s hair without her consent, is not romantic, less if said braid was something Rohanne was clearly proud of and was always touching it as a way of reassurance. I really don’t get George’s morbid fascination with non con undertones all over his ASOIAF works...    

* * *

THE MYSTERY KNIGHT

This tale is full of dragons, red dragons, black dragons, albino dragons, disguised dragons, hidden dragons, dragon eggs and hatching dragons.    

A New Tree on a Shield

I think this little detail foreshadows Jon’s death...

Dunk had beggar’s blood himself…or so they used to tell him back in Flea Bottom, when they weren’t telling him that he was sure to hang. 

(...)

Dunk unslung his shield and slipped it onto his arm. It was an old thing, tall and heavy, kite-shaped, made of pine and rimmed with iron.

He had bought it in Stoney Sept to replace the one the Longinch had hacked to splinters when they fought. Dunk had not had time to have it painted with his elm and shooting star, so it still bore the arms of its last owner: a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree. It was not a sigil that he would have chosen for himself, but the shield had come cheap.

(...)

“I am a hedge knight, seeking service.”

“Every robber knight I’ve ever hanged has said the same. Your device may be prophetic, ser…if ser you are. A gallows and a hanged man. These are your arms?”

“No, m’lord. I need to have the shield repainted.”

“Why? Did you rob it off a corpse?”

“I bought it, for good coin.” Three castles, black on orange…where have I seen those before? “I am no robber.”

(...)

“Enter me as the Gallows Knight.” The smallfolk loved it when a mystery knight appeared at a tourney.

Egg fingered his fat lip. “The Gallows Knight, ser?”

“For the shield.”

“Yes, but…

“Go do as I said. You have read enough for one night.” Dunk pinched the candle out between his thumb and forefinger.”

(...)

“My shield,” Dunk said to Egg. The boy handed it up. He slipped his left arm through the strap and closed his hand around the grip. The weight of the kite shield was reassuring though its length made it awkward to handle, and seeing the hanged man once again gave him an uneasy feeling. Those are ill-omened arms. He resolved to get the shield repainted as soon as he could. May the Warrior grant me a smooth course and a quick victory, he prayed, as Butterwell’s herald was clambering up the steps once more. “Ser Uthor Underleaf,” his voice rang out. “The Gallows Knight. Come forth and prove your valor.”

(...)

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dunk’s Elm and Shooting Stark Shield was destroyed so he buys a new one with a hanged man swinging grim and grey beneath a gallows tree.

Hanging is the stablished punishment in the Night’s Watch, that’s why in the first draft of Jon’s Chapter in ADWD, GRRM wrote Jon commanding his men to hang Janos Slynt as punishment for disobedience. 

And in certain way, Dunk will be dead in this tale, but just for a little while. In fact, Dunk is about to die three times during this tale.  

Jon’s death by the hidden daggers is also foreshadowed in the books by Melisandre’s visions and one of Littlefinger’s lessons to Sansa. But there are also prophecies about him coming back to life, and in this tale a dragon’s birth is prophesied.      

Egg revealing his Targaryen identity could also foreshadows Jon knowing the truth about his origins and Targaryen lineage after coming back to life.

A Bastard Prince in Disguise 

Dunk and Egg meet Daemon II Blackfyre in disguise as Ser John the Fiddler     

...a young man lean and lithe, with a comely clean-shaven face and fine features. Black hair fell shining to his collar. His doublet was made of dark blue silk edged in gold satin. Across his chest an engrailed cross had been embroidered in gold thread, with a golden fiddle in the first and third quarters, a golden sword in the second and the fourth. His eyes caught the deep blue of his doublet and sparkled with amusement.

(...) 

“I am a vagabond hedge knight like yourself. Ser John the Fiddler, I am called.”

That was the sort of name a hedge knight might choose, but Dunk had never seen any hedge knight garbed or armed or mounted in such splendor. The knight of the golden hedge, he thought. “You know my name. My squire is called Egg.”

—The Mystery Knight

Wait!

A bastard dragon in disguise? 

With dark hair?

Called John?

Also the Fiddler?

Fiddles and Swords as his sigil? 

Like a musician and a warrior? Somet like Florian the Fool? Someone like Rhaegar?

Ser John the Fiddler could also work as foreshadowing for Young Griff, the alleged Aegon VI Targaryen, Jon’s half-brother. 

Like Young Griff dying his silver/golden hair blue, Daemon Blackfyre has silver/golden hair dyed black.

Like Young Griff having Jon Connington, a man in love with Rhaeger, by his side, Daemon Blackfyre has Alyn Cockshaw, a man in love with him, by his side.       

Gormon Pyke

Dunk meets the man that killed Roger of Pennytree 

Three castles, black on orange. “I remember now. Ser Arlan never liked to talk about the Redgrass Field, but once in his cups he told me how his sister’s son had died.” He could almost hear the old man’s voice again, smell the wine upon his breath. “Roger of Pennytree, that was his name. His head was smashed in by a mace wielded by a lord with three castles on his shield.” Lord Gormon Peake. The old man never knew his name. Or never wanted to. 

—The Mystery Knight

Roger of Pennytree was Ser Arlan’s squire, he died at the Redgrass Field, that’s why Ser Arlan needed a new squire and took Dunk under his tutelage.  

This encounter somehow reminds me of Jon meeting Donald Noye, the man that forged Robert Baratheon’s warhammer, the weapon that killed Rhaegar, Jon’s biological father. 

Dunk and Egg meet three very interesting hedge knights... in a weirwood grove 

Before long the trees opened up, and they found themselves in what must once have been a weirwood grove. Only a ring of white stumps and a tangle of bone-pale roots remained to show where the trees had stood, when the children of the forest ruled in Westeros.

(...)

“I am Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor. Under yonder chestnut sits Ser Glendon, ah, Ball. And here you have the good Ser Maynard Plumm.”

Egg’s ears pricked up at that name. “Plumm…are you kin to Lord Viserys Plumm, ser?”

“Distantly,” confessed Ser Maynard, a tall, thin, stoop-shouldered man with long, straight, flaxen hair, “though I doubt that his lordship would admit to it. One might say that he is of the sweet Plumms, whilst I am of the sour.” Plumm’s cloak was as purple as his name, though frayed about the edges and badly dyed. A moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg fastened it at the shoulder. Elsewise he wore dun-colored roughspun and stained brown leather.

—The Mystery Knight

So many things to say about these three hedge knights.

First, Egg mentioned Lord Viserys Plumm because he was a Targaryen, son of Princess Elaena Targaryen.

Second,  these three knights reminds me a lot of another trio of interesting hedge knights that we met in one of Alayne Stone’s chapters in AFFC:

Alayne laughed. "Are you louts?" she said, teasing. "Why, I took the three of you for gallant knights."

"Knights they are," said Petyr. "Their gallantry has yet to be demonstrated, but we may hope. Allow me to present Ser Byron, Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich. Sers, the Lady Alayne, my natural and very clever daughter . . . with whom I must needs confer, if you will be so good as to excuse us."

The three knights bowed and withdrew, though the tall one with the blond hair kissed her hand before taking his leave.

—A Feast for Crows - Alayne II

So we have these hedge knights in Dunk and Egg tales:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor, ginger whiskers.

Ser Glendon Ball (Glendon Flowers/the Knight of the Pussywillows), dark brown hair, bulbous nose.

Ser Maynard Plumm, flaxen hair.

And we have these hedge knights in ASOIAF:

Ser Byron the Beautiful, blonde hair. 

Ser Morgarth the Merry, salt-and-pepper beard, a red, bulbous nose. 

Shadrich of the Shady Glen also known as the Mad Mouse, orange hair.

Then we can associate them this way:

Ser Kyle, the Cat of Misty Moor / Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse of Shady Glen, both with similar names and red hair.

Ser Glendon Ball / Ser Morgarth the Merry, both with bulbous noses.

Ser Maynard Plumm / Ser Byron the Beautiful, both blondes and... under disguise?

Third, and this is a widely known theory, I’m convinced that Ser Maynard Plumm is Brynden Rivers aka Bloodraven in disguise, thanks to a glamor with the moonstone brooch big as a hen’s egg. That moonstone is working like Melissadre’s ruby at the wrist of Mance Ryder disguised as Rattleshirt (*). 

(*) Here I have to mention the existence of two theories about Ser Byron the Beautiful. The first one says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory. The second theory is an addition to the first one, it says that Ser Byron the Beautiful is the Hound in disguise, using the face of Tyrek Lannister, under glamor thanks to Rhaegar rubies. Yes this is an actual theory as well. 

Is Ser Byron someone else in disguise? I have no idea if the parallels will be 100% accurate and we will only know when the Winds of Winter come. 

Dragon Eggs

The protagonists of this tale are eggs, a dragon egg and a dragon called Egg

“The dragon’s egg? Is that the champion’s prize? Truly?” The last dragon had perished half a century ago. Ser Arlan had once seen a clutch of her eggs, though. They were hard as stone, but beautiful to look upon, the old man had told Dunk. “How could Lord Butterwell come by a dragon’s egg?”

“King Aegon presented the egg to his father’s father after guesting for a night at his old castle,” said Ser Maynard Plumm.

“Was it a reward for some act of valor?” asked Dunk.

Ser Kyle chuckled. “Some might call it that. Supposedly old Lord Butterwell had three young maiden daughters when His Grace came calling. By morning, all three had royal bastards in their little bellies. A hot night’s work, that was.”

(...)

“Lord Butterwell will have the egg well guarded, I’m sure.” Dunk scratched the midge bites on his neck. “Do you think he might display it at the feast? I’d like to get a look at one.”

“I’d show you mine, ser, but it’s at Summerhall.”

“Yours? Your dragon’s egg?” Dunk frowned down at the boy, wondering if this was some jape. “Where did it come from?”

“From a dragon, ser. They put it in my cradle.”

“Do you want a clout in the ear? There are no dragons.”

“No, but there are eggs. The last dragon left a clutch of five, and they have more on Dragonstone, old ones from before the Dance. My brothers all have them too. Aerion’s looks as though it’s made of gold and silver, with veins of fire running through it. Mine is white and green, all swirly.”

“Your dragon’s egg.” They put it in his cradle. Dunk was so used to Egg that sometimes he forgot Aegon was a prince. Of course they’d put a dragon egg inside his cradle. “Well, see that you don’t go mentioning this egg where anyone is like to hear.”

“I’m not stupid, ser.” Egg lowered his voice. “Someday the dragons will return. My brother Daeron’s dreamed of it, and King Aerys read it in a prophecy. Maybe it will be my egg that hatches. That would be splendid.”

“Would it?” Dunk had his doubts.”

Not Egg. “Aemon and I used to pretend that our eggs would be the ones to hatch. If they did, we could fly through the sky on dragonback, like the first Aegon and his sisters.”

“Aye, and if all the other knights in the realm should die, I’d be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. If these eggs are so bloody precious, why is Lord Butterwell giving his away?”

(...)

“Are we going to go to Whitewalls, ser?”

“Why not? I want to see this dragon’s egg.” Dunk smiled. “If I win the tourney, we’d both have dragon’s eggs.”

Egg gave him a doubtful look.

“What? Why are you looking at me that way?”

“I could tell you, ser,” the boy said solemnly, “but I need to learn to hold my tongue.”

—The Mystery Knight

If Dunk and Valarr represented Jon in the first tale, in this one, Jon is represented by Dunk and Glendon as bastards, Daemon as bastard/prince in disguise and our little Egg as a dragon coming to life / revealing his Targaryen identity.

Indeed, Egg will be the dragon egg that hatches in this tale, and later he will be King and Dunk will be his Kingsguard’s Lord Commander one day. 

And the sad note is that both, Dunk and Egg, will died years later while trying to hatch dragon eggs. Be careful what you wish for...

Winterfell

Dunk frowned. “Egg and I have a long journey before us. We’re headed north to Winterfell. Lord Beron Stark is gathering swords to drive the krakens from his shores for good.”

—The Mystery Knight

Dun and Egg will be at Winterfell during the fourth tale, The She-Wolves of Winterfell, a tale that is supposed to explore House Stark Succession issues...

At some point, Dunk asked Ser Glendon Ball, another bastard, that joined them in their journey to Winterfell, an offer to start a new life in a land when they will be judge by their own worth and not by their social status and low origins.   

Florian the Fool imagery

“The wine had colored Ser Glendon’s cheeks and inflamed his pimples. “Who are you, to make such boasts?”

“They call me John the Fiddler.”

“Are you a musician or a warrior?”

“I can make sweet song with either lance or resined bow, as it happens. Every wedding needs a singer, and every tourney needs a mystery knight.”

—The Mystery Knight

As I mentioned before, John the Fiddler sounds like some version of Florian the Fool, a musician and a knight/warrior.  Ser Glendon Ball pointed out this detail.

Jon is surrounded by Florian the Fool imagery. From “You know nothing, Jon Snow” to all the singers linked with him like his biological father Rhaegar Targaryen, Mance Ryder and Bael the Bard.

Having a Thirst during a Feast

Both Dunk and Jon get hammered and think about girls...

Dunk remembers Tanselle and Rohanne and Jon thinks about insipid and stupid and blonde Princess Myrcella and his radiant half-sister Sansa... 

Dunk had not intended to drink so much, with the jousting on the morrow, but the cups were filled anew after every toast, and he found he had a thirst. “Never refuse a cup of wine or a horn of ale,” Ser Arlan had once told him, “it may be a year before you see another.” It would have been discourteous not to toast the bride and groom, he told himself, and dangerous not to drink to the king and his Hand, with strangers all about.

(...)

The other hedge knights, fine fellows all, had begun to talk of women they had known. Dunk found himself wondering where Tanselle was tonight. He knew where Lady Rohanne was—abed at Coldmoat Castle, with old Ser Eustace beside her, snoring through his mustache—so he tried not to think of her. Do they ever think of me? he wondered.

(...)

He had another cup of hippocras, since the first had tasted good. Then he lay his head down atop his folded arms and closed his eyes just for a moment, to rest them from the smoke.When he opened them again, half the wedding guests were on their feet and shouting, “Bed them! Bed them!” They were making such an uproar that they woke Dunk from a pleasant dream involving Tanselle Too-Tall and the Red Widow. “Bed them! Bed them!” the calls rang out. Dunk sat up and rubbed his eyes.

���The Mystery Knight

* * *

It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. In honor of the occasion, his lord father would doubtless permit each child a glass of wine, but no more than that. Down here on the benches, there was no one to stop Jon drinking as much as he had a thirst for.

And he was finding that he had a man's thirst, to the raucous delight of the youths around him, who urged him on every time he drained a glass. They were fine company, and Jon relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the king’s offspring.

(...)

After them came the children. Little Rickon first, managing the long walk with all the dignity a three-year-old could muster. Jon had to urge him on when he stopped to visit. Close behind came Robb, in grey wool trimmed with white, the Stark colors. He had the Princess Myrcella on his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, not quite eight, her hair a cascade of golden curls under a jeweled net. Jon noticed the shy looks she gave Robb as they passed between the tables and the timid way she smiled at him. He decided she was insipid. Robb didn't even have the sense to realize how stupid she was; he was grinning like a fool.

His half sisters escorted the royal princes. Arya was paired with plump young Tommen, whose white-blond hair was longer than hers. Sansa, two years older, drew the crown prince, Joffrey Baratheon. He was twelve, younger than Jon or Robb, but taller than either, to Jon's vast dismay. Prince Joffrey had his sister's hair and his mother's deep green eyes. A thick tangle of blond curls dripped down past his golden choker and high velvet collar. Sansa looked radiant as she walked beside him, but Jon did not like Joffrey's pouty lips or the bored, disdainful way he looked at Winterfell's Great Hall.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I 

A Bedding

Before Dunk quite realized what was happening, John the Fiddler had dragged him to his feet. “Here!” he cried out. “Let the giant carry her!”

The next thing he knew he was climbing a tower stair with the bride squirming in his arms.

(...)

Dunk had no notion where Lord Butterwell’s bedchamber was to be found, but the other men pushed and prodded him until he got there, by which time the bride was red-faced, giggling, and nearly naked, save for the stocking on her left leg, which had somehow survived the climb. Dunk was crimson too, and not from exertion.

His arousal would have been obvious if anyone had been looking, but fortunately all eyes were on the bride. Lady Butterwell looked nothing like Tanselle, but having the one squirming half-naked in his arms had started Dunk thinking about the other. Tanselle Too-Tall, that was her name, but she was not too tall for me. He wondered if he would ever find her again. There had been some nights when he thought he must have dreamed her. No, lunk, you only dreamed she liked you.

(...)

When Dunk finally plopped the bride onto her marriage bed, a dwarf leapt in beside her and seized one of her breasts for a bit of a fondle. The girl let out a squeal, the men roared with laughter, and Dunk seized the dwarf by his collar and hauled him kicking off m’lady. He was carrying the little man across the room to chuck him out the door when he saw the dragon’s egg.

(...)

Dunk dropped the dwarf and picked up the egg, just to feel it for a moment. It was heavier than he’d expected. You could smash a man’s head with this, and never crack the shell. The scales were smooth beneath his fingers, and the deep, rich red seemed to shimmer as he turned the egg in his hands. Blood and flame, he thought, but there were gold flecks in it as well, and whorls of midnight black.

—The Mystery Knight

A dwarf fondling the breast of a lady during her wedding night reminds me of Tyrion groping his child bride Sansa during their wedding night.  So I would really like that one day someone seized Tyrion by his collar and hauled him liked Dunk did with that dwarf as punishment for his unwanted advances with Sansa.   

Another Prophetic Dream 

In Ashford, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a dead dragon. In Whitewalls, Dunk was involved in a prophetic dream with a hatching dragon

He was feeling dizzy from the wine, so he leaned against a parapet. Am I going to be sick? Why did he go and touch the dragon’s egg? He remembered Tanselle’s puppet show, and the wooden dragon that had started all the trouble there at Ashford. The memory made Dunk feel guilty, as it always did. Three good men dead, to save a hedge knight’s foot. It made no sense, and never had. Take a lesson from that, lunk. It is not for the likes of you to mess about with dragons or their eggs.

“It almost looks as if it’s made of snow.”

Dunk turned. John the Fiddler stood behind him, smiling in his silk and cloth-of-gold. “What’s made of snow?”

“The castle. All that white stone in the moonlight. Have you ever been north of the Neck, Ser Duncan? I’m told it snows there even in the summer. Have you ever seen the Wall?”

“No, m’lord.” Why he is going on about the Wall? “That’s where we were going, Egg and me. Up north, to Winterfell.”

(...)

He gave Dunk an enigmatic smile. “I dreamed of you, Ser Duncan. Before I even met you. When I saw you on the road, I knew your face at once. It was as if we were old friends.”

Dunk had the strangest feeling then, as if he had lived this all before. I dreamed of you, he said. My dreams are not like yours, Ser Duncan. Mine are true. “You dreamed of me?” he said, in a voice made thick by wine. “What sort of dream?”

“Why,” the Fiddler said, “I dreamed that you were all in white from head to heel, with a long pale cloak flowing from those broad shoulders. You were a White Sword, ser, a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard, the greatest knight in all the Seven Kingdoms, and you lived for no other purpose but to guard and serve and please your king”. He put a hand on Dunk’s shoulder. “You have dreamed the same dream, I know you have.”

He had, it was true. The first time the old man let me hold his sword. “Every boy dreams of serving in the Kingsguard.”

“Only seven boys grow up to wear the white cloak, though. Would it please you to be one of them?”

“Me?” Dunk shrugged away the lordling’s hand, which had begun to knead his shoulder. “It might. Or not.” The knights of the Kingsguard served for life and swore to take no wife and hold no lands. I might find Tanselle again someday. Why shouldn’t I have a wife, and sons? “It makes no matter what I dream. Only a king can make a Kingsguard knight.”

“I suppose that means I’ll have to take the throne, then. I would much rather be teaching you to fiddle.”

(...)

“I hope you will put more faith in what I tell you when you see the dragon hatch.”

“A dragon will hatch? A living dragon? What, here?”

“I dreamed it. This pale white castle, you, a dragon bursting from an egg, I dreamed it all, just as I once dreamed of my brothers lying dead. They were twelve and I was only seven, so they laughed at me, and died. I am two-and-twenty now, and I trust my dreams.”

“Dunk was remembering another tourney, remembering how he had walked through the soft spring rains with another princeling. I dreamed of you and a dead dragon, Egg’s brother Daeron said to him. A great beast, huge, with wings so large they could cover this meadow. It had fallen on top of you, but you were alive and the dragon was dead. And so he was, poor Baelor. Dreams were a treacherous ground on which to build. “As you say, m’lord,” he told the Fiddler. “Pray excuse me.”

“Where are you going, ser?”

“To my bed, to sleep. I’m drunk as a dog.”

“Be my dog, ser. The night’s alive with promise. We can howl together and wake the very gods.”

“What do you want of me?”

“Your sword. I would make you mine own man, and raise you high. My dreams do not lie, Ser Duncan. You shall have that white cloak, and I must have the dragon’s egg. I must, my dreams have made that plain. Perhaps the egg will hatch, or else…”

—The Mystery Knight

Daemon’s dream was proven right since Egg hatched there in Whitewalls and years later Dunk became Lord Commander of Aegon V Targaryen’s Kingsguard.

But what if the dragon hatching in a castle made of snow was a dream for the long future as well as Dunk wearing the white cloak many years later?

That part of the dream could be foreshadowing Jon’ resurrection in a castle made of snow. That castle made of snow could be Winterfell? Maybe, but it also could be the Wall, since Daemon himself mentioned the Wall in this passage, the castle there is called Castle Black but it is certainly covered by snow. 

This could also be foreshadowing of Jon’s true parentage revelation, as a Targaryen; and that could happen in Winterfell, that is a grey castle certainly, but also covered by snow.  

Also, the white cloaks of the Kingsguards are often compared with snow and called snowy white. 

I also read some theories about New Castle in White Harbor as the castle made of snow of Daemon’s dream. 

Better with a Sword

Dunk watched a server fill his wine cup. “I am better with a sword than with a lance,” he admitted, “and even better with a battle-axe. Will there be a melee here?”

(...)

“You're better with a sword than with a lance,” Egg said. “With an axe or a mace, there's few to match your strength.”

(...)

“Ser Tommard, this man is the prince’s sworn shield. He’ll kill you!”

“Only if he falls on me.” Black Tom showed his teeth in a hard grin. “I saw him try to joust.”

“I am better with a sword,” Dunk warned him.

(...)

“Black Tom reeled back a step and stared down in horror at his forearm flopping on the floor beneath the Stranger’s altar. “You,” he gasped, “you, you…”

“I told you.” Dunk stabbed him through the throat. “I’m better with a sword.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Warg imagery once again...

A trumpet sounded.

Thunder started forward at a slow trot. Dunk swung his lance to the left and brought it down, so it angled across the horse's head and the wooden barrier between him and his foe. His shield protected the left side of his body. He crouched forward, legs tightening as Thunder drove down the lists. We are one. Man, horse, lance, we are one beast of blood and wood and iron.

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very interesting passage because Dunk lost that joust and he kind of died for a while (he got unconscious for hours). Dunk fell to the ground after his opponent lance struck him on the head. Later that said opponent, that was drinking with Dunk the night before during the feast, confessed to Dunk that he was paid for killing him.

This is very similar to Jon being killed by his own brothers at the Wall, being alive for a while inside of his direwolf Ghost, and his future resurrection.    

Coming back to life

Dunk woke upon his back, staring up at the arches of a barrel-vaulted ceiling. For a moment he did not know where he was, or how he had arrived there. Voices echoed in his head, and faces drifted past him; old Ser Arlan, Tanselle Too-Tall, Bennis of the Brown Shield, the Red Widow, Baelor Breakspear, Aerion the Bright Prince, mad, sad Lady Vaith. Then all at once the joust came back to him: the heat, the snail, the iron fist coming at his face. He groaned, and rolled onto one elbow. The movement set his skull to pounding like some monstrous war drum.

(...)

“Tell me. What’s happened?”

“The same foolishness that always happens in these affrays. Men have been knocking each other off horses with sticks. Lord Smallwood’s nephew broke his wrist and Ser Eden Risley’s leg was crushed beneath his horse, but no one has been killed thus far. Though I had my fears for you, ser.”

(...)

“How long have you been tending me?” Dunk flexed the fingers of his sword hand. All of them still seemed to work. Only my head’s hurt, and Ser Arlan used to say I never used that anyway.

“Four hours, by the sundial.”

Four hours was not so bad. He had once heard tell of a knight struck so hard that he slept for forty years and woke to find himself old and withered. ”

(...)

“A passing groom told him where to find the nearest well. It was there that he discovered Kyle the Cat, talking quietly with Maynard Plumm. Ser Kyle’s shoulders were slumped in dejection, but he looked up at Dunk’s approach. “Ser Duncan? We had heard that you were dead, or dying.”

Dunk rubbed his temples. “I only wish I were.”

—The Mystery Knight

"Four hours was not so bad.” Dunk was four hours unconscious after his murder attempt. Maybe Jon will be dead for four days and it won’t be “so bad”, he won’t lost much of his memories.     

Honor

Better a beggar than a thief. He had been both in Flea Bottom, when he ran with Ferret, Rafe, and Pudding, but the old man had saved him from that life. He knew what Ser Arlan of Pennytree would have said to Plumm’s suggestions. Ser Arlan being dead, Dunk said it for him. “Even a hedge knight has his honor.”

“Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched? No, spare me, I know what you will say. Take your boy and flee, gallows knight. Before your arms become your destiny.”

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

—A Game of Thrones - Jon I

I will kill him if I must. The prospect gave Jon no joy; there would be no honor in such a killing, and it would mean his own death as well. Yet he could not let the wildlings breach the Wall, to threaten Winterfell and the north, the barrowlands and the Rills, White Harbor and the Stony Shore, even the Neck. For eight thousand years the men of House Stark had lived and died to protect their people against such ravagers and reavers . . . and bastard-born or no, the same blood ran in his veins. Bran and Rickon are still at Winterfell besides. Maester Luwin, Ser Rodrik, Old Nan, Farlen the kennelmaster, Mikken at his forge and Gage by his ovens . . . everyone I ever knew, everyone I ever loved. If Jon must slay a man he half admired and almost liked to save them from the mercies of Rattleshirt and Harma Dogshead and the earless Magnar of Thenn, that was what he meant to do.

—A Storm of Swords - Jon II

Even if she was a whore... I want to know

"His Lordship said that I had no right to put a fireball upon my shield. He told me my device should be a clump of pussywillows. His Lordship can go bugger himself." Dunk could not help but smile. He had supped at that same table himself, choking down the same bitter dishes as served up by the likes of the Bright Prince and Ser Steffon Fossoway. He felt a certain kinship with the prickly young knight. For all I know, my mother was a whore as well. "How many horses have you won?"

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

"One of the guards overheard Clydas reading the letter to Maester Aemon." Pyp leaned close. "Jon, I'm sorry. He was your father's friend, wasn't he?"

"They were as close as brothers, once." Jon wondered if Joffrey would keep his father as the King's Hand. It did not seem likely. That might mean Lord Eddard would return to Winterfell, and his sisters as well. He might even be allowed to visit them, with Lord Mormont's permission. It would be good to see Arya's grin again and to talk with his father. I will ask him about my mother, he resolved. I am a man now, it is past time he told me. Even if she was a whore, I don't care, I want to know.

—A Game of Thrones - Jon VII

True Identities and Targaryen Names

Inside, the Fiddler turned back to Dunk. “I knew Ser Uthor had not killed you. My dreams are never wrong. And the Snail must face me soon enough. Once I’ve unhorsed him, I shall demand your arms and armor back. Your destrier as well, though you deserve a better mount. Will you take one as my gift?”

“I…no…I couldn’t do that.” The thought made Dunk uncomfortable. “I do not mean to be ungrateful, but…”

“If it is the debt that troubles you, put the thought from your mind. I do not need your silver, ser. Only your friendship. ”

(...)

“You are no hedge knight.”

“No.” The Fiddler’s smile was full of boyish charm. “But you knew that from the start. You have been calling me m’lord since we met upon the road, why is that?”

“The way you talk. The way you look. The way you act.” Dunk the lunk, thick as a castle wall. “Up on the roof last night, you said some things…”

“Wine makes me talk too much, but I meant every word. We belong together, you and I. My dreams do not lie.”

“Your dreams don’t lie,” said Dunk, “but you do. John is not your true name, is it?”

“No.” The Fiddler’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

He has Egg’s eyes.

“His true name will be revealed soon enough, to those who need to know.” Lord Gormon Peake had slipped into the pavilion, scowling. “Hedge knight, I warn you—”

“Oh, stop it, Gormy,” said the Fiddler. “Ser Duncan is with us, or will be soon. I told you, I dreamed of him.”

(...)

“I never did you any harm.”

“And never will. Daemon’s mine. I will command his Kingsguard. You are not worthy of a white cloak.”

“I never claimed I was.” Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

—The Mystery Knight

These passages give me hope about Aemon being Jon’s Targaryen name: 

Daemon. The name rang in Dunk’s head. Not John. Daemon, after his father.

Aemon. The name rang in Dunk’s (?) head. Not Jon. Aemon, after his father uncle.

Who will discover Jon’s true parentage and Jon’s Targaryen name? My bet is on Sansa since she unbeknownst helped Ned to discover that “Prince” Joffrey were a bastard. So it would be a full circle if she discovers by herself that the bastard Jon Snow is a true prince.

The Redhead Lady of the Tale

Mad Danelle Lothston herself rode forth in strength from her haunted towers at Harrenhal, clad in black armor that fit her like an iron glove, her long red hair streaming.

—The Mystery Knight

There is always a redhead woman with a wicked reputation. In the first tale a red haired whore is mentioned; in the second tale Rohanne Webber is a protagonist; and in this third tale Mad Danelle Lothston makes a triumphant entrance riding all armored next to Bloodraven to put an end to the Second Blackfyre Rebellion. Such a powerful image...   

An Elm Tree again!

The Hand’s pavilion was half a mile from the castle, in the shade of a spreading elm tree. A dozen cows were cropping at the grass nearby. Kings rise and fall, Dunk thought, and cows and smallfolk go about their business. It was something the old man used to say.”

—The Mystery Knight

Bloodraven put his pavilion in the shade of a spreading elm tree. This is a reminiscence of the first tale:

On the outskirts of the great meadow, a good half mile from town and castle, he found a place where a bend in a brook had formed a deep pool. Reeds grew thick along its edge, and a tall, leafy elm presided over all. The spring grass there was as green as any knight’s banner and soft to the touch. It was a pretty spot, and no one had yet laid claim to it. This will be my pavilion, Dunk told himself, a pavilion roofed with leaves, greener even than the banners of the Tyrells and the Estermonts.

(...)

“There’s my pavilion.” Dunk swept a hand above his head, at the branches of the tall elm that loomed above them.

“That’s a tree,” the boy said, unimpressed.

“It’s all the pavilion a true knight needs. I would sooner sleep under the stars than in some smoky tent.”

—The Hedge Knight

Dunk took that elm tree as his sigil the same way Lyanna took a weirwood as his sigil as a Mystery Knight.

Dunk also took a shooting star as part of his sigil and when Jon’s was born, there was a shooting star symbol around him, Ser Arthur Dayne’s sword, Dawn, made of a falling star, and House Dayne’s sigil is also “a white sword and falling star crossed on lilac”.

So Dunks sigil is really telling us about Jon Snow’s birth story, about the identity of his mother and the place when he was born, that was named by his biological father and was guarded by a knight with a sword made of a falling star.   

Roger of Pennytree 

Flanking the entrance, the severed heads of Gormon Peake and Black Tom Heddle had been impaled on spears, with their shields displayed beneath them. Three castles, black on orange. The man who slew Roger of Pennytree.

Even in death, Lord Gormon’s eyes were hard and flinty. Dunk closed them with his fingers. “What did you do that for?” asked one of the guardsmen. “The crows’ll have them soon enough.”

“I owed him that much.” If Roger had not died that day, the old man would never have looked twice at Dunk when he saw him chasing that pig through the alleys of King’s Landing. Some old dead king gave a sword to one son instead of another, that was the start of it. And now I’m standing here, and poor Roger’s in his grave.”

—The Mystery Knight

This is a very sad scene where we can see how Dunk still feels guilty for all the men that had to die for him to live the life he is living. Jon shares the same guilt along his arc and is heartbreaking.   

Tower of Joy imagery

Bloodraven ordered Whitewalls to be pulled down stone by stone, the same way Ned Stark pulled down the Tower of Joy

“And Whitewalls?” asked Butterwell, with quavering voice.

“Forfeit to the Iron Throne. I mean to pull it down stone by stone and sow the ground that it stands upon with salt. In twenty years, no one will remember it existed. Old fools and young malcontents still make pilgrimages to the Redgrass Field to plant flowers on the spot where Daemon Blackfyre fell. I will not suffer Whitewalls to become another monument to the Black Dragon."

—The Mystery Knight

* * *

“It would have to be his grandfather, for Jory’s father was buried far to the south. Martyn Cassel had perished with the rest. Ned had pulled the tower down afterward, and used its bloody stones to build eight cairns upon the ridge. It was said that Rhaegar had named that place the tower of joy, but for Ned it was a bitter memory. They had been seven against three, yet only two had lived to ride away; Eddard Stark himself and the little crannogman, Howland Reed. He did not think it omened well that he should dream that dream again after so many years.”

—A Game of Thrones - Eddard X

As you can see, Whitewalls, the castle where Egg “hatched” and revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, is ordered by Bloodraven to be pulled down stone by stone. And after reading this it’s impossible not to think about the Tower of Joy, the place where Jon was born, being pulled down by Ned Stark. 

A Dragon Rises

“We had some help, m’lord,” Dunk added.

“Hedge knights.”

“Aye, m’lord. Ser Kyle the Cat, and Maynard Plumm. And Ser Glendon Ball. It was him unhorsed the Fidd…the pretender.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that tale from half a hundred lips already. The Bastard of the Pussywillows. Born of a whore and a traitor.”

“Born of heroes,” Egg insisted. “If he’s amongst the captives, I want him found and released. And rewarded.”

“And who are you to tell the King’s Hand what to do?”

Egg did not flinch. “You know who I am, cousin.”

“Your squire is insolent, ser,” Lord Rivers said to Dunk. “You ought to beat that out of him.”

“I’ve tried, m’lord. He’s a prince, though.”

“What he is,” said Bloodraven, “is a dragon. Rise, ser.”

Dunk rose.

“There have always been Targaryens who dreamed of things to come, since long before the Conquest,” Bloodraven said, “so we should not be surprised if from time to time a Blackfyre displays the gift as well. Daemon dreamed that a dragon would be born at Whitewalls, and it was. The fool just got the color wrong.”

Dunk looked at Egg. The ring, he saw. His father’s ring. It’s on his finger, not stuffed up inside his boot.

(...)

“My place is with Ser Duncan. I’m his squire.”

“Seven save you both. As you wish. You’re free to go.”

“We will,” said Egg, “but first we need some gold. Ser Duncan needs to pay the Snail his ransom.”

Bloodraven laughed. “What happened to the modest boy I once met at King’s Landing? As you say, my prince. I will instruct my paymaster to give you as much gold as you wish. Within reason.”

—The Mystery Knight

And finally, the dragon egg that actually hatched in Whitewalls was Egg, a Targaryen Prince in disguise that revealed his true identity as Aegon Targaryen, a future king, that will also died while trying to hatch dragon eggs, next to Dunk at Summerhall, the place when another human dragon hatched, Rhaegar Targaryen, Jon’s biological father.

GRRM really likes his full circles... 

This has been a long ride. I hope you enjoy it.

THE END.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Could you update the love confessions tag? Ideally explicit fics lol. Thank you!

Sure. Here’s some new love confessions.  All explicit.

death by katana by curlsinthewind

(1/1 I 1,672 I Thiam)

“You want to scare Theo?” “Yes.” “Dude, it’s impossible, I already tried." “But this time, Liam, we will use his greatest weakness.” “Which is?” “You.”

Confessions by Ambear9

(1/1 I 2,647 I Sterek)

What should have happened when Derek evolved

What A Birdbrain! by VenusVellichor

(1/1 I 3,292 I Scisaac)

Beacon Hills has always been a strange town, never more so than now, as Scott and his pack unravel the mysteries they had dragged back home. As Scott learns about his supernatural family history and Lydia unravels the mysteries that her great-aunt left her, Allison and Stiles up the ante and decide to hunt down magic artifacts. Derek and Jackson learn to express their feelings, and Isaac finally comes into his own when he opens an apothecary in town. Now that the pack is back together, can they still share their inner lives, or are some heritages too precious to tell?

love came in on time by CerinityKS

(1/1 I 3,554 I Scott/Theo)

Theo choked, eyes wide, and watched as Scott licked his hand clean. “Fuck dude,” he whispered, cock twitching valiantly again at the site. Scott shot him a grin.

“Not bad,” he shrugged, and they stared at each other for a moment before they collapsed in laughter once more.

“I, I c-can’t beli-lieve you,” Theo gasped.

“Shut up,” Scott laughed and reached out to smack him gently.

“Pull your shorts up, oh my god, we’re in public!” Theo laughed harder.

“Says the guy that dropped them to suck my dick!” Scott pointed out. They collapsed in laughter again as Scott reached down to pull them up. Theo adjusted himself in his shorts, underwear sticky and uncomfortable, and walked over to grab their boards as they calmed down. When he turned back the soft look was back in Scott’s eyes and he felt his own expression soften in response.

(or theo and scott have been mutually pining, scott finally makes a move, they get a little inappropriate in the skate park, and then go home to be soft and cuddle like the ridiculously in love boys they are)

Rain Wet Kisses by zero4life

(1/1 I 4,696 I Isaac/OMC)

Isaac has a claustrophobia induced panic attack. Nick goes after him to help him calm down and make him feel safe. The two realize that this is about more then just safety and protection.

Keep Me Warm by emotionssuck

(1/1 I 5,703 I Sciles)

After the sacrifice at the end of season 3a, Stiles has to deal with the fallout. The darkness isn't the only consequence that he must bear and Scott won't let him suffer alone.

Calculated Risk by sparkandwolf (thatnerdemilyj)

(1/1 I 6,013 I Sterek)

“Will I survive?” Derek whined behind him, his grip on Stiles' wrist tightening. Stiles couldn’t look at him, knowing one glance might change his mind.

The Queen considered his question, tilting her head at him. “You will survive if you’re in love.”

shepherd said come in, come in, shut the door by eneiryu

(1/1 I 8,960 I Thiam/Leo/Hayden)

In hindsight, they probably should have given Liam a heads-up about the fevers.

Speak, Memory by RavenAurelieChoiseau

(6/10 I 13,842 I Klaus/Stiles)

‘Have you ever seen a wolf in the throes of change, Stiles?’ Klaus asked. Stiles gave a curt nod, his shoulders stiffening in memory. Scott had been near uncontrollable that first night. Since then, he’d seen more than his share of shifts. More than he’d have ever liked to admit. ‘Yes, I see from your eyes you have. Well, Henrik and I were caught in the middle of it.' _ Klaus invites Stiles to New Orleans to play at his funeral. Such an odd request brings the two strangers together. The vampire is overcome when he meets the young musician and his suspicions are confirmed: Klaus had once been a lover of one of Stiles' ancestors- and Stiles is his doppelganger. One memory in exchange for every piece executed- Stiles decides to extend his stay and play for his employer. Klaus regales him with tales about his past. Romance is not lacking as Klaus tries to woo his new friend, taking him on dates. They ride an imaginary line between history and a need for connection and affection in the now. Neither imagines how easy it will be for them to fall in love.

To bushwhacked and back again. by DropsOfAddiction

(1/1 I 29,291 I Sterek)

“So... that’s it. You’re all done here?” Stiles had tried to keep his voice neutral as he leant his back onto the wall, placing one foot on it to balance him.

“Yeah. I sent all my stuff ahead. I doubt Cora will unpack for me though,” Derek told him.

“No, I doubt it. She’s probably too busy running naked through the woods,” Stiles shuddered.

“Oh my god, do you have to?” Derek had grimaced. “That’s my sister.”

“Sorry! I’m not thinking about her naked I swear,” Stiles protested, holding his hands up.

Derek had cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I’m not lying! Feel!” Stiles yanked on Derek’s arm until his hand popped out of his pocket and he’d dragged him closer, placing Derek’s palm over his heart.

Derek had made a soft sound of surprise, but he’d allowed the manhandling and he crowded in closer to Stiles.

Stiles hadn’t thought it through because the second Derek’s hips were inches from his and Derek’s stupid, lovely face was all up in his, his heart had begun pounding erratically.

[originalhybridloverfics]

Good To You - CH 24

A/N: I'm sorry for the insanely long wait but I hope the length of the chapters makes up for it!

Updates are really slow for me, I have some family stuff that came up, if you follow me on tumblr or twitter you probably already know about it, and on top of that I got sucked into another fandom that has consumed me.

I want to thank everyone who is still reading this story despite the unbelievably slow updates.

Genevieve and Celeste stroll through the cemetery. 

“Oh, I remember this cemetery. Hmm. Hasn't changed a bit.” Genevieve mused. 

“I've been coming here over a century, wearing one face or another,” Celeste replied. 

~*~ ~*~ ~* ~

1919 

Genevieve approaches a woman kneeling in front of a tomb in the Lafayette cemetery, praying to her ancestors.  

“Clara Summerlin, will you come on?” Genevieve complained. “We're gonna miss everything.”  

The two walk over to where a crowd of witches is standing around a bonfire, playing conga drums and watching as a witch dance around the flames. Papa Tunde walks out with an albino python around his shoulders, which he hands to his twin sons after clapping in order to quiet the crowd.  

“Told you. Every witch in the Quarter is here to see the great Papa Tunde,” said Genevieve. 

“Witches of the French Quarter, thank you for your welcome.” Papa Tunde addressed the crowd of witches. “It is good to be among people of the faith. I, too, practice ancestral magic, honoring those who walked the path before us. From them, we draw strength. And you will need strength, for a great darkness is coming. The city your forefathers left you is now overrun by pirates, beasts, and vampires.” 

Papa Tunde takes the python from his sons and throws it into the fire, and many of the witches gasp in surprise and fear. 

“I practice other magic, as well. Sacrificial magic, channeling power from the lives of my offerings.” Papa Tunde explained. “I use this strength to vanquish my enemies, and I will punish your enemies for their greed. In return, you will accept my family into your coven, and me as your leader.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

1919 

Two men enter the room and join Elijah and a police officer at a table where a meeting was taking place.

“Gentlemen, make yourselves at home.” Elijah greeted. “Mayor O'Connell appears to be running late, but there's much to discuss, so I shall begin.”  

Klaus walked down the stairs to join them. “One moment, please, brother. You know how much I enjoy these illicit, little gatherings.” 

“Do not be troubled. Despite my brother's reputation, I can assure you, we've invited you here to broker in peace.” Elijah assured the men. “You have my word.”  

“And, lucky for you, my brother always keeps his word,” Klaus told them. “You two are from the Guerrera crime family, a brutish pack of thieves and killers. And that's nothing compared to what you become on a full moon, is it?”  

“Yes, yes, yes. Of course, a bite from your kind is not lethal to an Original. Conflict between us would not end well for you at all,” Elijah cautioned. “Let's state our proposal here. My brother and I control the ports of the city, but with Prohibition soon to be the law of the land, there'll be a certain uptick in the kind of federal presence we prefer to avoid. Therefore, I'd like to suggest a system whereby, under our supervision, of course, the Guerrera family can traffic alcohol into the city of New Orleans for a profit. We would still be in charge, but our rule would remain a secret.”  

Papa Tunde walks into the room with his sons following behind him.

“This all sounds very good, but tell me, how will it benefit the witches?” asked Papa Tunde. 

“I am sorry.” Said Elijah. “This is a private meeting.” 

“Yes, for kings of the city, but I, too, am a king, and I have rules,” replied Papa Tunde.  

“I'm impressed. You're either quite ambitious or quite mad. What's your name, mate?” asked Klaus.  

“I am Alphonse Bellatunde Delgado, Papa Tunde to my followers, and I come to ask that the witches be granted fair tribute for allowing your existence in our city.” Papa Tunde responded.  

“Are you suggesting that you speak for the French Quarter witches?” Elijah questioned.  

“I do now, and I expect our future negotiations to go very smoothly.” Papa Tunde answered. “As a guarantee, I brought a gift. I await our next gathering.” 

A small leather case is placed on the table. Papa Tunde and his sons leave. Everyone else gathers around as Klaus lifts the lid on the trunk to reveal a head inside with a symbol carved into his forehead. 

“Well, I suppose we'll need a new mayor,” Klaus said.  

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Marcel walked into the Abattoir Courtyard Davina and Josh beside him. 

Marcel grabbed a table with Davina and Josh. Davina was supposed to be meeting with Sophie at Caroline’s request to start searching for a way to save Katherine. 

Most of Marcel’s guys weren’t happy that Klaus was now in charge and Marcel appeared to be following his lead without question. And were shocked to see Davina alive and well having believed she was dead after learning the truth about her and Marcel’s connection with her. 

Diego sees him enter and approaches. He walks over to the table Marcel had chosen.  

“Hey, Marcel, maybe you know what's going on. Klaus ordered us to meet here, and now he's a no-show.” he looked at Davina. “And how are you alive?” 

“Caroline,” Davina answered simply.  

“Klaus has a lot on his hands to deal with. Give him time.” Marcel told him.  

“Like what?” Diego challenged but before Marcel could answer. Klaus enters the room with Caroline and on his other side is Thierry.

“Dearest brethren, your attention, please.” Klaus’s voice ringed loudly through the courtyard. “No doubt, you're all surprised to see Thierry Vanchure, who's supposed to be rotting in the Garden for the crime of killing one of our own, and I personally decided to issue him with a pardon.” Klaus declared. “I hope you'll all welcome home Thierry.”  

Thierry smiles and gives Diego a hug. 

“Welcome home, man,” Diego told him.  

“Now some of you may see the difference with Caroline.” Klaus continues, pressing his hand to her lower back and the other resting on her stomach. “It turns out the wolf Hayley who I had believed to be carrying my children was working with the witches all along and had stolen my children from their true mother. Now they are back where they belong and the witches will soon pay for what one of their own has done.” 

Caroline forced a smile before moving toward Marcel’s table, ignoring the stares of disbelief she was receiving. “Davina, thanks for coming.” 

“You said you needed my help,” Davina replied. 

Caroline frowned, tilting her head at the younger girl. “You know you don’t have to help me just because I helped you, right?” 

“Caroline, you saved my life.” Davina countered. “I owe you everything.” 

“No, you don’t,” Caroline told her. “I didn’t save your life so you would feel indebted to me. I want you to live your life how you want. I do want your help but I don’t want you to feel obligated that you have to. You can say no.”

Davina smiled. “I know, that’s why I want to help you. You're not like everyone else.” 

“As long as you know you have a choice.” Caroline gestured to the stairs. “Let’s go see Katherine.”

Davina smiled and linked their arms. 

“You too, Josh,” Caroline called over her shoulder as she started up the stairs. 

“Coming.” Josh quickly followed. “Hey, Caroline, any chance you have some blood bags lying around. I haven’t eaten all day..” 

Marcel tuned out the sound of Josh's voice turning to Klaus as he took a seat across from him. “You're in a good mood,” Marcel said to Klaus. “You must really love the fact that Caroline is the mother of your children.” 

“It’s definitely a gift,” Klaus responded. “But before I can truly celebrate this turn of events I have responsibilities that I need to tend to.” Klaus turns to address the crowd of vampires. “The witches have gone too far with their actions against Caroline. Actions they will pay for. However, since their Harvest failed, their magic will soon be gone forever. Now there has been a debate, on whether to kill them or keep them on their toes. I, however, want them dead, every last one. Diego, I wonder if you might lead a rousting in the cauldron. One that ends in blood and carnage.” 

Diego smiles and starts to plan with the other vampires. 

Marcel smiled. “As much as I would love to shed some witches' blood, especially after everything they put Davina through, I do have another girl to see so I will be taking a personal day.” Marcel stood and left. Confident that Davina would be fine in the compound with Caroline there. 

Klaus' eyes narrowed, wondering where Marcel was headed and who he was going to see. Almost everyone he knew was at the compound. 

Diego and the others looked up at the sound of multiple voices and a group of men, women and even a few children walked into the compound. 

Klaus smiled at Zach and the other wolves and walked over to them. “Caroline has been expecting all of you. She’s currently occupied with helping someone who doesn’t deserve saving but until she has a moment free why don’t you get to know the place and divide up some of the empty rooms amongst yourselves.”

“We will be staying here?” Zach asked speaking up on the behalf of the wolves who were more than a little surprised.

“Caroline has insisted that you all stay with us and what Caroline wants she will get,” Klaus responded, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

“What the hell is going on here?” Diego walked over, glaring darkly at Zach and his group of wolves. 

“I’d like you to meet Zach and the rest of my pack,” Klaus smirked. “They will be staying here at the compound. Indefinitely.” 

Diego's eyes darkened with hate. “You’re kidding, right? They terrorized the Quarter for centuries. It’s why Marcel ran them out of town.” 

Zach stared Diego down. “Wrong pack. We don’t run from anyone. Not anymore. And we only came to New Orleans once we heard of Klaus’s children.” 

Diego scoffed as more vampires gathered behind him. 

“What he says is true. Zach is of my bloodline. Not the New Orlean wolves and they are welcome guests in my home and every single one of you will treat them so or face my wrath.” Klaus’s voice hardened like a steel blade. 

The other vampires started yelling out their protest. 

“Quiet.” Klaus thundered, eyes flashing, a growl emitting from deep in his chest. 

Diego glared but was wary. “You expect vampires and werewolves to co-exist? You’re crazy.” 

The other vampires' protest increased. 

“Maybe so,” Klaus smirked. “But you will work together, starting today. Zach here will be joining in on the witch hunt.”

Diego glared but said nothing. Klaus was in charge and as of right now there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Katherine looked over at the door as it was opened, feeling Elijah squeeze her hands in reassurance. 

Caroline walked in followed by a girl who couldn’t be more than sixteen and a young male not much older than Caroline. 

“Caroline,” Elijah greeted. 

“Sorry to interrupt but I was hoping to check on Katherine and introduce her to Davina.” 

“And why do I need to be introduced to kids?” Katherine raised a perfect brow as she sat up more in the bed. She had been feeling weaker and weaker. It was only a matter of time before her body completely gave out on her. She didn’t want to think about it, refusing to think of the fear that came with knowing you were going to die. 

She hated it. She was Katherine Pierce, sick, frail, weak, was not the way she was supposed to go out. For the last 500 years, she had clawed and kicked and screamed to get everything she wanted to make it this long when she had a man like Klaus Mikaelson intent on killing her. 

“Because Davina here is going to save your life.” Caroline wrapped her arms around Davina’s. “So if I were you I would be a little nicer.” 

“Nice isn’t in my vocabulary.” Katherine retorted. 

“Expand your vocabulary because without some witchy interference you're going to die soon.” Caroline stepped further into the room. 

“And you care so much about my well being, why?” Katherine asked. 

“For telling me the truth. Let’s not pretend we’ve ever been friends because it would be a lie. Still, this is my way of repaying you for once doing something when you had nothing to gain from it.”

“I wonder what Elena would say about you trying to save me?” Katherine taunted, trying to push Caroline’s buttons. 

“I don’t much care what Elena has to say about it.” Caroline retorted. “This has nothing to do with her.” 

Katherine smirked. “I gotta say, I’m warming up to you. Getting out of Mystic Falls suits you.” 

Josh cleared his throat, making Caroline realize she hadn’t introduced him. “Oh, and this is Josh.”

Katherine looked him over. “He comes across as a puppy,”

“Puppy?” Josh wasn’t sure if he should be offended or not. 

“Caroline,” Elijah interjected. “Just how do you intend to save Katherine's life. She is getting worse by the day. I’m not sure how much time she has.” 

“Yes,” Katherine said. “How do you and this young witch plan on keeping me alive?” 

“Well, I planned on seeing if Sophie knows anything or maybe looking at The Original Witch book of spells. Generations after generations of witches walk this city. Someone has to know something.” 

“Caroline, I don’t think Sophie is going to be so keen to help,” Elijah interjected. “We’ve ruined all her plans and have taken her prisoner. Let’s not forget the torture.” 

Caroline’s eyes darkened at the mention of Sophie. “Who said she had a choice in the matter?” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Sophie’s arms dangled above her from chains attached to the ceiling, her feet barely touching the ground, she had to stand on the tip of her toes, her shirt was soaked with blood, her neck covered in red stains. 

Her skin pale and dark circles beneath her eyes, exhaustion coming off her in waves. 

She looked up as a knock sounded on the door. The werewolf guarding her sent her a disdainful look and pulled the door open. 

Caroline stepped in. She was alone. Davina was with Katherine, Josh had stayed with his friend. 

“Did you really come here alone?” Sophie asked, eyes glaring. “How wise is that?”

Caroline moved forward. “You and I both know, you are too weak to do a thing to anyone, and secondly if you did anything and I mean anything you would be scattered in pieces across this floor.”

“What do you want?” Sophie asked through clenched teeth. 

“Your help.” Caroline stepped closer, her eyes filled with hate. 

“You have got to be joking!?” Sophie exclaimed in disbelief. “You’ve chained me up like an animal, tortured me, fed on me, healed me only to do it all over again. You keep me weakened and you expect me to help you?! You’re crazy!”

Caroline grabbed her by the neck, eyes blackening, her temper flaring. “You will do whatever I asked you to do. You live because I say so, because I allow it. The second I say otherwise you will be dead and forgotten. Don’t test me. The sight of you makes me see red and I want to rip you apart until there is nothing left. Even now I fight the urge to kill you. I rather delight in your screams as I slice you open and cause you excruciating pain.” 

Sophie's eyes darkened and she looked at Caroline in revulsion. “You sound like Klaus. Has being with him changed you that much?” 

“Being with Klaus has been the most freeing thing I’ve ever done,” Caroline said, feeling like the words were the most honest she ever was in her life. “Selfish, deplorable, disgusting individuals like Hayley and yourself have no legs to stand on moral ground.” Caroline pressed closer, her hand tightening on Sophie’s throat cutting off her air. “You can do as I ask or we can make this into another torture session. If you won’t do as I say. I will turn you into a vampire. I know from a friend that there is no worse fate than this for a witch. I’ve seen it. The disconnect a witch feels is hollow.” 

Sophie glowered. She hated Caroline. She underestimated her and now she was just starting to realize who she was dealing with.

Sophie tried to pull back from Caroline’s hand. “Okay. Okay.” Caroline released her. “What do you want from me,” Sophie asked, struggling to breathe normally again. 

“You’re going to help me save someone’s life.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

“Klaus.”

Klaus was in the middle of giving orders to the wolves and vampires, splitting them up into two separate parties when he heard his name from someone he wasn’t expecting to hear from anytime soon. 

He turned to see Stefan standing in the middle of the courtyard. “Stefan, mate, what are you doing here?” 

“I came to see Caroline?” Stefan’s brow furrowed as he saw all the people lined up awaiting further instructions. “What is going on here?”

Klaus turned back to the two groups. “You know your orders. Go.” 

The wolves and vampires shared a hateful look and dispersed. 

Klaus focused back on Stefan. “Now is not a good time.” 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not here for you, isn’t it?” Stefan replied.

Klaus tensed, a voice in his head whispering that Stefan was there to convince Caroline to leave him behind and go back to Mystic Falls. 

“Look, Klaus, I’m not here to play games. I’m here to see my friend. You can tell me where she is or I can call her and tell her I’m here, either way, I’m not leaving.” 

Klaus rolled his eyes heavenward. He would never hear the end of it from Caroline if he told her he sent Stefan away. She had such a soft spot for the younger Salvatore but so help him if he was there to take Caroline from him, he would find himself in Marcel’s Garden. 

“Dwayne,” 

Dwayne stepped forward seeming to move out of the shadows startling Stefan. 

“Take Stefan here to Caroline, then if she wishes for you to leave do so,” Klaus ordered. 

Dwayne’s face brightened. He wanted, needed to be near Caroline. 

He started walking, not even stopping to see if Stefan was following. 

Stefan shot Klaus an uncertain look before following behind Dwayne. 

Dwayne led him down a corridor and down a flight of stairs, the sound of a bloodcurdling scream had him, stopping. His mind screamed that Caroline needed his help and he took off on a run past Dwayne. He burst into a room, slamming the door open with his shoulder. “Caroline!” he looked around the room frantically and froze. 

A dark-haired girl was strapped to a med table, blood pouring down her skin, dripping into a large puddle on the floor, she was crying out in agony, she tried to thrash around, attempting to get away, to break free but was restrained tightly to the table with barely any movement. When she turned her head his way, shaking from the pain, Stefan recognized her. 

Hayley Marshall. 

His eyes shot to the blonde standing over her, pouring something over the girl. The blonde’s back was to him, he couldn’t see who it was but he knew he had to stop her. What did Hayley do to deserve to be tortured like this? Her cries were echoing off the walls, the stench of blood filled the air. 

He moved forward grabbing the girl by the arm spinning her around. “Stop, what are you-” Stefan released the blonde, taking a step back in shock. “Caroline?!” 

“Stefan, what are you doing here?” She pushed her hair back from her face, streaks of blood coating the blonde strands from her hands that were coated in Hayley’s blood. 

“What the hell are you doing, Caroline?!” You’re torturing people now? This isn’t you?!” Stefan stepped forward again, crowding her. “First Damon, now Hayley, who’s next?!”

“She deserves it and so did Damon!” Caroline shoved him back not liking the way he was standing over her. 

Suddenly Stefan found himself pinned against the wall by Dwayne. 

Stefan’s eyes widened as he stared in the face of an angry hybrid. “Oh my God,” he looked past the werewolf to Caroline. “Klaus can make hybrids without Elena’s blood?”

Caroline turned and stuffed a gag into Hayley’s mouth cutting off her screams and cries of pain. 

“Klaus didn’t make him. Tyler did, trying to prove he was right about why Klaus cared about his children.” Caroline said, her hand drifted down to her stomach. “Let him go, Dwayne.” 

Dwayne let Stefan go reluctantly but he was eager to get closer to Caroline, coming to stand beside her. 

Stefan pushed off the wall, rolling his shoulders, he followed the movements of Caroline’s hand’s, his eyes widening. “Your mother told me what was going on but I had trouble believing it.”

But how could he continue denying it when he could see the roundness of Caroline’s stomach. “I don’t understand.”

“You want to know what Hayley has done to deserve this? She stole my babies, she used magic to steal a pregnancy for her own gain. I’ve taken back what’s mine but that doesn’t mean, she gets to walk away from this after everything she has done.” 

Caroline turned back to Hayley gripping the surgical tool, a rib spreader, and spread Hayley’s open wound where all the blood was coming from open wider. 

Hayley whined in pain, sniffling. “Please, it hurts.” 

Caroline’s eyes hardened. “Good.” She lifted a bottle of liquid and started pouring it inside Hayley, watching Hayley’s insides burn and sizzle as her bloodcurdling scream filled the air. 

“Is that wolfsbane?” Stefan asked, alarmed. 

“Yes, mixed with hydrofluoric acid,” Caroline answered, a dark smile pulling at her lips. 

“Caroline, you have to stop.” Stefan came forward again. 

Caroline put down the container of Acid and wolfsbane. And removed the rib spread from Hayley’s body. “She needs time to heal until next time.”

Caroline bit into her wrist and squeezed it over, Hayley’s mouth giving her only enough so she would heal slowly and not die from her wounds.  

“Next time?” Stefan repeated. 

“Dwayne take care of this for me,” Caroline ordered and walked out of the room. 

Stefan followed her. “Caroline, stop, we need to talk about this.” he grabbed her arm, turning her around to face him. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Caroline asked, shrugging him off. “I am causing Hayley pain for her deceit.” 

“Caroline, this isn’t you. You don’t torture people.” Stefan protested. “You’re good.” 

“What I am is tired. Why am I always the pawn in someone’s larger game? I will not allow my children to suffer nor will I allow them to be used. I’m done being a casualty. If I have to do things that I otherwise wouldn’t then I will without hesitation and if you can't accept this then maybe you shouldn’t have come here.” 

“I came here because I realized what a bad friend I’ve been. I’m not going to turn back now. I wasn’t there for you. I can’t make up for what happened to you in Mystic Falls but I can be here for you now. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. How you handle this is up to you but I am not going back to Mystic Falls.”

“Then follow me,” Caroline said and turned walking down the corridor, expecting Stefan to fall into line behind her. 

Caroline led Stefan upstairs and into a room, he was shocked to see Katherine lying in the bed, Elijah sitting beside her and on her other side was Nadia. 

Nadia had shown up, demanding to be with her mother. Caroline hadn’t much cared about keeping the mother and daughter separated. 

There was a woman in the room and a younger girl, a dark hair male, and another man who was watching the dark-haired woman like a hawk. 

“What’s going on here?” Stefan questioned, looking to Caroline for answers. 

“We’re going to save Katherine’s life,” Caroline told him. 

“I’m sorry, what?” Stefan was in disbelief. 

“I’m still doubtful about it myself,” Katherine spoke up. “It’s good to see you, Stefan.” 

“Klaus is okay with this?” Stefan asked, looking to Caroline.  

“He’s willing to accept it for me,” Caroline said and then did a quick round of introductions to the room. 

“Have you found anything yet?” Caroline asked Davina, coming forward. 

“Not yet,” Davina answered, casting a curious look at Stefan. 

“Stefan and I will go through the books Elijah has required and I’ll call Bonnie, see if she knows something. Maybe there’s something in the Bennet books that can help.” Caroline said, after thinking it over. 

“You really think Bonnie’s going to want to help save Katherine’s life?” Stefan asked skeptically. 

“No but I’m asking as her friend and I will explain why I am trying to do this.” Caroline insisted. 

“I believe Katerina is in good hands.” Elijah smiled over at Caroline and walked past her and Stefan into the hallway. “I will be back shortly.” 

“Alright, so this is what we’re going to do, Sophie and Davina continue searching here. Josh and Stefan will go through the books in the study. I will call Bonnie and see if I can get her to help. Dwayne.” 

As if he was just waiting for Caroline to need him Dwayne appeared. 

Caroline shifted away. He made her uncomfortable with how he was always ready to do whatever she asked. She didn’t like using the sire bond he had to the twins and how he was always lurking in the shadows wherever she was, creeped her out. 

“Dwayne, you will make sure Sophie doesn’t try anything if she does lock her up and get Zach or one of the wolves to deal with her until I have the time to do it myself. Nadia, you can stay with Katherine.” No one moved much to Caroline’s annoyance, she clapped her hands. “Well, you got jobs to do. Go!” 

Davina nodded and continued searching the book in front of her, Sophie glared but did as she was told. 

Josh motioned to Stefan to follow him and led him out of the room. 

“You really think this is going to work?” Katherine asked Caroline. 

“Yes, because I will make sure of it,” Caroline answered. 

“I don’t want to be human,” Katherine argued. 

“You don’t want to be dead either, do you?” Caroline retorted. 

Katherine shot her a look. “What do you think?” 

“Good, we’ll save your life, and then we’ll find a way to turn you back into a vampire.” 

Caroline stepped out of the room to call Bonnie in private. 

Katherine watched the door close behind her. She hated the feeling of hope that was beginning to rise within her.

Damn Caroline Forbes and her unending optimism and determination. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Rebekah and Elijah walk through the streets of the Quarter as they talk about recent events. 

“Now, you may doubt him, but today, I saw Niklaus demonstrate mercy towards an enemy. Tell me that's not progress,” said Elijah.  

“That’s Caroline’s influence,” Rebekah stated. “He wants to be better for her. He’s not the same brother we knew the last thousand years. Honestly, she is the only reason I’m not still working with Sophie.” 

Elijah turned to her abruptly. “You were working with Sophie?” 

“Not anymore. Not after everything she has done.” Rebekah responded. 

“Are you the reason he let Thierry out?” Elijah eyed her with suspicion. 

“No, that was Caroline,” Rebekah told him. “She didn’t like that he was locked up for protecting someone he loved. Though we should keep a close eye on him. Thierry despises Klaus and for good reason. He got the witch he loved killed. However, I was thinking, he knows about French Quarter covens because he dated a witch. Maybe he can lead me to whoever stole off with the Harvest magic.”  

“Rebekah, we are all devastated by the outcome of this ritual,” Elijah began.  

“That's just it,” Rebekah interrupted. “There was no outcome. Davina is only alive because of the Elixir. We both know that power like that doesn't just vanish. I say someone stole it. I'd like to know who, and then I'd like to make an ally out of them and then kill them.” 

“To what end, exactly?” Elijah asked. “When will killing everyone who challenges us be enough?” 

“I'm tired of being threatened and controlled by our enemies, being moved on a chessboard like sacrificial ponds,” Rebekah told him. “If you want to stop bullies, you need the power to stand up to them.”  

“You’re not alone in this Rebekah. You have me and you have Niklaus.” Elijah insisted. “He is finally making an effort. He's invited us back into our family home. He yearns for our family to be reunited. He’s there for Caroline and their unborn children.”  

“Yes. He's in a brilliant mood now, but for how long?” Rebekah challenged. “What about when things fall apart with him and Caroline? What then? He was bad before but if anything were to ever happen to Caroline or their children, he will be inconsolable, wreaking havoc and pain wherever he goes. And who says he won’t turn that anger on us and bury a dagger in our hearts?”

“I believe that he is approaching some semblance of peace here. As long as we keep Caroline safe we have nothing to worry about,” Elijah argued. “Leadership may, in fact, be a good thing for him and as I am quickly learning Caroline may very well be the best thing to ever happen to him in his thousand years on this earth.” 

“I hope it’s enough and that Stefan has not shown up here to take her back to Mystic Falls. That’s not her home anymore.” Rebekah said. She had been surprised to learn that Stefan was here but she didn’t think he would be staying long. It was only a matter of time before he found his way back to Elena and his brother in Mystic Falls. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Her phone call with Bonnie didn’t go as well as Caroline had hoped. Bonnie was hesitant to help Katherine but Caroline kept insisting that she owed Katherine. Caroline reminded Bonnie that Katherine was human and was no longer in New Orleans. 

Caroline kept insisting until Bonnie finally gave in. Bonnie ended the call with the promise to look through her family journals and she would let her know immediately if she finds something. 

Caroline walked to Elijah’s room and sifted through his things until she found what she was looking for. 

Esther’s grimoire. Grabbing the book she left the room and found a sitting room in the compound, she settled into the end of a couch and started sifting through it. 

The smell of blood filled the air and she looked up to see Klaus carrying a glass of blood and a plate of food. 

“What are you doing?” Caroline asked.

Klaus set the plate and glass on the table in front of her. “Have you eaten?” 

“No,” Caroline shook her head and took a drink of the blood, savoring the warm liquid sliding down her throat. 

“You should,” Klaus took the seat next to her. “I know you're dead set on finding a way to save Katherine but you can’t neglect yourself or the babies.” 

Caroline’s eyes widened suddenly and pulled the glass of blood away from her lips. “Do you think blood is bad for them?” her other hand dropped the book in her lap, placing her hand over her stomach. 

“I think nothing that is good for you can possibly be bad for them.” Klaus reached for the book. “Are you looking through my mother’s book for a spell?” 

“I was hoping it might have something to help Katherine,” Caroline admitted and reached for the place of fruit grabbing an apple slice. “I found nothing so far.” 

“Where did you find it?” Klaus asked. 

“Elijah’s room. I went and took it,” Caroline took another drink of the blood. 

Klaus laughed. “Elijah’s is not going to like that.” 

Caroline shrugged. “I don’t care.” 

Klaus tossed the book on the table and turned his body more towards her. “Did you speak with Stefan?” 

“I did. My mom told him about what’s going on here and he came out of concern, I guess.” 

Klaus nodded, his body becoming tense. “Has he managed to convince you to go back to Mystic Falls?”

Caroline placed her glass on the table and turned toward him. “Klaus, we’ve been over this. I’m not returning to Mystic Falls. Not even for Stefan.”

Klaus swallowed, choosing his words carefully. “Things are different now. Why would you stay here after everything that was done to you?”

Caroline nodded slowly. She needed to get her point across. Klaus had insecurities and she more than anyone understood how powerful they could be, if she let the insecurities take root it could ruin what they were building. He needed her reassurance to silence the voices in his head telling him she would return to Mystic Falls. 

Caroline pushed at his shoulders, shoving him back. 

Klaus fell back against the cushions surprised. Caroline threw a leg over his hip, settling into his lap, and grasped his face in her hands. “I need you to listen to me and hear me, Klaus. I am not going back to Mystic Falls no matter what happens. Not for Stefan. Not even for my mom. My life is here, with you. I will go where you go. As long as you want me by your side I am going to be there. I won’t leave you.” 

Klaus leaned his forehead against hers, his hands coming to rest over her stomach, over their children. “I am never going to want to let you go, love.”

“Then don’t,” Caroline whispered. “Don’t let me go. Always fight for me. Always want me.”

Klaus couldn’t take it anymore. He surged forward, burying his hands in her hair and clashing his mouth against hers. 

Caroline deepened the kiss and Klaus licked into her mouth, tasting the blood she had been drinking on her tongue. 

A groan tore from his throat as she circled her hips, grinding against him. He grasped at her hips urging her down on his rapidly hardening jean-covered cock.

A whimper pulled from Caroline’s mouth and she gripped his shoulders for leverage, looking for friction as she ground her hips against his, desire taking over. 

“Hey, guys, we got a problem,” Diego announced entering a room in the compound, looking worried.   

Klaus broke away from Caroline with a growl, his hands digging into her hips. 

Caroline looked over her shoulder at Diego, perched in Klaus’s lap. “You know there’s this thing called knocking.” 

Diego’s worried expression twisted into mild disgust. 

“Just a little common courtesy would be nice.” Caroline reluctantly removed herself from Klaus’s lap. 

“What’s wrong?” Klaus asked, readjusting his jeans as he stood. “And there better be a real problem or I might just kill you for the interruption.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Thunder rumbles overhead as Diego leads Klaus, Caroline, and Stefan to the Cauldron to show them what he found. 

Stefan had insisted on tagging along last minute when he realized Caroline was going.

“We came to kill the witches, just like you said,” said Diego. “And these two, they went missing. Found them like this, not even staked. Just dead.”  

Two vampires were on the ground desiccated, symbols carved into their forehead. 

“Someone has to account for this!” Klaus growled. 

“Are we talking about revenge?” Caroline questioned. “I’m only asking because even though I’m no expert on magic, I know that marks got to be tied to some bad mojo.”

“I don’t like this,” Stefan said, having a bad feeling. Caroline was in complete agreement. 

“Revenge is only the beginning,” Klaus told Caroline before turning to Diego. “We're gonna find whoever did this, and I will show them what suffering is.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Thierry and Rebekah walk into a warehouse at the docks to investigate. 

“Used to run things down here for Marcel,” Thierry explained. “Thought you'd like to see what I found before Klaus did.”  

Rebekah smirks. “Not a day out of the Garden, and you're already proving yourself useful.”  

“We made a deal, and if it screws things for your brother, I'm all for it,” said Thierry. “Though, to be honest, this stuff makes my skin crawl. I've never seen anything like this.” 

“Except you’re a little late to the party,” Rebekah told him. “I have ceased my plans for my brother.” 

“What?” Thierry glared at her. “You can’t-”

“Quiet,” Rebekah cut him off. “I have seen this before,” Rebekah said as they stop in front of another salt circle on the ground with two dead vampires inside. Both are desiccated and have the same symbol carved into their foreheads. “I have, a long time ago,” said Rebekah, recognizing the mark. “Somebody is copycatting a very dangerous witch. They draw their power from sacrifice.”  

“I just don't understand why someone would leave it here for us to find,” said Thierry, distracted by the turn of events.   

“Unless they wanted it to be found.” Rebekah pointed out.  

Papa Tunde appears from the shadows behind them. Rebekah notices him in shock and horror. 

“Mademoiselle Mikaelson.” Papa Tunde greeted.  

“That's not possible,” said Rebekah, still unable to believe what she was seeing. 

“Sure, it is, chére. It's magic.” Papa Tunde told her.  

Rebekah speed vamps toward him to try to kill him, but Papa Tunde simply reaches out and grabs her by the throat. “Symbole du masque et de l'ombre, embrace-toi. Embrace-toi. Symbole du masque et de l'ombre, embrace-toi. Embrace-toi. Symbole du masque et de l'ombre, embrace-toi. Embrace-toi. Symbole du masque et de l'ombre, embrace-toi.”  

Rebekah starts to desiccate, and thick gray veins pop up all over her face and neck. Terrified, Thierry speeds vamps and disappears out of the warehouse, leaving Rebekah on her own.  

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Klaus, Caroline, Elijah, Stefan, and Diego, and many of the other vampires are congregating in the courtyard, discussing their current situation. 

“Ah! Someone will die for this.” Klaus declared.  

“Remarkably, I don't disagree,” said Elijah. “However, I would like to know where they learned such dark magic.”  

“I had hoped never to see that symbol again,” said Klaus. “I recall it is the signature of a fool who once stood against us.”  

“Isn’t someone always standing against you?” Stefan asked with an arched eyebrow. 

Caroline smacked his arm. “So not the point, Stefan.” 

“Clearly, some upstart witch is salvaging old tricks,” Elijah responded.

“Ugh, witches,” Caroline said. “I’m really starting to hate them.” 

“Bonnie was a witch,” Stefan reminded her. “Before she became an anchor, she was a witch.” 

“Bonnie’s, Bonnie.” Caroline defended. “And she’s different. She’s not morally questionable.” 

Stefan couldn’t argue with her there. Plus, Caroline’s hate for the witches in New Orleans was understandable. “What about Davina?”

“Davina is innocent, nothing that has happened is her fault.” Caroline defended her new friend.   

“I'll do for him as I did the other.” Klaus turns to Diego. “Diego, when night falls, I want you to gather every vampire in the Quarter. Get me the head of whoever did this and put it on a stick.”  

“Yeah. That's gonna be a problem,” replied Diego. “Everyone is freaked out, man. We haven't had witches killing vampires in a long time. Marcel made sure of that.”  

“Marcel is no longer in charge and is busy chasing after his human. You lot are left with me. Now, who of you will fight to defend our home?” Klaus looked around to see that no one comes forward. “Not a single one of you will stand with me, so afraid are you of this new threat? You should know better. I'll handle this myself.”

“We will stand with you,” 

Klaus turned to see Zach and his pack stepping forward and he smirked. “Good.” 

He turned to Caroline. “Stay here, I don’t want you near this,” 

Caroline wanted to argue but she did not want witches near her unborn children again. “I’ll be fine,” She brushed a kiss against his stubble jaw. 

It wasn’t nearly enough for Klaus, he grasped her chin and kissed her deeply. 

Stefan cleared his throat after a moment, uncomfortable seeing Klaus and Caroline kissing each other like they’ve been doing it for years. 

Klaus turned and the wolves followed, sending disgusted looks the vampires’ way.  

Caroline lifted a hand to her lips watching him leave. 

“Stefan a word,” Klaus called over his shoulder. Stefan rolled his eyes and followed him out onto the street. 

Klaus turned to him. “Keep an eye on Caroline, will you? It’s only a matter of time before she involves herself.” 

“I’m not going to keep her prisoner for you,” Stefan glared. 

“I didn’t tell you to keep her in.” Klaus rolled his eyes. “I said keep an eye on her as in help her if she needs it. I promise you now if one hair is harmed on her head and you could have prevented it, your brother won’t be the only Salvatore I want to kill.” 

And with those parting words, Klaus left. 

Stefan sighed, he came here for Caroline but it looked like he was going to have to deal with Klaus on the regular. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~  

Cami spoke into her phone. “Sophie, the restaurant is an epic disaster again. Do you think maybe you could come in today and…” 

The voice mail interrupts: "User's mailbox is full." 

“Good-bye,” Cami said annoyed, ending the call.  

“Looks like I should've been here last night,” said Marcel.  

Cami, startled, looks for anything she can find to use as a weapon, finally settling on an empty liquor bottle on top of the bar. “Before you try anything, I'm on vervain.” 

“Yeah, Klaus mentioned you broke free of his compulsion. Good for you.” Marcel wondered. 

“What are you doing here?” asked Cami.  

“Wanted to see you.” Marcel sits down at the bar.

“I thought now that you have Davina back you wouldn’t be leaving her side.”  

“Except now I need to keep New Orleans from falling apart,” Marcel told her.  

“Is Klaus causing trouble?” Cami questioned. 

“When isn’t he?” Marcel responded, “and I’m more than likely going to have to be the one to clean it up. He has his hands full with Caroline and his kids and Hayley’s betrayal.” 

“What are you talking about? What did Hayley do?” Cami questioned. 

“Right,” said Marcel. “You wouldn’t know.” He reached for a bottle and poured two shots. “You’re probably gonna need a drink for this.” 

Cami joined him at the bar. “Tell me,” 

“Caroline is the one Klaus knocked up before coming back to New Orleans,” Marcel said. 

Cami’s eyes widened. “But she's a vampire and Hayley is the one who's pregnant.” 

“Not anymore,” Marcel shook his head. “The twins are back with Caroline now.” 

Cami’s shoulders slumped forward. “I’m so confused.” 

Marcel laughed. “It’s pretty unbelievable. From my understanding before the witches brought Caroline to New Orleans, she and Klaus got busy in her hometown, and by some dark magic on Sophie’s and her sister’s behalf they made it possible for Caroline to get pregnant and-”

“But how did they even know about Caroline?” Cami questioned. 

“Witches talk.” Marcel shrugged. “Plus, when Klaus Mikaelson truly cares about someone other than himself people tend to notice. It’s no surprise word traveled. Anyway, when the Deveraux witches learned their plan worked and that she was pregnant they lured her here, took her babies, and put them in Hayley’s womb. Hayley went on to pretend it was her pregnancy.”

“Why would someone do that to another woman?” Cami was disgusted. 

“The witches promised to help Hayley find her family and she was desperate enough to take the deal,” Marcel said. 

“Still,” Cami shook her head. 

“So while he’s dealing with that I have to deal with all the other drama he’s left in his wake,” Marcel stated.

“Marcel, I'm sorry,” Cami told him sympathetically. “This all sounds so complicated.” 

Marcel shrugged. “Same old, same old.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Elijah walks into Davina’s room to find her going through her old sketches.  

“There you are.” Elijah greeted. “Aren’t you supposed to be helping Katerina?” 

 “I needed a break and something keeps bothering me,” Davina answered, continuing her perusal of her sketches. 

Elijah gestures to the sketches. “And it has to do with your drawings?”  

“I don’t know but I feel this pull. I know they're telling me something,” Davina insisted. “I don’t understand why I was drawing a witch who has been dead for longer than I’ve been alive. I’m killing time, now that I'm on vampire lockdown.”  

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the harvest?” Elijah asked and Davina glared at him. “Whoever did this, we will deal with them,” Elijah stated. “It won't be long.”  

“I'm not worried.” Davina declared. “I can handle what’s thrown my way. I just want to be prepared. I don’t want to get caught off guard. Something’s coming and I need to know what it is so I can protect the people that I care about.”   

“I do apologize if you feel all of our problems have fallen on your shoulders,” Elijah told her. “Finding a way to save Katherine, the Sophie and Hayley situation, Caroline. Stefan’s arrival. Rebekah is off trying to make things right. Niklaus grows more agitated with every new threat. You're just a child none of this should have fallen on you.”

“I’m not a child,” Davina said strongly. “I was forced to grow up sooner than I should have but I did it and I can handle this and I will. For Caroline but ultimately for myself. They have not beaten me down and I intend to show them they never will.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel is still sitting at the bar with Cami when his phone rings. It's Klaus. He hits the ignore button and returns to his drink. 

“El presidente?” Said Cami.  

“He likes to keep track of his people,” Marcel responded.  

“Why are you loyal to him, exactly?” Cami wondered.  

“For someone who says she can't stand the guy, you sure ask a lot of questions about him.” Marcel pointed out.  

“My interest is purely academic.” Cami defended.  

“I know what you're doing,” Marcel said, knowingly. “You're mad he used you, and you want to get back at him. Maybe you're hoping I'll let slip some chink in his armor. Friendly advice--don't do that. It won't end well. Let me tell you a story about someone who went up against Klaus.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

1919 

Marcel returns home in his military uniform to find a party being held at the compound. Marcel sees Rebekah sitting at a table with an unknown gentleman, and walks toward her.  

“This was right after I returned from World War I. I'd been trying to get away from New Orleans for a while. Something kept drawing me back.” Marcel began. 

“Why don't you get me some Martinis?” Klaus suggested. “Thank you.”  

“Aren't you gonna welcome me home?” Marcel asked Rebekah.  

“I wouldn't want you to think that I was happy to see you,” replied Rebekah.  

“How long you gonna hate me?” Marcel asked.  

“You left me in a box for fifty-two years.” Rebekah glared. “Twice that seems like a good start. Come on, boys.”  

Marcel watched her walk away with a look of longing. 

Klaus approaches Marcel. “There he is. Our war hero triumphantly returned. Oh, good to have you back, Marcellus. Welcome home.” They drink together. “Mm.”  

“Haha! The prodigal son has finally learned to hold his liquor.” Elijah teased.  

“The Army'll do that to you,” Marcel replied.  

“Well, it's good to have you back,” Elijah told him. “Niklaus was beside himself in your absence.”  

“Now that you are here, perhaps you could help settle an argument,” said Klaus. “You see, you've traded a war abroad for one here in the Quarter. Some rogue witch wants a piece of the city we built, and Elijah, for reasons beyond my comprehension, insists that negotiation is our best recourse.” 

“Yes,” said Elijah.  

“On the topic of your failed comprehension, you neglect, as a soldier, Marcel has seen not only how small the world has become and how fast news can travel, but also the very horrors of war itself.” Klaus continued. “Surely, Marcel would agree with me.” 

“The best way for us to defend our home is by exercising discretion.” Elijah insisted.  

“So who's the witch you want to kill?” Marcel asked.  

“His name is Papa Tunde,” Klaus answered. “I think he's a charlatan. “ 

“Well, Marcel shall be able to decide that for himself. You invited him here.” Elijah reminded.  

“Of course. We're not savages, are we?” Klaus replied.  

Papa Tunde arrives at the party, and Klaus immediately approaches him. 

“Thank you for accepting our invitation, and welcome.” Klaus greeted. “I hope you'll allow me to play the role of host. If there's anything you need- Anything at all…”  

“Pleasure before business, then,” replied Papa Tunde. “Hahaha! Hahaha!”  

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

“I didn't get it at first,” said Marcel. “Klaus was the one who wanted to go to war.”  

“So, why was he inviting his enemy into his home?” Cami questioned. “Why be so generous to someone who he's gonna have to kill?”  

“But, you see, that's the thing. It was all part of Klaus' plan.” Marcel told her. “He was sussing the guy out, learning his weaknesses, his strengths, getting him to let his guard down. That's how Klaus does it. Then he goes in for the kill.”  

“Because he's a two-faced sociopath.” Cami accused. “There's nothing enviable about what Klaus does. He is a monster.”  

“We're all monsters, Cami,” Marcel told her. “If you're powerful like Klaus is, you just don't have to bother hiding it.” 

“Davina’s powerful,” said Cami. “She is not a monster.”  

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Papa Tunde finishes doing his spell on Rebekah. She laid desiccated in a circle of salt, with his symbol carved into her forehead. 

He stands back and admires his work. “It is done. The power of the Original sister flows through me.”  

“And will that be enough to make Klaus suffer?” Asked Celeste. 

“I will hurt Klaus Mikaelson as he hurt me,” said Papa Tunde. “When I am done, he will wish that he could die.”

“You’re going for Caroline?” Celeste inquired. 

“His children will die before they even take their first breath.” Papa Tunde promised and celeste smirked. 

Caroline had interfered with her plans when she saved Davina, she would celebrate the blonde’s untimely, tragic demise along with Klaus’s abominable spawns. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~   

“You gonna open this place today?” Marcel asked.  

“And risk you eating the clientele?” Cami asked in return.  

“Oh, and here I thought you were starting to like me again,” replied Marcel.  

Marcel's phone rings again and he answers it. 

“Ah, you've stopped chasing after Cami long enough to pick up the phone.” Klaus’s voice came over the line.  

“I figured you'd just keep calling,” Marcel replied.  

“I'm in the Cauldron now,” Klaus informed him. “You could meet me here, we could start burning passersby at the stake.”  

“Sorry. I'm in the middle of something here.” Marcel replied.  

“Is she more important than what is happening?” Klaus asked.  

“Is Caroline?” Marcel countered. He knew the answer but he wanted Klaus to understand that he could care about someone as well. 

Klaus scoffed. “Please you couldn’t possibly feel so deeply for Cami so quickly. Finish up with her and come and help me end this.”  

Marcel hangs up the phone not taking too kindly to Klaus’s tone. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Katherine tensed as Klaus walked into her room. Her face forming into a scowl. “Have you finally come to kill me?” 

Klaus scoffed. “You have long since lost your importance to me. You live because Caroline wants you to, if you want it to continue that way, I would advise you keep in her good graces.” 

Caroline walked in and swatted at him. “Be nice.” 

Stefan snorted from the doorway. “I can’t believe you just said that to him.” 

“You’re still here?” Katherine asked Stefan in surprise. “I would’ve thought you would have returned to be Elena and Damon’s third wheel by now.” 

“Perhaps, I’m learning,” Stefan countered, shooting her an annoyed look. 

“Enough,” Klaus said, impatiently. “I did not come here for you.” He turned to Sophie who was glowering at them. “I came here for you, the witch I was looking to brutalize.”

“What now?” Sophie shut the book she had open in her hands. “I am trying to do as you asked.” 

Caroline stepped forward. “While I would love to torture you some more, there are some more pressing matters at hand.” 

Klaus speeds vamp towards Sophie and grabs her in a chokehold. “Perhaps you could explain the attacks on my men.”  

“What about helping me?” Katherine protested, the witch couldn’t help her if she was dead. 

“I will handle it.” Davina stepped back into the room, picking up the book Sophie dropped when Klaus hoisted her up by the throat. “We haven’t given up on making sure you don’t die.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Elijah is in the courtyard, trying to reach Rebekah. 

“Rebekah is not answering her calls,” said Elijah.  

“You worried about whoever killed those daywalkers still being out there?” Josh asked.  

“Yes, I'm worried. She is dead set on making things better for Caroline,” replied Elijah. “I’m not sure how far she will take this.” 

“Can she really be in any real danger?” Stefan asked. He had left Klaus and Caroline to deal with Sophie not wanting to get involved with torturing the witch. 

“Things here in New Orleans are a lot different than Mystic Falls. Much more dangerous. Enemies around every corner.” Elijah notices Thierry drinking alone at a table and joins him. “Thierry, is it?” 

“That's right,” Thierry answered.  

“My sister is rather fond of you. Strange, she's not typically drawn to unremarkable men.” Elijah commented. “Would you care to explain your sudden magnetism?”  

“I don't know what you're…” Thierry started.  

Elijah, annoyed, grabs him by the throat and pushes him against the wall. 

“You can either tell me what you know, or I can distribute tiny pieces of you throughout the Quarter.” Elijah threatened.  

Stefan crossed his arms wondering where Elijah was going with this. Usually, it was Klaus’s method to use threats and fear to reach a goal. 

“She asked me to keep an eye out on witch stuff,” said Thierry reluctantly. “I found something, and when I showed her, we were jumped by some guy. He desiccated her with his touch.”  

“Like a coward, you left her.” Elijah accused angrily.  

Stefan dropped his arms and stepped forward. “You did what?” 

“What was I supposed to do, fight some warlock that took out an Original?” Thierry asked.  

“Yes, if you were friends you shouldn’t have left her,” Stefan scolded. 

“Where was this, exactly?” Elijah questioned.  

“The docks, warehouse 57,” Thierry answered. “I was just doing what she asked. You cannot tell Klaus about this.”

Elijah throws Thierry against the wall. He's unconscious. “I shall take that into consideration,” said Elijah.  

”I'm coming with you.” Caroline appeared. “I need a break from hearing Hayley wail when all I want to do is kill her.”

“You're not going with Klaus to handle the witch thing?” Stefan asked. 

“No,” the truth was she was concerned for Rebekah. She was still mad at Rebekah but she didn’t want her in any real danger. 

“No. Stay here.” Elijah instructed. “The compound is safe.”

“First, Rebekah is in trouble. I'm going. Second, I don’t care what is safe” Caroline was not going to stay behind. “And third, you don’t get to tell me what to do. No one does.”  

Elijah considers this and sighs. “Do not leave my sight. I don’t look forward to being daggered by my brother for the rest of time.”

“If Caroline is going, I’m going,” Stefan said. He was determined to stay by her side and be there when she needed a friend. He needed to make up for being a bad one. 

Caroline nods, and the three leave for the docks.  

Elijah prayed nothing was going to happen to Caroline. He would really hate to end up in a coffin even longer than Finn or watch Klaus ripped Katerina’s heart just to watch him suffer. 

Niklaus was the most vengeful, vindictive person he knew. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

“Me calling things off with you wasn't lack of interest. I was hoping to save you from all this.” Marcel told Cami.  

“Well, thanks, Romeo, but I'm in it,” Cami replied. “So, when are you gonna get to the good part with Klaus and that Papa guy?”  

“Papa Tunde said he wanted to empower the witches. Mostly, he wanted money and territory. Klaus and Elijah weren't about to give him either. He didn't like that, so he went on a rampage.” Marcel continued his story. 

“No one was safe. Not the humans in the faction. Not the Guerrera werewolves. He even went after the witches who opposed him. Elijah offered a truce. He gave his word, in fact, but Klaus, being Klaus, he had another idea.”  

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Papa Tunde is waiting in their meeting place when he hears someone enter. “You're late, Elijah. It's not like the noble brother to keep me waiting.”  

“I'm sorry, mate. Elijah is the brother you meet when negotiations are to be had. I'm the one you get when negotiations are closed.” Klaus informed him, something dangerous shining in his eyes.  

“You do not scare me,” said Papa Tunde. “You have no idea the power I possess.”  

“Oh, in fact, I made it a point to learn all about your power,” Klaus responded. “I noticed how you're almost always near those twin sons of yours, how they bear your distinctive mark. Got me to thinking--you channel their power, don't you? Which, of course, begs the question: what would happen were that power to be taken away, if those sons whose lives you depend on were suddenly struck down? What of that power then?”  

Marcel brings in a box and sets it down. Papa Tunde looks into the box and sees the severed heads of his twin sons. 

“I will kill you for this.” Papa Tunde vowed enraged.  

“I cannot be killed.” Klaus declared confidently. “You, however…”  

Klaus zooms over to him and presses his thumbs into Papa Tunde's eyes. 

“Aagh!” Papa Tunde cried out in pain, blood streaming out of his eye sockets.

Klaus pressed harder, his thumbs smashing through his eyes and into his brain, killing him. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

“That's awful!” Cami was horrified.  

“Oh, to Klaus, it's just business,” said Marcel.  

“And don't you think there's something fundamentally wrong with that?” Cami questioned. “Don't you worry you'll end up one of his victims or, worse, just like him?”

Cami wondered how Caroline could justify being with someone like Klaus if this was the man that laid beneath all the art and charm. Let alone have children with him. 

Papa Tunde suddenly appears in the bar. “Poor Marcellus. You remain always in the shadow of your father. Climb out from beneath it, will you, so you can die like a man?”  

“Cami, you need to run now. Don't look back. Just go.” Marcel urged her urgently, wanting her to get to safety.  

“I think she should stay,” said Papa Tunde. “I prefer an audience, and I'm about to put on quite the show.” 

“Marcel?” Cami was unsure of what to do.   

“I said get out of here,” Marcel ordered. 

Cami, terrified, hesitates in the doorway, not wanting to leave Marcel alone. 

“You cannot defeat me.” Papa Tunde declared, he strode forward like he was stalking prey, his sights set on Marcel. “I channel the power of an Original vampire. Soon, I will have all three. But first, I will take you, however not before you can tell me where I can find Caroline Forbes. I will take from Klaus what he has taken from me.”  

Even after all this time the loss of his sons still left him with unbridled rage and the need to take everything from Klaus. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Sophie examines the abandoned desiccated vampires that Papa Tunde left for the vampires to find at the docks. “It's a complex spell. Old-school stuff, rooted in sacrificial magic. Whoever did this to your guys, my guess is they were an offering to gain more power. More guys they kill, more power they have.”  

Klaus's phone rings, and when he sees it's Cami, he answers it, motioning for Zach beside him to not take his eyes off of Sophie. “I didn't expect a call from you.”  

“You need to get to Rousseau's now. Some lunatic witch doctor looking for Caroline is killing Marcel.” Cami told him. “He refuses to give her up. I can maybe buy him some time, maybe lie about where she is-” 

“Say one word about Caroline to him and I will make you regret it. There is a line that can’t be crossed. Not even by you.” Klaus hung up abruptly, meeting the worried eyes of Zach, he was gripping Sophie by the arm, ensuring she didn’t try anything as he got distracted by the mention of the only vampire he considered a part of his pack. “Stay with her.” He ordered 

Zach nodded. “Caroline?”

“Don’t worry about her. I have it covered. Keep your focus where it’s needed.” Klaus looked at Sophie. “If you try anything your coven will suffer the consequences.” 

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t try anything.”

Klaus turned to see a familiar face. 

“You, your Katherine’s daughter, right?” Klaus' eyes narrowed on the brunette who's been in and out of the compound since they brought Katherine to New Orleans. He hadn’t really cared to question her whereabouts. She held absolutely no importance to him. 

“Yes,” Nadia answered. “We don’t need her breaking free. I need her to save my mother.” 

“I need her to suffer.” Klaus retorted. “Don’t make me regret this or I’ll take you from your mother just like I did the rest of her family. “

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Caroline, Stefan, and Elijah arrive at where Theirry told them about. Rebekah's body was on the ground. Caroline started to run toward her but Stefan stopped her pointing toward the magic circle beneath Rebekah’s body. 

Elijah is also on the phone with Sophie. 

“Rebekah!” Elijah goes to kneel next to her, but can't cross the barrier made by the salt. 

“What’s going on?” Caroline questioned.  

“Some kind of boundary spell.” Elijah answered..” Someone is channeling her. Typically, it's a lethal process, but, because she's an Original, she can't die. Instead, she's an endless source of power. “

“So what are we supposed to do?” Stefan asked. “I can only imagine the damage that could be done by channeling an Original.”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Papa Tunde bends over Marcel and holds his knife to his forehead as he begins to carve in his mark. “As I recall, you're one of the few people Niklaus Mikaelson ever gave a damn about. You know what he did to my family.”  

“Aah!” Marcel cried out.  

“The sins of the father are paid for by the son. I will take pleasure in telling Klaus how you died.” Papa Tunde told him. “And how you refused to give up the woman carrying his spawns.” 

“Wait!” Cami screamed, running back inside. “I can get Caroline here. Just don’t kill him.” She ignored the look of betrayal coming from Marcel. She was trying to save his life. 

“No!” Marcel snapped through the pain. “She has to stay away from him.” 

“Marcel, he's going to kill you.” Cami protested. “If we give him what he wants-” 

“You will do no such thing!” 

Cami gasped, whirling around to see Klaus, his face black with rage.  

She took a step back frightened. 

“I would kill anyone who puts Caroline in danger for whatever the reason.” Klaus shoved Cami back and she crashed into a table, crying out in surprise and by the force. “No one’s well being is worth more than hers.” 

Papa Tunde glared. “You cannot protect Caroline or your children she carries, no more than you can protect Marcellus, here.” 

Papa Tunde prepares to kill Marcel but Klaus runs forward, ripping him away from Marcel. 

“I remember killing you,” said Klaus. “I rather relished it. What a joy it is to relive fond memories.”  

“I can crush you before the eyes of your son.” Papa Tunde said, brushing himself off. “Then, I will consume you both and then I will kill Caroline and end your children’s lives before they take their first breath. This time, I'm stronger.”  

Klaus' eyes turned amber. “Stay away from my family!”

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

“You're not listening. We cannot enter the circle. There's some kind of confinement spell... If I can't remove her, we can't break the link.” Elijah explained to Sophie on the phone.   

“It's a convoluted spell. It's like a witch's recipe. You can spoil the balance by adding a more potent ingredient.” Sophie informed him. “A mystical binding agent. I don't know, volcanic ash, rock salt...anything up to and including eye of newt.”  

“What about the blood of a witch?” Elijah inquired.  

“Do you have the blood of a witch?” Sophie asked, confused.  

Elijah turns to Caroline. “I need a favor.”  

“Why are you looking at me? I have vampire blood.” Caroline protested. 

“The babies, Caroline,” Stefan interjected. “Their Quarter witches.” 

Caroline nodded slowly, she raised her wrists to her lips and bit into it gingerly, drawing blood. She walked toward the circle, holding her wrist out and letting the blood fall on the magic boundary line. It starts to fizzle and deteriorate. 

Elijah is able to get through, and he quickly picks up Rebekah and takes her out of the circle. 

He nodded at Caroline and Stefan to follow him before speed vamping out. 

Caroline looked down at the ruined magic line. A little surprised it had work and that her vampire blood had not tainted it. She vamped away and Stefan followed in her wake. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Papa Tunde has the upper hand on Klaus, Papa Tunde’s superior strength throwing Klaus off and is about to finish him off when he suddenly becomes weak when his link to Rebekah is broken. Klaus is able to stun Papa Tunde long enough to run over to Marcel. 

“Uhhh, is he dead?” Cami asked.  

“Get out of here.” Klaus glared at her.  

“Is Marcel dead? Did that guy kill him?” Cami questioned, ignoring his glare. 

“He didn't finish him off. Marcel needs blood to heal. Go. Find me someone off the street.” Klaus ordered. 

“I'll do it,” Cami told him.  

“Fine. Get over here.” Klaus snapped. He didn’t have time for this. 

Cami rushes over to Marcel and puts his mouth to her neck. “It's ok, Marcel. It's ok. It's ok, Marcel.” 

Klaus barely spared the two of them a look, needing to find Caroline. She was being used as a target against him. Again. 

He needed her beside him. He needed to know she was safe.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Rebekah ambushes Thierry in an alley. “Ah! I should rip out your coward heart.”  

“What, Rebekah? We made a deal to take out your brother. You were the one to go back on that deal, and at the end of the day, it's every man for himself.” Thierry responded.  

“I am so sick of self-serving narcissists. Are men simply incapable of thinking about anyone but themselves?” Rebekah demanded angrily.  

Elijah speeds up to Thierry and snaps his neck. 

“Oh, I asked you to cease these petty moves against our family, and yet you conspire with this fool. Is this what it's come to, making moves against your own blood?” Elijah asked, looking at Rebekah with disappointment.  

“I called it off and don't you try and shame me,” Rebekah replied. “Nik grows more powerful by the day, and you do nothing but encourage him. Before the truth came out, I was set on taking him down but this isn’t about Klaus anymore, it’s about our whole family. I know we need to stick together for the sake of Caroline. She has a target on her back. If we don’t stick together her children may never see their first sunrise. I refuse to let that happen. She has inherited enemies she doesn’t deserve.”  

“I offer him, my counsel because it's clear to me that he needs to make the city our home. Now, perhaps leading these derelicts will curb some of these impulses, grant him some degree of happiness. Caroline is that happiness. We will all protect her.” Elijah said. “We all will make sacrifices in the name of this family, Rebekah, but know this. I will never stand against you or Niklaus.” Elijah told her.  

“What about Hayley?” Rebekah questioned. “Are we just going to let her live after everything she has done to deceive our family for her own gain? Are we just going to let her go?”

“We are going to let Caroline and Niklaus decide her fate, she wronged them more than any of us. It should be them who decide her punishment. Not us.” replies Elijah. 

Rebekah glowered, she wanted to kill Hayley for her treachery. The wolf girl didn’t deserve to breathe another breath. 

“I think death would be a blessing for her.” 

Elijah and Rebekah turned to see Stefan standing there. 

“How long have you’ve been there?” Elijah questioned with narrowed eyes. 

“Long enough to know Rebekah was making plans against your brother,” Stefan answered. 

“Will you tell him and Caroline?” Rebekah demanded. 

“No,” Stefan answered. “I don’t see what good it will do.” 

“Be sure that you don’t, Stefan,” Elijah told him. “Or your time here in New Orleans won’t end well.” 

Stefan watched him and then looked at Rebekah. “Did he just threaten me?”

“What are you doing here, Stefan?” Rebekah asked on a sigh. 

“I came here for Caroline. She should have a friend here.” Stefan said. “And I have a lot of making up to do in that department.” 

“I know that,” Rebekah rolled her eyes. “I meant here. Why did you follow me?” 

“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Stefan admitted. 

Rebekah met his eyes, she could see his honest expression but then again it wouldn’t be the first time Stefan deceived her into thinking he actually cared about her. 

She looked away. “Don’t bother yourself with me. I’m fine. I always am.” 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Marcel walks into the Jardin Gris Voodoo shop, where Rebekah is standing and waiting for him.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Rebekah said in greeting.  

“That symbol is already up and down the cauldron, more of them popping up everywhere,” Marcel said.  

“I suppose Papa Tunde is marking his territory,” Rebekah replied.  

“I'm told you saw him, as well,” said Marcel.  

“Yeah. Brought up a lot of memories. Memories that are best left buried.” Rebekah stated.  

Marcel swallowed. Memories of a secret long since buried 90 years ago that if it ever came to light would find him and Rebekah on the run for their lives. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

1919 

“You're soused. Celebrating Klaus' defeat of the mad Papa Tunde?” asked Rebekah.  

“Not celebrating, drowning sorrows,” Marcel told her. “I'm the one who brought Tunde to town.” 

“What?” Rebekah replied. 

“I made some inquiries while I was abroad, wanted the most dangerous witch anyone could find,” Marcel informed her. 

“Why on earth would you do that?” Rebekah wondered.  

“For you,” Marcel answered. “I figured if someone as bad as Tunde comes in, maybe Klaus gets chased off. Very least, he's occupied enough that he can't stop me from trying to get you back.”  

“You mean to tell me that you would tear down everything my family built, everything you helped us build, risk your own life on the off chance that I would show you the slightest bit of affection?” Rebekah asked.  

“I would,” Marcel answered. “I did. I'd do it again.”  

“Klaus has killed a thousand Tunde's. All his life, there's only ever been one man he has truly feared. My father Mikael.” Rebekah told him.  

“The vampire who hunts vampires,” said Marcel.  

“If he came here, Klaus would flee and never turn back,” Rebekah told him. “All we need is a witch who can help us find him.”  

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Klaus commanded the attention of the whole compound as he spoke directly to the vampires of the french quarter.  

“Not long ago, you all united against me. You failed. Since then, in my benevolence, I have wiped the slate clean, yet it seems clear you think that I am the one who needs to earn your respect, your loyalty. You're mistaken. It is you who must prove yourselves to me. Our community is under attack. I require soldiers. I need warriors, not cowards. Each of you has a decision to make. You either fight alongside me and my wolves or you leave now.” 

“We don't owe you anything. If staying in the Quarter means living under your rule, working with wolves, I'd just as soon get the hell out.” Thierry declared.  

Caroline grabbed Klaus’s hand as they watched a handful of vampires join Thierry and walk out of the compound. Thierry looks at Diego in hopes that he'll come along, but he gives him a pained look and stays behind. 

Theirry couldn’t believe his friend was choosing to stay. Diego hated wolves and for good reason. His family was torn apart by them. 

Afterward, Marcel, Caroline, and Klaus talk with Sophie. 

“I got to admit, I thought you'd lose a lot more guys than that,” Marcel told him.  

“Well, good riddance to them, I say,” Klaus replied. “We've no room for slackers or cowards in our kingdom. Now that you've regained your composure, let's move on to the next item of business, shall we, with a little help from our prisoner Sophie.”  

“The last thing I want to do is help any of you!” Sophie snapped.  

“Now, now, don't be difficult,” Klaus told her. 

“You're lucky you’re still alive. You should be more grateful.” Caroline said, wanting nothing more than to slap the taste out of the witch's mouth but now was not the time to torture her some more. That time would come again later.  

“You'll only live as long as you're of use to me, and right now, your best use is to explain why a witch I killed has come back for revenge. Come on. Resurrected witches with vast power?” Klaus insisted.  

“It's the Harvest. To die and be reborn.” Sophie told him. “I don't know how, but someone jacked that power, and they used it to bring back three witches, just not the right ones.”  

“Davina’s not in danger, is she?” Caroline asked, speaking the words before Marcel could. 

“I don’t know,” Sophie answered. 

“Well be sure.” Marcel ground out. “I will not lose her.” 

“Let's concentrate on the immediate problem, shall we?” Klaus suggested. “Papa Tunde wants revenge. He'll continue to attack us, channeling power from the vampires he sacrifices. He kills, he grows more dangerous. So how do I end him? He needs sacrifices to gain power.”  

Klaus needed to kill him, he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing he was out there, wanting to take from him what Klaus himself took from Papa Tunde. 

“Hmm. You keep him from killing any more nightwalkers, that's a start.” Sophie told him. 

“Easier said than done in a city full of them.” Caroline snapped at her, just hearing Sophie speak made her want to rip her tongue out through her throat.  

“Caroline’s right,” Klaus said. “If he finds the one place with a load of vampires ready to be sacrificed,” Klaus stated.  

They all look at each other with a look of dawning realization.

Stefan who was standing back, for the most part, minding his own business stepped forward. “What’s happening now?” 

“Nothing good,” Caroline said and leaned into Klaus’s side, seeking his touch. She felt more grounded when she could feel any part of him pressed against her. 

Klaus’s arm wound around her waist, his hand curving around her side, unthinkingly, he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. 

It was actions like these that threw everyone around him, having never seen Klaus so tactile so affectionate.   

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Klaus, Marcel, Stefan and Caroline, and Zach arrive at the garden only to discover that they are too late. All of the vampires are dead, sacrificed by Papa Tunde.

Not only that the wolves he had guarding the place until he got there were dead. 

Caroline’s hand went to her mouth, she knew every wolf by name, she had got to know in the short period after being introduced to them and had formed an attachment. 

They were good and they had welcomed her into their pack, willing to overlook that she was a vampire, they trusted her and protected her and she did the same for them. 

Now, here they were. Gone. Dead at her feet.

Anger coursed through her with a viciousness that left her reeling. 

“How could this happen?” Zach stumbled forward, falling to his knees in disbelief.

“This..this act of violence,” Caroline turned to Klaus, her eyes blackened with her rage. “Can not go unanswered. Their lives meant something. These were our people and they slaughtered them! We have to make everyone involved pay!”

Marcel's brow raised up to his hairline at her harsh reaction.

Klaus was enthralled by her words, the anger coming off her in waves, she vibrated with righteous anger for their wolves. 

The way she had accepted his wolves as her family was something he admired. “Nothing that has happened today will go unanswered, I promise you that, love.” He cupped her face, his thumbs tracing the black veins beneath her eyes. Soothing them away. 

Caroline breathed slowly, her eyes closing at his touch. A calm washing over her, pushing her anger back down just beneath the surface. She nodded and released him. She stepped forward and placed her hand on Zach’s shoulder. “We will make this right.” 

Zach nodded numbly, his hand coming up to cover her own. Thankful for her support, he looked at Klaus seeing the same readiness to avenge the wolves in his eyes.

Stefan wanted to reach out and offer his support to Caroline but it seemed she had all the support she needed. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~  

Celeste meets with Papa Tunde near a crypt in the Lafayette cemetery. 

“Is it done?” asked Celeste.  

“This blade now contains all the power I harvested from the vampires. It will do things worse than death, even to an Original,” said Papa Tunde.  

“And are you ready for the final offering?” Celeste questioned.  

“Will you avenge my sons?” Papa Tunde asked. 

“Klaus will never get the chance to see his children be born,” Celeste vowed darkly

Papa Tunde nodded in acceptance. “In the name of the witches of the French Quarter, it is my honor.” Papa Tunde hands her the bone knife. 

“Thank you, Papa Tunde.” Celeste stands behind him and slits his throat with the knife. 

Celeste breathed deeply, her hands coated in Papa Tunde’s blood. Her plan of making Klaus suffer was closer than ever thanks to Papa Tunde’s sacrifice to her cause. 

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ 

Caroline walked into Katherine’s room, Davina sat on the floor surrounded by a mountain of books. Elijah was seated on the bed next to Katherine who appeared to be asleep. 

“Where’s Josh?” Caroline wondered. 

“I told him to go find something to drink. He couldn’t stop talking about blood.” Davina looked up from her book to Caroline. “How did today go?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Caroline said. “I rather talk about how things are going here. Have you found anything yet?” 

“No,” Davina answered reluctantly. “But I will find something. I will, I just need more time.” 

“I don’t know how much time she has left.” Elijah didn’t look away from Katherine. He reached his hand brushing her hair back from her face. “We need to save her before it’s too late.” 

“She knows that,” Caroline cut a look at him. “Don’t pressure her. It’s not all on her.” 

“I promise I will try everything I can to help her.” Davina insisted. 

“Good but don’t forget to take care of yourself too. Have you eaten at all today?” Caroline asked. 

“No,” Davina shook her head. 

“Come on, then,” Caroline looped her arm through hers. “I haven’t either and I am starving for blood but I am craving actual food. I talked my friend Stefan into cooking for me. He’s a good cook. He makes great pasta.” 

“Caroline,” Elijah protested but Caroline ignored him and walked out the door with Davina. 

She would not allow Davina to neglect taking care of herself. 

Nadia, Katherine’s daughter appeared in front of them in the hall. “Where are you going? You're supposed to be helping my mother.”

“And she will but right now, she is going to eat and then get a good night's sleep and rest her mind.” Caroline moved protectively in front of Davina. “And if you don’t like it, you can leave.” 

Nadia took a step forward as if to challenge her and Caroline raised one pointed brow, daring her to try something. 

Nadia with an angry huff pushed past them into her mother’s room. 

“Do we like her?” Davina asked as they walked down the stairs. 

“Not sure yet,” Caroline answered, leading Davina to the kitchen. “Don’t really know her.” 

Stefan was pulling something out of the oven, Josh was seated at a table, drinking from a bag of blood while engaging Stefan in conversation. 

“Something smells good,” Davina said, looking toward Stefan.

“That would be baked pasta. I hope you like Italian.” Stefan popped the platter on the counter. 

Caroline leaned forward getting a better look. The melted cheese mixed with red sauce and beef looked delicious and smelled even better. “It looks great, you know, if you’re going to be sticking around I might talk you into cooking for me more often.” 

“I am sticking around and shouldn’t Klaus be the one taking care of your food cravings?” 

Klaus walked into the room. “I take care of all her cravings.” He tugged Caroline into his side, placing a kiss on her neck. 

Davina made a disgusted face. “TMI.” 

“Agreed.” Stefan put two plates on the counter and filled them with pasta putting them in front of the two girls. “I am not used to seeing the two of you together.”

“Well, you better get used to it then because it’s not about to change.” Caroline took a seat and started digging into the food. “Thanks for the food, Stefan. I’m starving.” 

“I would imagine,” Klaus moved around and set a glass of blood in front of her. 

“Is it your blood?” Caroline asked curiously, giving Davina a look of encouragement to eat. 

“No,” Klaus pulled up a seat next to her, his hand resting on her knee. 

“Pity,” Caroline said, wishing it was his blood. She loved the taste of his life-sustaining life force on her tongue. 

Klaus moved his hand on her knee higher, fingers curling around her thigh. “Later.” his eyes held promise and Caroline felt heat rush through her. 

“You guys are blood sharing?” Stefan asked, surprised. Wow, being together was one thing and accidental pregnancy another but blood sharing, that was like a whole other ballpark of seriousness in a vampire relationship. The only thing more serious would be if they had shared the vampire mate claim. 

“Not really,” Caroline said. “He doesn’t drink from me and I don’t like being poisoned by a hybrid bite”

“You could always bite your wrist for him,” Davina suggested and Caroline looked at her. “I know this is not a discussion for me.” 

“Actually, that’s a great idea. Klaus and I will have to try it.” Caroline said, her interest piqued. 

“We will?” Klaus asks, his eyes darkened with want, imaging the taste of Caroline’s blood on his tongue as he was buried deep inside her. 

Caroline bit her lip. “We will.” 

“Okay, that’s enough.” Stefan cut in. “How about you keep the blood sharing interest in the bedroom and eat your food.” 

Klaus grinned. “I could eat but it’s definitely not food.” 

Davina’s eyes nearly widened and Caroline choked on air, her cheeks heating. “Klaus!” 

Klaus smirked at her in response that devilish smirk that had Caroline squeezing her thighs together as desire shot through her. 

“I think I am going to take my food back to my room.” Davina stood up and made a quick exit, waving a hand when Caroline called out an apology. 

Stefan sent Caroline a strained smile. “I’m going to leave you to enjoy your food.” 

Caroline watched him go, knowing it was just an excuse for him to leave. He might be weirded out by her relationship with Klaus but she didn’t care.

She dug into her food, moaning at the taste. Stefan sure did know how to cook. 

Klaus’s hand tightened on her thigh and she looked at him to see his pupils were blown wide, eyes dark with that look she was quite familiar with and despite the hard and difficult day, her lips pulled into a smile. 

“Want some?” She asked, her smile coy and flirty. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

Caroline extended a bite to him. 

“Not of your food,” he said roughly, resisting the urge to pull her against him. 

Caroline's own eyes darkened with want. She quickly ate her food and pushed the plate away and downed her glass of blood. 

The second she was out of her seat and on her feet, Klaus hauled her against his body, urging her to wrap her legs around him. 

Caroline did so eagerly, her arms going around his shoulders, eyes sliding shut as his mouth slanted over hers. 

Klaus groaned, he could taste the blood she had been drinking on her tongue. 

It was mere seconds before Caroline felt her back resting against soft sheets, Klaus’s weight a comfortable feeling settling over her. 

Klaus pulled his mouth from hers tugging at her shirt. 

Caroline rose up, allowing him to remove her shirt. 

She fell back against the bed as he kissed a path down the valley of her breast to her rounding stomach. 

His hands moved to cup her belly, the softness in his kisses had tears filling Caroline’s eyes, her chest tightening with emotion. “I’ve been avoiding my mom.”

Klaus looked up at her, waiting for her to say more. “I know she’s going to have questions about the pregnancy and I can’t talk about it with her.” 

Klaus pushed down his desire and moved back up her body, he rolled off her laying on his side, and pulling her into him. “Why?”

“Sometimes it doesn’t feel real,” Caroline confessed. 

“What?” Klaus looked at her taken aback. “What doesn’t feel real? Us? The babies? All of it?”

Carolien placed her hand on his heart, wanting to reassure him. “Not us. What we have is the realist thing I have ever felt in my life. I meant the pregnancy.”

Klaus's hand came to rest over her stomach. “Trust me it’s real. I can hear their small hearts. I know you can too.”

“It’s a beautiful sound,” Caroline’s eyes grew wet with unshed tears. “I love hearing it, knowing they're there.” 

“Then what’s the problem?” Klaus asked, his hand absentmindedly stroking her belly, caressing his unborn children. 

“What if they’re more hers than mine?” Caroline whispered, voicing her fears. 

“I don’t understand,” Klaus said, her words confusing him. 

“She had all this time to connect with them, to form a bond. I feel like I missed so much. I feel like they're no longer mine. It's almost like she has this claim on them that I don’t. And if I feel like this now, how can I possibly be a good mother to them?” 

Klaus lifted a hand to her cheek as a lone tear slipped from Caroline’s eye and brushed it away. “Caroline, love, you are everything any good mother should be. Your kind, loving, caring, selfless, forgiving and so fiercely protective of the people you love. Being a mother is going to come naturally like everything else for you.” 

Caroline's lips pulled into a smile before she put her hand on the back of his neck and leaned forward, pressing her mouth to his in a meaningful kiss. 

Klaus kissed her back, his arms going around her, pulling her flush against him, his lips moved down her jaw. “Is that all that’s bothering you? Today was a hard day. How are you dealing with everything?” His every word was pressed against his skin as he spoke. 

“Shh,” Caroline rolled onto her back, pulling him on top of her. “Everything else can wait. Talking can wait.” She pulled his mouth back to hers. “I just want to feel us.”

Klaus kissed her deeper, her mouth opening beneath his inviting him inside, he reached behind her unfastening her bra. 

Caroline pushed her head back, her body arching as his lips traveled across her skin, leaving a burning fire in his wake. 

She put everything else out of her mind and focused on the here and now. 

She and Klaus, the way he made her feel, how he knew her body like one of his sketches.

She lost herself to the most real thing she ever felt. 

And when he finally pushed inside her, eyes locked on hers, one hand digging into her thigh the other planted next to her head, she felt like everything would work itself out.

She would make damn sure of it because she was not giving up the life she was building or her new family. 

Always and Forever. 

It was the Mikaelson family motto. 

And now it was hers. 

She held on tightly to Klaus as he moved inside her, branding himself on her soul. 

She opened herself to him, letting down all her walls and defenses, pushing the love she had into his heart, wanting him to know, to believe after all his time on this earth he wasn’t alone and he never had to feel like he was. 

She will always be there. 

She wasn’t going anywhere without him. 

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Tags: @zinebaklaro @eloiselili @caritobear @paulinhaals @lord-luminous @bellarkehotchniss @fantasylover4evr @storm-pirate

[profanetools]

b/k 2 3 4 7 8 9 :) <3

I'm going to assume you mean bthem/kasmei since i asked for that! (sorry if you meant kagrenac unfortunately bthemetz has more than one love interest whose name begins with 'k')

3. How’s their team work? Do they share well?

They work fantastically well as an adventuring team and have a very natural chemistry and a good sense of humour while on the job. Literally dream team tank + damage dealer combination (no healer we suffer like immortals). They're both flexible, logical thinkers who think well on their feet but Kasmei is grounded and down-to-earth in a way Bthemetz finds very refreshing after spending an eternity trapped as an experiment in a wizard's pet pocket dimension (& Bthemetz surprises Kasmei just by how worldly she is - Bthemetz, after all, spent a lot of time travelling and doing field work, and before being trapped in the void, grew up poor and got ahead by stealing and lying largely). Both are high-energy people, both hate being stuck in one place and are restless travellers together. Depsite their outward differences - with Bthemetz being extraverted and very academic, and Kasmei being introverted and decidedly *not* academic - they are very much kindred spirits.

4. Are they open about their relationship? How do they feel about public displays of affection?

2nd era: no, not really. Neither off them expect it to last that long.

4th era: They're both intensely private peopme but yes, occasionally, theuve stopped giving any fucks

8. What do the like best about their partner?

Oh I love this question :)

Bthemetz thinks Kasmei is awfully clever without letting that become her whole identity and is grounded and connected to the world in a way that just makes that even better. She's quick, perceptive, often witty, sees things that others fail to recognise, and just has a perspective on things that is fresh and sparkling and interesting and always invaluable, and new, without being an academic or a scholar or bogged down with all of that (which Bthemetz, though she's not realising it, is slowly becoming disillusioned with). She's full of hidden depths - you would not think Kasmei could be so impulsive and such good fun, but also Kasmei is a stickler for certain rules at the same time, and like, Bthemetz finds all those complexities and quriks endearing and interesting.

As for Kas, Bthemetz doesn't belittle her or think that she's her lesser, not in the slightest, and Bthemetz *sees* what Kasmei considers her "weirdness" and just shows her that it's not a flaw to be hidden but instead a diamond. Bthemetz massively values Kasmei intellectually as both an adventurer partner but also sees the work and the craftsmanship in her tinkering (Kas thinks Bthem would judge her but Bthem is like, hello you did all this alone with zero help? How is this not remarkable? Are you kidding??). Additionally, I think Kasmei thinks Bthemetz is actually genuinely kind when she's not being such a fucking dwemer about things, and will actually care about people and has a lot of time for her sense of compassion and justice that shines through - because Kasmei consciously switched that off when she became a soldier and takes a cynical approach but being around Bthemetz has made her reconsider that whole mindset (though Kasmei was already questioning it). I think Bthemetz inspires her, makes her want to be better, as a person? Not that Kas is worse (Bthemetz has done her own wrongdoings for sure) but rather being around Bthemetz makes Kasmei want to be the best version of herself.

9. Do they discuss big issues? Religion? Marriage? Children? Death?

2nd era: pretty much a no, except for religion. At this point they both believe it's a quick fling that will end when they part ways (it doesnt quite -they spend much longer together and get way more involved). I think they avoid these topics - but religion is the one they end up broaching because Kasmei has almost lost her faith in the tribunal & the daedra & ancestor worship and is feeling pretty lost about it all. She expects zero understanding or support but Bthemetz is like, easily the best of the dwemer to talk to during a religious crisis, because Bthemetz has her own very unique take on it as a former priest who never saw her tonal architecture as contradicting her faith, and isn't dismissive but also really helps her gain the coursge to consider going her own way.

4th era: all the time. They've been to hell and back and are ready to open up. They might not get another chance and lay it all on the table. Bthemetz tells Kasmei the whole story with Numidium & Kagrenac. Kasmei tells Bthemetz about the war with akavir and technically dying and losing her soul. It's all out there.