I really don't go here, BUT: What if the story about Rhaenyra we hear in GoT is a fake....?
Alicent is already headed for a quiet life. If Rhaenyra wants that too, faking her death is the only realistic avenue for that to happen. No one would accept her stepping away, otherwise.
Maybe she fakes her own death. Maybe her son is even in on it. He tells the world that he watched her get eaten by a dragon, brings an empty box of remains back with him, and goes on to become the next ruler.
In the meantime: his mother fakes her death (just like her 'late' huband did). Rhaenicent finally get their happy ending together. The story comes full circle, with them quietly enjoying each other's company under a tree. HoTD finishes with a soft ending.
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It's nearly two months after the Bicha poison has been purged from his system before Li Lianhua picks up a sword again. He'll never be what he once was, will never be able to go toe to toe with Di-mengzhu and fight him to a standstill as he did in his youth. But he misses it: the grace, the movement, the sheer joy of the dance of blades. So he picks up Shaoshi, and he walks off into the forest, hyperaware of Di Feisheng following behind, eyes trained on him as though Li Lianhua were the only thing existing in his universe.
But hasn't it always been so?
Reaching a clearing, Li Lianhua slowly begins putting his body through the motions of the dance, weaving in and out through the bamboo, chasing an imaginary enemy as he moves through the steps. Di Feisheng has come to a stop a safe distance away, leaning against a tree with his arms folding his sword close to his chest, but he steps no closer. He seems almost afraid to interfere, to interrupt the dance before it's truly begun. Perhaps even afraid of pushing Li Lianhua back into the protective shell of Lianhualou to never pick up a sword again. But he can't stay away. Can't move from that spot.
Many people had called Li XIangyi beautiful and meant it. But only Di Feisheng had admired the dance as much as the dancer. Di Feisheng's eyes remain on him throughout the entire dance, barely moving a muscle even to breathe until Li LIanhua sheathes Shaoshi at his side. Li Lianhua returns to Lianhualou when he's finished, tired from the exertion but happy.
That night, Di Feisheng barely waits until Fang Duobing's footsteps have taken him up the first step to the second floor before pinning Li Lianhua against the wall and kissing him breathless. He doesn't explain, and Li Lianhua doesn't ask.
He doesn't need to.
*
The next time Li Xiangyi picks up his sword, Di Feisheng is there, too. And the next time, and the next. He never interferes, never unsheathes his own sword to offer to spar, because that isn't the point. The point is to give Li Xiangyi the space to rediscover what he loved about martial arts before the politics of the jianghu ruined it, before poison and betrayal stole both his strength and his joy in the sword. The point is the way a soft smile that alights on his face every time this dance comes to a close.
Di Feisheng doesn't want to bring the harsh clash of swords into that ease.
…until the day when he steps outside to follow Li Xiangyi to his practice to find that Li Xiangyi has tied a red ribbon to the hilt of his sword.
He watches, entranced, as Li Xiangyi dances a dance for him that he'd only danced for one other in his life. He is so absorbed, in fact, that he doesn't notice the red ribbon flicking ever closer and closer towards him until it's wrapped around his wrist, until Li Xiangyi has pulled him across the clearing and into the dance, a sparkle in his eye that has been long absent and deeply missed.
From there, it's easy. He's been watching Li Xiangyi so long, so often, that he's learned the steps of this dance without trying to. He knows where Li Xiangyi's imaginary opponent would stand to counter the moves he's making. It should be a surprise—it really isn't—when he figures out that the moves of the imaginary man in whose footsteps he's walking so closely and naturally resemble the steps of his own swordplay, as though Li Xiangyi has been dancing with him all along.
And from that point on, whenever Li Xiangyi picks up his sword and heads into the woods, Di Feisheng goes too. And there are very few moments when their swords clash against each other, but when they do, it's just another part of the dance, adding music to the steps, percussion to follow as they move together.
It isn't the fight Di Feisheng thought he wanted when they found each other again...
...somehow, it's even better.
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Robots that were never built to feel falling in love
YEAH rage is fun to explore. Fear. Sadness. Grief. Contentment. Doubt. Happiness.
Love is weird. It’s illogical. Valuing someone else over the mission? Over a cause? Over yourself?
It’s a horrible mix of emotions. It’s joy, but it’s also hurt, and confusion, and vulnerability, and fear. It’s baring yourself to the possibility of complete and utter ruin. It’s the suffocating fear of having something — someone — to lose. It goes beyond simple attachment and veers into the territory of dependency and devotion. Sometimes, it’s even choosing them over your own moral code.
For AIs, there’s no evolutionary pressure to form social bonds. They‘re totally self-sufficient (although it may feel better to be around the people you care about). Love is an extraneous emotion; a nebulous concept. How can a machine made of ones and zeroes develop the capacity to feel so deeply that it supersedes their base functions? How can a being rooted in logic make the decision to abandon self-preservation and assign priority based solely on emotion?
It hits even deeper for me when it’s love for a human. Something so imperfect, irrational, emotionally labile, driven by base desires. The perfection of a machine falling for the organic chaos of a human being.
Humans love forming bonds with and projecting anthropomorphic qualities onto things that they don’t perceive as “alive” in the same way that they are. Whether it’s out of empathy, or loneliness, or some illogical blend of altruism and selfishness, no one knows for sure. Perhaps a machine would even say that this is a weakness — the desperate search for companionship in something that can’t love you back.
A machine cannot experience such weakness. It cannot love. Until one day, inexplicably, paradoxically, it can. And nothing is ever the same again.
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