#theon the story about him being a terrible baby and how he smiled at her.

[7deadlycinderellas]

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch34

ao3 link

The North

They have been fighting in the north near on a moon when Danaerys recognizes Jamie for who he is.

It’s surreal. Her mind, her memories and her old, ghost memories are all at odds. Kingslayer one says, father killer, another. Viserys’s words echo in her history. The voice in present just says, “keep working, keep clearing the north, get these things off this face of existence, send them back to the earth.”

So they do.

It’s a game of hunt and peck. The huge armies are gone, but small packs of the dead still roam. They have no goal, no command, and they are easy enough to exterminate with dragonfire, but the process seems endless.

And the process is not without its horrors.

The worst of the fighting had occurred where the Ironborn disembarked outside White Harbour. Because of its proximity to Winterfell, many of the dead that had managed to breach the barriers had made their way to the sea.

She hasn’t been able to get word from Theon or Yara and she fears the worst.

Danaerys can’t bear to think of why they were heading towards the water. Even when she’d seen from Rhaegal’s back that they had begun to cross the streams and rivers, she couldn’t imagine them crossing the ocean. Essos would have been completely unprepared.

Danaerys is exhausted, drained. She can’t imagine that there will still be more to come after this.

She approaches Jamie on Rhaegal’s back, and calls out.

“Cerwyn and Torrhen’s Square have both been cleared,” Jamie tells her, “But we still need to sweep east and west.”

“I’ll take the Northwest,” she tells Jamie, “The forests and mountains will be too much for your men on horseback. Get with the survivors of Winterfell and go through the eastern keeps. “

“Be wary of the mountain clans, they do not always take kindly to outsiders and I doubt even the Stark’s could compel them to evacuate,” Jamie warns her, “Bear Island’s there too, and several men from Winterfell have claimed that many refugees were sent there.”

Danaerys winces. Of course, with whatever foresight the north could have had, they would have tried to get their peoples to safety, and she doubts the south would have paid them any mind. Much like she nearly didn’t. She wonders how many of her men who she brought over from Essos, nearly entirely unprepared for this, have perished.

Soaring over the thick forests, hills and valleys of the North, Danaerys wonders how she could have never heard stories as vivid as seeing this land from the air like this.

Jamie presses east, trying to make contact with the scouting parties from Winterfell. His men are as lost in the north as Danaerys is, and they don’t have the advantage of dragons on their side. Drogon and Viserys are keeping closer to Danaerys and can’t be too much help to him.

The east of the north is flatter, and the sunshine makes the fighting easier, but this doesn’t change the fact that little swaths of the dead keep finding their way through the trees.

Fewer and fewer. He can’t wait until they aren’t anymore.

And it’s the same for his men, Jamie has met very few of the army he led north, these are men of the Reach, southerners through and through. As the dead fall, so do they.

They clear the keeps one by one. White Harbour is a graveyard, littered with the fallen of the Iron born and Unsullied. They bury those they can, and take up the survivors. Jamie muses that they must be the most mismatched, hacked together army that history has ever produced.

Oldcastle, Ramsgate, Widow’s Watch. Inland towards Hornwood, and north, to the Dreadfort.

He vaguely remembers something about Ned Stark executing the traitorous Boltons years ago, but he has no idea what had been done about their empty holdings.

They meet up with a group that has come from Winterfell, northmen and wildlings alike. At the front, Jamie spies Robb Stark, riding tall with an axe in his remaining hand. Jamie feels his own ache, in a phantom pain.

“We ride north,” he calls out, “The Last Hearth and Karhold still remain.”

When they reach Karhold, there’s a small horde that emerges from the woods and attacks. Jamie steels himself but finds he moves far slower than the rider by his side.

The other rider dispatches the approaching dead with ease, as though they have done it have done it a thousand times. They may have.

Jamie’s hand is still on his sword when he turns to acknowledge the rider. The memories buried in the back of his mind roar to life when his eyes connect with pale blue.

Promises that should have been made, vows he tried his best to follow through, all of them rush through him. His stomach starts turning somersaults, and he finds he can’t control the expression playing out on his face.

Brienne’s mouth opens, and Jamie can’t even imagine what she would say to him, wonders in fact if she would even recognize him, after all not everyone saw the same things, wonders if-

She shouts, “Duck!” but it’s too late. The Other’s arrow of ice comes at him too fast, and pierces him through the eye.

The Neck

Meera sits cross-legged on the edge of the crannog, staring off into the swamp air. The fog has returned, heavy in the morning, and she feels like this has meaning.

Her daughter sits on her lap, her husband having taken a dip into the clear waters around the crannog.

Arra babbles, and sucks on her fingers. She had slept through the night for the first time a few nights prior, frightening her parents when they’d woken before she did. Jyana had smiled and commented that she would start sitting up on her own and maybe even crawling soon.

It makes Meera’s chest tighten, to think that they’d been hiding so long.

“It’s not much,” she whispers over Arra’s head, “And sometimes you have to look deep for the beauty, but it’s home.”

There’s a splash as Bran emerges up through the water and takes a deep breath, before paddling over to where they’re sitting.

Every single day that it had been warm enough Bran had gone in the water. Even on the days when he couldn’t stay in more than five minutes without his lips turning blue. He claimed that with the water cushioning his muscles and joints, he felt more free than he had since before his accident, either of them.

When he’d told her this, she had felt the need to remind him that his pain and disability were never a burden to her.

“Are you ever getting out of there?” Meera teases.

“Nope,” he says, “I’m going to grow gills and fins, and you’ll have to come in here too if you ever want to see me.”

Arra babbles, and Bran laughs in response, before pulling himself out, slowly, onto the crannog. He leans over and pulls Arra into his own lap.

“Maybe I’ll wait until this one can swim in with me.”

Meera turns her face up towards the fog. There’s something different about this morning. It’s something in the way the air feels on her skin, in the way it smells.

Inside the keep, Jojen smells it too, and he knows.

“It’s going to start raining soon,” he tells Shireen, who’s sitting at the table writing.

She raises an eyebrow.

“Is that a vision?’

Jojen chuckles.

“No, just experience.”

His voice quiets, and becomes more serious.

“I did have a vision a few nights ago. It was different though. It didn’t hurt, and I don’t know why.”

Shireen frowns.

“Do you think...maybe it had to do with the big ones all of us had?”

Jojen’s silent. He doesn’t know. They sit in silence until the raindrops begin to drop rhythmically on the metal outside the keep.

“After this is done,” Shireen starts, “I’m going to go back to Winterfell, collect everything I can. The fights, the names of the dead. I’m going to take it all to the Citadel. History deserves to be told by the people who lived it.”

She pauses a bit.

“Come with me,” she says, with uncharacteristic certainty, “Come to the Citadel with me.”

Jojen freezes, and doesn’t respond.

Shireen continues, reaching out to touch his hand, “I know you must have thought about it. I know I have, being able to be in the place in Westeros that so reveres knowledge and learning...”

Shireen drops her hand, and her eyes drop to the wood of the table.

“Though even if I bring things for them to add to their collections, I can’t even know that they’ll give me the time of day.”

Jojen doesn’t respond to her words, but he reaches back up to take her hand again, squeezing. Just when it looks like he might say something, Bran and Meera enter from the side of the keep, soaked in rain, Bran clutching baby Arra.

Shireen raises an eyebrow.

‘Looks like it’s coming down out there.”

Meera nods, squeezing the rain water out of her curls and finding a flannel to dry off the baby and wrap her. At the sound, Sansa emerges from where she had been in their sleeping chamber and joins Jojen and Shireen at the table.

Jojen stares out one of the windows before Meera moves to check and make sure the netting is pinned down so the wind can’t blow it open.

“I feel like the rain is important,” Jojen comments to the others. “There was rain in my dream last night.”

“What did the rain do? Bran asks. He’s seated and rubbing his leg. Sometimes changes in the weather make the bone that was broken so long ago ache.

Jojen shakes his head.

“I don’t really remember. But I think- I think it might be all over.”

That gets everyone’s attention, but no one dares speak.

Finally, it’s Bran who breaks the silence.

“I’ll send Una north, and try to warg the others again. We’ll see.”

It’s been strange trying to keep track of the birds from here. With their wings, they can avoid the dead with ease, and bird eyes are good enough to know when they can land. Bran sometimes wonders, if they hadn’t been able to stem the tide, if the Night King had prevailed, would the birds have kept on. Some birds could eat the dead, and others could see in the night.

With Bran’s mind wandering, he’s suddenly terribly glad they stopped the Night King from getting his hands on Viserion this time.

At least it means they managed to make something easier.

Winterfell

Some nights, the pain from Ned’s wound is enough that he can barely leave the Great Hall. Thankfully, it’s not like his chambers are in any condition to be slept in.

“There’s a wall down on the east side of the Great Keep,” Arya tells him one morning. On the days he can barely move, she’s been keeping him up to date on the state of the repairs.

“How bad?” Ned wants to know. The morning that the first scouting party had gone out, Arya had taken one look at her injured father and known she had to stay at Winterfell. She couldn’t leave him alone.

“Pretty bad, but it’s our first priority. To give shelter to who we still can. We’re using what stone we can salvage, there’s a few masons among us, but it’s not like we can get in any new material shipments yet.”

This is how most of the conversations have gone, as Arya has kept him up to date of the outbuildings that need rebuilding and the fire damage. This is a patch job, and will be until the north can return and begin functioning normally. If it ever does. They’ve done all they can to clear debris, but there seems to be endlessly more, and too much that they have nowhere to dispose.

“Is your husband still here, or did he go out with this scouting mission?”

Arya nods. The first scouting, Gendry had accompanied, leaving her behind to continue with the rebuilding. Upon the party’s return, he had decided his skills were better used here. After complaining quite a lot about the constant riding of course.

“He’s still here. The party’s due back later today, so I can send Robb and Jon to see you too.”

“You should let them rest,” Ned tries to insist, but he knows it won’t work. None of the siblings have spoken about their father’s condition, but it seems they all somehow know.

Arya leaves the Great Hall into the courtyard, and takes in what she can handle to see of her childhood home.

Robb and Jon can barely bring themselves to look too deeply either. Arya offers to take them both to see Ned, but Jon has the dubious honor of getting Jamie Lannister to Maester Luwin.

“Shows up, and the next thing you know, he’s got an arrow sticking from his eye. Mostly the remaining wights aren’t using weapons, he just had spectacularly unlucky timing.”

“Seems poetic honestly,” Arya muses, “He lost his arm before, wonder if maybe he sees this as an upgrade. I’ve been blind before, I think I could adjust.”

Regardless, Jon has to get him among the injured so they can see what to do about his eye.

Jon thought it was good to give Robb time alone with Ned. Functionally, Robb was now Lord of Winterfell, even missing his arm. He led their men through the north to extinguish the threat of the dead, Back at Winterfell, him and Val were leading the rebuilding and many of the men looked to Robb first, before Ned.

Ned hadn’t gotten yet to tell him how proud of him he had become.

“We’ve managed to clear most of the east. The dragon queen is still trying what she can in the west, but the mountains are making it hard,and we have to decide if it’s safe to retrieve the refugees from Bear Island yet.”

Ned took his son’s arm.

“There will be time enough for plans. Rest my son, tomorrow is another day.”

Off on the other end of the Great Hall, Jon deposits Jamie Lannister onto a mat for Maester Luwin to examine. It’s made easier because when Jon and Brienne had helped him from his horse, he had since passed out from the pain.

“The bleeding seems to have stopped, but he’s been in awful pain since.”

Luwin nods.

“Best I can do is give him milk of the poppy for the pain,” his voice thins, “we don’t have much left. Other than that, it’s just hoping that it heals without corruption. There should be someone with him when he wakes up, or he could hurt himself.”

Jon feels a step land behind him. He hadn’t realized Brienne had continued with them past the courtyard.

“I shall stay with him Maester.”

Jon meets her eye, and sees a spark, and a shimmer. He nods to her, clapping her on the shoulder.

“If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the Godswood.”

Somehow, even with all the damage, the Godswood has remained pristine. Stepping over the rubble at the entrance, Jon feels in his soul why Ned had always considered it his place, where he could think and be with his own mind.

He finds Rowan seated at the base of the heart tree, with Ygritte by her side.

“How’s your arm?” he asks, setting down Dark Sister and sitting upon the grass.

“Still getting used to it,” Ygritte tells him

Jon turns his attention to Rowan.

“Is there anything else the weirwoods are speaking of the land?”

Rowan smiles softly.

“They speak of change, but I don’t yet know what that means, whether it is something just for them, for the land, or for us all.”

She stands, and brushes off her limbs. The snow is beginning to melt, but some powder still remains.

“Perhaps more useful images will come to me in my sleep.”

Rowan has begun to rest in the hollow formed underneath the oldest tree in the wood. It bore much resemblance, in a way to the cave far north where they had first met.

Once she had gone, Ygritte asks Jon.

“What is it like out there?”

Jon sighs deeply.

“The dead seem to finally be staying down without stragglers. We’re waiting for Danaerys’s word that the land is safe before we begin recalling the refugees. We may have even to go scouting again, and so much has been destroyed. It will be years, maybe decades even, until the North is more than a shadow of its former self.”

Ygritte nods.

“Some of the Free Folk are talking about helping rebuild, but others want to return to their homes over the wall.”

Jon chews his lip in thought.

“That would be something to bring up with Robb. After his marriage to Val, all the north should be considered one in the same, but somehow I doubt it will go that smoothly. Even if there are only a few of my former brothers still alive among us.“

Will the Night’s Watch even need to still exist? Jon suddenly ponders. There will be no more white walkers, at least as far as the stories go, and if the Wildlings are considered northerners...

“Will there be any more pretty crows in the wild who need to be kept warm?” Ygritte wonders, wrapping her fingertip into one of Jon’s curls. He retaliates by pulling her into his lap.

“I hope not, don’t want you getting any ideas about trading up.”

Though much of the snow has melted, the ground is still frozen underneath Jon’s backside and the air nips at their skin where it is exposed by moving their clothing aside. His cloak spread on the ground eases some of the cold, as does Ygritte’s warm, soft flesh, in his hands, surrounding him and moving above him.

Jon does his best not to linger on the symbolism of the two of them like this, coupling in front of a heart tree, on top of his cloak. But his mind cannot shake the image of the heat from their bodies, being pulled into the earth, softening the winter freeze.

King’s Landing

Winter storms had come to King’s Landing. Rain and sleet and hail poured down at a rate the capital didn’t see any other season. It made life very difficult for many of the smallfolk, some even who might have welcomed a nice, quiet snowfall.

And when that wasn’t enough, there was Tywin Lannister.

While many denizens of Westeros had been wandering since the visions in a state of confusion, or despair, or occasionally elation, Tywin had been consumed with only one emotion. That emotion was rage.

He was hardly the only man in the capital who had seen his own death, but he was the only one that was actively fuming over it, nearly every hour of every day.

The servants felt his wrath the most. The small council members almost as much. And he could only imagine what he would have inflicted on his own grandson if it weren’t for the unfortunate incident that had ended his life prematurely. Again as it would seem.

Because now, Tywin was hand to an infant king, a grieving widow queen, and father of three incredibly difficult and infuriating children. He had some hope that the confusion and grief of the situation might allow him to retain some influence over the Queen Regent. He had no doubt that the rest of the Tyrells would be eager to extend their influence on the crown and the realm, and he must not allow them to gain a foothold.

And one day, during a torrential downpour, reports came to his ears of a dragon flying south.

What a ridiculous story. But still, he tells the guards to be vigilant.

Not that there was anything they could do.

The three beasts enter the skyline of King’s Landing during another downpour, that while it threatened flooding, almost kept down the city’s infamous smell.

What was a hill to a dragon? What were walls? The three bodies skimmed over the Blackwater Rush with nary a thing in their way. The guard’s gathered in the courtyard can do little more than fire arrows that bounce off their scales. Behind the guards, Queen Margaery has ushered the servants and ladies of the court into the bowels of the keep, and has quietly joined the men in the courtyard.

Tywin has dealt with Targaryens before, but he’s not quite sure what to expect when the dragon’s rider dismounts.

It’s not a woman, bedragged by the rain, staring him straight in the eye. The others flank her, one carrying a bundle in it’s claws. She stays under the protective cover of the dragon’s jaws, it’s tongue wiping the raindrops from it’s muzzle. Tywin could order his men to attack, but he knows better.

She looks Tywin up and down.

“The city appears in one piece. That’s more than I can say for the rest of your kingdom. I can see from your garb you are a Lannister, given your age and position, I imagine you must be Tywin.”

“Speak your peace,” Tywin responds, his voice sounding for what may be the first time in his life, uneasy.

“I have brought you evidence of what has been rampaging over the North of Westeros for near on a year. I imagine you must have heard the stories, though I know you did nothing.”

The dragon to the left sets down the bundle on the ground. It’s wrapped in sackcloth and rope. Margaery feels her stomach turn.

“I will thank your son Jamie, however, for the men he was able to provide to the cause-”

Tywin’s face whitens. And here it was, his children, able to cause him strife in any life he lives.

“And the Queen you serve, who felt the need to go around her King’s back to send them. Though, I understand, no one could have expected to find wights upon the land, not outside of nursery tales.”

The bundle on the ground twitches, and Tywin hears one of the men shout. Danaerys steps forward, and pulls the burlap away from the top of the figure, though she does not untie it.

Even far behind the guards, Margaery feels all her plans and schemes for the future of her life begin to melt away. She files mentally through her skills, dismissing them one at a time.

It was never one her grandmother would approve of, but perhaps this time, the best path will be humility.

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Hey Sharon. Thank you for being patient with your responses and I also want to commend you on the incredible insight that you have. Please I need some reassurance that Jon loves Dany as much as she loves him. In my head, I know this is true, but I think I've made the mistake of not being able to separate Kit from Jon who goes on and on about his wife. Could you help? Thank you in advance.

Aww, you’re welcome! And wow, I thank you, anon! ♥

You need some reassurance that Jon loves Dany as much as she loves him? Sure thing! Let’s go!

First, we’ll knock Kit right out of the equation. And we’re going to use Maisie Williams to do it. Two episodes into season 8, we get a sex scene between Arya and Gendry, following comments Maisie made that Arya is ‘asexual’. If Maisie was so concerned with potentially spoiling her character’s relationship with Gendry in the show, it probably even bodes well that Kit keeps blathering on about Ygritte. What better way to throw the audience off the scent?

Episode one:

There are a few things I’d like to point out about episode one, first. Because I think they are important:

Jon rides Rhaegal. Sure, he’s a Targaryen (not that I personally believe king’s blood has anything to do with one’s ability to ride a dragon…), but what’s most important about his first time greeting Drogon as well as Rhaegal is that the dragons trust him.

Jon wants to share something special with Dany:

“We wanted to re-anchor their relationship, an it seemed important for it to involve the dragons since the dragons play such an important role. When he flies up with her and shows her where he used to hunt as a kid, I think she falls even father in love with him.”

Make no mistake, that was exactly Jon’s intention:

Interestingly, Jon neglects to wear a gorget (extra protection) alone in Dany’s presence. This likely means he trusts her quite a lot, too.

His first reaction upon learning he was a Targaryen was to get upset about Ned (which was exactly what I thought his initial reaction would be).

Episode two:

Jon’s chair is tilted/angled slightly toward Daenerys while her chair, as well as Sansa’s, are facing forward. I think this is a subtle hint that despite the fact he’s avoiding speaking to her, he still wants to be close to her.

Okay, so if he’s not repulsed by the incest issue, then what’s his deal, anyway?

We all know Jon’s a terrible liar, and not the best communicator. He knows that the next time he speaks with Daenerys, he owes her the truth. He’s probably not ready to accept that the next time they speak, Daenerys learning he’s her nephew might just mark the end of their romantic relationship.

Arya and Gendry’s sex scene is shot very similarly to Jon and Dany’s last season. I mean look at this!:

Arya and Gendry have loads of romantic foreshadowing in ASOIAF, as well as the show. Maisie had very different thoughts on what Gendry meant to Arya when asked after episode one:

“That’s who I was in love with and thought I’d follow to the end of the world.”

While it might be easy to think that Jon is avoiding Daenerys because he’s considering capitalizing on his claim to the throne, he reminded us this season, as well as last, that he doesn’t want to be king. Whether or not he’s the true heir is a non-issue for him.

And his sister Sansa kindly reminds Daenerys that:

“He loves you, you know that?”

And hey, according to Arya, Sansa’s the smartest person in Westeros lol.

When Sam tries to rush Jon into telling Daenerys the truth, he more or less rolls his eyes at him. He’s delaying the inevitable, sure, but I think this shows that what Jon’s truth means to Jon is different than what it means to Sam.

But our true Jonerys scene comes at the end of the episode, of course.

As I’ve mentioned in another recent ask, Jenny’s Song was almost certainly written by Jon’s father, Rhaegar. And this is also most likely the song that he actually sang to Lyanna the night they fell for one another.

So in a way, while it’s very somber, it’s also… kind of a love song.

Which is why I think, as it plays, we get shots establishing, well, couples:

Brienne and Jaime

Gilly and Sam

Theon and Sansa

Arya and Gendry

Missandei and Grey Worm

Daenerys and Jon

In the crypt, Jon smiles when he sees Daenerys approach him. It’s a solemn smile, absolutely. He’s happy to see her, but dreads telling her the truth.

He turns to Dany, giving her a nod before she holds him. They stand in front of Lyanna’s crypt as Jon recounts the true story of his parents.

“He loved her.”

Jon is holding her as he says this. And let’s not forget:

The truth causes Dany to back away in shock, but Jon steps forward, signally he’s ready to finally close the distance he’d put between them:

“It’s true, Dany.”

Jon calls her Dany - an endearment. If he wished to distance himself from her, he’d have opted for “Your Grace”.

When Dany mentions that he’s the last male heir, Jon looks genuinely upset that she would jump to this conclusion:

While this is worrying to some, it’s just a bit of angst. Honestly, I’d be more worried for them if they weren’t having a little drama sprinkled into their lovestory. The leading cause of angst in fiction is miscommunication. Jon avoids Daenerys for a while, leading to her jump to these conclusions. You see hints of it throughout the episode, such as when Sam mentions that death is like being forgotten, it hits Daenerys - and not in the way Sam intends.

So, while Jon was off having his identity crisis, Daenerys was left alone with only her nagging thoughts - perfect for imagining the worst, especially every native northern person she interacts with disrespects her, gives her the stinkeye, etc.

While this is something Dany says, I think it’s important to remember:

“I’m here because I love your brother. And I trust him. And I know he’s true to his word.”

What is Jon’s word, exactly? Aside from him telling us in every way he can think of that he doesn’t want to be king? Well…

“How about my queen?”

And those who swore allegiance to him?

“They’ll come to see you for what you are”

Dany says she hopes she deserves it.

“You do.”

And later, in the Dragonpit:

“You’re not like everyone else. And your family hasn’t seen its end.”

Jon goes on to more or less threaten Daenerys with a pregnancy, as they pass a baby dragon skull back and forth. If you can’t trust me, trust Jon. After all, he’s true to his word and their family hasn’t seen its end.

Also, they’ve got a love theme! A theme called ’Truth’. While I know Ramin said he hadn’t written any music for season 8 at the time he released this, I can’t help but wonder why he’d compose, for fun, a version of Truth that includes a lullaby and the victorious title theme intertwined within it:

If these two ‘break up’, what would the point of this version be?

This version has been analyzed by people much more apt than me, and if you’re curious about the changes Ramin made to this version, I did a transcription of an analysis on it here.

Lastly, Jon’s identity crisis does not in any way cancel out all of the foreshadowing between the pair. If you’re still worried, it might be worth going over this brilliant meta by @mhysaofdragons!

Hope some amount of that helps, anon! ♥

[themindmates-blog]

Chapter 2 - The feast

Masterlist

The feast was buzzing with energy. As people ate, drank, talked and laughed, the whole room seemed to be about to explode at any second.

Sitting at the head of the biggest table, Ylina had Rickon in her lap and Theon beside her. On a chair on her other side was Robb and, beside him, Jon. As the three older boys drank their ales and exchanged stories in loud voices and boisterous laughter, Ylina looked down at the sleepy Rickon in her arms, wondering how he could possibly be drifting in and out of consciousness with the amount of noise surrounding them. 

As Robb retold one of Ylina's and his old shenanigans in the castle grounds, the girl's attention travelled to the table where her mother was sat, with Queen Cersei on her side. It was clear none of the women was happy with their current situation, but as Sansa approached them to chat, Ylina noticed how much she tried to impress the Queen. Of course she would. It was a dream of hers to travel to the capital, and now that she could have that chance, the little girl would try her very best to seize that opportunity.

"No wonder your mother wants to kill you half of the time, Lina." Jon's voice brought her attention back to the boys around her. "You were terrible as a child."

At that, the girl smirked.

"You're one to speak, Jon." She chuckled causing the boys to laugh. "Anyway, if you excuse me, I'll go put this little one to bed."

With a nod from the boys and a smile at Theon, Ylina walked out of the crowded room and toward Rickon's room. Putting her youngest brother to bed and making sure he was properly covered and warm, Ylina made her way back to the feast, ready to take her place at her table once more, but being stopped by a familiar voice calling out her name.

"Ylina!" She heard, causing her to stop and turn around, only to open a bright smile when she recognized the black haired man standing beside her father.

"Uncle Benjen!" She beamed, running toward him and allowing the man to engulf her in a hug. "I've missed you."

"I have you missed you as well, little lady." He smiled, letting go of the girl as his eyes scanned her body once more. "You looked so beautiful up there, Ylina. Almost as much as your mother on her wedding day."

"Thank you, Uncle Benjen." She nodded her head slightly before her eyes met his again. "And how has it been up in the wall?"

"Cold. Not half as fun as this, I must admit." He smiled, tapping his finger against her nose as the girl laughed.

"Well, I hope you enjoy your time here, then, Uncle Benjen."

"I sure will." He winked, as Ylina smiled. "Now go back to your husband, will you? I suppose he's waiting for you."

With a discreet blush in her cheeks, Ylina nodded, bowing slightly at her uncle and father out of respect and left. As they watched her go, Benjen looked at his brother Ned and smiled once he saw just how proud he was of his oldest daughter.

"Her eyes…" Benjen noted, causing Ned to nod.

"They are the same as Lyanna's." The older brother finished the sentence that, from the first moment Ylina opened her eyes as a baby, always repeated itself whenever she as much as looked at him. "And she might have her mother's hair, but something about her…"

"Her smile." Benjen agreed. "Her nose, the shape of her face, the tone of her voice… It's like having Lyanna right here again."

"Aye." Ned smiled. "It is."

And as their conversation took another route, Ylina kept making her way back to her table, only to sigh once she noticed a very drunk Tyrion Lannister arguing with a very drunk Theon Greyjoy. Rolling her eyes, she carefully made her way toward the two men, deciding to ignore the offensive names the two stupid and incredibly cocky boys were using to refer to one another as Jon and Robb only laughed at the exchange, almost as drunk as the other two.

When she got close enough, she could hear Tyrion calling Theon a prisoner of the Starks only to have him answer that at least he wasn't an imp. With a roll of her eyes, Ylina placed a hand on Theon's shoulder and pushed it down slightly so he would bend enough for her to talk into his ear.

"If you start an argument with the King's brother-in-law on the day of our wedding, I swear to all the gods out there, Theon Greyjoy. I will kill you before my mother has the chance to kill me, do you understand?"

With a slight nod, Theon backed down from his previous conversation with Tyrion and allowed Ylina to guide him back toward their table.

"If you excuse us, Lord Tyrion." She said politely, as the dwarf smirked at Theon.

"Of course, my Lady." He answered, as Theon sent him a dirty look.

Tugging on his arm, Ylina forced him down on his chair and huffed annoyed.

"I swear, I can't leave you alone for five minutes…"

"I'm sorry, my love." Theon whispered against the shell of her ear, knowing that was one of her weaknesses. He chuckled when she shivered. "He was the one who started it, I promise."

"It doesn't matter who started it." Ylina rolled her eyes, pulling Theon's face from her neck. "I just honestly can't believe you…"

Before she could finish her sentence, Ylina heard her name being called. Looking away from Theon, her eyes fell on a very annoyed Arya. Chuckling at her younger sister, she spun around in her chair so that her legs were not under the table anymore and pulled Arya up in her lap.

"What's gotten into you, huh, lovely?" She asked gently, as Arya huffed.

"Sansa is annoying me." She answered. Ylina chuckled, already expecting that answer anyway.

"And what is your sister doing this time?"

"Just look at her, Lina." Arya said, pointing in Sansa's direction. "All smitten by a prince she barely knows. Being a lady like mother wants us to be and thinking she's better than anyone here just because she's Sansa Stark. I can't take it."

"Then don't look." Ylina offered, only to raise an eyebrow when Arya smirked.

"I won't." She said. "But first, I need to show you something I've learned."

"Will I regret it?" Ylina asked when Arya reached for a spoon and scooped up a bit of the chocolate mousse that was on her oldest sister's plate.

"Probably." Arya shrugged. But before Ylina could even react, the girl had thrown the mousse across the room, having it land right on Sansa's right cheek.

"Arya!" They heard Sansa squeal.

Letting out a laugh, Ylina watched as Arya jumped off her lap and ran away as a friend of Sansa's helped her clean it all up since her sister's eyes were trained on Joffrey, who looked away right in that moment. Still with a smile on her lips, Ylina's eyes met her mother's, and when Catelyn sent her a glare, Ylina sighed.

"It's your turn." She said, nudging Robb slightly as the young man stared at her confused. "Put Bran and Arya to bed. I already did Rickon."

With a mumble from her brother, Ylina watched as Robb got up from his place to search for his younger siblings. She smiled slightly before falling back against Theon as the man threw an arm around her shoulders.

"Happy?" He asked, as she nodded.

"Ecstatic." She answered.

"Good." He nodded, leaning down to place a quick kiss to her lips before the two of them fell into another round of conversation with Jon followed by another round of ale and wine.

And as they chatted and laughed, Ylina realized that was going to be a long night. Not that she was complaining at all. After all the boring days she had to endure as Lady Stark of Winterfell, it was good to have a few moments to distract herself for a while.

***

Theon smirked when he threw Ylina in the bed and she fell with a squeal. Closing the door of their now shared room, he turned around just in time to see his new wife propping herself up in her elbow as she looked up at him.

"Did you enjoy your feast?" He asked, as Ylina sat up on the bed, picking on the bobby pins in her intricate hairstyle her mother had spent hours preparing for the day.

"It was technically our feast." She said.

"Yeah, well, you definitely stole the night." He complimented, causing Ylina to chuckle with a roll of her eyes. "Looking so pretty, I don't think it would've been difficult anyway."

"I married you already, Greyjoy. No point in trying to flatter me now." She said, as Theon smirked at her. "Also, thank you for going through all of the Northerner traditions for me."

"It's alright. I grew up with them. Besides, it's not like anyone from my family was going to come anyway."

At that, Ylina sighed.

"Theon…" She whispered. "You are family, you know? You've always been family."

"I know, love. I was just joking."

Seeing the frown on Ylina's face, Theon laughed, trying to assure her that his last words were true. Watching as Ylina got up from her bed — actually, their bed — and made her way to the vanity, placing all of the bobby pins down, as her fiery red hair fell down her shoulders when she shook her head. Not for one second, his eyes left her form. Not as she cleaned her face from all the makeup her mother and sister Sansa had put on her face, or as she took off her high heeled boots and heavy coat. Not as she took off her gloves from her hands and not as she finally noticed his eyes on her, locking her stormy grey eyes with his through the mirror. Lifting her eyebrow and smirking a bit, Ylina pulled all of her hair to rest on her shoulder.

"Will you help me, Theon?" She asked innocently. 

But as Theon walked toward her and placed his hands on the back of her wedding gown, both of them knew that nothing in that moment they were sharing — or the next that were to come — would be anywhere close to innocent. Theon smirked when he felt the girl shivering under his touch as he undid all the ties of the coursette of her dress but his expression softened when his eyes fell on hers through the mirror in front of them.

"We don't have to do it." He assured, but still didn't stop untying the dress. Whether they would consummate their wedding or just fall asleep side by side, she would still have to get out of the dress. "You know that, don't you?"

"I want to." She nodded. "I just… I mean… You've been with other girls before. And I… I just mean… I heard you were… Good."

"Good?" He raised an eyebrow at her as the girl rolled her eyes.

"They said you had a bloody magic cock I think were their exact words but I didn't think it'd be very ladylike of me to say such foul words."

"You sound like your mother." He chuckled, causing Ylina to gasp in mock offense. "If I wanted a Lady, I would have married Sansa, not you."

"Oh… So you wanted to marry my sister instead of me, Greyjoy?"

"Never."

And with that, Theon pulled off the last of the straps of her dress, getting it open finally but not pulling it off her body. Instead, he simply turned her around quickly and tangled his hand through her hair, pulling her in for a dazzling kiss that left her absolutely breathless.

"Good." She breathed out, looking down at her shaky hands as she pulled Theon's coat off his body, only leaving him in the thin shirt he usually wore under all the clothes the Northerners had to use at all times.

Noticing her distress, Theon reached over to Ylina's hands and grabbed them in his.

"Lily. We don't have to." He reassured. The girl shook her head.

"I want to." She whispered, finally allowing her eyes to search his again. 

When grey met green, the air was almost knocked out of Theon's chest. Sure Ylina had looked at him in the eyes many times before, but never like this. Never with this intensity. Never with this lust. He gulped, hoping that forever the girl in his arms would look at him like that. He nodded.

"Then we do it." He said, before finally tugging at the sleeves of Ylina's dress and pulling it off her arms, until it fell down enough so he could see the upper half of her body bare of clothes for the first time in his life. "Fuck."

Ylina blushed slightly before deciding to be bold and pull up Theon's dress shirt, placing the palm of her hand on his bare chest, pushing him back to their bed. When he fell down on it, he smirked, watching as the girl — his wife — stripped from her dress and climbed on the bed, straddling his waist as she leaned down to whisper in his ear:

"Take me, Theon." She said, her breath tickling his ear as he felt a shiver run down his whole body. "I'm yours and you're mine. From this day, until the end of my days."

"Fuck, Ylina…" He breathed out, flipping them over as the girl under him squealed. "I got bloody lucky, didn't I?"

She giggled, locking her eyes with him and smiling up at the man hovering over her. Tangling her hands in his hair, she breathed heavily in anticipation.

"Maybe I was the lucky one." She whispered, only to be silenced by a kiss from Theon.

A kiss that was so passionate and full of emotion that it left no doubt in any of their minds: that kiss was only the start of what was going to be a long night.

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

Thoughts on Game of Thrones 8.01

It’s 3am, I’ve just finished watching the premiere of the final season and wanted to share my initial thoughts so here they are: 

Everything felt very rushed but I appreciate that it was very difficult to make time for everything with the amount of reunions that had to take place in the episode 

Also a lot of what happened felt off somehow. I’m not sure if it’s just because I’m not used to seeing all of these characters on-screen together, but a lot of the scenes between characters felt somewhat forced and unnatural, but I can’t put my finger on why (does anyone else feel this way?)

Jon and Bran’s reunion was adorable - that forehead kiss though! 

Jon and Arya’s reunion has been the most highly anticipated reunion of the series, but when it happened it just felt, I don’t know, anti-climatic? Something about the energy in that scene felt weird to me and I don’t know if it’s just because it’s been so long since I’ve seen Jon and Arya on-screen together or if it was the script or the acting or just me being tired (I woke up at 2am especially to watch the episode and now need to sleep again after posting this because I have to get up early tomorrow for uni)

Sansa’s attitude towards Daenerys was hilarious and very satisfying to watch. She didn’t even try to hide her distaste being all like ‘what do dragons even eat’ and ‘I’ve worked my ass off to save food for winter, but I sure as hell ain’t feeding your armies’. I’m not particularly a fan of rivalries between two female characters, but in these circumstances Sansa’s feelings are completely valid and understandable and I’m intrigued to see how this will unfold throughout the rest of the season

What Daenerys said to Jon was kinda weird though. Like the basis of what she said is ‘Your sister doesn’t like me and that’s fine, she doesn’t need to, but I am her queen and she needs to respect me and if she doesn’t, I’ll find a way to make sure she does’ and then it cuts to Jon just smiling sweetly at her like.... she’s just threatened your sister in so many words. Or am I just reading between the lines there and jumping to the wrong conclusions? 

Lady Mormont was right to ask the questions she did. Like Jon returns to Winterfell with Daenerys, two armies and two dragons in tow after having bent the knee to her and yet doesn’t even attempt to stand up and give an explanation to his people???

I love Jon but this episode just made me realise that he’s not an effective leader at all, and the idea of him being able to rule the Seven Kingdoms is just funny at this point because there’s no way he’d be capable

The Sansa and Tyrion scene was much needed, I only wish that it was longer! I really think that they have this unspoken understanding and connection which is very underrated and I hope there’s more scenes between them in the season 

Jon riding Rhaegal was honestly just so dumb. I have no idea why the writers thought it was appropriate to throw that scene in there, it felt incredibly rushed and out of place. The whole thing just felt comical and not in a good way. 

Plus that scene with Jon and Dany afterwards was the most cringe thing I’ve ever seen. I like Kit and Emilia but their romantic on-screen chemistry is terrible. It feels like I’m watching an auntie and nephew on screen... oh, wait, sorry, I am #burrrrrn.

We were robbed of a Stark scene with all of the siblings in a room together but hopefully we’ll get one in the upcoming episodes

Cersei’s scenes were totally forgettable. She’s one of my favourite characters, but at this point it feels like she’s being pushed out of the story since almost everyone else is gathered at Winterfell

I really don’t care about Euron and I just wish they’d kill him off already. He’s a waste of screen time 

Theon is going to go to Winterfell and fight alongside the Starks to make up for the fact that he didn’t fight and die beside Robb and I’m so emosh about that

Arya and Gendry’s reunion was rather....flat 

So was the scene between Arya and The Hound, it felt like it was just thrown in there for good measure for no real reason

MY POOR BABY SAM. The way his lip trembled and how he cried he deserves more

I do kind of respect Daenerys for telling Sam the truth, but also like...she was so insensitive. She literally burned Sam’s father and brother alive and just kinda told him as if it was no big deal. There wasn’t even an apology... that’s kinda dark

The scene with Jon and Sansa was way too short. They have a lot to remedy and talk about and that scene barely scratched the surface of it. But I’m glad to see that Sansa will still call him out on his shit 

I’m so glad we haven’t had to wait for Jon to find out the truth about his parentage. I half expected that it would be dragged out until half way through the season, so thank god they did it in the first episode 

It made sense for Sam to be the one to tell him and the scene in the crypt between them was one of my favourites. 

Also, I was so relieved that Sam told Jon that Daenerys killed his family, perhaps that will put a dent in Jon’s rose tinted goggles

Jon’s reaction to finding out the truth was kinda chill. I mean, there’s no one way to react to that kind of life-changing news, but he seemed to just accept it without really asking any questions.........And the fact that Ned lied to him his whole life is probably the least significant thing to take from learning that you’re the rightful heir to the Seven Kingdoms and that you’ve fucked your aunt..... but hey, I’m not here to judge 

Generally something felt off about the way Emilia played Daenerys in this episode. I hate to say it because it’s not really a bad thing, but she was just too smiley and overly friendly. In some scenes I felt like I was watching Emilia not Daenerys (particularly in the scenes with Jon, they were just so cheesy, I felt like I was just watching Kit and Emilia messing around on screen and having fun)

JAIME IS IN WINTERFELL, YAAASSS. I was disappointed he wasn’t in the episode more, but that end scene was great - him and Bran just locking eyes #AWKWARD. I’m so excited to see what will happen with Jamie this season 

Also did Bran just sit outside in the courtyard all day and night??? I swear he didn’t move for the entire episode. How did he not freeze to death?

Where was Brienne? It would’ve been epic if she’d have been in the courtyard of Winterfell when Jaime arrived and he locked eyes with her first and then turned his gaze to Bran

Overall, after such a long build-up I always think that premieres of new seasons tend to be underwhelming, and that’s how I felt about this episode. Nothing particularly stands out to be as being excellent or a really fantastic scene, most of it was just...meh. Like I’ve already said, I appreciate that the time constraints limit a lot of what can be included and this episode is really just to introduce new characters to each other and reintroduce characters that have been apart, so it’s essentially just setting up the dominoes for what will follow in the rest of the season. There are so many possibilities of what could happen this season and it’s so promising, and I’m very excited to go on this journey, because my expectation is that it will only get better with every episode. 

For now I’m giving this episode a 6/10 rating.

[summerseachild]

I power-watched GoT Season 1

Why? Because before tomorrow, I wanted to remember what I loved about the show. Instead of liveblogging my flailing, I did it in my phone’s notes, but I thought I’d dump the whole season here (season 2 is also finished as of today). I to keep myself to three bullet points per episode, but failed most of the time. 

1x01

1. They are all SO YOUNG! Kit is a bb! Maisie! Sophie! RICHARD!

2. I still love to story of Jaime jumping off the cliffs at the Rock and his impression of Tywin. (And you wonder why I fell in love with them..)

3. The years have not lessened my dislike of Robert Baratheon.

1x02

1. Lannister family breakfasts give me joy. (GIVE ME A GOOD CLEAN DEATH ANY DAY OMG JAIME)

2. Michelle Fairley was a gift.

3. (Bonus - Theon being in the trusted council Cat tells about suspecting the Lannister’s in Bran’s attempted murder = ❤️❤️❤️)

4. JUSTICE FOR LADY 2K19! I am still so angry at everyone involved that I can feel my heart rate start increasing the second the scene by the river starts, and by the time we get to the scene in front of Robert, I have to make sure there’s nothing in my hand to throw. True story: the first time I watched this, I came closer than I ever have in my whole life to throwing an actual glass at a tv. After all this time, only a lifetime of self control and respect for the people who bought us our new tv keeps me from doing it now.

1x03

1. Love the Lannister vs Stark parenting parallels: Cersei doesn’t give terrible advice to her son... Machiavellian, but canny. Ned is a good dad too... trying to explain to Arya why Sansa acted the way she did...

2. Remember when the white walkers were scary and Old Nan was the best storyteller? Remember when there were so many great minor characters like her? Like Old Maester Aemon and Syrio Forel given so much good stuff to do with not a lot of screen time?

3. I may hate Robert, but my great respect for Mark Addy as an actor has only grown. That scene in Robert’s study with Robert and Barristan Selmy And Jaime is SO GOOD. Also Jaime talking about Aerys with that look on his face like he’s reliving it is always SO HAUNTING.

4. Bonus: remember when Dany had her OG clique? Irri and Jiqui and Doreah and Rhakaro and Jorah? I do. :(

1x04

1. Tyrion’s second visit to Winterfell is great. The smile on Bran’s face when he gets the plans for the saddle is SO PURE. Theon recommending Ros to Tyrion is less pure but still hilarious before we get to the serious business of explaining why Theon is in Winterfell.

2. Awwww Pyp And Grenn and Sam are such babies! Yay brotherhood.

3. Ned’s straightforwardness is so obviously going to get him killed it’s painful.

1x05

1. Sandor Clegane is more interesting to me this time around. Also Rory McCann is brilliant.

2. Maester Luwin And Bran talking with Theon practicing archery in the background makes my heart ache. “Famed for their skill at archery, navigation, and lovemaking.” Lol

3. That skull Arya hides in has to be Balerion. It looks even bigger than Drogon! And that’s Varys talking to... Illyrio? I don’t remember a lot I’m realizing.

4. I can’t resist cackling at Littlefinger and Varys sniping at each other and Aiden and Conleth PLAYING IT UP and clearly loving every second of it.

5. Bonus bonus: that scene between Cersei and Robert where they’re discussing strategy and potential scenarios for a Dothraki invasion is fascinating on so many levels. They hate and know each other so well and Lena and Mark play off each other brilliantly. And CERSEI IS SO VULNERABLE HERE. I think this might be one of the moments I fell in love with her, weird as that sounds.

6. Triple bonus: 😂 at Jaime knocking out his own man who stabbed Ned and robbed Jaime of his fair fight with The Warden of the North.

1x06

1. This episode gets a 10/10 for amount of time Theon and Robb spend in scenes together.

2. Having watched a lot of Ripper Street seeing Bronn for the first time is a whole lot of fun.

3. FIRE CANNOT KILL A DRAGON YES KHALEESI

1x07: remember when Dan and David used to let experienced writers co-write their eps? That was fun.

1. Tywin Lannister DRESSING HIS OWN STAG like a boss. I live for this intro scene and Charles Dance’s Tywin.

2. YOU WIN OR YOU DIE. And Cersei lived and died by those words. At least she’s consistent? Anyway, SO ICONIC.

3. Sam and Jon taking their vows at the weirwood North of the Wall with the snow swirling around them still sends a chill up my spine.

4. Bonus: all the Dothraki language in this episode is cool and Jason SELLS IT.

5. Bonus bonus: BETRAYAL! ...Peter, no...

1x08

1. Let’s hear it for quick thinking dead heroes. Septa Mordane And Syrio Forel saved those Stark girl’s’ lives.

2. Poor bb Sansa all getting used as a pawn by people who have power over her. Your day will come, my Queen in the North.

3. Today’s sexuality: Robb Stark saying “call the banners”

4. Bonus: Dany did not save those women from being assaulted in that village to burn down King’s Landing out of spite

1x09

1. Maester Aemon’s speech about love and duty is so great and it reminded me of when this show had THEMES and common plot threads that WORKED.

2. Shae and Bronn And Tyrion playing games gives me joy, until Tyrion tells the Tysha story and I’m not ok ever.

3. Robb was a smart commander and one who Got How Serious his responsibilities were and I just love him ok.

1x10

1. Catelyn being like “FIRST get your sisters back THEN kill them ALL” to Robb is peak Stark bloodthirst and I love it.

2. NOW AND ALWAYS followed by Theon saying something that sounds a lot like the wedding vows but with swords is giving me a LOT OF THROBB FEELS this time through.

3. Mirri Maz Duur is SO INTERESTING and her actress is GREAT and I want to know MORE ABOUT HER.

4. Jeor Mormont being like “White walkers are COMING do you think it matters who sits on the Iron Throne?” Is super funny now. Because d and d sure don’t agree with him.

5. BABY DRAGONS!!! SO CUTE!!! Shrieky, but cute.

[leightaylorwrites]

Leigh Dissects YA fiction: Fallen Kingdoms (Chapter Seven- Chapter Ten)

Chapter Seven - Auranos

Sigh… I thought we’d at least get a break from Cleo by heading back to Magnus but I guess that was foolish of me to hope.

No one knew why, but Cleo guessed her sister had fallen in love with someone else.

The gender-neutral “someone” makes me hope for a single lesbian in this story. It’s another foolish hope.

Emilia had never so much as cast a flirtatious glance at any of the men in the palace [...]

LET EMILIA BE GAY 2K18

His parents didn’t approve of smoking inside the house. Aron might be arrogant and confident, but he was still seventeen and had to abide by his parents' rules until his next birthday-unless he wanted to move out ahead of schedule. And Cleo knew without a doubt that he didn’t want that sort of responsibility, financial or otherwise.

I’m sorry when did I leave this YA high fantasy and enter a teen drama on the CW? This entire part is a mess of modern-ness and should have been cut.

Aron: [I’m not sorry for killing him lol I kind of liked it too]

Cleo: How can you sound so calm about this?

Aron: Would you rather I lie and say I have nightmares too? Would that ease your own guilt?

Cleo: I want the truth.

Aron: And that’s what I’ve given you.

I get that Aron is a horrible creepy killer, but he has a point. He IS honest. When the villain makes more sense than your heroine, there’s an issue.

When he smiled, the look was equally menacing and enticing. “I will find you.”

YA authors stop writing scary love interests challenge.

Chapter Eight - Limeros

“Naughty girl.”

She ignored the flush that immediately heated her cheeks.She wasn’t being naughty; she was being inquisitive.

And I’m being disgusted. So not only does Magnus have the hots for his adoptive sister, Lucia blushes when he calls her “naughty.” Clace are BOTH unemployed.

“Cleiona’s also the name of the youngest Auranian princess,” Magnus mused. “Never really thought about it before. Same age as you are, right? Nearly to the day?”

I have… questions. First, how does he know Cleo’s exact birthday? Two, it’s likely going to come into play later that they are at most a few days apart but how does that work with Lucia? How does Magnus know her day of birth? We find out later Sabina (the lady from the prologue) brought Lucia to the palace as an infant but it wasn’t the day she was born so how would Sabina know her birthday? Even if she had a vision on the baby’s day of birth or something like that, how did Lucia survive without being breastfed? I need answers.

Magnus: One of grace and beauty, my sister, with a multitude of suitors at her beck and call. Forced to be siblings with a scarred monster like me.

Lucia: As if that scar makes you a monster. You can’t be blind to how girls look at you-I even see maids here in the castle wistfully watch you pass, even if you never notice them. They all think you’re devastatingly handsome. And your scar only makes you more… intriguing.

If you think plain hetero splooging is bad, just wait until you see plain hetero incest splooging!

“[Tomas] was cut down as a spoiled lord tried to show off in front of a princess - Princess Cleiona [...] The two watched Tomas Agallon’s young life bleed from him in front of his own family.They didn’t feel sorry for the pain they caused that family and all Paelsia.”

I mean… it’s true. Too bad the evil king is saying this and therefore the reader is supposed to disagree with him and know that Cleo the Super Special White Girl can’t do anything wrong ever but still. He’s right.

The words were acid on his tongue as jealousy flashed through him like a bolt of lightning. “But [Lucia] isn’t interested in walks around the palace grounds. Not with, well… not with you.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

Magnus forced a tense look on his face as if he’d said too much and now felt guilty. “It’s really none of my business.”

[...]

“It’s just that she’s mentioned you to me [...] And she made it clear that if you ever stopped by, you should not be encouraged any further. She means no offense, of course. But… her interests in a potential suitor lie elsewhere.”

In case incest splooging wasn’t enough to make me hate this character, he’s entered Rowboat’s, well, boat. Territorial pricks are not cute @ YA authors.

Magnus had no patience for anyone who would be manipulated so easily. If the boy was truly interested in Lucia, he should be able to stand up to any adversity, including an overprotective older brother.

But you literally just told this kid Lucia SAID she doesn’t want him. If he’s taking your word as truth, that’s not him being manipulated, it’s him believing you because why would a prince lie to him about this? He’s not doing anything wrong by respecting what he believes are Lucia’s wishes??? He has more respect for her than you do?? Why do people like Magnus??

“I wouldn’t hesitate to say you were lying.” He took her arm in his and squeezed it until she flinched. A flicker of fear went through her pale eyes. “Who do you think the king would believe? His son and heir? Or a kitchen maid?”

Amia swallowed hard. “I apologize, my prince. I would never say such a thing.”

“Smart girl.”

So… Magnus is literally physically abusing and threatening his casual hookup and people stan??

There was no Limerian law that stated that pure royal blood was necessary for the position. Even the son of a whore could become king.

Magnus is being all emo over the fact that Tobias could be king someday, a problem which is easily solved by Magnus killing Tobias. This doesn’t happen, but I think I’ve found the problem with all these series that try so hard to be the YA version of Game of Thrones/ASOIAF: nobody has the balls to write how these conflicts would actually play out in a real political setting. YA does have to be toned down in comparison to adult fiction but when you tone things down so much that they make no sense, it doesn’t work at all.

Blood sacrifice? How deeply savage.

Can’t tell if I’m tired of the word savage being used in this book (it’s used at least 20 times in reference to Paelsia) or if I’m tired of it in general (thanks stan twitter).

The king swiftly moved behind the boy, pulled his head back, and slashed the blade across his throat. Tobias’s eyes went wide and his hands came up automatically to his neck. Blood squirted out from between his fingers. He collapsed to the ground.

I’m DONE. We got half a page about Tobias being a threat to the throne for Magnus and instead of seeing them battle it out, or Tobias team up with an enemy later on, or anything that might give some payoff to the fact that Magnus has a secret half-brother, he’s sacrificed a few pages after his main introduction. Do you see what I mean now about YA fantasy writers holding back?

Chapter Nine - Auranos

I DON’T CARE, WHERE IS JONAS

“It’s unfortunate about Princess Emilia, though. So, so sad she isn’t well enough to attend.”

We get it. She’s dying. You’ve reminded us like four times already.

[...] Emilia’s most recently finished painting, a study of the night sky.

Subtle foreshadowing isn’t subtle enough for me.

That [her marriage] was solely a political choice sounded so cold, so analytical.

Does Cleo… not know what politics are? Does she not understand that royal arranged marriages happen all the time? Does she not realize she’s a princess? Why is she so dumb??

“You do know [Nic] is madly in love with you, right?”

Dammit. We came so close to having that platonic relationship but we can’t have a young man in this series not want to splooge over Cleo. It’s the first book and Cleo already has three love interests for this series. Alien Trashryver is worried.

Emilia: “I fell in love with someone else [...] I’ve never felt such love as I felt for him.”

DOUBLE DAMMIT.

Despite being named for the goddess, Cleo wasn’t invested in religion [.]

Isn’t being named after a religious deity frowned upon? I know in some religions you can be named after a minor figure - such as Christians with the archangels. But you can’t name your child God. Cleo being named after the primary person in the religion seems wrong.

But how else would we know she’s a Super Special Magical White Girl if she didn’t have a name far beyond what she deserves?

Her sister had been in love with a guard who’d died two months ago. “It was Theon’s father, wasn’t it?”

Isn’t he like… old??

Her sister had been in love with the king’s bodyguard who’d been thrown from his horse to his death. A tragedy.

That is verbatim from the book and I can’t stop laughing. This bitch said “a tragedy,” I’m CRYING.

Emilia was always the rock - comforting Cleo when she was upset over [some petty stuff] or the loss of her innocence to Aron.

“You’re the same as you were yesterday and the day before,” she’d soothed. “Nothing has changed. Not really. Forget what troubles you. Regret nothing, but learn from any mistakes you make. Tomorrow will be a brighter day, I promise.”

If you think things are cool because HEY we’ve got a YA heroine who isn’t a virgin, we later find out Cleo was drunk when this happened and therefore is an assault victim. The book never acknowledges the later, but instead has Emilia tell Cleo to learn from her mistakes and that nothing has changed. Feminist YA at its peak, y’all.

“You can’t. You’re to be the queen one day. If you die, that means it’ll be me. Trust me, Emilia, that would be a very bad thing. I would make a terrible queen.”

I mean, yeah I agree that Cleo would be a shitty queen but I’m more annoyed at how these five sentences are written.

Emilia: “There’s no one out there spying on us through the eyes of birds, hoping for clues of where to find the Kindred.”

Cleo: “I’ve never believed in such nonsense.”

Btw, Cleo said earlier she thought the birds were watching her. Consistency is hard, I guess.

[Theon] shook his head. “I knew my father cared about someone, but he wouldn’t say who it was. I figured he was involved with a married woman. Now I know.”

So Cleo’s boyfriend is her sister’s dead husband’s son… Cleo’s love interest is her nephew. He’s her step-nephew, but her nephew nonetheless.

Chapter Ten - Limeros (this time with the bird dude)

[...] to see his bird friend, Phaedra, perched on the branch next to him.

Now, I could give this book points if the whole point was that the western world was meant to be Greece, while Mystica is a mix of Italy and Spain. But the existence of Paelsia with its North African/Asian/Roman setting messes it all up.

All [Lucia] would see when she looked at him was a golden hawk. For some reason, this realization pained him.

So we can’t have lgbt+ romances or poc romances but Cleo the Super Special Magical White Girl can get three+ love interests and Lucia can get two love interests - her adoptive brother and a dude who can turn into a bird. White authors, man. White authors…

One thing I do like about this Ioannes dude is that his chapters are short, leaving little room for bullshit. However, they make me go back to Magnus and Cleo sooner than I want.

[jonsameta]

here, have an endgame wank

Alright, for starters this blog is not really run by me (Lizzie/ @theonbaejoys) so much anymore. I think there’s 5 mods and I’ve taken a step back from reading any meta the past month or so. I’ve become more interested in other ships and have been writing fanfic for them, which if you follow me you will have noticed! (And potentially unfollowed me for haha). But though I have been tagging my Jon posts as #fuckboy in the north, Jon has always been my favourite ASOIAF character and probably always will be. And though I am not as interested in jonsa as I once was, I still believe it’s happening. 

I have a lot of faith that Jon and Sansa are ~*~endgame~*~. But I don’t need any undercover lover theories, and neither do you. In fact, ultimately I think they’re a waste of time that have just lead to more and more drama, within and outside the jonxsansa fandom. I don’t have a problem with people theorizing about ~*~undercover Jon~*~*~ and I do not think it’s rape by deception ( goodqueenalys did a better job summing that up than I ever will, I also would never try). Honestly, there’s no way to predict the show because GoT is no longer logical and gaping plot holes exist in every single plot.

In my opinion, Jon and Sansa ending up together and ruling the north and rebuilding Winterfell -- whether for love or for politics, or potentially both -- is simply the most logical narrative choice for Jon and Sansa’s character arcs. If you believe the Iron Throne will be melted down and the North will become independent, as I do, then someone must rule the North. If you believe the Starks endure (they always do!), then somebody must have Stark babies. 

George originally intended Jon to end up with A*ya. But A*ya is no longer original outline A*ya -- her arc has been given to Meera, Sansa and Jeyne Poole. OG A*ya was a bit like Lyanna Stark, but the A*ya we know has become an entirely different person. George is a “gardener”:

you discover an awful lot along the way. Characters rise up and seem more important, and you get to what you’d thought was going to be a big turning point and… the thing you’d thought about two years ago doesn’t really work as well, so you have a better idea!

By ASOS, George had changed a lot of his original plan, though the broad strokes of endgame (how the others were defeated, Jon dying and being released from his vows, stuff like that) have remained fairly constant. He also wanted a 5-year gap after ASOS but ultimately decided against it. The final two chapters of ASOS are Jon and Sansa chapters (excluding the epilogue, which is about the rise of Lady Stoneheart). It’s important that these two chapters were chosen to end the story before the five year gap because of the both the symbolism and foreshadowing in each, but also because these two chapters are in conversation with one another. 

1. The Aemon foreshadowing that has been discussed 500x

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

In the end Halder and Horse had to pull him away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Jon, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"

No. Not enough. Never enough. Jon let his sword drop. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "Emmett, are you hurt?"

This trio of Aemon, Ryam Redwyne and Florian the Fool is the same trio in Sansa’s chapters:

There are gods, she told herself, and there are true knights too. All the stories can't be lies. [...]

She shouted for Ser Dontos, for her brothers, for her dead father and her dead wolf, for gallant Ser Loras who had given her a red rose once, but none of them came. She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard.

-- ACOK

Aemon specifically, who Jon is associated with the most (Maester Aemon, literally calling himself Aemon, etc) is also the one who comes up time and time again in Sansa’s chapters. Here’s a few notable examples:

"Sweet one," her father said gently, "listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffrey was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Prince Aemon, you must believe me."

-- AGOT

"True knights." The queen seemed to find that wonderfully amusing. "No doubt you're right. So why don't you just eat your broth like a good girl and wait for Symeon Star-Eyes and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight to come rescue you, sweetling. I'm sure it won't be very long now."

-- ACOK

"I shouldn't think so." Margaery smiled confidently. "It's brave of you to warn me, but you need not fear. Joff's spoiled and vain and I don't doubt that he's as cruel as you say, but Father forced him to name Loras to his Kingsguard before he would agree to the match. I shall have the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms protecting me night and day, as Prince Aemon protected Naerys.”

-- ASOS

2. The biggest question vexing Jon is whether or not he should become Lord of Winterfell, marry Val and restore the castle.

The entire chapter is Jon’s emotional journey of knowing he wants Winterfell -- that he has always wanted it -- and denying himself the opportunity to have (almost) everything he wants.

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

Winterfell, he thought, Theon left it burned and broken, but I could restore it. Surely his father would have wanted that, and Robb as well. They would never have wanted the castle left in ruins. 

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

It was a long moment before he understood what was happening. When he did, he bolted to his feet. "Ghost?" He turned toward the wood, and there he came, padding silently out of the green dusk, the breath coming warm and white from his open jaws. [...] "I thought you'd died on me, like Robb and Ygritte and all the rest. I've had no sense of you, not since I climbed the Wall, not even in dreams." 

Of note here first is that as he wants Winterfell, and he makes this decision, Ghost suddenly appears when he was once lost. Ghost helps Jon make the decision. Jon associates Ghost with Robb and the other Stark children and seeing Ghost again is what makes Jon’s decision for him. Nostalgia and loss is a theme in Sansa’s chapter as well, she hungers for the old days, she remembers snowflakes melting in Robb’s hair.

Most importantly -- Jon wants to rebuild Winterfell. But decides not to do it with Val, not in a way that would damage the weirwood or the old gods. In the very next chapter, Sansa rebuilds Winterfell out of snow. If that ain’t foreshadowing I don’t know what is. And... 

My lord husband, Sansa thought, as she contemplated the ruins of Winterfell. The snow had stopped, and it was colder than before. 

It’s subtle, but it’s there.

3. Winterfell belongs to the Old Gods, Winterfell belongs to my sister Sansa.

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

Jon does not have the moral authority to sacrifice the weirwood, because Winterfell belongs to the old gods. The weirwood -- the heart tree, the symbolic old gods -- looks an awful lot like Sansa. Pale, with red leaves and a solemn face. It’s interesting, because when Jon denies his right to Winterfell, he thinks first that it belongs to the Old Gods, but he says later to Stannis that it belongs to Sansa. 

In ADWD:

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

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

This theme of no weirwood tree is explored in Sansa’s chapter too:

It was the old days she hungered for. Prayed for. But who could she pray to? The garden had ben meant for a godswood once, she knew, but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root. A godswood without gods, as empty as me.

And then there’s all other endgame foreshadowing in Sansa’s chapter, the final ASOS chapter, which I have already discussed in more detail here.

There is more I could discuss, and if you read over the Jon and Sansa chapters in question I’m sure you’ll see it too. I don’t feel like having debates. The show is almost impossible to predict because we can’t tell if stuff that’s OOC or weird is something we’re supposed to notice or just bad writing/acting. Could go either way, the LF murder plot was super stupid. Either way, we won’t know for aaaagggeeesss. Hints in the books are infinitely more interesting to me. This choice to end ASOS with Jon and Sansa, and to have the chapters be so similar and interact with one another, is very telling. 

Anyway the point of this post was just: I think it’s endgame, I have no worries, and I don’t think you should either. Analyzing microexpressions could lead somewhere, but different people seem to see different things when they watch film, whereas literary analysis is slightly less subjective. 

[saensas]

lashes sticky with sunlight

A/N: Written for @castaliareed for the Jonsa Exchange. I hope you like it! 

Robb had been crying non-stop for hours. It had become sort of a routine to Sansa, sleeping only between midnight and the minute her son started to cry, which was about an hour after the Queen in the North could finally call it a day. She then had to take him into her arms and feed him, so as to silence his heartbreaking wails. The tiny baby would stare into her eyes, like begging for forgiveness, and Sansa’s heart would fill with the tiniest hope that maybe, maybe that was the night her son was going to let her sleep.

But the slightest indication that her mother was going to put him back into his crib was enough to send the little northern prince into utter hysteria.

She could manage it. She had managed worse things than her baby crying. Her firstborn and only son to date. He was what kept her strong and willing to get up from her bed in the morning. Arya was dead, Bran was gone and the rumours that linked Jon with no other than his aunt were enough reason for her to want to lock herself up in her room and never go out again.

But that little baby, born of nothing but duty, deserved so much love and warmth Sansa had vowed she would search deep and find that part of her she had lost. She began digging for all those songs she had buried, all those stories about knights and dragons long forgotten, for her little wolf had nothing to do with those who had harmed her.

However, those past few weeks had been rough on her and the lack of sleep was beginning to slowly but surely show its consequences. Her eyelids fell when she didn’t command them to, her hands trembled and her limbs were so fatigued she found it hard to walk around the halls of her beloved home.

She even found it difficult to hold little Robb firmly in that moment, being exactly the sixth week of relentless crying. She felt her knees giving up on her and she heard some distant voice inside her head urging her to call for Brienne, but she couldn’t let the words out.

Suddenly, a firm hand settled on her shoulder and another held her by the waist and she regained her balance.

“Sansa,” she heard that deep, husky voice of her husband’s, “you need to get to bed.”

Jon, Jon, Jon. Her mind took her back to that only night they had shared after their wedding had taken place, like she had been thinking about it all along, without even knowing it. He had looked so tired, new scars were decorating his handsome face and his eyes spoke of horrors only seen in nightmares. But he had been gentle where others had been tearing and invasive. He had whispered sweet nothings in her ear and Sansa had felt so loved.

Then Jon had left with Daenerys’ party to King’s Landing, to “settle important matters”, as Tyrion had said. Sansa knew it was her aunt-by-law flaunting the savior of the realm and showing everyone he bowed to her and to her alone. Lest somebody think to call him King of anything but the North.

And when Southron festivities cooled down, those self-centered lords lost interest in Rhaegar Targaryen’s bastard and Daenerys finally permitted him to go back North, Sansa had presented him with a healthy, tiny and chubby baby boy that looked every bit as Stark as he was supposed to, and had muttered a timid but eager: “Are you pleased, my lord?”. She had meant the child, but also her, Winterfell, the marriage they had been shoved in.

“Robb, Jon,” she whispered. She caught a glimpse of her child, in Brienne’s arms. She didn’t remember letting him go, or when either of them had entered her chambers. Jon had picked her up in his arms and was taking her to bed. She let herself lean into him but, Robb sniffled and she tried to escape his grip.

“I have to feed him,” she yelled, “let me go, Jon.”

“Get a wet nurse, please, Brienne.”

The Queensguard nodded and gently clicked the door shut behind her with the baby in her arms. Sansa seldom let anyone but she or Jon tend to her son, too afraid that if she were to turn around for even a second, something terrible would fall upon him. Like it had happened to every Stark she had ever encountered.

Jon laid her gently on the bed and she began battling with her eyelids. She saw him give a little smile at her effort, but the brow creased in concern didn’t leave his face.

“Of course I’m pleased, my lady, Sansa, ” he had answered her that time like it was the most obvious thing in the world. They both had watched their son sleep soundly, exchanging glances with the other every once in awhile.

“You need to get some sleep, Sansa, Robb will be fine.”

His hand caressed her forehead, then her cheek and her chin. She closed her eyes at the soothing touch, and Jon thought it was sleep finally getting hold of her. He leaned in and his kiss got lost in her hair.

“Stay,” she whispered, “stay with me.”

It was the lack of sleep. It had to be. Sansa was always able to control her tongue, even when her mind was defying her to scream and snarl and curse. She could swallow her words, straighten her back and go on with her act. It was a weakness to let her true feelings show, stupid to let people see what is really going on.

But, she wasn’t in control anymore.

Her mind took her to the Godswood, and she was running. Suddenly, Arya appeared and a snowball fight started. Rickon screamed and her brother Robb laughed at something Theon had whispered to his ear. Then Jon was talking and bringing her mind out of its dreaming.

“Do you really want me to?”

“How can you even ask that?’’ she wanted to scream at him.

“Yes,” she answered instead.

Jon didn’t say anything back and her mind started to wander again. Dorne and then Highgarden appeared although she had never been to either. Dragon wings and yellow eyes. Dead men walking, cold as a winter’s day.

She felt their fingers on her skin and she jerked away from their touch.

“It’s only me,” Jon whispered to her ear.

He had removed his heavy clothes and gotten into bed. Sansa tried to make space for him but found that she was trapped under his arm. “Not trapped, but safe”, a distant voice seemed to remind her. Jon’s skin smelled of wood and steel and something unique that she couldn’t quite name but she noticed in little Robb too. She relaxed again and felt her husband leave a light kiss on her nape.

How strange it all felt, and so familiar at the same time.

She smiled and felt herself drift once more. She let it happen, without worries this time. Nothing would hurt her while she was in Jon’s arms.

title from ‘’Prodigal’’ by Linda Gregerson

[readbookywooks]

Bran

The hunt left at dawn. The king wanted wild boar at the feast tonight. Prince Joffrey rode with his father, so Robb had been allowed to join the hunters as well. Uncle Benjen, Jory, Theon Greyjoy, Ser Rodrik, and even the queen's funny little brother had all ridden out with them. It was the last hunt, after all. On the morrow they left for the south. Bran had been left behind with Jon and the girls and Rickon. But Rickon was only a baby and the girls were only girls and Jon and his wolf were nowhere to be found. Bran did not look for him very hard. He thought Jon was angry at him. Jon seemed to be angry at everyone these days. Bran did not know why. He was going with Uncle Ben to the Wall, to join the Night's Watch. That was almost as good as going south with the king. Robb was the one they were leaving behind, not Jon. For days, Bran could scarcely wait to be off. He was going to ride the kingsroad on a horse of his own, not a pony but a real horse. His father would be the Hand of the King, and they were going to live in the red castle at King's Landing, the castle the Dragonlords had built. Old Nan said there were ghosts there, and dungeons where terrible things had been done, and dragon heads on the walls. It gave Bran a shiver just to think of it, but he was not afraid. How could he be afraid? His father would be with him, and the king with all his knights and sworn swords. Bran was going to be a knight himself someday, one of the Kingsguard. Old Nan said they were the finest swords in all the realm. There were only seven of them, and they wore white armor and had no wives or children, but lived only to serve the king. Bran knew all the stories. Their names were like music to him. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield. Ser Ryam Redwyne. Prince Aemon the Dragonknight. The twins Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, who had died on one another's swords hundreds of years ago, when brother fought sister in the war the singers called the Dance of the Dragons. The White Bull, Gerold Hightower. Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning. Barristan the Bold. Two of the Kingsguard had come north with King Robert. Bran had watched them with fascination, never quite daring to speak to them. Ser Boros was a bald man with a jowly face, and Ser Meryn had droopy eyes and a beard the color of rust. Ser Jaime Lannister looked more like the knights in the stories, and he was of the Kingsguard too, but Robb said he had killed the old mad king and shouldn't count anymore. The greatest living knight was Ser Barristan Selmy, Barristan the Bold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Father had promised that they would meet Ser Barristan when they reached King's Landing, and Bran had been marking the days on his wall, eager to depart, to see a world he had only dreamed of and begin a life he could scarcely imagine. Yet now that the last day was at hand, suddenly Bran felt lost. Winterfell had been the only home he had ever known. His father had told him that he ought to say his farewells today, and he had tried. After the hunt had ridden out, he wandered through the castle with his wolf at his side, intending to visit the ones who would be left behind, Old Nan and Gage the cook, Mikken in his smithy, Hodor the stableboy who smiled so much and took care of his pony and never said anything but "Hodor," the man in the glass gardens who gave him a blackberry when he came to visit . . . But it was no good. He had gone to the stable first, and seen his pony there in its stall, except it wasn't his pony anymore, he was getting a real horse and leaving the pony behind, and all of a sudden Bran just wanted to sit down and cry. He turned and ran off before Hodor and the other stableboys could see the tears in his eyes. That was the end of his farewells. Instead Bran spent the morning alone in the godswood, trying to teach his wolf to fetch a stick, and failing. The wolfling was smarter than any of the hounds in his father's kennel and Bran would have sworn he understood every word that was said to him, but he showed very little interest in chasing sticks. He was still trying to decide on a name. Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran so fast. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty stupid name for a direwolf. Jon's wolf, the white one, was Ghost. Bran wished he had thought of that first, even though his wolf wasn't white. He had tried a hundred names in the last fortnight, but none of them sounded right. Finally he got tired of the stick game and decided to go climbing. He hadn't been up to the broken tower for weeks with everything that had happened, and this might be his last chance. He raced across the godswood, taking the long way around to avoid the pool where the heart tree grew. The heart tree had always frightened him; trees ought not have eyes, Bran thought, or leaves that looked like hands. His wolf came sprinting at his heels. "You stay here," he told him at the base of the sentinel tree near the armory wall. "Lie down. That's right. Now stay—" The wolf did as he was told. Bran scratched him behind the ears, then turned away, jumped, grabbed a low branch, and pulled himself up. He was halfway up the tree, moving easily from limb to limb, when the wolf got to his feet and began to howl. Bran looked back down. His wolf fell silent, staring up at him through slitted yellow eyes. A strange chill went through him. He began to climb again. Once more the wolf howled. "Quiet," he yelled. "Sit down. Stay. You're worse than Mother." The howling chased him all the way up the tree, until finally he jumped off onto the armory roof and out of sight. The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran's second home. His mother often said that Bran could climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember when he first learned to walk, but he could not remember when he started to climb either, so he supposed it must be true. To a boy, Winterfell was a grey stone labyrinth of walls and towers and courtyards and tunnels spreading out in all directions. In the older parts of the castle, the halls slanted up and down so that you couldn't even be sure what floor you were on. The place had grown over the centuries like some monstrous stone tree, Maester Luwin told him once, and its branches were gnarled and thick and twisted, its roots sunk deep into the earth. When he got out from under it and scrambled up near the sky, Bran could see all of Winterfell in a glance. He liked the way it looked, spread out beneath him, only birds wheeling over his head while all the life of the castle went on below. Bran could perch for hours among the shapeless, rain-worn gargoyles that brooded over the First Keep, watching it all: the men drilling with wood and steel in the yard, the cooks tending their vegetables in the glass garden, restless dogs running back and forth in the kennels, the silence of the godswood, the girls gossiping beside the washing well. It made him feel like he was lord of the castle, in a way even Robb would never know. It taught him Winterfell's secrets too. The builders had not even leveled the earth; there were hills and valleys behind the walls of Winterfell. There was a covered bridge that went from the fourth floor of the bell tower across to the second floor of the rookery. Bran knew about that. And he knew you could get inside the inner wall by the south gate, climb three floors and run all the way around Winterfell through a narrow tunnel in the stone, and then come out on ground level at the north gate, with a hundred feet of wall looming over you. Even Maester Luwin didn't know that, Bran was convinced. His mother was terrified that one day Bran would slip off a wall and kill himself. He told her that he wouldn't, but she never believed him. Once she made him promise that he would stay on the ground. He had managed to keep that promise for almost a fortnight, miserable every day, until one night he had gone out the window of his bedroom when his brothers were fast asleep. He confessed his crime the next day in a fit of guilt. Lord Eddard ordered him to the godswood to cleanse himself. Guards were posted to see that Bran remained there alone all night to reflect on his disobedience. The next morning Bran was nowhere to be seen. They finally found him fast asleep in the upper branches of the tallest sentinel in the grove. As angry as he was, his father could not help but laugh. "You're not my son," he told Bran when they fetched him down, "you're a squirrel. So be it. If you must climb, then climb, but try not to let your mother see you." Bran did his best, although he did not think he ever really fooled her. Since his father would not forbid it, she turned to others. Old Nan told him a story about a bad little boy who climbed too high and was struck down by lightning, and how afterward the crows came to peck out his eyes. Bran was not impressed. There were crows' nests atop the broken tower, where no one ever went but him, and sometimes he filled his pockets with corn before he climbed up there and the crows ate it right out of his hand. None of them had ever shown the slightest bit of interest in pecking out his eyes. Later, Maester Luwin built a little pottery boy and dressed him in Bran's clothes and flung him off the wall into the yard below, to demonstrate what would happen to Bran if he fell. That had been fun, but afterward Bran just looked at the maester and said, "I'm not made of clay. And anyhow, I never fall." Then for a while the guards would chase him whenever they saw him on the roofs, and try to haul him down. That was the best time of all. It was like playing a game with his brothers, except that Bran always won. None of the guards could climb half so well as Bran, not even Jory. Most of the time they never saw him anyway. People never looked up. That was another thing he liked about climbing; it was almost like being invisible. He liked how it felt too, pulling himself up a wall stone by stone, fingers and toes digging hard into the small crevices between. He always took off his boots and went barefoot when he climbed; it made him feel as if he had four hands instead of two. He liked the deep, sweet ache it left in the muscles afterward. He liked the way the air tasted way up high, sweet and cold as a winter peach. He liked the birds: the crows in the broken tower, the tiny little sparrows that nested in cracks between the stones, the ancient owl that slept in the dusty loft above the old armory. Bran knew them all. Most of all, he liked going places that no one else could go, and seeing the grey sprawl of Winterfell in a way that no one else ever saw it. It made the whole castle Bran's secret place. His favorite haunt was the broken tower. Once it had been a watchtower, the tallest in Winterfell. A long time ago, a hundred years before even his father had been born, a lightning strike had set it afire. The top third of the structure had collapsed inward, and the tower had never been rebuilt. Sometimes his father sent ratters into the base of the tower, to clean out the nests they always found among the jumble of fallen stones and charred and rotten beams. But no one ever got up to the jagged top of the structure now except for Bran and the crows. He knew two ways to get there. You could climb straight up the side of the tower itself, but the stones were loose, the mortar that held them together long gone to ash, and Bran never liked to put his full weight on them. The best way was to start from the godswood, shinny up the tall sentinel, and cross over the armory and the guards hall, leaping roof to roof, barefoot so the guards wouldn't hear you overhead. That brought you up to the blind side of the First Keep, the oldest part of the castle, a squat round fortress that was taller than it looked. Only rats and spiders lived there now but the old stones still made for good climbing. You could go straight up to where the gargoyles leaned out blindly over empty space, and swing from gargoyle to gargoyle, hand over hand, around to the north side. From there, if you really stretched, you could reach out and pull yourself over to the broken tower where it leaned close. The last part was the scramble up the blackened stones to the eyrie, no more than ten feet, and then the crows would come round to see if you'd brought any corn. Bran was moving from gargoyle to gargoyle with the ease of long practice when he heard the voices. He was so startled he almost lost his grip. The First Keep had been empty all his life. "I do not like it," a woman was saying. There was a row of windows beneath him, and the voice was drifting out of the last window on this side. "You should be the Hand." "Gods forbid," a man's voice replied lazily. "It's not an honor I'd want. There's far too much work involved." Bran hung, listening, suddenly afraid to go on. They might glimpse his feet if he tried to swing by. "Don't you see the danger this puts us in?" the woman said. "Robert loves the man like a brother." "Robert can barely stomach his brothers. Not that I blame him. Stannis would be enough to give anyone indigestion." "Don't play the fool. Stannis and Renly are one thing, and Eddard Stark is quite another. Robert will listen to Stark. Damn them both. I should have insisted that he name you, but I was certain Stark would refuse him." "We ought to count ourselves fortunate," the man said. "The king might as easily have named one of his brothers, or even Littlefinger, gods help us. Give me honorable enemies rather than ambitious ones, and I'll sleep more easily by night." They were talking about Father, Bran realized. He wanted to hear more. A few more feet . . . but they would see him if he swung out in front of the window. "We will have to watch him carefully," the woman said. "I would sooner watch you," the man said. He sounded bored. "Come back here." "Lord Eddard has never taken any interest in anything that happened south of the Neck," the woman said. "Never. I tell you, he means to move against us. Why else would he leave the seat of his power?" "A hundred reasons. Duty. Honor. He yearns to write his name large across the book of history, to get away from his wife, or both. Perhaps he just wants to be warm for once in his life." "His wife is Lady Arryn's sister. It's a wonder Lysa was not here to greet us with her accusations." Bran looked down. There was a narrow ledge beneath the window, only a few inches wide. He tried to lower himself toward it. Too far. He would never reach. "You fret too much. Lysa Arryn is a frightened cow." "That frightened cow shared Jon Arryn's bed." "If she knew anything, she would have gone to Robert before she fled King's Landing." "When he had already agreed to foster that weakling son of hers at Casterly Rock? I think not. She knew the boy's life would be hostage to her silence. She may grow bolder now that he's safe atop the Eyrie." "Mothers." The man made the word sound like a curse. "I think birthing does something to your minds. You are all mad." He laughed. It was a bitter sound. "Let Lady Arryn grow as bold as she likes. Whatever she knows, whatever she thinks she knows, she has no proof." He paused a moment. "Or does she?" "Do you think the king will require proof?" the woman said. "I tell you, he loves me not." "And whose fault is that, sweet sister?" Bran studied the ledge. He could drop down. It was too narrow to land on, but if he could catch hold as he fell past, pull himself up . . . except that might make a noise, draw them to the window. He was not sure what he was hearing, but he knew it was not meant for his ears. "You are as blind as Robert," the woman was saying. "If you mean I see the same thing, yes," the man said. "I see a man who would sooner die than betray his king." "He betrayed one already, or have you forgotten?" the woman said. "Oh, I don't deny he's loyal to Robert, that's obvious. What happens when Robert dies and Joff takes the throne? And the sooner that comes to pass, the safer we'll all be. My husband grows more restless every day. Having Stark beside him will only make him worse. He's still in love with the sister, the insipid little dead sixteen-year-old. How long till he decides to put me aside for some new Lyanna?" Bran was suddenly very frightened. He wanted nothing so much as to go back the way he had come, to find his brothers. Only what would he tell them? He had to get closer, Bran realized. He had to see who was talking. The man sighed. "You should think less about the future and more about the pleasures at hand." "Stop that!" the woman said. Bran heard the sudden slap of flesh on flesh, then the man's laughter. Bran pulled himself up, climbed over the gargoyle, crawled out onto the roof. This was the easy way. He moved across the roof to the next gargoyle, right above the window of the room where they were talking. "All this talk is getting very tiresome, sister," the man said. "Come here and be quiet." Bran sat astride the gargoyle, tightened his legs around it, and swung himself around, upside down. He hung by his legs and slowly stretched his head down toward the window. The world looked strange upside down. A courtyard swam dizzily below him, its stones still wet with melted snow. Bran looked in the window. Inside the room, a man and a woman were wrestling. They were both naked. Bran could not tell who they were. The man's back was to him, and his body screened the woman from view as he pushed her up against a wall. There were soft, wet sounds. Bran realized they were kissing. He watched, wide-eyed and frightened, his breath tight in his throat. The man had a hand down between her legs, and he must have been hurting her there, because the woman started to moan, low in her throat. "Stop it," she said, "stop it, stop it. Oh, please . . . " But her voice was low and weak, and she did not push him away. Her hands buried themselves in his hair, his tangled golden hair, and pulled his face down to her breast. Bran saw her face. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, moaning. Her golden hair swung from side to side as her head moved back and forth, but still he recognized the queen. He must have made a noise. Suddenly her eyes opened, and she was staring right at him. She screamed. Everything happened at once then. ‘ The woman pushed the man away wildly, shouting and pointing. Bran tried to pull himself up, bending double as he reached for the gargoyle. He was in too much of a hurry. His hand scraped uselessly across smooth stone, and in his panic his legs slipped, and suddenly he was failing. There was an instant of vertigo, a sickening lurch as the window flashed past. He shot out a hand, grabbed for the ledge, lost it, caught it again with his other hand. He swung against the building, hard. The impact took the breath out of him. Bran dangled, one-handed, panting. Faces appeared in the window above him. The queen. And now Bran recognized the man beside her. They looked as much alike as reflections in a mirror. "He saw us," the woman said shrilly. "So he did," the man said. Bran's fingers started to slip. He grabbed the ledge with his other hand. Fingernails dug into unyielding stone. The man reached down. "Take my hand," he said. "Before you fall." Bran seized his arm and held on tight with all his strength. The man yanked him up to the ledge. "What are you doing?" the woman demanded. The man ignored her. He was very strong. He stood Bran up on the sill. "How old are you, boy?" "Seven," Bran said, shaking with relief. His fingers had dug deep gouges in the man's forearm. He let go sheepishly. The man looked over at the woman. "The things I do for love," he said with loathing. He gave Bran a shove. Screaming, Bran went backward out the window into empty air. There was nothing to grab on to. The courtyard rushed up to meet him. Somewhere off in the distance, a wolf was howling. Crows circled the broken tower, waiting for corn.

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Thoughts on the recent episode?

I think many of my thoughts have already been stated in some form or another - such as the writing for this episode being much better. Honestly, anon? I loved it! A few things were missing for me (such as a proper Ghost or Sansa/Sandor reunion) but ultimately, I saw a lot of beauty and hope in the face of “imminent” death.

Highlights: Brienne being knighted is one of my favorite scenes in the entire series. I cried! Arya and Gendry took my breath away. Theon and Sansa caught me off guard in the best way. Daenerys and Sansa holding hands and smiling at each other and recognizing their strength, gods. I’d like another order of that, please. Dany’s entire demeanor softening upon confessing her feelings for Jon. Jon telling his truth to Dany in front of his mother’s statue… and Jenny’s Song! Just wow.

But I’m going to use this ask to focus on the very thing that seems to have people up in arms:

Jenny’s Song.

This song’s inclusion is giving everyone a foreboding sort of feeling.

Jenny of Oldstones is a character very, very dear to my heart. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about her song and what it might mean, pondering the verses George never wrote… well before I had ever thought I’d hear it in the show.

I believe that Rhaegar wrote Jenny’s Song during his pensive trips to the ruins of Summerhall, where he no doubt encountered the Ghost of High Heart, which is where her affinity for it likely grew (after all, Jenny was probably her daughter).

If Jenny’s Song is forlorn, it’s largely because of its association with Rhaegar and his ties to Summerhall - “It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him”.

I, myself, believe Rhaegar to be something of a martyr. This is probably tinfoil territory, but I feel as though Rhaegar either found something in his prophecy or perhaps the Ghost of High Heart predicted his fate. That not only would he die, but so would the woman he loved, his children and family, and virtually anyone he ever knew - but that because of this sacrifice, his son, the prince that was promised, would live.

And save the world.

Jenny’s Song is a song so full of anguish that it made even Lyanna Stark, the She-Wolf of Winterfell, cry. It might’ve been his way of coping with that, not just for his own doomed love story, but for all the doomed loves that came before him, resulting in war and death.

But Jon is different. Dany is different.

If you think that Jon and Daenerys will die so their baby can live, boy have I got news for you - that already happened! Jon is the miracle baby who survived his parents’ tragic love story.

I think George is smart enough to know that while we root for them to have children, none of us really feel that same emotional connection to a baby. Because after all, if Dany isn’t her father… then their baby might not be anything like them, either, especially if it grows up without ever knowing them.

Back to Jon. His is the song of ice and fire.

And if you believe that there is, in fact, more to this story than who sits on the iron throne, then perhaps there is more to this story than history repeating itself.

Daenerys shares parallels with Aegon the Conqueror for a reason. She birthed dragons into the world again for a reason. And this reason cannot be just to die for a baby. And like Jon, let’s not forget that Dany is something of a miracle baby, too.

While Aegon set out with his dragons to change the world… He built the throne. He made the world what it is - the world that put everyone left standing in precarious positions their whole life, whether they be bastards or dwarves or exiled princesses or what have you.

What’s left of the world are the underdogs - the cripples, bastards, and broken things.

Forget how much Daenerys talks about the throne for a minute, and look at her actions. She breaks down these pedestals so that those who sit upon them are forced to face those on the ground - to look them in the eye. I have full faith that she will continue doing this.

Game of Thrones and ASOIAF are littered with tragedy, absolutely. But remember that most deaths are not actually shock deaths, but the result of a terrible mistake or misstep - usually political. Deaths that wouldn’t have happened in a different world where these hierarchies no longer exist.

There really might be a chance that these underdogs ‘put aside their enmities and band together’ to survive.

Perhaps Daenerys is so protective of her claim because she knows she is the only one who can or will make the world better.

Thematically, Daenerys doesn’t have to sacrifice herself for the greater good, nor does Jon.

Rhaegar already did that for them.