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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

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What Dany stans do with Dany , you do the same thing with Jon and Sansa .

Okay, nonny...I’ll admit it. I have a bad memory, so by all means pass on receipts, but in the mean time let me try and find all the times I've written about how Jon or Sansa's feelings and intentions excuse their actions (since I'm assuming you are referring to this post here).

Let's start with Sansa.

Outside of fan-fiction, which is totally separate than canon analysis, I’ve written about Sansa Stark in the context of the books exactly once.

While she is great and all, she’s not all that exciting for me to analyze...her potential is there, and I think her chapters are sad and lovely to read, but we’re five books in and she’s yet to have much of any power, and power is largely what I’ve been interested in examining when I have the urge to write. That being said, there is a meta or two hanging out there, written by others, about what Sansa does with the little agency she does have, and I found them to be interesting reads. Perhaps a kind soul will drop some links.

But I digress. This is about me...and what I do with Jon and Sansa, right?

Even in my tiny nothing post about Sansa, did I use her feelings to justify her many crimes? (Since, again, I’m assuming that is what I’m being accused of. Your ask was a bit vague, nonny. Please work on your specificity next time.)

Well, what are her feelings? Oh yeah. She’s very upset about being forcibly married to Tyrion after spending months as a prisoner of war. What a baby.

What are her actions? Minimizing Garlan and Leonette’s concern for her well-being by putting on a brave face and telling them she is well. Jerk.

What was my conclusion? Let me just quote myself:

I’m sorry, but who reads passages like this and thinks, “ugh, Sansa…what a conniving villain”. I re-read the chapter where Sansa is married to Tyrion and the whole thing makes me want to cry. Also, all the kudos to Ser Garlan Tyrell and his wife, Leonette for making an effort to comfort a traumatized child.

I don’t know, nonny.

If you want to use that post to write an essay about how Sansa’s courtesy is actually a cover for her great crimes of poisoning Sweetrobin and killing Mycah...by all means go for it.

Now on to my boy, Jon. Let the evidence of favoritism commence!

I’ve definitely written more about our sad bastard in the North than I’ve written about Sansa, so I’m sure we’ll find some fruitful returns on your accusation here.

How has one currently dead Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch fared beneath my pen?

Well, there is the post that I cannot find because Tumblr is a black hole and I’m bad at tagging, where, if I remember correctly, I said I’d never forgive Jon Snow for what he did to Gilly and her baby.

But, without evidence, I suppose that isn’t admissable in a court of fandom discourse, is it?

All is not lost dear nonny. Do not fear. I apparently can’t shut up about the topic.

First, I have this ask where I must totally defend Jon because he’s obviously my fave, right? Wrong. I accuse him of hubris and abuse of power.

Regardless of his noble intentions with the baby swap, Jon displays a lot of hubris in thinking that he can control what happens to either child afterwards, that the greatest danger is Mel’s zealotry, and that his intentions make his actions excusable. I think he is wrong on all three counts.

He abuses his power over Gilly and meddles in a situation he has no authority over because he knows he has no such power over Stannis or Mel.

Hm.

I also used this ask, about a totally different subject, to wax on about the same topic, because as I said, I can’t shut up about it (or Daario). Surely, in this one, I talk about how flawless and awesome Jon is, right?

Oh yeah, I call him an utter ass, a potato, a manipulative little shithead, and a coward.

But please, go on about how I give Jon a free pass.

I’m bored now, nonny, but if you want to make this interesting with an actual rebuttal essay, where you point out all the times I’ve forgiven Jon for his misdeeds because of his lonely bastard vibes and plain-at-best looks, I’ve made the endeavor easier for you by linking out to my other mentions of Jon Snow.

Have at them.

Jon and Dany foil ask

What sort of man can stand by idly and watch his own brother being burned alive?

Qhorin and Jon by the fire

Chispas Does a Meta, Pt. I and it doesn’t even mention Daario

Chispas Does a Meta, Pt. II - Let’s Build a Fire & Make Speeches!

Chispas Does a Meta, Pt. III - Murders & Miracles! Yay!

Thanks, I guess, for giving me an excuse to make a master post linking to my “metas” about Jon and Sansa. If you choose to return, please bring me something more interesting to chew on. I bore easily, but love to play.

#my asks #my many crimes against sansa stark and jon snow #masterpost for all the times I've dunked on Jon #my favorite character in asoiaf #jon snow #sansa stark #chispas does a meta #or metas #I guess #chispas does a snark?#would that be more accurate?#I'm going to regret these nonsense tags when I can't find this later #if you accused me of favoring Daarion #then you'd be right nonny #bluebeard gets away with murder #fuck #I mean Daario #i hate tags

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

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Chispas Does a Meta, Pt. II

Let’s Build a Fire & Make Speeches!

Welcome back, my captive audience. If you have no idea how you got here or what I’m talking about, might I recommend going back to Part I where I sing a classic Lead Belly tune and introduce the topic of the day:

Ritual Sacrifice.

I’ve already introduced the lambs and given some context leading up to their impending deaths (again, we’re looking at Daenerys X, AGOT & Jon III, ADWD).

Now, let’s gather some kindling, eh?

You Can’t Burn Someone Alive Without Gathering a few Sticks...unless you have dragons. But Dany only has eggs (and now I somehow want to morph this into a Succession joke about making an omelette...and this is why I can’t be trusted to write metas)

Let’s check in with Dany X.

Her foragers returned with gnarled cottonwoods, purple brush, sheaves of brown grass. They took the two straightest trees, hacked the limbs and branches from them, skinned off their bark, and split them, laying the logs in a square. Its center they filled with straw, brush, bark shavings, and bundles of dry grass.

That’s a solid base, but I’m just looking for something extra. Some flair, if you will.

Over the carcass of the horse, they built a platform of hewn logs; trunks of smaller trees and limbs from the greater, and the thickest straightest branches they could find. They laid the wood east to west, from sunrise to sunset. On the platform they piled Khal Drogo’s treasures: his great tent, his painted vests, his saddles and harness, the whip his father had given him when he came to manhood, the arakh he had used to slay Khal Ogo and his son, a mighty dragonbone bow.

Now we’re getting somewhere. Anything more?

The third level of the platform was woven of branches no thicker than a finger, and covered with dry leaves and twigs. They laid them north to south, from ice to fire, and piled them high with soft cushions and sleeping silks.

Very posh. I’m satisfied. Oh, we’re not done yet? You know we have another fire to get to, right? You don’t care? Fine, but make it worth my time.

Afterward, Dany sent them all away, so she might prepare Khal Drogo for his final ride into the night lands. She washed his body clean and brushed and oiled his hair, running her fingers through it for the last time, feeling the weight of it, remembering the first time she had touched it, the night of their wedding ride. His hair had never been cut. How many men could die with their hair uncut? She buried her face in it and inhaled the dark fragrance of the oils. He smelled like grass and warm earth, like smoke and semen and horses. He smelled like Drogo. Forgive me, sun of my life, she thought. Forgive me for all I have done and all I must do. I paid the price, my star, but it was too high, too high . . .

Dany braided his hair and slid the silver rings onto his mustache and hung his bells one by one. So many bells, gold and silver and bronze. Bells so his enemies would hear him coming and grow weak with fear. She dressed him in horsehair leggings and high boots, buckling a belt heavy with gold and silver medallions about his waist. Over his scarred chest she slipped a painted vest, old and faded, the one Drogo had loved best. For herself she chose loose sandsilk trousers, sandals that laced halfway up her legs, and a vest like Drogo’s.

The sun was going down when she called them back to carry his body to the pyre. The Dothraki watched in silence as Jhogo and Aggo bore him from the tent. Dany walked behind them. They laid him down on his cushions and silks, his head toward the Mother of Mountains far to the northeast.

So, this is actually a very tender last rites for Dany’s deceased husband...warmongering rapist though he may be. Alas, the questionable choice to say he smelled like semen, kind of ruins the moment.

Okay, is that it? NO? What else is there? Oh yeah. I almost forgot. Silly me. The fucking eggs.

She climbed the pyre herself to place the eggs around her sun-and-stars. The black beside his heart, under his arm. The green beside his head, his braid coiled around it. The cream-and-gold down between his legs. When she kissed him for the last time, Dany could taste the sweetness of the oil on his lips.

I get it, Dany. Go big or go home.

Alright, Jon III. You have some competition. Are you up for the challenge? Hit me with your best shot.

The queen’s men had made it from the trees of the haunted forest, from saplings and supple branches, pine boughs sticky with sap, and the bone-white fingers of the weirwoods. They’d bent them and twisted them around and through each other to weave a wooden lattice, then hung it high above a deep pit filled with logs, leaves, and kindling.

Okay. What else?

Two queen’s men brought forth the Horn of Joramun, black and banded with old gold, eight feet long from end to end. Runes were carved into the golden bands, the writing of the First Men. Joramun had died thousands of years ago, but Mance had found his grave beneath a glacier, high up in the Frostfangs. And Joramun blew the Horn of Winter, and woke giants from the earth. Ygritte had told Jon that Mance never found the horn. She lied, or else Mance kept it secret even from his own

So, a wooden cage and a horn of dubious origin. Is that all you’ve got?

It is.

Okay everyone, I’m starting to suspect Jon III of phoning this murder in.

Dany X : 1/Jon III: 0.

Let’s Introduce our Masters of Ceremonies

How rude of me. I introduced the muderees in Part I, before introducing the murderers. I have no manners.

Well, on one hand we have: Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms (disputed claim), (not yet) the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, (not yet) the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains (disputed claim)

On the other hand, we have Jon Sn-aaaP! He doesn’t do the murder, guys! He’s Jon “beet counter” Snow. He doesn’t burn people alive.

That’s Mel...It’s Melisandre of Asshai doing the honor tonight, kids, on behalf of Stannis Baratheon, the First of His Name, The King in the Narrow Sea (disputed claim), The King of the Painted Table (disputed claim), the dark lord (who the fuck calls him this? I really want to know who stuck this Harry Potter reference into asoiaf), The King of Dragonstone (disputed claim), The King at the Wall (eh...the Night’s Watch really rolls over on this), Azor Ahai reborn/come again (disputed claim), the prince who was promised (disputed claim).

Holy shit. That is way too many titles for an incest baby and a middle child. I’m calling this round a draw. No points awarded.

(If anything, Jon has dipped into the negative, as he doesn’t even get to do the murder in his own chapter. Weak.)

Moving on.

The Guest list

Who are the lucky few who got tickets to such exclusive events? I’m so jelly. I haven’t even been to the movie theater since early 2020.

With that collar-popping pyre, Dany was prepared to perform to a sold out stadium, but because of some backstabbing opportunistic dudebro, Ko Pono, who is suddenly fancying himself a khal, she’s dealing with some last hours of the Fyre-Festival fallout bullshit, after that punk took off with most of Drogo’s khalasar to party down at the Dothraki version of Coachella.

Time to turn this shit-pile into Burning (wo)Man, Dany. (I know. I’m insufferable. I’m really sorry, everyone. I told you someone else should write this.)

“The Dothraki follow only the strong,” Ser Jorah said. “I am sorry, my princess. There was no way to hold them. Ko Pono left first, naming himself Khal Pono, and many followed him. Jhaqo was not long to do the same. The rest slipped away night by night, in large bands and small. There are a dozen new khalasars on the Dothraki sea, where once there was only Drogo’s.”

Disappointing, but who do we have left? There has to be an influencer or two who would be willing to tweet about this, right? RIGHT?

“The old remain,” said Aggo. “The frightened, the weak, and the sick. And we who swore. We remain.” “They took Khal Drogo’s herds, Khaleesi,” Rakharo said. “We were too few to stop them. It is the right of the strong to take from the weak. They took many slaves as well, the khal’s and yours, yet they left some few.

Alright, so it’s a sad turnout for Dany. How are things up at Castle Black?

A thousand captives watched through the wooden bars of their stockade as the horn was lifted high. All were ragged and half-starved. Wildlings, the Seven Kingdoms called them; they named themselves the free folk. They looked neither wild nor free—only hungry, frightened, numb.

Eeek...pretty dismal, folks. Anyone else here?

The king’s eyes were blue bruises, sunk deep in a hollow face. He wore grey plate, a fur-trimmed cloak of cloth-of-gold flowing from his broad shoulders. His breastplate had a flaming heart inlaid above his own. Girding his brows was a red-gold crown with points like twisting flames. Val stood beside him, tall and fair. They had crowned her with a simple circlet of dark bronze, yet she looked more regal in bronze than Stannis did in gold. Her eyes were grey and fearless, unflinching. Beneath an ermine cloak, she wore white and gold. Her honey-blond hair had been done up in a thick braid that hung over her right shoulder to her waist. The chill in the air had put color in her cheeks.

A royal, albeit one whose eyes are described as bruises (that can’t be good), and a hot girl in gold (with honey hair). +2 for Jon III. Anyone else?

Jon watched unblinking. He dare not appear squeamish before his brothers.

Stop breaking my heart. Also, I don’t have time to talk about you...yet. And you aren’t supposed to be relegated to the crowd in your own chapter, Jon. It’s almost like you aren’t even an important character. Only weaklings like Sansa are relegated to passive, observant roles in their own POVs. Jeeze. Did you at least bring any of your bros to the event?

He had ordered out two hundred men, more than half the garrison of Castle Black. Mounted in solemn sable ranks with tall spears in hand, they had drawn up their hoods to shadow their faces … and hide the fact that so many were greybeards and green boys.

Docked a point for having to hide your faces, boys.

Where does this leave us? Oh yeah. Let’s tally up.

Dany X: 1: Jon III: 0

Pour the champagne and let’s all raise a glass for...

The Speeches! (or the best time to sneak out for a cigarette at most weddings)

Let’s remember, Dany is coming off a few major losses. Before her big speech, she has a few tête-à-têtes first. She needs to test out her material before her big act.

With Aggo:

Aggo would have added the weapons Drogo’s bloodriders had given Dany for bride gifts as well, but she forbade it. “Those are mine,”she told him, “and I mean to keep them.”

Can’t let a good weapon go to waste, amiright? Human life on the other hand…

With Jorah:

“Viserys is dead. I am his heir, the last blood of House Targaryen. Whatever was his is

mine now.”

Maybe, she does need to workshop this shit in Essos for a while. Yikes. -1

Everybody else:

“You will be my khalasar,” she told them. “I see the faces of slaves. I free you. Take off your collars. Go if you wish, no one shall harm you. If you stay, it will be as brothers and sisters, husbands and wives.” The black eyes watched her, wary, expressionless. “I see the children, women, the wrinkled faces of the aged. I was a child yesterday. Today I am a woman. Tomorrow I will be old. To each of you I say, give me your hands and your hearts, and there will always be a place for you.”

That’s actually sweet. +1

I wonder how that will work out for them? (No spoilers, guys! Just kidding. I’ve read canon and fanon and sooooooo many bad takes. Spoil away). In the meantime, let’s check in with the last two people Dany “saved”.

First up, is Eroeh, “the timid girl Dany had rescued outside the mud walls of the Lamb Men.”

Insider tip. When Dany says “rescued”, what she reall means is that she took the girl in as a personal slave after her husband’s thugs gang-raped her...for the Iron Throne...look, I’m confused too. But still, it’s a nice little trick to keep someone loyal. Eroeh only got slapped a little by her “savior”, but she knew from experience it could have been so much worse.

Eroeh stared fearfully at Drogo where he lay.

“He dies,” she whispered. Dany slapped her. “The khal cannot die. He is the father of the stallion who mounts the world. His hair has never been cut. He still wears the bells his father gave him.”

But then Dany went into labor at the most inconvenient time, and Eroeh...well, let’s see, what happened to her:

“Eroeh?” asked Dany, remembering the frightened child she had saved outside the city of the Lamb Men.

“Mago seized her, who is Khal Jhaqo’s bloodrider now,” said Jhogo. “He mounted her high and low and gave her to his khal, and Jhaqo gave her to his other bloodriders. They were six. When they were done with her, they cut her throat.”

Okay, Chispas, that was horrible. I’m truly sorry that we had to re-examine that scene. But what about the second person Dany saved? Surely they had a better fate?

That was Mirri. Our blood sacrifice, remember? Keep up!

Okay, -2 for Dany for making promises she’s already proven unable to keep. Still, It can only go up for her from here, right? Well...we’ll get back to that, later.

Right now, it’s time for our second orator to take the stage.

Melisandre only has “years beyond count” on Dany, so it’s almost an unfair competition. And she has the wind behind her back. Her man, Stanny, finally won a battle… never mind that it was against a bunch of refugees, during a supposed armistice. What does our Lady Red have to say?

Beneath the weeping Wall, Lady Melisandre raised her pale white hands. “We all must choose,” she proclaimed. “Man or woman, young or old, lord or peasant, our choices are the same.” Her voice made Jon Snow think of anise and nutmeg and cloves. She stood at the king’s side on a wooden scaffold raised above the pit. “We choose light or we choose darkness. We choose good or we choose evil. We choose the true god or the false.”

Strong start. Her voice somehow sounds like it smells good. +1

“If the Wall falls, night falls as well, the long night that never ends. It must not happen, will not happen! The Lord of Light has seen his children in their peril and sent a champion to them, Azor Ahai reborn.”

Look folks, we’ve got a professional hype-man in the house! +1

“FREE FOLK!” cried Melisandre. “Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness!”

ALL CAPS means she knows how to project. +1

And then boom. She just jumps right into the fire (figuratively...not literally. When I make this comment again later, with Dany, I will mean literally)...but I’m not ready for fire-play just yet. Does Mel have anything else to say?

“The Lord of Light made the sun and moon and stars to light our way, and gave us fire to keep the night at bay,” Melisandre told the wildlings. “None can withstand his flames.”

“None can withstand his flames,” the queen’s men echoed.

Mel has backup singers. Dany didn’t. +2 points to Mel.

Look, Mel had an unfair advantage. She’s a professional. She’s been on tour before. She has a few platinum records under her belt. Dany is the ingenue, who doesn’t even have her first single out. Still, this is a competition. Points must be tallied.

But wait, this is a Jon chapter. We can’t award him points, when Mel was doing all the work. In fact, I’m docking him a point.

Dany X: -1/Jon III: -1

It’s neck and neck, and they’re both under water, but at least Dany is putting her back into it. I’m not impressed with Jon. He is giving me real mediocre white man vibes, so far. It’s almost like he’s not into ritual sacrifice....which would be totally lame, right?

I know the rest of you are all itching for the murder part, but you’ll have to wait for Part III, when we’ll really dig into the charred meat of the matter.

I apologize for everything, but regret nothing.

#chispas does a meta #part II #I spent waaay to much time on this today #enjoy #anti daenerys targaryen #dark!dany #asoiaf meta #asoiaf snark #fire and blood sacrifices #longpost #don't tell me if I messed up the math #I don't care

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

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Chispas Does a Meta, Pt. III

Murders & Miracles! Yay!

(Watch me make a liar of myself and not use a single pun)

Welcome back! If this is your first time watching me meta, let me send you back to Part I and Part II of Chispas does a Meta...because apparently I’m long-winded, and can’t get my point across in one post.

Now, for those of you who know what’s up…

Should we do a murder?? OR TWO?

We’ll go in chronological order. Daenerys, show me what you’ve got:

“Is it so far from madness to wisdom?” Dany asked. “Ser Jorah, take this maegi and bind her to the pyre.”

“To the . . . my queen, no, hear me . . . ”

“Do as I say.” Still he hesitated, until her anger flared. “You swore to obey me, whatever might come. Rakharo, help him.”

Way to speak truth to power there, Jorah, you weasel. Sidenote - someone asked me a long time ago to write about the differences between Jon and Dany’s anger, and...sorry anon, this is the probably the closest you are going to get from me...which is not close at all.

The godswife did not cry out as they dragged her to Khal Drogo’s pyre and staked her down amidst his treasures. Dany poured the oil over the woman’s head herself. “I thank you, Mirri Maz Duur,” she said, “for the lessons you have taught me.”

Once again...Dany going the extra mile. She’s practically a Stark. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Eh? Anybody? Anybody? Fine, the jury is out on whether Ned would be proud here.

“You will not hear me scream,” Mirri responded as the oil dripped from her hair and soaked her clothing.

Mirri is an actual bad-ass and I will never get over this not cluing every reader in on what to expect from D.T. from this moment forward. Shut up, Chispas. Don’t pull a Jon “we’d be pretty old” Snow and ruin the mood. Shut up, Chispas. How dare you bring show quotes into this very serious book meta!

Apologies everyone. Sorry, Dany. Proceed with the murder:

“I will,” Dany said, “but it is not your screams I want, only your life. I remember what you told me. Only death can pay for life.” Mirri Maz Duur opened her mouth, but made no reply. As she stepped away, Dany saw that the contempt was gone from the maegi’s flat black eyes; in its place was something that might have been fear. Then there was nothing to be done but watch the sun and look for the first star.

When a horselord dies, his horse is slain with him, so he might ride proud into the night lands. The bodies are burned beneath the open sky, and the khal rises on his fiery steed to take his place among the stars. The more fiercely the man burned in life, the brighter his star will shine in the darkness.

Jhogo spied it first. “There,” he said in a hushed voice. Dany looked and saw it, low in the east. The first star was a comet, burning red. Bloodred; fire red; the dragon’s tail. She could not have asked for a stronger sign.

Maybe Dany is taking a page out of Mel’s playbook. This is some grade A showmanship. I think she might stick the landing, yet.

Dany took the torch from Aggo’s hand and thrust it between the logs. The oil took the fire at once, the brush and dried grass a heartbeat later. Tiny flames went darting up the wood like swift red mice, skating over the oil and leaping from bark to branch to leaf. A rising heat puffed at her face, soft and sudden as a lover’s breath, but in seconds it had grown too hot to bear. Dany stepped backward.

As long as you don’t look back, babs. Then you are lost.

The wood crackled, louder and louder. Mirri Maz Duur began to sing in a shrill, ululating voice. The flames whirled and writhed, racing each other up the platform. The dusk shimmered as the air itself seemed to liquefy from the heat. Dany heard logs spit and crack. The fires swept over Mirri Maz Duur. Her song grew louder, shriller . . . then she gasped, again and again, and her song became a shuddering wail, thin and high and full of agony.

Maybe I’m weak-willed, but this is truly heinous isn’t the best time I’ve ever had...

And now the flames reached her Drogo, and now they were all around him. His clothing took fire, and for an instant the khal was clad in wisps of floating orange silk and tendrils of curling smoke, grey and greasy. Dany’s lips parted and she found herself holding her breath. Part of her wanted to go to him as Ser Jorah had feared, to rush into the flames to beg for his forgiveness and take him inside her one last time, the fire melting the flesh from their bones until they were as one, forever.

Shit. I almost forgot this is a two-for-one deal. It’s a murder and a funeral. I can’t wait to stop reading about Dany taking a dead man’s penis inside of her, though. (How many books before my man, Daario, shows up again?)

She could smell the odor of burning flesh, no different than horseflesh roasting in a firepit.

I have a bone to pick. (oh no. Is that a whisper of a pun?) When you burn a whole-ass body, it does not smell like your run-of-the-mill backyard barbecue!

It smells rank.

But go on:

The pyre roared in the deepening dusk like some great beast, drowning out the fainter sound of Mirri Maz Duur’s screaming and sending up long tongues of flame to lick at the belly of the night. As the smoke grew thicker, the Dothraki backed away, coughing. Huge orange gouts of fire unfurled their banners in that hellish wind, the logs hissing and cracking, glowing cinders rising on the smoke to float away into the dark like so many newborn fireflies. The heat beat at the air with great red wings, driving the Dothraki back, driving off even Mormont, but Dany stood her ground. She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.

She had sensed the truth of it long ago, Dany thought as she took a step closer to the conflagration, but the brazier had not been hot enough. The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. Mirri Maz Duur had fallen silent. The godswife thought her a child, but children grow, and children learn.

Damn, Dany. Look at this teenager changing the game. We’ve got a murder-funeral-WEDDING combo going on. What’s she gonna pull next?

She just jumps right into the fire (and I do mean literally this time).

Our FIRST Miracle

Her vest had begun to smolder, so Dany shrugged it off and let it fall to the ground. The painted leather burst into sudden flame as she skipped closer to the fire, her breasts bare to the blaze, streams of milk flowing from her red and swollen nipples. Now, she thought, now, and for an instant she glimpsed Khal Drogo before her, mounted on his smoky stallion, a flaming lash in his hand. He smiled, and the whip snaked down at the pyre, hissing.

She heard a crack, the sound of shattering stone. The platform of wood and brush and grass began to shift and collapse in upon itself. Bits of burning wood slid down at her, and Dany was showered with ash and cinders. And something else came crashing down, bouncing and rolling, to land at her feet; a chunk of curved rock, pale and veined with gold, broken and smoking. The roaring filled the world, yet dimly through the firefall Dany heard women shriek and children cry out in wonder.

Only death can pay for life.

I appreciate that Dany is still gauging her audience’s reaction, even as she is maybe about to burn to death. I do not appreciate GRRM’s fixation on women’s nipples. Also, I do not appreciate the murder.

And there came a second crack, loud and sharp as thunder, and the smoke stirred and whirled around her and the pyre shifted, the logs exploding as the fire touched their secret hearts. She heard the screams of frightened horses, and the voices of the Dothraki raised in shouts of fear and terror, and Ser Jorah calling her name and cursing. No, she wanted to shout to him, no, my good knight, do not fear for me. The fire is mine. I am Daenerys Stormborn, daughter of dragons, bride of dragons, mother of dragons, don’t you see? Don’t you SEE? With a belch of flame and smoke that reached thirty feet into the sky, the pyre collapsed and came down around her. Unafraid, Dany stepped forward into the firestorm, calling to her children.

DAMN. This is a birth, too??? Girl, spread out your life events, why don’t you. This is going to be an HR nightmare.

The third crack was as loud and sharp as the breaking of the world.

Not ominous at all.

When the fire died at last and the ground became cool enough to walk upon, Ser Jorah Mormont found her amidst the ashes, surrounded by blackened logs and bits of glowing ember and the burnt bones of man and woman and stallion. She was naked, covered with soot, her clothes turned to ash, her beautiful hair all crisped away . . . yet she was unhurt.

The cream-and-gold dragon was suckling at her left breast, the green-and-bronze at the right. Her arms cradled them close. The black-and-scarlet beast was draped across her shoulders, its long sinuous neck coiled under her chin. When it saw Jorah, it raised its head and looked at him with eyes as red as coals.

I’m speechless. I feel like Stefan. This murder HAD EVERYTHING! A funeral, a wedding, a birth, and three motherfucking DRAGONS!

Whaaaaaaaaaa. I can barely catch my breath. Unfortunately, we don’t have time to dwell on this miracle just yet, because we need to check in with that other murder. Capitalism, right? Just back-to-back meetings all the time. What a grind.

Come on, Melly-belly! DO YOUR THING!

“FREE FOLK!” cried Melisandre. “Behold the fate of those who choose the darkness!”

The Horn of Joramun burst into flame.

Wait, but how? Where is the torch? Is there no torch? Is this...magic? Melisandre is bringing it right from the start. Color-me-intrigued.

Jon, are you impressed?

It went up with a whoosh as swirling tongues of green and yellow fire leapt up crackling all along its length. Jon’s garron shied nervously, and up and down the ranks others fought to still their mounts as well. A moan came from the stockade as the free folk saw their hope afire. A few began to shout and curse, but most lapsed into silence. For half a heartbeat the runes graven on the gold bands seemed to shimmer in the air. The queen’s men gave a heave and sent the horn tumbling down into the fire pit.

Inside his cage, Mance Rayder clawed at the noose about his neck with bound hands and screamed incoherently of treachery and witchery, denying his kingship, denying his people, denying his name, denying all that he had ever been. He shrieked for mercy and cursed the red woman and began to laugh hysterically.

Jon watched unblinking.

Hmm..our newest lord commander is playing this close to the vest.

The horn crashed amongst the logs and leaves and kindling. Within three heartbeats the whole pit was aflame. Clutching the bars of his cage with bound hands, Mance sobbed and begged. When the fire reached him he did a little dance. His screams became one long, wordless shriek of fear and pain. Within his cage, he fluttered like a burning leaf, a moth caught in a candle flame.

Once again, this is truly awful maybe not what I would choose to do on a Saturday. But, what do I know? I’m soft.

Let’s check in with Jon. Is he impressed yet?

Jon found himself remembering a song

Spoiler: it’s The Dornishman’s Wife. Someone smarter than me needs to explain why it’s this song.

He found himself thinking about Sam and Maester Aemon, about Gilly and the babe. She will curse me with her dying breath, but I saw no other way. Eastwatch reported savage storms upon the narrow sea. I meant to keep them safe. Did I feed them to the crabs instead? Last night he had dreamed of Sam drowning, of Ygritte dying with his arrow in her (it had not been his arrow, but in his dreams it always was), of Gilly weeping tears of blood.

Okay Jon, you absolutely should be feeling guilty about what you did to to Gilly, but...

There is a time and a place for self-doubt and daydreams. Not sure this is it. Don’t pull a dad move and nod off during the encore of the concert. THERE IS A MAN BURNING ALIVE IN FRONT OF YOU.

Are you sufficiently in awe? Does this transcend regular old murder, and perhaps even feel like a wedding??? or a birth??? Is there a dragon stirring inside you?

Jon Snow had seen enough. “Now,” he said.

Ulmer of the Kingswood jammed his spear into the ground, unslung his bow, and slipped a black arrow from his quiver. Sweet Donnel Hill threw back his hood to do the same. Garth Greyfeather and Bearded Ben nocked shafts, bent their bows, loosed.

One arrow took Mance Rayder in the chest, one in the gut, one in the throat. The fourth struck one of the cage’s wooden bars, and quivered for an instant before catching fire. A woman’s sobs echoed off the Wall as the wildling king slid bonelessly to the floor of his cage, wreathed in fire. “And now his Watch is done,” Jon murmured softly. Mance Rayder had been a man of the Night’s Watch once, before he changed his black cloak for one slashed with bright red silk.

Whenever someone disappoints her, my mother likes to sing “every party needs a pooper, that’s why we invited you.” If Mel were my mom, she’d absolutely be singing that to Jon right about now.

What do you have to say for yourself, young man?

(someone who wishes to remain unnamed made this specifically for me, and I am extremely grateful. I also totally understand why they want to stay as far away as possible from this hot garbage. I still love you!)

Due to Jon Snow’s untimely interference, I’m interrupting scheduled miracle programming to talk about POV Trap

First we have Daenerys. Alas, she is not the unreliable narrator I want to discuss. She’s knows who she is:

She was the blood of the dragon, and the fire was in her.

She knows what she wants:

the Seven Kingdoms that by rights were hers

She even at least until the point in which she jumps into the fire has a grasp on what everyone is thinking about her. It would be hard not to, seeing as they are pretty up front about it.

When she asks Jhogo, Aggo, and Rkharo to be her bloodriders:

Jhogo took the whip from her hands, but his face was confused. “Khaleesi, “ he said hesitantly, “this is not done. It would shame me, to be bloodrider to a woman.”

Aggo accepted the bow with lowered eyes. “I cannot say these words. Only a man can lead a khalasar or name a ko.”

“You are khaleesi,” Rakharo said, taking the arakh. “I shall ride at your side to Vaes Dothrak beneath the Mother of Mountains, and keep you safe from harm until you take your place with the crones of the dosh khaleen. No more can I promise.”

She nodded, as calmly as if she had not heard his answer, and turned to the last of her champions.

Three strikes and you’re out right? I’m told that’s how these things work. But then, we’d be leaving out poor Jorah, and we don’t want to hurt a slave trader’s feelings, do we?

And I would ask for your oath as well.”

“You have it, my queen,” Ser Jorah said, kneeling to lay his sword at her feet. “I vow to serve you, to obey you, to die for you if need be.”

“Whatever may come?”

“Whatever may come.”

“I shall hold you to that oath. I pray you never regret the giving of it.” Dany lifted him to his feet. Stretching on her toes to reach his lips, she kissed the knight gently and said, “You are the first of my Queensguard.”

Jorah is such a simp. It’s pretty clear from the rest of them, however, that they aren’t buying what Dany is selling (so far). And she knows it. Dany isn’t crazy. She’s doing a murder with all her wits about her.

Enough about Dany, though. As I said, she isn’t the unreliable narrator I’m interested in.

I want to discuss Jon “I don’t know who my mother is and it makes me sad” Snow, instead.

JON. Back up. You don’t even know who your father is. If you don’t know yourself, how do you expect me to trust anything else you say/think/do/brood about?

You don’t even know who is actually getting burned alive, you little dum dum. (Reminder: it isn’t actually Mance*. For everyone waiting for a canon Benjen Stark/Mance Raydar romance, hope lives!)

You don’t know who you are

You don’t know what’s going on

And yet, we’re stuck with your moody little bitch perspective for the best bonfire in the North since Hardhome blew itself up six centuries ago!

Chispas, you’re asking, what do you mean by “moody bitch perspective”? I’ve been sprinkling in it, but let lay out the evidence of Jon’s badditude.

A. This is his castle, and yet he’s not even doing the murder. Weak.

B. Not only is he not doing the murder. He goes out of his way to try and persuade Stannis not to do it. Buzzkill.

“Mance knows the haunted forest better than any ranger,” Jon had told King Stannis, in his final effort to convince His Grace that the King-Beyond-the-Wall would be of more use to them alive than dead. “He knows Tormund Giantsbane. He has fought the Others. And he had the Horn of Joramun and did not blow it. He did not bring down the Wall when he could have.”

His words fell on deaf ears. Stannis had remained unmoved. The law was plain; a deserter’s life was forfeit.

C. When that doesn’t work, he becomes quite judgmental about the execution of the execution. Rude.

Mance Rayder wore only a thin tunic that left his limbs naked to the cold.

They could have let him keep his cloak, Jon Snow thought, the one the wildling woman patched with strips of crimson silk.

Small wonder that the Wall was weeping.

Oh, Jon.

It is too cold for this mummer’s show, thought Jon.

For a man who chose to live his life on the Wall, Jon sure does complain about the cold a lot.

D. Most damning of all, Jon interferes with proceedings and kills Mance/Rattleshirt, before he’s even properly burned to death. Saboteur.

Up on the platform, Stannis was scowling. Jon refused to meet his eyes. The bottom had fallen out of the wooden cage, and its bars were crumbling. Every time the fire licked upward, more branches tumbled free, cherry red and black.

Jon’s interference does not however stop Mel & Stan’s big plans. They are professionals, after all, and the show must go on.

Bring forth a Miracle!

The red woman’s robes of deep-dyed scarlet swirled about her, and her coppery hair made a halo round her face. Tall yellow flames danced from her fingertips like claws. “FREE FOLK! Your false gods cannot help you. Your false horn did not save you. Your false king brought you only death, despair, defeat … but here stands the true king. BEHOLD HIS GLORY!”

Stannis Baratheon drew Lightbringer.

The sword glowed red and yellow and orange, alive with light. Jon had seen the show before … but not like this, never before like this. Lightbringer was the sun made steel. When Stannis raised the blade above his head, men had to turn their heads or cover their eyes. Horses shied, and one threw his rider. The blaze in the fire pit seemed to shrink before this storm of light, like a small dog cowering before a larger one. The Wall itself turned red and pink and orange, as waves of color danced across the ice. Is this the power of king’s blood?

Okay...okay...for those of us who watched the previous performance, I have to say a flaming sword is perhaps not quite as dramatic as birthing three dragons, but you know, Jon wasn’t around for performance #1.

Is he properly impressed now???

Cold, he thought, and getting colder. This mummer’s show has gone on long enough.

I’ll take that as a no.

What does Jon “never mind about comets” Snow need to see to be impressed? (if one of you filthy jonsas** responds with a radiant Sansa quote, I swear I’ll...kiss you on the lips)

So all of this begs the question; why did GRRM write one ritual murder sacrifice from the POV of the murderer Chosen One™ in Book I, and then go and write a second ritual murder sacrifice four books later that follows many of the same beats but from the perspective of a skeptic killjoy, who just happens to be considered the other Chosen One™ of the series?

What is ol’ Georgie up to?

As you may suspect, I have some thoughts. Once again, you are going to have to wait for them though, because the night is long and full of terrors, and I need a coffee break.

Also, said thoughts are decidedly less fun than the party mood of parts I, II, & III of this meta, and I don’t want to pull a Jon Snow, and ruin the vibes.

---

*If Jon knew it was Rattleshirt, do you think he would still have put him out of his misery? I guess we'll never know!

**it would be disingenuous not to admit that the author is also a filthy jonsa. Absolute sincerity at all times is a key tenet of Chispas’s personal philosophy.

#dark daenerys #valyrianscrolls #stark vs targaryen #asoiaf meta #parallels #AGOT #ADWD #Chispas does a meta #dark dany #murders and miracles oh my #the strikethroughs are obnoxious #I'll admit it

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

Note

l*dyofbraavos screenshot’d one of your d*ny-critical posts, fyi

the one that mentioned eroeh

lol, they must have me blocked because I can't find it.

I hope they're having fun with whichever post it is.

If we're not having fun, then what's the point, right?

#fandom nonsense #I have some good lines in chispas does a meta #though everything about eroeh is sad #so doubt they made screenshots about my fyre festival comparisons #which is too bad #some of my best work #if you ask me #my asks #I did see enough to find they are a stark AND targ loyalist #which lol

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chispas-and-broken-bindings · 3 years

Text

Chispas Does a Meta, Pt. I

and it doesn’t even mention Daario*...I know, right?

Sometimes I live in the country,

Sometimes I live in the town;

Sometimes I get a great notion

To jump into the river … and drown - Lead Belly

(Above quote used for no reason whatsoever)

Chapters in Question

Daenerys X AGOT

Jon III ADWD

I will also be pulling a few quotes from Daenerys IX AGOT & Daenerys I ACOK. For funsies.

Why these chapters? Fire & Blood sacrifices, baby.

Let’s meet our sacrificial lambs

Daenerys X, AGOT

Bound hand and foot, Mirri Maz Duur watched from the dust with disquiet in her black eyes. “It is not enough to kill a horse,” she told Dany. “By itself, the blood is nothing. You do not have the words to make a spell, nor the wisdom to find them. Do you think bloodmagic is a game for children? You call me maegi as if it were a curse, but all it means is wise. You are a child, with a child’s ignorance. Whatever you mean to do, it will not work. Loose me from these bonds and I will help you.”

Get it? Mirri is Lhazareen...who the Dothraki call Lamb men...lamb...sacrificial la— oh never mind.

“I am tired of the maegi’s braying,” Dany told Jhogo. He took his whip to her, and after that the godswife kept silent.

(above quote used and in bold for no reason whatsoever)

Jon III, ADWD

They brought forth the King-Beyond-the-Wall with his hands bound by hempen rope and a noose around his neck.

The Ghost of Christmas future is blowing in to remind everyone who only watched the show, or forgot everything that happened in ADWD, that it’s actually Rattleshirt who is sacrificed, glamored to look like our boy Mance...for reasons.

Speaking of reasons…

CHISPAS….Why ARE WE DOING HUMAN SACRIFICE? Isn’t that like...a crime against humanity**?

We can’t only gaslight and gatekeep our way into being girlbosses, okay? Sometimes we need to do a little murder. Still, for those of you who have forgotten what the context is for these two parallel sacrifices, let me bring you up to speed.

Daenerys X, AGOT is the very last chapter of book I. Dany just lost her baby, her warmongering baby daddy, and all of his warriors and riches (all the slaves worth any $$), because of 300 years of incest and some blood magic gone wrong (thanks Jorah). Despite Dany knowing who to blame (see exhibit A), Mirri had to open her mouth and go all sassy pants with her “liberator” (see exhibit B), so when Dany decides to try a little blood magic of her own, it’s the woman who pays (because for a fantasy, this series has quite a bit of unbearable realism).

Exhibit A:

Ser Jorah had killed her son, Dany knew. He had done what he did for love and loyalty, yet he had carried her into a place no living man should go and fed her baby to the darkness. He knew it too; the grey face, the hollow eyes, the limp. - Daenerys IX, AGOT

Exhibit B:

“You knew,” Dany said when they were gone. She ached, inside and out, but her fury gave her strength. “You knew what I was buying, and you knew the price, and yet you let me pay it.”

“It was wrong of them to burn my temple,” the heavy, flat-nosed woman said placidly. “That angered the Great Shepherd.”

“This was no god’s work,” Dany said coldly. If I look back I am lost. “You cheated me. You murdered my child within me.”

“The stallion who mounts the world will burn no cities now. His khalasar shall trample no nations into dust.”

“I spoke for you,” she said, anguished. “I saved you.”

“Saved me?” The Lhazareen woman spat. “Three riders had taken me, not as a man takes a woman but from behind, as a dog takes a bitch. The fourth was in me when you rode past. How then did you save me? I saw my god’s house burn, where I had healed good men beyond counting. My home they burned as well, and in the street I saw piles of heads. I saw the head of a baker who made my bread. I saw the head of a boy I had saved from deadeye fever, only three moons past. I heard children crying as the riders drove them off with their whips. Tell me again what you saved.”

“Your life.”

Mirri Maz Duur laughed cruelly. “Look to your khal and see what life is worth, when all the rest is gone.”

Goodnight Irene, goodnight Irene, I'll see you in my dreams...Chispas has nothing to say about the above quote. Mirri does a bang-up job of explaining herself.

Where were we now? A yes. The King-beyond-the-Wall of it all.

Approximately one thousand years ago, in A Storm of Swords, when the Wall was under siege by Mance Rayder and his merry horde of wildings, Stannis “epitome of middle child syndrome” Baratheon showed up out of the BLUE to save the Night’s Watch while Jon “most conflicted boi in the North” Snow was supposed to be assassinating Mance. Instead, during the ensuing battle beneath the Wall, Jon guards Mance's tent while his wife, Dalla, gives birth...and dies. Look at Jon: protecting babies, while Jorah...unwittingly murders them. I digress. This is not a meta about Jon and Jorah.

After the battle Jon goes through it. He is imprisoned, released, offered Winterfell and a wilding wife, turns that down, and ends up 998th Commander of the Night’s Watch. Can I get a woop woop for Samwell Tarly?

More importantly for my very important ramblings, during the battle beneath the Wall, Mance is captured by the forces of Stannis Baratheon, along with a bunch of the wildings who weren’t strong enough to escape; a.k.a. the women, children, his baby, elderly, sickly, & injured (this is important later).

Stannis parks his ass at Castle Black and he and Jon Snow set themselves up for a real Chandler/Joey roommate situation in the upcoming A Dance with Dragons.

Gods...that was so much exposition. Can we get back to the murder, already?

Not yet...because I’m tired of typing. On the next episode of Chispas Does a Meta, look forward to “Murder Pyre Assembly for Dummies” & “Dueling Maid-of-Honor Speeches...if your Wedding is actually a Murder, and your guests are literal captives”

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*Daario, you blue-bearded rogue - Part II is fourthcoming (as in it will arrive in approximately four years)

**For Planetos legal inquiries, please contact….literally anyone else.

#my meta #dark dany #anti daenerys targaryen #asoiaf meta #parallels #fire and blood sacrifices #someone more sincere should really be writing this #but here I am #volunteering for a job I'm ill-equipped for #story of my life #Are Mel and Dany actually matrons of honor?#or is Dany the bride #or the mother of the...#shit #this metaphor got away from me

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