#did jaime kind of avoid this or am i forgetting something | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

themusicplayedherlife · 4 years

Text

Of Warmth and Growth

pairing: dick grayson x f!reader characters: reader, the team, dick grayson word count: 7.7k+ warnings: angst, self doubt, and boat load of fluff summary: dealing with a broken heart isn’t easy, but your friend megan is hoping to get you out of that fink by inviting you to her holiday party where you meet someone that might help you move on. a/n: there’s a whole story behind this--originally this was started as a requested oneshot, but i couldn’t bring myself to finish it, so i revamped it and wrote a different story that i posted some time ago. fast forward to november, i made it my goal to finish this before the new year, and i was so close, too, but family took priority. there might also be a disconnect, but I really tried smoothing it over, hopefully I did well. anyway, better late than never, though?

Happy Harbour

December 7, 2019

“Sometimes it’s very hard to move on, but once you move on, you’ll realize it was the best decision you’ve ever made. You’ll see.”

You want to laugh bitterly at Megan’s words, but her sympathetic smile and warm gaze are holding you back from doing so. She’s only trying to help, you’re reminded by your conscious as she continues to spew words of healing and bullshit. Utter bullshit.

Your bitterness wins and you say, “I know,” wanting nothing more than for her to shut up.

Her smile turns sheepish and she pats your hand affectionately before excusing herself to get more coffee, or to get away from you. You wouldn’t blame her if it was the latter, you haven’t exactly been good company to keep around since your break up.

Sighing, your eyes trail to the world on the other side of the small cafe’s window. It’s bustling and full of people with shopping bags, all of them preparing for the holidays. It really is a different world outside, you muse. Everything inside the coffee shop is warmer and cozier—quieter compared to the outside. It almost, almost makes you forget about your broken heart that was ripped and stomped on by the person you thought loved and cared for you, things that you still, unfortunately, feel for them.

Your red-haired friend comes back with two styrofoam cups instead of one, and she sets one down in front of you, taking her seat across from you once more. “I got you another earl grey.”

You pick up the warm styrofoam, enjoying the heat against your palm. “Thank you.”

Megan doesn’t say anything for once, instead she watches the world with you, letting only the soft jazz of the cafe to envelop you. You can tell she’s going over something in her mind, she’s never this quiet unless she’s thinking, and that’s—usually—never a good thing, at least not when it pertains to you.

It’s not until you’re halfway done with your drink that she finally speaks, having grown restless with her thinking. She’s looking at you, her eyes narrowed and a little shaky, never really making contact with your own, but still facing your direction. “Sooo, I was thinking,” she drawls, “Conner and I are inviting some of our old friends over for a little get together this weekend and I thought, hey, maybe I can convince my best friend in the whole universe to finally meet my other friends, you know, I want us all to be friends and—“

“You’re rambling.”

“Right; sorry. It’s not going to be a huge thing, just a few of us watching crappy movies and drinking spiked eggnog, maybe play some games or something.” She reaches for your hand holding your drink and finally meets your eyes. “And I really want you to be there. What do you say, huh?”

“Megan,” you start warningly.

She raises a hand as a peace sign. “I know, I know! You said you wanted to keep a low profile this holiday season, but I really want to introduce you. They’re really nice people, a little odd, but so am I and you’re still my friend!”

You purse your lips, mulling over the idea. “Are the girls going to be there?”

“Yes! Well, Karen will be, I’m not sure about Wendy, yet. Should probably ask her tonight.”

Again, you think it over. Not only will you be in a small, confined space with a lot of people (she might have said it wasn’t going to be huge, but you and her have different definitions for small and huge), you’re going to be stuck in a confined space with strangers. It doesn’t sound very pleasing, but then again, you haven’t been very pleasant and there’s no denying that you always dodged her past intents to get you and her friends to hang out, and yet, she’s still here, trying to cheer you up.

You owe it to her.

“Okay, I’ll go.” She immediately squeals. Loudly. Blushing, you look around the cafe, and just as you feared, everyone in the small cafe is looking at you. You sigh, lifting a hand to stop her from over exerting herself—and from embarrassing you any further. “Just don’t expect me to bring anything.”

“That’s fine! That’s fine! As long as you bring yourself, I’m content.”

You’re going to regret it, you just know it.

Happy Harbour

December 14, 2019

You tug at the hem of your outfit, uncomfortable. You could hear the loud laughter of the people inside accompanied by the soft hum of Megan’s holiday playlist. In your hand is a Tupperware full of brigadeiro, a Brazilian dessert your grandma used to make for the holidays before she completely quit eating sweet things (in front of your mom anyway).

Fingers tighten around the container. Maybe you should go... You could always deal with an angry Megan later.

“Are you going to go in or are you just going to stare at the wreath all night?” A deep, amused voice registers in your mind and your body jerks in response, almost making you drop the Tupperware if it weren’t for the steady hand holding you against their strong, chest. “Whoa, there!” he exclaims, warm air fanning over your neck. “You all right?”

He doesn’t allow you to pull away until he steadies you, making sure you’re upright before letting you go. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you breathe out. “Thank you.”

He chuckles and you whirl around to meet your assailant and savior—and holy fuck is he gorgeous. They were gorgeous, too, but in that average kind of way. Nothing about them stood out to people, but to you? They were the most beautiful person you had ever seen. But this man in front of you, you had to be stupid not to notice how gorgeous he is. Striking blue eyes peering into you, a mischievous glint in them and matched by the lopsided smirk adorning his face; unruly black locks in waves and falling to one side as he runs his fingers through his hair. There’s something distinctly boyish and alluring about him that it renders you speechless.

“Megan never told me she had such a gorgeous friend,” he suddenly says. Or maybe not so suddenly because you’re sure his mouth had been moving before you allowed yourself to fall under his spell.

Hold on.

Wait a second.

Gorgeous?

Did he really just call you gorgeous, too?

Your throat closes and your eyes widen, hopefully not comically or at all because holy shit. A really gorgeous man just called you gorgeous. The last person to ever compliment was your mom. But she’s your mom. She’s supposed to think you’re pretty good looking. And before that it was them. And realizing it now, they probably never even meant it. So this? This is new and weird and what the fuck are you supposed to say to something like that to someone like him. “I—“

A draft of air hits your back as the door is swung open behind you. The Christmas music that Megan has been preparing since June is louder than before without the door closed.

“You’re here,” she squeals, wrapping her arms from behind you, her chin settling on your shoulder. “I’m so happy you came!” She kisses your cheek messily and something sweet and alcoholic fills your nostrils. “And you brought something!”

“Yeah, yeah! Don’t make it a thing.” You laugh, pulling away as she makes a show of having to let you go. “How much eggnog have you had?”

“Not too much.” Her eyes turn to the other guest and her eyes brighten. “Dick!” Dick? What kind of name is Dick? Was his mom angry at his dad? Noticing your stare, he smiles down at you, amusement never leaving his face before he turns to Megan. “You’re here! Wally and the others are already here.” She moves away from the door to let you both in.

Dick gestures to the inside of her apartment. “After you.”

Blinking owlishly, you thank him and enter the loud apartment full of people you don’t recognize—well, mostly of people you don’t recognize. There’s Karen and Mal by the Christmas tree talking to a redhead and a blonde, who Dick makes his way over to after excusing himself. Wendy is with Marvin by the snack table, the two arguing—really it's Marvin arguing—about which dessert is the best for the holidays, and a few other really gorgeous and fit people. Why are all of her friends ridiculously good looking?

“You okay?” Megan asks, her hand settling on your shoulder and squeezing lightly.

Your head swivels in her direction. “What?”

“You were frowning,” she says softly. “Hey, if I forced you to be here—“

“No,” you interrupt her quickly. “No, I’m glad you invited me, I just—I’ll be okay. I promise. You were right about me having to move on. I can’t avoid society forever because of a broken heart. I just need to get used to… this,” you say, moving your eyes around the party of people that seemed to already be coupled off.

She smiles gently but doesn’t seem all that convinced. “I’m right here if you need me, okay?” She takes the Tupperware from your hands. “Come on, let's say hi to everyone.” When you bristle, as you take off your coat, she laughs. “In moderation.”

An hour into the party and you’ve already become acquainted with mostly everyone at the party. You meet Wally and Artemis, the couple who were with Karen and Mal when you first arrived; Raquel and her baby boy, Amistad. Cassie and Tim; Jaime and Bart; Gar and some really weird guy who keeps glaring at Conner; Kaldur, who looks strangely familiar—and only smiles when you mention it before being pulled away by Megan—and Barbara, who eyes you momentarily before flashing you a warm smile. She’s a little intimidating, if you’re being honest.

There are still a few more people you have yet to meet, but you seriously need a break, and you say as much to Megan.

“You said a little party,” you say accusingly, as if you hadn’t known this was her definition of small.

She laughs, her arm hooked around yours as she pulls you towards the spread of food and drinks. “It is little!” She lets go of you, opens the treats you made and places them between all the others. She then grabs a clean cup to fill it with eggnog before handing it to you. “Here! Conner and I made it, so it might not be… good.”

You take a tentative sip of the thick liquid made out of egg and spices and doused with alcohol and holy fuck do you regret it. “You and Conner made this?” you sputter, the taste of bourbon lingering strongly on your tongue.

She pouts. “The recipe called for a ton of bourbon to counteract the sweetness!”

You pull the cup away and eye the liquid with scrutiny. “Did you put a whole bottle of Bourbon from Costco in here?”

“Yes?” she answers, a little unsure. “Probably. I don’t actually remember.”

Conner comes up from behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “Enjoying yourselves?”

She tilts her head to kiss him on his cheek continuously and smiles. “Always.”

You avert your gaze.

“It’s good to see you again,” Conner addresses you after they’ve had their fill of small pecks. Honestly, you don’t blame them for being so affectionate and in love. It wasn’t that long ago that the two finally decided to give each other another chance after a falling out that Megan still doesn’t want to talk about. And again, you don’t blame her. You don’t want to talk about the reason why you and your ex broke up either, let alone think about it.

You hum and reluctantly move your gaze back to their interlocked embrace. You manage a smile. “Same to you. Been a while hasn’t it?”

Before he can reply, Gar interrupts with a call of their names. He’s standing near the fireplace with Bart, leaning over something. “Come check this out!”

Megan wiggles out of Conner’s hold and instead grabs his hand to lead him towards the boys. “Don’t go anywhere!”

Conner flashes an exasperated glance at you over his shoulder, which you return, before he wraps his arms around Megan again—the two laughing and joking about who knows what as they close the distance between them and the boys.

Sighing, you take another sip of the eggnog and your face scrunches in response to the liquid coating your tongue. “Bleh.”

“Fell victim to the spiked eggnog, I see,” a voice cuts through your thoughts as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Eyes snap up to meet the familiar, amused gaze of Dick. “Uh, yeah.”

He offers you a different mug and you eye it suspiciously. He chuckles. “It’s just apple cider, I promise.”

You reluctantly relent, taking the mug he offers as he takes the one you had been drinking. You take a sip, and surprisingly enough, it really is apple cider, no alcohol at all. “Oh, god, thank you.”

He flashes you a pearly smile, and takes a sip of the eggnog without grimacing. “So, how did you meet Megan and Conner?”

“Oh, um, from school. We went to the same high school.” He quirks an eyebrow. “I was a year below them, but I became friends with Megan when she joined the cheerleading team. My friendship with Conner just followed naturally after that.”

His eyes brighten, as if what you’re saying is actually interesting. “Really?”

You curl a piece of loose hair behind your ear. “Uh, yeah. What about you? How did you meet them?”

“Oh, through our families,” he supplies, a little detached, as if it weren’t really important. “Most of us met like that.”

You frown, but try to hide it behind the rim of the mug. “Wow. Then you must’ve known Megan for quite some time, then?”

His eyes flicker to your lips and his turn upwards. “Actually, I’ve probably known her for about the same amount of time as you.”

Wait. If that's true…“Does that mean you went to the Halloween disaster of 2016?” You remember Megan telling you she would be inviting her friends to the dance, and you heard that she did. Maybe he was among them?

He snorts. “Is that what they’re calling it?” You nod eagerly, hoping to hear his side of what happened that night.

“No.” You deflate, and he huffs a laugh. “I wasn’t able to go, had plans that night. Did you?”

You pout, the disappointment you felt at missing that night coming to mind. “Unfortunately, no. I was sick, but I heard from Marvin and the others that it was a night to remember.”

You don’t get to ask him more questions because as soon as you open your mouth, the front door opens to reveal a beautiful girl with dark, raven hair in delicate waves and bright blue eyes entering the room. Immediately, everyone (excluding you, Marvin and Wendy—wtf Karen?) recognizes her and greet her with a loud exclaim of her name, “Zatanna!”

Dick turns to you and you already know that he’s about to excuse himself. “Do you mind if—“

You shake your head interrupting him with, “No, no, go ahead.”

Surprisingly, he reaches for your arm and squeezes gently. “I’ll be right back.”

You blink after him and mutter, “Yeah. Okay.”

“Be right back” doesn’t happen. He stays by the pretty girl’s side, the two of them being overly familiar with one another—tight hugs, continuous small touches, long eye contact, leaning against one another. You wouldn’t be surprised if they dated at some point, to be honest; or maybe they are dating—ugh. Why does the thought of it bother you?

“You all right?” Wendy softly asks, her kind eyes full of worry and briefly moving to Karen by the entrance.

What’s that about?

You try to keep from frowning. “I think I just need some fresh air,” you assure her.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just be out for a moment, besides—“ you flick your eyes to Marvin by the dessert table stuffing his face with walnut bread—“I think you’d better stay to make sure Marvin doesn’t eat all the walnut bread.”

“Oh—damn it, Marvin!” She sighs ready to chastise her boyfriend, but she pauses to look at you. “Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

You hum in agreement and watch as she saunters over to Marvin before turning on your heels and stepping out through the sliding doors leading to the balcony.

The cold winter air bites your skin, your long sleeved turtleneck not enough to combat the cold, but just thinking about going back inside makes you try to suck it up. You cover your mouth with your sleeve as you lean against the railing—Happy Harbor lights glinting brightly in the dark.

Maybe you should leave. You’ve been here a good amount of time to deem acceptable, right? You’ve met some of Megan’s friends and even talked to a few of them for a while, and you didn’t show an ounce of disgruntlement—as far as you know—so you should be good right?

An ache fills your chest, pulsing slowly as you let out a long sigh. God, what happened to you? You weren’t always like this. So closed off and unwilling to spend time with your friends. You’ve practically been unconsciously ignoring Karen and Mal, attaching yourself to Megan when she is alone, or staying with Marvin and Wendy because they act least like a couple compared to your old classmates. And the moment the one person you’ve talked to for an extended period of time at the party joins his pretty friend, you become bitter about it!

You need help.

Something heavy lands on your shoulders and back, strong cologne filling your nostrils and making you jump.

“Woah, easy, it’s just me.”

Startling blue eyes twinkle with mischief and your shoulders drop, heat combatting the cold air. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on people?”

He just grins and settles in the space beside you, eyes sweeping over the town you grew up in. “My job kind of requires that I do.”

You slip your arms through the sleeves of his coat, ignoring the fact that it’s not exactly your size. It’s warm anyway. “Thank you.” You lean forward, tightening the coat to fit you snuggly. “What kind of job requires you to have ninja like stealth?”

He chuckles, meeting your gaze. “I’m an officer at Bludhaven PD, trying to become detective.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Bludhaven? Really?”

He hums, elbow resting on the railing and cupping his cheek.

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Gotham has its norierty, but so does Bludhaven. It was basically untapped, scandals and crimes hidden behind a veil created by corrupt officials, until a couple of years ago when it all came to light with Nightwing’s arrival.

“Yeah,” he drawls, mulling it over, “but what isn’t? Anything can be dangerous if you think about it.” He leans closer to you. “Where do you work?”

“Happy Harbour Times, Opinions.”

“Then you must have to deal with a lot of angry readers when you write about something they don’t agree with, right? Threats and angry phone calls and letters. Those can be dangerous, too, right?” he asks cheekily.

You laugh, ducking your head. “I guess you’re right.” There’s still no comparing writing articles to police work, no matter how light of a situation Dick is trying to make it. “Why police work, though? It’s not many people’s first choice. Especially in Bludhaven.”

He shrugs. “Always been interested, I guess.” He leans back, hands holding onto the railing and causing his blue cable knit sweater to wrap tightly around his arm muscles. “My guardian…” Now, that’s an interesting choice of words. “He was—is a fan of mysteries.” His voice is far off, stuck in his jar of memories. “When he took me in, we’d used to solve cases together, most of them taking place in Gotham, where I was raised.” He chuckles. “And I guess from there I just… I just decided I wanted to be a cop.”

“I see... And you decided not to become a cop in Gotham?”

“Gotham has good people looking out for her already.”

“She could always use more.” He cracks a smile, blue eyes twinkling with the city lights as they find yours, and you return it shyly. “But I get it. Bludhaven has become yours, in a way. Separate from your… guardian.”

“In a way,” he repeats, and you have to look away from or else your heart will stop. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

He nudged your shoulder with his. “Happy Harbour Times?”

“Ah.” Your breath comes out in a puff, the night air still growing colder by the hour, but you don’t mind it. Dick doesn’t seem to mind either. “Well, when I was a kid, my third grade teacher told my parents I was a really good writer. So, they got me into workshops and short story competitions,” you recall, remembering the constant competitions your parents would sign you up for without your knowledge sometimes. They did it with good intentions, hoping to help hone your skill, but it was too much sometimes. “Truth is, I hated it. Never really liked… fiction, I guess? Don’t get me wrong, give me a good fiction novel and I will read it for days, but… it… it just wasn’t me,” you confess locking your fingers in place.

“I was about ready to give up on writing when my tenth grade English teacher assigned us a topic to write about and I guess I fell in love with the research and being able to go out and interview people.”

“Yeah? And what was it that you wrote about?”

You bite your lip and find Dick staring at you, a curious glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t laugh?” He promises he won’t. “Robin.”

He chokes on his saliva, eyes growing in disbelief. “As in Batman’s Robin?”

You tuck strands of hair behind your ear, refusing to meet his gaze. “Yeah, um, the prompt was about vigilantes and I chose to write about him instead of the Flash, Batman, Wonder Woman and whoever else everyone wrote about.”

“Why?”

You shrug, trying your best to mask your embarrassment with a blase attitude. “Fighting crime with Batman? That was pretty cool, you know? He was living every kid’s dream.”

“Was he?” he asks, voice soft.

“He was!” you confess, smile blooming on your face as a memory of you and your friends playing as the superhero sidekicks comes to mind. It’s some of your best memories from elementary school. “But I didn’t want to just write about the good. He was a kid seeing some fucked up shit, after all.” You pause to look at him, only to find he’s not looking at you, but at the city lights. There’s something… wistful and forlorn in those blue eyes of his, and you wonder if he’s thinking back on his time in Gotham, seeing Boy Wonder up close and personal. “Being Robin must’ve taken its toll on him, both mentally and physically.

“And I wanted to write about that. Even had my parents drive up to Gotham for the weekend so I could do some snooping, maybe even find Boy Wonder myself.”

Finally he reacts, lips twitching as he turns to look at you. “And how’d that go?”

“I learned that the citizens of Gotham really hate being asked questions.” He chuckles and you smile. “But those who did answer... you can tell they were grateful for him and worried about him. The kid really touched people’s hearts, whether they agreed with his nightly activities with Batman or not.” You tilt your head, watching his eyes light up with your words. “It’s just a shame I didn’t get to interview Robin himself.” You grab hold of the railing and lean forward. “But I’d doubt he’d have given me the time of day if I had gotten the chance to ask him. Probably too busy saving babies and punching villains with Batman.”

“I’m sure he would have made time for you.” Your fingers slip from the metal to turn to look at him, unsure of his sincerity. “How could he not?” His cheeks have become flushed with the cold, nose bright and blue eyes stark against his skin.

You smile, but you’re sure it looks more like an awkward grimace. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” He frowns, sincere eyes knocking your breath away. “I know if he knew someone as sincere as you wanted to ask him some questions for their article, he would have dropped whatever he was doing to help you.”

You don’t know why you stand there, waiting for him to laugh in your face and say his punchline. You don’t know why he just stands there and stares back at you, quiet and shining with sincerity that he’s trying to penetrate into your being. It’s weird and totally unnecessary, but maybe a part of you is desperate to know if he’s really being sincere and a part of him is desperate for you to know he is.

“Hey!” Megan’s voice break through the trance you’re both in. Her head barely poking out into the cold and green eyes narrowing. “Get in here before you both catch something!”

Dick chuckles, attention moving from her to you. “Should we head in?”

You nod mutely, smiling tight lipped.

As you follow Megan inside, the only thing on your mind is that you might have already caught something.

Bludhaven

December 15, 2020

“You’re really not coming home for the Holidays this year?”

Megan is pouting on your computer screen, but you hardly pay her any attention. You have an article on Bludhaven’s growing homelessness due in the morning and you still have some revisions to do. Your little mishap earlier today took time that you were reserving for this article and now you’re running behind.

“‘Fraid not,” you tell her, your voice accompanied by the clicking of your keyboard. “I’ve been overloaded with a ridiculous amount of work this month and I need to get it done before the end of the year.”

From the corner of your eye, you can see her scavenging through boxes of decorations. “Won’t your mom be disappointed you won’t be coming home?”

“Nope,” you pop the “p” as you rewrite a fragment. “She’s coming down to see me instead.”

She stops, head lifting like a prairie dog on alert. “So it’s just going to be you two this year?”

“Maybe. Dick said he might stop by, but he’s not sure.”

“Ooh,” her teasing rings through your quiet bedroom and you roll your eyes.

“It’s not like that, Megan.” You wished it were like that, but it’s not, and maybe it’s for the best. Dick became one of your good friends since the party last year and one of your best friends after you volunteered for a transfer to Bludhaven’s Times earlier this year. You don’t want to mess with what you have, not right now when your life feels perfectly balanced.

“Don't let the person who didn't love you keep you from the person who will,” she says, sounding serious as hell and making you snort and pause in your typing. “Hey! Don’t laugh at my words of wisdom!”

“This has nothing to do with them, Megan. When I said I was finally over them, I meant it.” The moment you were able to look at an old tagged picture of you and them on their friends’ Instagram and you felt nothing, no numbness, no anger nor sadness, just a strange vagueness as if they were a stranger, you knew you were over them. “Dick and I… we like where we are.”

“Boo.”

Conner appear on screen and shakes his head as he wraps his arm around her shoulder. “Don’t listen to her. I respect your decision.”

She rolls her eyes, playfully pushing his head out of the screen. “I respect your decision too, doesn’t mean I agree with it.”

“Heckling does not equate respect, babe.”

You laugh at their antics, their displays of affections no longer bothering you. Now, when you see them you just feel happy, happy for them and for you. Bitterness long gone from your bones, and there’s one person you can thank for that.

Your phone on your desk dings.

Dick 🥳🤩: Chinese food 2nite?

You: only if you promise to get extra egg rolls

Dick 🥳🤩: Got’chu, omw.

“You’re smiling! Why are you smiling? It’s Dick, isn’t it? It’s totally Dick.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your face neutral but knowing you’re doing horribly at it. “I have to go, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Wait, is he coming over?” She gushes, and Conner is back on screen, trying to wrestle the phone out of her grip.

You laugh when you hear a curse from Conner. “I have an article to finish, Megan.”

“You can’t just leave me hanging like this—“

All right, you’ve had enough. “Bye, Megan!”

Megan��: 😨 You hung up on me?

Megan🧡: 😡😡

Megan🧡: Expecting deets tomorrow ❤️

You: goodnight, megan!

It doesn’t take long for Dick to arrive and for you to shove your article aside—you’re almost done with it anyway, nothing wrong with a little break.

The door jingles and as you begin to clear your coffee table—where you and Dick usually eat dinner—of your paperwork, it opens to reveal Dick still wearing his uniform. You smile up at him briefly, gathering everything and taking it over to your round, small dining table that could probably fit four people if you really tried to squeeze them in. “Hey! Let me just grab some plates and we can—“

Before you can finish your sentence, or head into the kitchen, a hand wraps around your wrist, worried crystallized blue eyes staring into you. “Why didn’t you tell me you were almost mugged?”

Ah, hell.

The crack in his voice makes your heart drop to your stomach and your eyes fall down to his ugly black shoes that you make fun of every chance you get just to hear his laugh. “I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t want to worry you.”

Which isn’t a lie. Since you moved to Bludhaven, Dick has been checking up on you more often and even picking you up from work if he has the chance—“Bludhaven isn’t like Happy Harbor. It’s… tougher and harder,” he had said after offering to teach you some self defense moves. You had laughed and said you could handle yourself, but accepted it anyway if it meant spending more time with him.

Today was just bad luck, he was on the other side of the city and you had chosen to take the bus to work that day and hadn’t been paying attention. Next thing you know, you’re being threatened to give your purse up.

His warm fingers leave your wrist and instead they find your chin. Gingerly, he lifts your head to force you to meet his gaze. “When Rohrbach called me on my way here to check up on you because she was worried, I swear my heart almost stopped.” His eyes shine with worry and there’s a twisting in your gut. “What if Louie hadn’t been nearby, huh?”

“I’m okay, Dick,” you reassure him, wanting nothing more than to lean against him, maybe have his lips press a kiss on your forehead. “I handled him pretty well. Used those self defense moves you taught me.” It was why you were able to shake him off and run to the nearest officer for help. Dick inadvertently saved you.

He finally smiles. “Yeah, Rohrbach said you left him pretty bruised up.” His hand under your chin moves to smooth out your hair before cupping the back of your head and pressing you against him. “I need you to be more careful, sweetheart. Need you to be safe.”

Your heart bursts in your chest at the pet-name and you wrap your arms around his waist, fisting the jacket of his uniform tightly. His cologne makes you dizzy—ginger and spices for the holiday. “Only if you promise to stay safe, too.”

“I’ll do my best.” His soft lips land on your forehead briefly before he’s pulling away and you restrain yourself from chasing after him. “Let’s eat? You must be starving.”

“A little,” you admit, and let him pull you toward the couch. “Eating out of the cartons today?”

He flashes you a grin. “Why not?”

As you both settle next to each other on the floor, back being supported by your old couch and you turn on your television as he pulls out the food he bought, you can’t help but think that even if your relationship stay like this with Dick, you wouldn’t mind it.

Bludhaven

December 31, 2020

You check your watch for the umptenth time.

He’s late.

Everyone around you is celebrating, filling the bar with laughter and talk, most of it incoherent over the loud music and the inebriated state most of them are in. You’re only a few hours away from the New Year and people are already drunk out of their minds—this doesn’t spell trouble for the night whatsoever.

Dick 🥳🤩 (7)

7 outgoing calls, all unanswered and completely unlike him. Sure, sometimes he doesn’t answer your calls when he’s busy, that’s a given, but he always sends you a message if he’s going to be late or apologizes for not being able to answer your call. This just not like Dick.

You try calling one more time, covering one ear with your palm to hear the ringing, but just like before, you get sent to voicemail. Worry begins to over take your annoyance. You grab your bag and quickly make your way out of the crowded bar, not caring about the warm bodies complaining.

Driving to his place takes you about thirty minutes with traffic, and you occasionally find yourself cursing at other drivers and yourself. It’s a miracle you don’t get into an accident or pulled over. With his garage key that he gave you, you open the gate and make your way to the space that has become yours over the last couple of months with how much you visit him.

Locking your car with a simple click of the key fob, you power walk to the elevator. One last time, you try calling him, hoping he’ll answer and apologize for being late, but once again it sends you to voicemail just as the elevator doors open on his floor.

“Please be okay,” you whisper to yourself.

Taking out your copy of the key, you slowly insert it and tentatively call out to him as you open the door.

No answer.

You strain your hearing as you swear you hear some shuffling and thumping, but that noise could just be coming from down the hall. He does have some noisy neighbors.

You enter the apartment and close the door behind you. “Dick?”

There’s a crash and you jump, your heart in your throat, but the familiar string of curses eases your fear. You follow the noise and come face to face with a wide eyed Dick shirtless covered in nasty forming bruises in the middle of his bathroom.

A whimper escapes your lips and you rush forward, cupping his face in your hand. “What the hell happened to you? I thought you managed to get the night off?” You turn his head this way and that, and then push him back by grabbing his shoulder to look at his torso and back. Only letting go when he winces at a particularly hard tug. “Oh shit! I’m sorry!”

He grabs your wrists not allowing you to give him space. “You’re not blushing,” he says cheekily, his eyes twinkling even with the slowly forming bruise.

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why would I be—“ Your eyes drag down to his naked torso peppered with old wounds and spanking brand new bruises and you immediately feel a wave of heat spreading through your body. “Oh.”

He laughs softly, chuckling almost, low and a sweet timbre.

But when your eyes fall lower, you’re doused in cold water, black, almost skin tight material—unitard?—and a black holster wrapped around his right leg greeting you. This isn’t his police uniform! What is he wearing? And why does it look like kevlar? “Why are you—“

You’re not allowed a moment to ask because Dick pulls you towards him with a tug of your wrists and you fall against his chest, barely bracing yourself as he wraps his arms around your waist, large hands flat against your back.

“Dick?”

“I’m okay,” he murmurs airily into your hair and you don’t know what to do, you’re pretty sure he can feel and hear your pacing heart.

You repeat his name, trying to pull away from him to look into his eyes. He doesn’t let you.

He inhales. “Just give me a moment and I’ll answer any questions you might have.”

You sigh, warm air brushing against his bare skin, and the hands that braced yourself on the kitchen sink wrap around his torso loosely. “What happened?”

Circles are traced on your shirt, one hand climbing higher to cradle the back of your head. “Remember the guy who tried to rob you?” You nod and hum, remembering that crooked nosed, pale skin idiot who thought you’d be an easy target. “He escaped during transfer today with the help of some of his friends, and I went after them. Off record.”

You pull away from him and look up at him with wide eyes and slack jaw to find his serious gaze on you, lips pulled down into a thin line. “What do you mean off record?” Your throat closes and the back of your nose stings—he went after them ‘cause that man tried hurting you? “Dick, what if something happened—”

His eyes bore into you and his thumb find purchase on your face, tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “It's just a couple of scratches and bruises. I’m okay. I promise.”

You blink back your tears and lean into his touch. “You still shouldn’t have gone by yourself!”

“I didn’t,” he says softly. “I went with a friend.”

Your nose scrunches, your eyes still watery. “Rohrbach?”

He shakes his head. “No. Better, Robin.”

“Robin?” You try to remember if he’s ever mentioned anyone named Robin at the precinct, but you’re pretty sure he hasn’t—“Wait. Robin? As in Batman’s Robin?” His gaze doesn’t change, it remains serious and your heart leaps in your chest. “You really know Robin?”

He finally cracks a smile and you’re half expecting him to say he’s joking (you don’t know which is worse, him joking about knowing Robin when he’s aware how much admiration teen you had for him or finding out that he really went after that thug and his friends on his own!), but instead he answers with a simple, “Yeah.”

“Dick, if you’re—“

He chuckles, his thumb that had been tracing your cheekbone dragging down to your bottom lip, slowly tracing the swell. You would have melted if there weren’t more pressing matters at hand. “I’m not playing with you, sweetheart.”

Your eyes fall to his torso and down to his pants and the hanging arms of his unitard and they snap back up, alarmed. “Are you—does this mean you’re also a—“ you can’t even form a proper sentence, the rushing of your blood flowing through your head and ears drown out your thoughts and voice.

His hands drop from your frame and you take a step back as he adjusts the unitard, slipping into it only to have you gasping at the familiar symbol on his chest—Nightwing.

Without waiting for his permission, your fingers trace the symbol, the material under your fingers soft and somehow firm. A deep ache blooms in your chest, your nose wrinkling and Dick reacts quickly, cupping your face with his now covered hands, and you’d laugh any other time at the fact that his suit is falling forward and down his arms, but you’re too busy trying to keep yourself from crying.

It all makes sense now! His double shifts and all the injuries—gods. How could you have been so blind?

He rubs the corner of your eyes and coos gently, worry swimming in his eyes and honestly, that’s not fair! You’re the only one allowed to be worried right now! “Hey, hey, why are you crying, huh? What’s wrong?”

Your head falls forward and Dick leans down to press his forehead against yours. “This isn’t going to make me worry less about you, Dick.” Your fingers wrap around his thick forearms. “You promised you were going to try staying safe and this,” you pause to sigh, refusing to meet his eyes, ”this isn’t going to keep you safe.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the space between you. “I’m sorry I’m going to make you worry. I’m sorry I’m making you cry. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you say with a sniffle, because it doesn’t. You don’t care that he didn’t tell you he was Nightwing or that he allowed you to gush about Robin when he’s always known who that is. What matters is that now you know Dick is out every night as Nightwing risking his life and you’re not happy about that. That’s what matters.

“But I won’t break my promise.” You squeeze his arm. “I promised you I would try, and ever since that night, I’ve done my best to keep to that, and I always will.” His nose bumps against yours, trying to get you to look at you and you do, suddenly aware of the lack of space between you. “I have someone to come home to now.”

Your eyebrows furrow, and your heart pounds against your rib cage. You’re no longer okay being just friends with Dick, not when he says things like that and when he’s looking at you like this either—like you’re the only thing that matters and all he wants is to keep you trapped in his arms (you wouldn’t fight him if he tried).

Before you can voice anything, coherent or incoherent, your mouth is sealed shut by a paid of chapped lips. It’s a small peck, but it’s enough to send a tumble of acrobats into a frenzy. And all you want is to feel his lips against yours again, and so you meet him halfway after a shallow collection of breath.

Lips move in tandem, heads tilting this way and that and it’s all very much like the passionate romcom movie kisses you’ve seen over the years, the kind you’d dream about every time Dick would kiss different parts of your face and never your lips. It’s all fire and sweetness, like fireworks on a hot summers’ day and watermelon juice dripping down your chin.

A loud boom echoes in the quiet night and you jerk away from Dick, eyes snapping to his bedroom entrance, the windows covered with blinds allowing the bright flashes of light to filter in.

“Did we miss the countdown?” you find yourself asking dumbly, a little breathless and mind still reeling from his intense kiss.

He presses another one to your temple, chuckling. “Does it matter?”

“It’s the New Year!”

“Could really care less,” he grumbles, voice coming from deep in his chest as his lips dragging from the corner of your eyes to your lips, pulling you away from the firework show outside. “Too busy trying to make out with my gorgeous girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” you tease in between kisses.

“Mhmm, have been trying to make her mine for a couple of months now, but she’s pretty clueless. ‘S supposed to be one of the best reporters in all of the tri state area, too.”

“Should’ve said something, Dick. I’m not a mind reader.”

He chuckles, pulling away from your lips for just a moment. “There’s something else you should know.”

“What?” you ask, a little hazily.

“I was Robin.”

And before you can ask him to elaborate on that or you’re allowed to be embarrassed, he closes the distance between you once more and kisses you senseless.

To think you thought you’d regret going to Megan’s a little over a year ago; if only the you from then could see you now, happy and moved on.

#dick grayson x reader #richard dick grayson x reader #robin x reader #nightwing x reader #dick grayson x you #dick grayson x y/n #reader insert #young justice #titans #fanfic #young justice fic #titans fic

210 notes · View notes

sapphires-and-gold-fics · 4 years

Photo

Sense & Sensibility Braime AU Update!

Forget Me, Not

Chapter 16

Nothing occurred in the next four days to make Brienne regret her letter to Catelyn, for Ramsay neither called nor wrote. At the end of so many days, they were engaged at the end of that time to accompany Ser Brynden to a party being held by an acquaintance in the garden district, a party for which Sansa, wholly dispirited and seemingly hardening herself against the world, prepared indifferently and without much care for her appearance. Lost in thought by the hearth, she startled when told that their hour of departure had swiftly come.

They arrived in due time at the large house and entered a room splendidly lit up, quite full of company, and insufferably hot. When they had paid polite tribute to the family, they were permitted to mingle with the crowd. Ser Brynden was called off immediately by his acquaintance to sit at cards, and as Sansa was not in spirits and they did not seem to know anyone else at the fete, she and Brienne looked for and luckily found seats along the wall, at no great distance from his table.

They had not remained in this manner long before Brienne perceived Ramsay Snow standing only a few yards in front of them, in earnest conversation with a young dark-haired lady, perhaps a year older than Sansa, otherwise unescorted, who Brienne thought somewhat familiar. She soon caught Ramsay’s eye, and he immediately nodded in the Miss Starks’ direction but did not move toward them, and continued his conversation. Brienne turned then involuntarily toward Sansa who at that moment first perceived him. Her whole countenance brightened at that moment as if a smoldering flame inside her had re-ignited, and she reached for Brienne’s hand for support.

At last, he turned around again and approached. Sansa started up and pronounced his name in a tone approaching affection, though Brienne thought she could both hear and feel her hesitation, as that feeling was reflected neither in Ramsay’s expression nor his steely eyes as he addressed his pleasantries to Brienne. Yet Sansa would not be ignored.

“What is the meaning of this? Have you not received my letters? Why have you not called?”

Brienne widened her eyes at Sansa but gave her attention back to Ramsay when he continued to address her. “I did myself the honor of calling at Ser Brynden’s home last Tuesday,” he said, “and very much regretted that I was not fortunate enough to find anyone at home. My card was not lost by some foolish servant, I hope.” His smile, to Brienne, seemed guarded and became a proper sneer when Brienne instinctively stood taller against his words.

Sansa responded louder, “For heaven’s sake, Ramsay, what is the matter with--” Brienne squeezed her sister’s hand in silent admonition for so public a familiarity.

He looked on the girl with something like pity, turned hastily with a slight bow, and re-joined his friend - the lady that Brienne was suddenly able to place in her mind. She was, or at the very least had once been, their neighbor in Wintertown before their father had inherited Winterfell. They had not seen Miss Jeyne Poole since they had quitted their childhood home. Neither she nor Ramsay turned their way again. With difficulty, Brienne prevented herself from following the man and persuaded herself to check her agitation, to wait at least with the appearance of composure until she might confront him with her wits about her.

Sansa had turned inward; she was not outwardly flushed, neither was she consolable. In a short time, Brienne saw Ramsay quit the room, telling Sansa he was gone. Sansa straightened her shoulders and begged her sister would entreat Ser Brynden to take them home. Brienne stood, but before she could step toward the table she was blocked by their hostess, whose son was then seated at cards and drawing exclamations and good-natured egging from the Blackfish.

The woman took in Brienne’s height admiringly and then turned to peer at Sansa. “You look unwell, my dear.” Sansa turned barely watery eyes to the older woman and attempted a smile, while Brienne responded, “You have an excellent house my lady, and we would prefer to enjoy the pleasure of your party but, as you have observed, my sister is uncomfortable and I was just seeking our cousin to escort us home.” The woman’s eyes seemed to sparkle. “I am not insulted, my dear. But let us leave the Blackfish to his game, for I believe he is about to swindle my foolish son out of a significant amount of coin, and I would not stop him for the world. I will summon my carriage for you.”

Brienne was astonished at the woman’s candid offer. “That is very kind--” but her thanks were waved away. A sound emitted from Sansa at her elbow which might have been a laugh or a hiccup and earned an amused smile from Lady Olenna. “Go on and collect your things, and my man will meet you at the door. I’ll see that Ser Brynden makes it home eventually with my son’s money of course.”

Brienne knew not what to say and could only restate her thanks, which seemed to irritate the lady more than anything. “It’s nothing my dears. If you’ll pardon an old lady’s saying so, that man Snow is a cad,” this, with an eyebrow raised in Sansa’s direction. “I am mortified that he would behave so rudely to any of my guests, let alone persons acquainted with him. Had I realized how unpleasant he was, I might not have let my grandchildren invite him.”

Sansa looked up finally. “Thank you, Lady Olenna. I can assure you his actions only reflect poorly on himself, and not on your excellent home.”

Olenna reached for the girl’s hand with a smile and patted it. Brienne stood watching this interaction, immensely affected by the alteration of her sister’s demeanor and the unspoken pain behind it.

Brienne’s own situation gained now in comparison; for while she could esteem Jaime as much as ever, however they might be divided in future, her feelings might always be supported, and without shame, for she knew the truth of him.

That some sort of engagement between Sansa and Ramsay had subsisted, Brienne now had no doubt. That Ramsay was weary of it seemed equally clear, for however Sansa might try to suppress her distress now, Brienne could not attribute the man’s behavior to anything by malice, and her indignation toward him would be even stronger had she ever previously believed his motivations to be wholly pure. But to find her sister now stoic and calm was somehow more unnerving than her expectation of the girl’s sensibilities. She feared that this change in her sister would not be without its consequences.

***

Before the housemaid had even lit their fire the next day, or the sun gained any power over the frosty morning, Sansa, only half-dressed, was kneeling against one of the window seats for the sake of all the little light she could command from it. Brienne, roused from her sleep by the agitated scratching of the girl’s instrument, watched her sister for a few minutes with silent anxiety, observing how like her mother she looked; quite as Catelyn had looked the morning after Ned Stark’s passing. Finally, in a tone of most considerate gentleness, Brienne started “Sansa may I ask--”

“No, Brienne,” she replied, “ask nothing, you will soon know all.”

She was calm, determined, much changed in Brienne’s observation from the sister who had so impatiently awaited acknowledgment in their recent history. Brienne paid her every quiet and unobtrusive attention in her power, believing it more than probable that this changeling girl was writing for the last time to Ramsay. After finishing her letter, Sansa dressed and left the room, wandering the house restlessly until breakfast, avoiding the sight of everyone, as if grieving in solitude.

Brienne lay alone when Sansa was gone, contemplating what might take place next. She briefly stroked the binding of her book, the rough texture of the canvas a comfort to her fingertips. Finally, she pushed away the bed coverings and made ready for the day.

The Blackfish was late downstairs, delaying breakfast. When he finally came down, Sansa neither ate nor attempted to eat anything. Brienne’s attention was then all employed, not in urging her, not in pitying her, nor in appearing to even look at her, but in endeavoring to engage Ser Brynden’s notice entirely to herself.

As their breakfast had gone late, it was just visiting hours when they moved to settle in the sitting room, when a letter was delivered to Sansa, which she eagerly caught from the servant before leaving the room without a word. The Blackfish saw the letter exit and chuckled, “Upon my word, I never saw a girl so determined in my life, Miss Stark! My daughter was nothing to her. But Miss Sansa seems quite altered these last few days. I hope he doesn’t keep her waiting much longer. Do you know whether they’ve set a date yet?”

Brienne’s pen froze, and she squared her shoulders at the Blackfish. “I beg, Ser, that you not deceive yourself any longer. I assure you that nothing would surprise me more than to hear of their going to be married.”

“Please, Miss Stark. Do you think your own slyness precludes anyone else from having any senses? I can tell you, for it has been known all over town this ever so long. Lysa and I both have talked of it!”

“Indeed, Ser, you are mistaken.” Ser Brynden chuckled again, and Brienne stood to her full height, abandoning her letter. “You do a very unkind thing in spreading this report Ser, and you will find that you have, though you do not believe me now.” He sobered as Brienne stood over him. Brienne had not the spirit to say more just then, though were Ser Brynden not their host, she might have felt driven to intimidate him to silence further. Yet she was eager to know how Sansa did and hurried instead to their room.

Upon opening the door, Brienne found Sansa curled on her knees by the fire, staring into the flames, parchment grasped tightly in her pale hand. Brienne drew near, but without saying a word, and seated herself beside her on the rug. She took her sister’s hand affectionately, silently coaxing her from her transfixed state. Sansa responded with a deep breath, as if emerging from her trance, looked up at her sister, and then placed two now-slightly pleated sheets into her hands.

“Here,” she said, her voice cracking like the logs on the hearth. “These are the only ones I’ve not yet burnt.” Brienne noticed then, the poker was posed upright, angling out from the flames, turning red-hot, the remnants of the other letters little more than ash at its base. Brienne sat back and curled her legs under her skirts, and began to read, Sansa’s expression softening as she curled up and laid her head on her older sister’s knee, as she had not done in some years.

Dear Madam, I have just received your letter, for which I beg to return my sincere acknowledgments. I am concerned to find there was anything in my behavior last night that did not meet your approbation; and though I cannot discern how I may have offended you, I assure you any trespass on my part was unintentional. I shall never fail to reflect on my former acquaintance with your family in the Riverlands with pleasure, especially at every opportunity I am afforded to be again in the country with my favorite girls. My esteem for your whole family is very sincere, but if I have given rise to a belief of more than I felt, then I pity your misunderstanding me and shall reproach myself for not curbing my attention sooner. That I should ever have meant more you will allow to be impossible, when you understand that my affections have long been engaged elsewhere, and it will not be much longer, I believe, before this engagement is fulfilled. At your command, I return the letters with which I have been honored by you, as well as the lock of your hair, with which you so obliged me. Know that I will always cherish your name dear madam. Your Humble Servant, Ramsay Snow

In her earnest meditations on the contents of the letter, on the depravity of that mind which could dictate it, and probably, on the very different mind of a very different person, who had no other connection whatever with the affair than what her heart gave him with every thing that passed, Brienne forgot the immediate discomfort of her sister, forgot that there was a letter yet unread in her hand, and so entirely forgot how long she had been in the room, that she was astonished when the bells of the sept rang but once, decrying a much later hour than she might have imagined.

She stroked Sansa’s shoulder. “Dearest… I will not pretend to understand some of this... How can he…” in her anger and desire to cut him down, she failed to form adequate thoughts.

“Poor Brienne! How unhappy I make you!”

“Sansa, it is not on yourself that I place any blame for my current feelings.”

“How can you not, Brienne? You, who have no occasion to be as unhappy as I, and who never shall...happy Brienne!”

“Do you call me happy, Sansa!” How can you believe me to be so when you are so dispirited?”

Sansa sat up and threw her arms about her sister in a fit of exertion which Brienne had not seen in her for some days. “Forgive me, Brienne. I know you feel for me; I know what a heart you have; but yet you are - you must be happy. Jaime loves you - what can do away with such happiness as that?”

Brienne’s heart twinged at that name which she had avoided, which she had scarce whispered to her heart, let alone said aloud these few weeks. “Many, many circumstances,” said Brienne solemnly.

“No!” cried Sansa wildly, “He loves you and only you. He is good and kind and not cruel. You can have no grief.”

“Sansa - please, I must know, are you not a little gladened now to know the truth of Ramsay’s character and to have no doubt of it? Much as you seem to suffer now dearest, think of what you would have suffered had you engagement carried on for--”

“Engagement!” Sansa interrupted with a mirthless laugh, “there has been no engagement. He has broken no faith with me, not truly.”

“But Sansa--”

“It was every day implied, I know. Brienne, I thought that I could succeed where other women had not; I thought that I was different, truly he made me feel as if I were… that he would not…” she looked away, her brow clouding again.

“Sansa, I don’t understand.”

“Brienne, it has been long known to me, ever since that day he escorted me to see his aunt's estate, to be precise, that Ramsay was not like other men of our acquaintance. I thought him wildly romantic the way that he carried on about me, the way he-- he is no saint, Brienne.”

“I know that for a certainty.”

“He has pursued other women before, and he had his heart broken each time, or so he told me. Don’t you remember his dogs, Brienne? Do you not recall him calling them each to heel by name?”

“Sansa---”

“They were each named for women he had been in love with, he said...his favorite girls. Though I suspect now…” She looked up at Brienne, grasping her forearms as if to keep her from jumping up. Brienne’s blood boiled, remembering that same phrase from his letter. The thought that he might now include her sister in that list… her palm itched and she struggled to keep her composure.

“You suspected--”

“I didn’t… then. But now…”

Brienne shuddered. “Sansa did he--”

“No, Brienne, no. That morning when you all came back I-- he was leaving and still I could not consent to--but…”

“All this time, and still you wrote to him?”

Sansa nodded. “I was foolish. But no more.” She gestured at the second letter in Brienne’s hands. Brienne tore her eyes from her younger sister, and read:

What am I to imagine, Mr. Snow, by your behavior? A mere misunderstanding, or something darker at work, I ask. I had been prepared to meet you with the pleasure which our separation naturally produced. But I was repulsed indeed. I can no longer endeavor to excuse a conduct, not limited to yesterday’s encounter, which can scarcely be called anything less than insulting. I cannot believe that your regard for me was ever sincere, no more than it was for any of your other girls. It is clear that your behavior was intended only to deceive and seduce, and it is indeed fortunate for you that you have thrown your lot in with another, else I would not hesitate to drag your name through the streets. It is for the sake of your companion that I write to you now; it is for your own sake that you heed my request. Be so good as to return my correspondence, and the lock of my hair of which you availed yourself in the fall. If you do, then you may trust that your name will never again leave my pen.

Sansa, seeing that Brienne had finished reading and was now musing over these last words again, leaned forward and took both of the letters from her.

Brienne watched her, seeing the young woman in a new light. Who, she wondered, was this girl who had now become an elegant woman who made veiled threats via the post? She could not believe that she could have ever been willing to part with her for someone as ill-equipped to handle her as Ramsay Snow. Her thoughts flew to Jeyne Poole.

“His companion--”

“Should be warned,” finished Sansa, “but I cannot do it. She would never believe me, and he will I am sure, convince her otherwise regardless.”

“You may be right.”

Sansa could see Brienne fidgeting. “Dearest do not fret on my account. I believe I am at peace with this, I am only sorry that I caused you to worry. But…”

“What would you have me do, Sansa?” Brienne was ready to run, fight, drag that man through the neighborhood by his collar, and demand a public execution. But then her sister grew teary, the sight of which tugged at Brienne’s own heart.

“Brienne, I must go home. I must go and comfort mama. Cannot we be gone tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, Sansa! Impossible.” If we left tomorrow, she thought, I would not have adequate time to find Ramsay and destroy him. “Ser Brynden will not be able to manage a hasty removal.”

“Well then soon, Brienne. Please. I cannot stay to endure questions and remarks and pity of all these people.”

Brienne did think it best that they be gone soon, though she hated to leave and have no opportunity to cut the man down personally.

***

When Ser Brynden returned from his afternoon calls, Brienne finally left Sansa, asleep across the foot of the bed with her hair fanned out about her. Their host was in the drawing-room, pacing near the hearth when she entered, his attitude wholly different from their conversation of that morning.

“How is she, Miss Stark?” And then immediately, “It is but too true. He is to be married very soon, the good-for-nothing fellow. Mr. Tyrell told me of it half an hour ago, and he was told it by his daughter who is apparently a particular friend of Miss Poole herself, else I might not have believed it."

Brienne stepped into the conversation with caution, not wishing to speak of either Sansa or Miss Poole, "And have you heard when he expects to settle at Drefort, Ser?"

The older man shook his head, "His aunt is still in excellent health, Miss Stark, and shows no signs of giving it up anytime soon." He lowered his voice, "I believe that cad couldn't wait to supplement his income any longer. Probably he's looking to make repairs and fit up his own place - the one he was hoping to be giving up soon."

This was the first Brienne was hearing of Ramsay Snow's estate in the Vale needing attention. "Does he not maintain his property, Ser?"

Ser Brynden smiled kindly, "It's an older estate, Miss Stark, and there was a monstrous fire there some years back, which made parts of the house unlivable. That's part of the reason he spends so much of the year in the Riverlands. But now this Miss Poole--"

"--he marries at a profit, then." Brienne shuddered at the thought of Ramsay keeping Sansa in an ashen fire-gutted room like one of his dogs and thanked the gods that she had been spared that fate. With any luck, Jeyne Poole would have the good sense to insist on seeing the place before purchasing it with her dowry.

Ser Brynden looked apologetic. "I swear Miss Stark, if I ever meet him again, I shall give him such a dressing down for his use of my relation. But there is one comfort, that he is not the only young man in the world worth having you know, and with her pretty face she will never want for admirers.”

Brienne began to respond, only for Ser Brynen to burst forth again: "Well, tis a true saying about an ill wind, for it will be all the better for Colonel Casterly, do not you think? I hope he comes tonight so that he might learn the news. It will be all to one a better match for your sister."

"I think," Brienne drawled, "we shall be alright with or without the Colonel, Ser Brynden. The fewer visitors now the better."

"The Colonel is always the best sort of visitor though, Miss Stark. His manners have always been excellent. In the breeding, I suppose." He mused for a moment, then continued, "Bit of drama in his family as you know - his father wants naught to do with him. But then perhaps he does seem to benefit from not having familial obligations and so, too, would Miss Sansa. He only ever sees his brother, but then you'd know more on that account than I, I think. He gets on in our circles at least perhaps having your sister on his arm would open up more doors for him. Well, I shall spirit up the Colonel as soon as I can. If we can but put Snow out of her head...but ah - a glass of Dornish should do the trick, should it not, Miss Stark?"

This discourse had dizzied Brienne, and Ser Brynden was pouring the bloody substance before she could begin to interject, or even pause to understand his ramblings about Tyrion's family.

"I find that Dornish red does one more good than any thing else in the world - from healing colicky gout to reducing hysteria, to mending a broken heart." He held it out to her. "Do take it to your sister."

Brienne smiled. She did justice to the man's kindnesses, though its effusions could be ridiculous and at times border on distressing. "My dear Ser," she began, "how good you are! But I have just left Sansa in bed and, I hope, almost asleep; and as I think nothing will be of so much service to her as rest, if you will give me leave, I will drink this myself."

Ser Brynden, though regretting that he could not be of use to his young relation in this, was satisfied with the compromise; and Brienne, as she swallowed the chief of it, reflected that though its effects on colicky gout were, at present, of little importance to her, its healing powers on a disappointed heart might be as reasonably tried on herself as on her sister. For though Sansa's distress might have an end, with or without Colonel Casterly and his myriad familial difficulties, Brienne saw no light in the darkness for herself beyond the reflection of the hearth in her cup, and in the possibility that Ser Brynden might give her some considerate solitude before supper.

#braime #brienne x jaime #jaime x brienne #jane austen #austen au #braime au #forget me not #got au #game of thrones #sense and sensibility #ao3 #ao3 link #mine #ficlet into fiction #fictober transfer #put me back together

9 notes · View notes

aviss · 4 years

Note

7 (fake relationship) or 22 (two miserable people meeting at a wedding) for Jaime/Brienne?

Hi Anon, thanks so much for the prompt. It feels like I am all for combining tropes lately, so I meshed both prompts.

The reception hall was lavishly decorated and filled with Westeros' rich and beautiful, the most expensive food and champagne flowing freely as a sign of the newlyweds status, the exclusive party had already been dubbed as the social event of the year.

Brienne wanted to be anywhere but there, though she had not been able to avoid it.

"You have to go in my stead, my child," her father has said, looking regretful and pained, his leg still on a cast. "Robert is one of our oldest investors and I already confirmed my assistance."

She had known he was right, but that didn't mean she had to like it. So Brienne had flown to Storm's End for the wedding and made herself as presentable as possible, subjecting herself to the tender care of a stylist, something she very rarely did for herself. She was representing Evenstar enterprises, after all.

She had represented it from the darkest corner of the sept, though, pulling awkwardly at the hem of her very short dress while she teetered on the high heels the stylist had insisted on because "It makes your legs look endless," and trying not to touch her face and smudge her make-up. The sept was full of people, all starry-eyed as Robert Baratheon exchanged vows with Cersei Lannister, who was as beautiful as the statues of the Maiden adorning the sept.

There had been another person hiding in the shadows, Brienne was probably the only one who had seen him arrive and lean against the wall by the door, his handsome face twisted into a sneer, his eyes narrowed where they were set on the bride. It wasn't hard to recognize him, golden and richly dressed and as beautiful as Cersei. That had to be the infamous Jaime Lannister, the black sheep of the family who had, according to the rumours, refused to work for his father's company and had established his own security firm.

Brienne had sneaked some looks at him during the ceremony only to find his eyes on her, the sneer completely gone from his face, on more than one occasion. He had left before the bride and groom kissed, though she had stayed to congratulate the happy couple after the ceremony and present hers and her father's respects.

Brienne wondered now whether he would be in the reception, not that it mattered, it wasn't as if Brienne was going to talk to him, even if he had been the only person who looked like he wanted to be there less than she did.

She pulled one more time at the dress and went to check which table she was going to be sitting in. With some luck, it will be the same as the Tyrells, whom she knew and liked though they didn't quite move in the same circles. She found her name and the table number and headed that way, snatching a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

Brienne froze when she reached the table, her entire body frozen in shock. Oh no. She looked frantically around, hoping to see a friendly face so she could move in their direction without looking like she was fleeing, the only one was Jaime Lannister who appeared to have seen her that moment.

He wasn't the only one who had seen her.

"Look at that, it's Brienne the Beauty!" a taunting voice said, almost shouted, from her table. "You clean up--No, not that nicely. Still have the same face."

She turned in time to see Ronnet Connington, the asshole who had made her life hell in university, and his cohorts laughing heartily. At her expense, like they used to do. She couldn't believe she had been so unlucky.

"Ron," she said as coldly as she could though her face was burning and her stomach was churning. "I see you still have the same childish humour."

He grinned as if she was the funniest thing in the world, though his eyes were cold and full of derision. "Yep, and I have so many other jokes to tell." All at her expense, she knew. "This reception is going to be so much fun, if your face doesn't turn our appetites." They laughed again and Brienne gritted her teeth, her fists clenched.

She couldn't do this, if she sat down in that table and had to spend one second more with those men, she was going to punch one of them, and then her father would be very upset with her.

"There's been a mistake with the seating arrangement, I was just coming to collect the card. I'm sitting over there," she gestured vaguely without even looking where, shocked at hos steady her voice sounded, panic giving her the ability to lie she usually lacked. "With my fiancee." She almost cringed at that knowing she had gone too far.

Ron laughed hard at that. "Fiancee? Don't lie, Brienne. Who would be that blind?"

She was about to turn and run, forget good manners and what people could think of her, when an arm snaked around her waist and a body pressed against her side. She saw in Ron's expression the shock and disbelief just an instant before a man spoke next to her.

"Are you by any chance insulting my fiancee?" The voice was deep and rough, a slight menace in it, and somehow Brienne knew who it belonged to even if it was the first time she heard it. "Or are you insulting me?"

Ron's face drained of all colour, Brienne turned and she had been right. Jaime Lannister was so close she could see the specks of gold in his green eyes and at this distance, he was even more devastatingly handsome. He turned his eyes on Brienne, dismissing Ron as if he wasn't important anymore and smirked at her.

"Jaime," Brienne said, then fell silent, her mind devoid of any other words.

If he was surprised she knew his name, he didn't show it. He was definitely a better actor than Brienne. The hand on her waist tightened minutely and his eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Sweetling, ignore the card and just let's go, my brother is waiting for us." He placed a kiss on her cheek and gave her a little push away from the table. "Unless your friends here have something else to say?" It was a dare nobody took him up, and he took Brienne away from the shocked stares of her old bullies.

She expected him to let her go and move away as soon as they were out of sight, but he didn't, instead, he directed her to the bar and sat her at a stool, taking the one next to her and flagging the waiter to order some strong drinks for them.

"Thank you," she said, taking the glass he offered and drinking deeply.

She was still shaken but now was able to feel that he had not removed his hand for her waist and he was sitting very close and staring at her. "Connington is an asshole, I've had the misfortune of knowing him for some time. He needed putting in his place," he smiled then, wide and mischievous. "I was looking for you. You didn't look like you wanted to be here during the ceremony any more than I did, what you say we get away from this place and have our own party, sweetling?"

She barked a startled laugh. "Are you trying to pick me up? You don't even know my name."

"Of course I do, Brienne," he said, his voice low and intimate raising goosebumps. "We're engaged."

Brienne considered it for half a second, she really didn't want to be there, much less now after that scene. She had already congratulated Robert and Cersei at the sept, there were hundreds of people and nobody was going to miss her, and this man, this handsome and kind man who had just saved her wanted to spend time with her.

There was only one response she could give to that.

She downed her drink and stood up. "Lead the way."

...

#got fic #jaime x brienne #jaime lannister #brienne of tarth #short fic prompt #anonymous #m #my fic

38 notes · View notes

merakiaes · 5 years

Text

Princess - Sandor Clegane

Pairing: Sandor Clegane x Lannister!reader

Requested: Yes

Warnings/notes: I combined these, I hope that’s okay! Slight bit of cursing maybe, idk. Sorry this took so long and if it’s not what you wanted, I changed it up a little bit

Wordcount: 2336

Summary: You’re Cersei’s oldest child, you walk in on Joffrey taunting Sandor.

Sometimes, everything in your life just suddenly seems really simple. It’s like everything shifts in a moment. And you step out of your body. Out of your life. You step out and you see where you are really clearly and you think… Fuck. This. Shit.

Living in the Red Keep as the only legitimate child of Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon, despite it not being the life you had wanted, had been bearable up until this point.

You loved your father, your siblings, and your uncles and grandfather. But your mother was something else entirely.

She was the devil in disguise.

Of course you knew of your mother’s affair with your uncle. You weren’t stupid. Many others knew as well, you had gathered over the years, but no one ever dared to bring it up out loud.

You had always been your father’s pride and joy, and for this simple reason, your mother had been cold to you your whole life, despite being told off by Jaime, Tyrion and Tywin on more occasions than you could count.

But when your father had died, your mother had seen this as her chance to raise you her way.

Too bad she was so wrapped up in herself she couldn’t realize you had finished growing up by this point, and this was who you were now.

The royal life had been bearable when your father had still been alive, but now you were about ready to jump out a window just to get away.

“A princess shouldn’t curse.” “A princess doesn’t socialize with common scum.” “A princess doesn’t run around outside.” “A princess doesn’t play with swords.” “A princess doesn’t need books.”

Princess, princess, princess, princess.

That was everything you seemed to have to your name. And you were tired of it.

Your uncles and father had been the only bearable company to you before everything went to shit. Now your father was dead, Tyrion was off with Bronn the whole day, everyday, and your mother had Jaime wrapped around her littlefinger so tight that everything he would tell you was to listen to her.

You felt trapped. You had nothing to do during the days.

You wanted to go outside and have fun. Could you? No, princesses don’t play with swords. Princesses don’t associate with anyone but the people in the Red Keep.

You wanted to spend time in the library, to read. But could you? No. Because a princess didn’t have to learn things for herself. They were supposed to have a prince to do everything for them.

It was all a load of horsecrap.

All while you had grown up, you had been a sweet girl. Almost too sweet for your own good. But ever since the feud between your family and the Starks broke out, you had found yourself getting more and more bitter by the second.

You were basically a mixture of Myrcella and your mother, by this point. Without the psychopathic part from the latter, that is.

While you were still as sweet as ever, always so loving and caring, you had lost your ability of keeping your mouth shut if annoyed.

Now, anywhere else in the world, it might have been a good quality to be able to defend yourself. But when you were a princess? Oh no. It just wouldn’t do.

But your sudden change of attitude had drawn the attention of Sandor Clegane.

You hadn’t noticed at first, figuring he was just looking out for Joffrey as he always seemed to be following you around, tormenting you as you went about your day.

But you soon noticed how his eyes would linger a little longer than usual, and how the corners of his lips would turn up slightly every time you spoke back to your brother.

And this in turn, caused you to start noticing him more, as well. There was something about him. Something about the way he watched you.

You hadn’t paid him much thought before, when your father had still been alive, but as everything started changing around you, so did your view of the younger of the Cleganes.

You would often find yourself watching him as he stood by Joffrey, taking in every detail.

His body, flecked with scars, was a puzzle of near misses and mistakes he’d never make again, and you found yourself fascinated at the sight of him.

With this you had started greeting him more often, smiling at him every time you got the chance. But you had never spoken, not really, seeing as he was always stuck with your baby brother.

Speaking of whom, Joffrey had become even more unbearable than he had been before. And being the little shit he was, he, of course, took advantage of this, jumping at every opportunity he got to annoy you.

This left you hating him even more than you had before your father’s death, which in turn left you to avoid him, just like you tried your best at doing your mother.

But today, you didn’t seem to be in luck, at all.

Not only had you been whisked away by your mother the whole afternoon, but now you would have to confront Joffrey, as well.

You were honestly debating just turning around and walking away from your spot in the doorway where you had walked in on Joffrey taunting the Hound with a burning torch, knowing he could very well be a nice dog, so to say, and live it through.

But as you caught sight of the tiny, brief flicker of fear running over the man’s face as Joffrey got a little too close with the fire, your body launched you into action all by itself.

“What in the Seven are you doing?!” You cursed as you rushed into the room, holding your skirts in your hands to get by faster.

Joffrey turned to look at you with a big grin. “Ah! What a nice surprise. Come, sister! I was just playing with the dog. Look at him, isn’t it funny?” He laughed as he whipped the torch in front of his face again, causing him to flinch slightly.

“Give me that, you little brat!” You shot at him, wasting no time in snatching the burning piece of wood from your brother’s hand, rushing over to dip it into a bucket of water to kill the flame.

Joffrey gasped, hand going to his chest as he turned to look at you, finally leaving Sandor alone. “What did you call me?!”

“Oh, please. Stop playing so important.” You sneered at him as you put away the torch so that he wouldn’t be able to light it again.

“Are you talking back to me?!” Joffrey wailed back, looking at you with a bewildered expression.

“Yes, that’s usually how a conversation works.” You told him, your eyes coming to meet his, annoyance evident on your face. “Just because people serve you, don’t mean you get to torment them as you like, Joffrey!”

“That is exactly what it means!” He protested. “I am king now, I do what I want!”

“You’re nothing but a mewling quim!” You yelled. “You forget your place. You may be king, but not in the slightest are you the one who calls the shots around here. I am still your older sister. Speak to me like that again and you’ll find out what shoe leather goes through before it becomes one of your boots.”

Joffrey opened his mouth to fight back, but you held up a finger. “I think it’s time for you to go rest. You look tired.”

“I’m not t-”

“You’re tired.” You interrupted again, giving him a pointed glare. “Rest. Now.”

He looked at you for a moment, mouth hanging open in shock, before he finally moved to walk out of the room, leaving with an angry cry.

You turned to look at Sandor the second your brother was out of sight, hard eyes softening as you took in his still anxious state. “Are you alright?” You asked

He turned to look at you, a scowl coming to rest on his face. “I didn’t need your help.” He snarled, most likely trying to intimidate you into leaving.

But your soft gaze didn’t shift from his face, scanning how he was, to you, so obviously trying to mask the fear he had been feeling only moments before.

“I know you didn’t.” You said. “But doesn’t mean I didn’t want to help, anyways.”

A thick silence fell over the two of you as Sandor didn’t answer. You leaned back on the heels of your feet slightly, hands coming to clasp in front of you as you spoke again.

“I notice you watching me, you know.” You spoke, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

Sandor turned to look at you at this, speaking with teeth on full display. “It’s my job.”

Your smile widened. “No, I think you like me.” You confessed.

“Is this one of the times you want me to lie to protect your delicate feelings?” He shot back, annoyance lacing his voice and dripping from his words.

You knew he was speaking to you this way to make you go away, but you had never been good at detecting danger. Even if you did sense the vibe he was sending off in that moment, you weren’t afraid of him. You never had been.

And this only seemed to make him even more irritated, the man wanting nothing more than to be left alone. But here you were, smile only widening at the words that were spoken with the intent of scaring you off.

But that was why he like you, in the first place. Not that he would ever admit it.

“I notice everything. I just act like I don’t.” You told him, smiling. “And I’ve noticed how you look at me. I know you prefer my company over Joffrey’s, so there’s no point to stand there and lie. ”

He narrowed his eyes at you, teeth barring like he was an actual dog. But with the way Joffrey was treating him, you wouldn’t be surprised if it actually came to him thinking that.

“Why are you doing that?” He asked then, voice rough. “Why are you always doing that?”

You frowned at this, not knowing what he was getting at. “Doing what?”

He scowled. “Treating me like I’m human.”

You raised an eyebrow, smile turning into one of amusement. “Aren’t you?”

“No.” He said. “I’m a killer.”

You looked into his eyes, the two of you entering some kind of stubborn staring contest as both of you tried to win the argument.

“Sometimes villains don’t actually want to be villains.” You spoke, twisting your hands around in front of you. “But that’s just the thing isn’t it? The greatest risk any of us will take is to be seen as we are, when someone knows your story they know you. And they can hurt you. That’s what you’re so afraid of.”

“I’m not afraid!” Sandor suddenly yelled, admittedly causing you to jump in fright and shock, but not enough to leave you actually scared.

He watched with a scowl as you flinched at the volume of his voice, but still didn’t run off. Instead you kept looking at him, with those soft, Lannister green eyes of yours.

“Liar.” You just said, eyes hardening slightly as if attempting to break him, but he only scowled deeper at that.

“Everyone’s afraid of something. And it’s not a bad thing. I saw the way you reacted to that fire. Joffrey might be too stupid to see it, but I did.” You continued, eyes narrowing slightly in stubbornness. “I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m still worried about you. No one deserves to be alone.”

He scoffed. “I don’t need your help, or your worry or your care. I like being alone. So leave me alone.”

You looked him for a moment, still seeing how he was so obviously battling his own emotions. You knew he would come to realize he didn’t have to be alone, soon enough. But if you were going to be the person he came to when that happened, you wanted it to be in his own time.

“Fine.” You finally agreed, unclasping your hands. “You can’t keep it all inside. Bottling it up won’t do any good. You’ll find that out sooner or later, and you know where to find me when you do. Have a nice day, Sandor.”

And with that, you gave him one of those warm smiles that left him all sickeningly warm inside, and left him alone.

Only now that you had, he found himself regretting ever wanting to.

Some weeks passed, and Sandor had barely dodged being burned by the Wildfire that was burning bright on the sea, sending him into absolute panic.

He wanted to get as far away from there as he could. Away from snotty King and his mother, away from the stuck up bitches walking around taunting him all day long; away from King’s Landing.

He was terrified; frantic and panic-stricken with his heart caught in his throat. But instead of leaving like he planned, he found himself walking through the castle corridors in the other direction, seconds later knocking on a door.

And as the door opened, he found himself falling into the arms of the only person he wouldn’t have to confess his fear to out loud, knowing they would see it for themself and provide him with the safety he needed without any questions asked.

Wrapping your arms around his body, you pulled Sandor inside, closing the door behind you, and slowly but surely, the painful memories of the green blaze faded away to the sounds of your comforting whispers.

“I’m here. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

You whispered into his neck as you held him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel the need to hide who he really was.

Tagged: @horanxtbh @edarene @anephemeralwoe @witch-of-letters @starkbelova @well-aint-that-strange @aquariusfangirl @gameofcleganee

(IF I’VE FORGOTTEN TO TAG YOU OR IF YOU’RE NEW AND WANT TO BE TAGGED, SEND ME A DM. IT’S HARD FOR BE TO KEEP TRACK OF THE ONES WHO COMMENT ON MY POSTS THAT THEY WANT TO BE TAGGED. MY BRAIN IS A MESS)

#sandor clegane x reader #sandor clegane #sandor x reader #sandor clegane imagine #the hound imagine #the hound x reader #the hound #joffrey baratheon #joffrey lannister #cersei lannister #jaime x cersei #game of thrones #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones imagine #got imagine #got x reader #asoiaf #a song of ice and fire

1K notes · View notes

jaimetheexplorer · 5 years

Note

The more I think on it, the more I find myself hoping for there to be an unexpected twist on the valonqar prophecy? It's something that initially seems very dark and cool, but as I try to actually envision how it'd go down, it's hard for me to find a way that Jaime comes out of that NOT looking like a vengeful ex-lover. Not with the specific way in which he's supposed to kill her. Do you think valonqar dooms his character?

First of all let me preface by saying I do not, in any way shape or form, take it for granted that Jaime is the valonqar. I’ve always been relatively indecisive about it, slightly leaning towards “no” for a number of reasons (including, but not limited to, the fact that I’m not even sure the valonqar is an actual human being), and increasingly so the more the show went on. BUT, I’m also not totally opposed to the idea, because there are a few contexts where it might make sense. It’s just that literally NONE of them will have Jaime come across as a vengeful ex-lover.

If Jaime does kill her in the books, it will most likely not be directly as a consequence of her infidelity, but triggered by some other event, or, else, it would have already happened. Why? Because jealous rage is at its strongest right at the point of discovering the infidelity, when his entire world has come crumbling down, he’s as closely emotionally attached as he can be, and he has not had time to process his pain.

In the books, Jaime is currently away from Cersei and will likely be away from her for quite a while still. While he’s away, he’s working through his anger at both her betrayal of their relationship, and at himself for basically creating this delusional version of their relationship/Cersei in his head that didn’t exist in reality. Time is passing. Yes, he has some angry thoughts and one violent dream, but there’s also increasing apathy, disappointment and resignation. Look at how differently Jaime used to think and talk about Robert versus how he handles Lancel by the time he confesses to fucking Cersei. Jaime has extremely violent thoughts towards Robert, wanting to kill him himself, but when he finds out Lancel had been fucking Cersei? He almost feels sorry for the lad, tells him to eat more and go fuck his own wife and save his marriage. By the time we meet him in Dance, while he might not be completely over it yet, but he is moving on, to the point that even the thought of Cersei potentially being dead by the time he gets back to KL does not faze him all that much (compare to how he used to think of her when on the way back to KL the first time in ASOS). Then he is off with Brienne to face the gods know what and, for now, that’s all she wrote. We know he has been missing for weeks and nobody has heard from him and who knows how much longer he’ll be gone from the capital.

By the time Jaime sees Cersei again, if he ever does, a lot of water will have passed under the bridge, likely putting his anger even more on the backburner. He’s currently not showing any intention or urgency to go back and confront Cersei about her infidelities, let alone kill her for it (he even says as much to Ilyn Payne) and he’s unlikely to spend all this time dealing with a lot of other, bigger stuff, only to then march down to KL to kill her because she cheated on him. So, if Jaime kills Cersei, it will be with a different motive than their personal relationship.

Now, can Cersei taunt him about cheating on him to provoke him to anger? Sure. That’s a very Cersei thing to do. But Cersei in the books does not generally get what she wants, unlike in the show. If she wants a reaction out of Jaime, she’ll probably get the opposite, like she literally always does: she wants to seduce him to get him to go along with her scheming? He turns her down. She gets up from a bath naked, confident about her beauty and taunts him about wanting her? He tells her she’s a fool. She sends him a letter begging him to come save her? He burns it. She believes her raven must not have reached him or else he would have come? The raven did reach him and Jaime went off with Brienne instead. She believes he would never abandon her for such a creature? He did that very thing indeed. If you follow that pattern and apply it to Cersei taunts him about sleeping with other men to provoke him to jealous anger? Most likely, Jaime will reveal to her that to him her infidelity is old news and, guess, what? He has (probably) slept with Brienne too, so tough luck. I think it’s far more likely that that last encounter between Jaime and Cersei will be about the YMB reveal than it will be about him valonqaring her.

The other hot topic seems to be that it’s the way the valonqar is supposed to kill her (strangling her to death) that indicates “jealous rage”. First of all, it always puzzled me that strangling someone to death somehow has to imply jealous rage, as I can think of SO many movies and scenes I’ve seen of people strangling other people that had nothing to do with them being lovers. Secondly, I think there’s too much fixation on the exact way in which the valonqar is supposed to kill Cersei, and too much forgetfulness over the fact that George does not write hints in a literal way. Most notably, he used the example of that king who avoided a castle his entire life because prophecy said he would die in it, only to end up being crushed by an inn sign bearing that castle. So I am skeptical that the valonqar will literally wrapped his literal hands around Cersei’s throat to strangle her to death (I am frankly not even sure “choke the life out of you” is literal and not some kind of metaphor for “taking away all your will to live”, or something along those lines).

But even assuming that George is being that literal for a change and that the valonqar will kill Cersei by strangling her and it will be Jaime (so many ifs), again, it will not be as a direct consequence of her infidelity and Cersei has a long list of crimes that will take precedence in the reader’s mind over “she cheated on Jaime” as the reason she has death coming for her, including emotionally abusing him. He would most likely kill her, even if it’s out of rage, because she’s a horrible human being who likely has caused an incredible amount of harm (or is about to) to people who didn’t deserve it. Like it or not, most people want Cersei to die and will cheer at Jaime finally having killed her, because they don’t decontextualize him killing her from the rest of their story and also partly because they see it as part of his redemption (as proven by the fact that 90% of people thought he was going back to KL to kill her in 8x05 - I completely disagree with that particular stance on redemption, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s the mindset of most of the audience).

Furthermore, in the books we are in his head. While I can understand how in the show seeing Jaime strangle Cersei could have been interpreted by some as having a vengeful lover motive, in the books we will likely know exactly what he’s thinking (either as he’s doing it, or later when he thinks back on it). Now, will George have him repeat the “Lancel, Kettleblack, Moonboy, for all I know” in his head while he does? Maybe. But even if he does, the context surrounding the event, as well as their past actions and history, will likely make it clear this cannot be reduced to something as simplistic as Jaime being a vengeful ex-lover.

So, no. I don’t think valonqar dooms his character, not only because it’s predicated on an awful lot of hypotheticals, which are unlikely to all come true, but, even in most worst case scenarios, the “vengeful ex” take would be a very reductive view of the character that I don’t expect a lot of people to fixate on.

#anon #koops answers

156 notes · View notes

luthienebonyx · 5 years

Text

Fanfic Meme

I was tagged by @agirlnamedkeith

At what age did you start writing fanfiction?

I was 31. And yes, that was a couple of decades ago. I am not just fandom old, but old old.

Who is your favorite author?

I have favourites in every fandom, and I’ve been in a lot of fandoms. Also, inevitably, if I tried to list them, I’d wind up forgetting some. I’ve written lots of recs over the years, and you can find quite a few of them here on my dreamwidth account. (I hardly used dreamwidth at all for about five years until about six months ago, so there’s a gap between the recent few recs and the earlier ones.)

But yeah, okay, if I had to pick my favourite authors over a long time and across many fandoms, then the two constants would be @telanu and Nym. Yes, they’re two of my best friends, but the reason why I wound up talking to them in the first place was because I loved their writing, and that hasn’t changed over the many years I’ve known them.

Favorite type of scene to write?

I love writing long, navel-gazy descriptive stuff. Description comes easily to me, and my aim in any fanfic is to get under the POV character’s skin and find out what makes them tick, so inward-looking description just makes the words flow for me.

Dialogue, otoh, is something that I don’t enjoy writing so much. People have told me that I’m quite good at it, but when I’m writing dialogue I’m always hyper-aware that one wrong sentence, or even one wrong word, that isn’t in-character can throw out an entire paragraph or an entire scene.

What is your favorite fanfic?

Again, so many fandoms, so many great pieces of fanfic. If you read the links to my recs above, you’ll get an idea of the sorts of stories I like.

One story that sticks out above others, though, is Nym’s A Bed of Thorns. It is an IMMENSE story, longer than War and Peace, and it’s still a WIP, though Nym dearly wants to finish it.

It’s a Once Upon a Time Rumpelstiltskin/Belle (rumbelle) canon divergence, where instead of going with Rumpelstiltskin to be his servant/sort of captive, Belle marries him. You know all that navel-gazing description that I like to write? It’s even better when someone else does it for me, and when that someone is a writer as talented as Nym... This story is chock full of character exploration, including character exploration via a LOT of sex scenes, and angst, and fluff, and more angst, and plot, and memorable original characters and original cats. There is nothing else like it in any fandom. Read it.

What tags do you avoid like the plague?

Very little. I’ll read just about anything if it’s well-written. I dislike anything where the author’s kink (not necessarily a sexual kink) trumps the characterisation. If the kink is used in service of the character exploration, rather than the other way around, then that’s fine, though. Because of this, stuff like Alpha/Beta/Omega really doesn’t work for me.

What AU do you wish to write but feel like you won’t manage?

Not so long ago, I would have said that the one AU I’d LOVE to write but wouldn’t be able to manage was a novel length Regency AU. I’ve written Regency one-shots in other fandoms, but I didn’t think I would have the strength for a longer Regency AU. But, um, well... You I Know.

Do you outline or write as you go?

Hahaha. I’ve have TRIED to outline. It doesn’t work for me. My outlines turn into drafts of scenes. I do work with a sketchy mental outline of the main beats of the story, a sort of skeleton that will be filled in with the flesh and blood of detail as I write. There are going to be about half a dozen distinct sections to my current WIP, and those will keep me writing in the right direction (I hope). I do also have a list of bullet points that I keep adding to whenever a detail strikes me that I’ll want to include later on, but that’s really the extent of my planning. Oh, and I like to know approximately where the story will end up before I start putting words on the page. Until I know the destination, it’s really just a story idea rather than a story draft.

What has been your favorite story to write so far?

Very occasionally, a story is so clear in my head that I just have to write it. I can’t stop and second-guess myself; the story just has to be what it wants to be. I’ve written precisely three of this type of story over the years:

1. The Rain Keeps Falling (Harry Potter, Snape/Harry)

2. Plain Jane (Once Upon a Time, Rumple/Belle)

3. More Than a Memory (Game of Thrones, Jaime/Brienne)

Do you prefer to write one-shots or multi-chapters? Why?

Um, both? I mean, I am TERRIBLE at predicting the word count of my own stories, to the point where my friends just laugh when I confidently tell them how long I think my current story is going to be, so sometimes I think I’m writing a one-shot and it turns out I’m not. Case in point: More Than a Memory was going to be a one-shot of a few thousand words. Three weeks later, it ended up at 33,000 words over five chapters.

What is your favorite kind of comment?

Well, the long, detailed comment where it’s clear that someone really ‘gets’ what you were trying to do with the characters and the plot is hard to beat - but absolutely any comment is great. I view fic as being part of the fannish conversation, so when I write a story, I’m opening a conversation about the characters - the comments are the other half of that conversation. And, really, that conversation is why I’m in fandom at all, so it’s all good!

Why did you start writing fanfiction? Why are you still writing it?

Back when I first found fandom, I lurked on a Mailing List (yes, it was that long ago) devoted to one particular character. It wasn’t a big group of people, so there wasn’t masses of fic, and some of it was only so-so. And no, this is not where I tell you that I decided one day that I could write something better than what I was reading. In fact, it was the opposite. One day, someone posted a REALLY good story, and I read it and thought, “Fanfic can be like this. It can be this good.” And I wanted to be part of that, so I gathered my courage and sat down and tried writing something of my own.

Why do I still write fanfic? Well, actually, I thought I’d stopped. I hadn’t written any fanfic for a couple of years, apart from the occasional drabble, although I’d started a few stories but not finished them.

And then the final season of Game of Thrones aired, and characters I’d loved for years, without ever feeling the urge to write them, had an ending that just left me going “but... but... but...” I got that feeling where I HAD to write them, and now I’ve written over 50,000 words in six weeks.

Fandom taught me long ago that I should never say never about anything. I should have remembered that.

—-

Tagging @slipsthrufingers, @woodelf68, @sfiddy, @indiefic and anyone else who wants to play.

#fanfic #fanfic memes

7 notes · View notes

noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth · 5 years

Text

So, I thought this episode was SO MUCH BETTER than last week’s. I didn’t feel like I was getting whiplash scene to scene. Jon’s still MIA as a character -- and there were several things I would’ve liked to have seen that didn’t happen -- but otherwise this was pretty good, especially after the travesty we were forced to experience last week.

None of this is order, it’s just my thoughts as they come...

First of all ... I’m still slightly hesitant about political Jon because I’m always hesitant about committing to a theory, but I’ve never felt more certain than I have during the “Who’s manipulating who?” moment. Holy shit, was that on the nose or what? Sansa’s reaction tipped it over the edge for me. I think we’ve been cut out of Jon’s POV so entirely in order to make political Jon a giant twist and that’s annoying as shit but hopefully that bullshit will be over next episode and my boy can come back. The only moment he felt like himself was his reunion with Tormund and Edd.

But back to the library scene with Sansa and D/ny. What a good scene! I know people worried they were going to bond or Sansa would come around to D/ny’s side, but instead we got Sansa being courteous and smart, cottoning on to Jon’s game (if she doesn’t already know), and still remaining firm on the issue of the North’s independence.

I also loved Sansa’s reunion with Theon, both because it was so heartfelt and emotional, and because seeing D/ny’s reaction to one of her supposed allies pledging himself to the Starks and Sansa specifically? Oh boy.

And D/ny! Look, people accuse me of hating D/ny but no one hates D/ny more than the idiots writing her, so it was actually refreshing to see her not being such a complete dumbass this episode (even if only because she was following Jorah’s advice). I was rereading old fanfic of mine and in it, I am remarkably generous to D/ny compared to how the show depicts her. Like, she is actually capable of being charming. I also tbh think she’s not wrong about Tyrion being a bad Hand, and think she should promote Jorah over him, so I was with her on that one. ANYWAY. It was good to see a little bit of that from her this week -- just enough, I assume, so that casuals are shocked when she does something terrible like abandon the battle next week.

Her reaction to Jon’s parentage was GOLD. The dawning HORROR in her face. Wow. J/nerys is truly dead.

Not sure how to read Jon’s reaction to her reaction though. Disappointment? I think he knows who what she is but I keep wondering if maybe he keeps hoping that she’ll prove him wrong at some point. I think he realizes he’s stuck with her, so he wants to imagine she might not be so bad. Maybe this time she’ll realize what’s actually important. Maybe this time I won’t feel like I’ve brought a tyrant into my own home. But she always disappoints.

(Note also that this is the first time he calls her D/ny since kneelgate -- the moment he’s telling her that he’s got a better claim than her. Would’ve been a good moment to start “my queen”ing her but instead he appeals to her humanity? Her feelings for him? Instead of her pride. Interesting.)

I can’t believe Jon told her about his parents before the rest of his family though. What the fuck. (Yes it’s possible he’s already told them but it would be so fucking annoying for them to do that offscreen.) Also, why would he pick that moment? IDK maybe he had a reason, maybe he just couldn’t keep it in anymore. I’m also so depressed that we’re not really getting any insight into how he’s reacting to the news, other than trying to avoid his aunt like the plague.

I thought this episode did a really great job of just kind of showing us people getting ready for the battle of their lives. The scene with Davos, Gilly, and the little girl was adorable. The knighting of Brienne was a truly incredible scene, one of the show’s best ever, and Podrick singing was beautiful. The montage of people was sweet -- and I know people think that Theon and Sansa’s inclusion means something romantic is happening with them, which it might be, but I’m not sold either way. That said, I did recently say I hoped some kind of Theon/Sansa/Jon love triangle pops up so we get some jealous Jon up in here and not just jealous Sansa. Maybe my wishes have been answered? I’m lowkey into Theonsa so I don’t mind, but absolutely no part of me thinks it’ll be endgame or Sansa’s great epic love or anything like that. (Sorry Theon. I think he’ll probably die protecting Bran.)

Gendry and Arya was odd. I’m not mad about it, and I’m fully prepared to admit that a lot of my reaction was related to seeing Maisie Williams (somewhat) naked because to me she is a BABY. Again, this isn’t something I’ve ever really shipped, but I have no problems with it and think it can be cute, so I’m happy if the shippers are happy. Part of me does think this means Gendry’s doomed though.

I will say that I never used to think Gendry/Arya would happen because I thought if the show knew it was coming, they wouldn’t have hired actors with such a large age gap. I’ve long had the same thought about Jonsa so this pretty much waved away that particular doubt. I also never thought we’d get a Jonsa sex scene but now that we’ve gotten a Gendrya one, it feels a lot more probable.

The trial scene was a bit of a letdown, wasn’t it? I loved Brienne standing up for Jaime and I loved Sansa putting complete faith in Brienne, but that’s about it for me.

Missandei and Grey Worm discussing what they want to do after the war!!! It has LONG been a hope of mine that they don’t spend the rest of their lives serving D/ny so you can imagine how happy I was to hear them making plans. (Wonder how D/ny would feel about...) That said, it makes me think at least one of them is going to die (probably Missandei) but I would be overjoyed to be wrong.

What am I forgetting? We saw Ghost! For two seconds! Doing nothing! But okay, at least he exists.

It’s insane (and disappointing) to me we didn’t get ANY one-on-one Stark scenes or even all-Stark scenes. I know this is part of keeping Jon inaccessible to us or whatever, but him not saying anything to Sansa before the battle is crazy to me. Or Arya for that matter! Even if they’re both out there fighting, he’d want to speak to his baby sister!

I have to assume that this means we’ll be getting some of those conversations next week ...... or all the Starks are surviving, except maybe Bran, so the show’s not bothering to set us up for any farewells.

All in all, a good episode imo. Bryan Cogman came through -- even if we didn’t get any of the yummy Jonsa we expected, we got a lot of other good stuff, and I’m hoping when the show stops trying to keep political Jon and dark D/ny under wraps (i.e., hopefully in the next episode), things will improve even more.

Also, several of the Chekhov’s guns that were set up last episode kinda didn’t come up again, especially the food crisis and the dragon’s eating habits, but I’m feeling pretty confident they’re going to go off eventually. Last week they were setting up the pins but it might take a few episodes before they knock them all down.

#got spoilers #episode thoughts #got season 8 spoilers

20 notes · View notes

lady-griffin · 5 years

Text

Season 8, Episode 4 The Last of the Starks

My thoughts and reactions. Spoilers Below. Obviously.

Knew they were going to start with the body burning and with Jorah’s body. I knew it.

Poor dany ☹ I’m sad

Poor Jorah

What is she whispering fo him? Any guesses?

Sansa and Theon, no please don’t cry

She made him a Stark in the end. I’m now even more sad.

GHOST!!!!

GHOST!!! He looks sad too

Interesting Jon “was given Lyanna” to mourn, just because she was named for his mother? or because loss of innocent life? Or cause no one left?

Feast Scene

Is that the scale dress for Sansa? I think it is.

Daenerys dress looks less red…that I initially though, but I can’t quite tell.

Gendry wants to find Arya…aww

Daenerys calling Gendry? Did not see that coming.

Daenerys making him a Lord…Smart

Just a question…How will the Stormlands feel about this? I mean they don’t even know Gendry or anything.

Smart move though

But not a great sign, already playing the political game, as Sandor said when you can still smell the bodies.

Love Sansa, Tormund and Jon…that was cute. Tormund is just the best.

Sansa seemed Jealous, but I still want Jon and Sansa to interact more and we’re running out of time

Where did Sansa go?

I’m glad Tormund is alive…he’s just so cute.

Is Varys figuring it out?

Daenerys all alone (ominous and sad)

Funny, how Varys seems to be the only who noticed.

I knew that drinking game was going to lead to awkward situations…why Tyrion?

Poor Tormund, he just wants to have giant unstoppable babies with Brienne

Poor Sandor, Tormund crying to him

I suspected we might get a Sansa and Sandor scene…are we?

First Theon, then Tyrion, now Sandor?

Yup…interesting pattern. Like that’s a super interesting pattern and I’m not entirely sure what it’s building up to. I mean I hope Jonsa, but I meant at this point how?

Poor Gendry and Arya, I don’t see this ending well…I don’t know if I want to watch

Yep saw that coming. I want them to get together. But Gendry think he needs a lordship to be with Arya and Arya, Arya is not the same nor ever will be. And I just want it to work for them, but it also seems very Arya to say no.

Brienne and Jaime going to get it on?

Looks like it….Yup

Daenerys dress is definitely reddish, but I can’t tell how much.

Maybe no political Jon??

Out of all of their scenes, this one actually makes me think Jon might love her. Like out of all their scenes, this one seems to confirm it the most.

Which like…why wouldn’t you have done this from the start then. Instead of half-assing it.

I always wondered if Jon’s “political lines” were unintentionally foreshadowing the future.

Jon himself when he’s saying it, doesn’t have any meaning. But we the audience knows it’s important for the future.

“I bend the knee, but…”

��They’ll see you for what you are “

But at the same time...you still have all those scenes where Jon seems “annoyed” or “frustrated” or horrified is not that word, but scared of Daenerys and what she is capable of doing. And he seems so desperate to appease her... I don’t know.

Whether or not he does love her, this scene made me think there’s a strong chance he actually does. Like it really did (so kudos to Kit and Emilia).

She’s your aunt there might need to be some more hesitation…oh there it is

Do not like the repeated implication that somehow Sansa is corrupted/ruined by what Littlefinger and Ramsey have done to her…do not like that one bit.

Dark!Dany

Interesting scene…between these two.

It is interesting to me how paranoid Daenerys receives Sansa…like I’m not saying she’s wrong. Sansa is clearly 100% ready to start fucking things up for Daenerys, but at times, it seems so pinpointed and out of nowhere.

Also, I do love that she’s such a source of tension and contention betweent these two.

War Council Scene

Who the fuck is the new Prince of Dorne? Like this just shows how little they care about Dorne.

Like I know Sansa’s intentions aren’t 100% genuine here, but you should give your soldiers and dragons a rest. Like logically you should. This won’t end well for you. Like Sansa is making such a fucking valid point.

Also, Sansa, fantastic wingwoman. I bet Gendry could’ve used her.

And Arya did not like Daenerys talking to Sansa like that…that look. Damn.

Arya and Sansa (love them together)

Love Arya just stopping Jon right there

Love Arya’s…who the fuck cares about having allies, I’m a lone assassin.

Wish we got to see their reaction to the news…that would’ve been nice.

Would be nice to see how these characters interact with one another and handle the news and you know spend time with them. I mean they keep shutting us out of the Stark POV and it’s getting so fucking frustrating.

Like I honestly hope they are building to them working together…and we get to see it, but at this point. I just don’t think D&D are really capable of that.

Here’s Bronn

That was disappointing…seriously what is the fucking point of Bronn in this story. Like I have nothing against the actor or even the character, but what is the point of him for the story. Like why didn’t he die during the Loot Train/Field of Fire 2.0?

Are we ever going to see him again? Is he ever going to become relevant to the plot again? What is the fucking point?

You’ve killed him off last season and filled the time his scenes take with some more relevant scenes and characters. Seriously what is the fucking point of Bronn?

Arya and the Hound…never coming back to Winterfell… wait what

Is Arya going to down to kill Cersei or perhaps another Queen?

Sansa and Tyrion

Why her?

Why is Tyrion following Daenerys?

Or why does Jon love Daenerys?

I wish they explained why specifically Sansa doesn’t trust Daenerys. Don’t get me wrong I think there are plenty of reasons to think Daenerys would not be a good queen and I’m sure those (or some of them) are the basis for Sansa not trusting her…but it would be great if she would say them out loud at this point.

It kind of feels like, if Dany goes dark, that it just worked in Sansa favor and she just turned out to be right. Not that Sansa was actually right and people should’ve listened to her critiques in the first place.

You can’t keep saying that Daenerys will be a good queen (Tyrion) without saying how and the same goes for Sansa with saying she will be a bad queen.

And this is frustrating, because I think the subtext and text shows how and why Daenerys won’t be a good queen. But just one line from Sansa…like anything. It could be about how anyone who wants to sit on the Iron Throne is dangerous.

Like just anything.

And it would be great if we could see the scheming. Or Sansa telling Tyrion about Jon and seeing Tyrion’s reaction.

Like this use to be the biggest news (we should see how the characters fucking react to it)

However, I did like Sansa commenting that Tyrion was afraid of Daenerys and her “worst impulses” as he has liked to put it (previously). I wish they just dug into that a bit more.

Even just Sansa saying that it’s hard for her to believe Daenerys will be a good queen when Tyrion shakes every time he thinks she’s about to lose her temper.

JONATHAN don’t you dare abandon Ghost. How dare you!

Ghost is such a good boy.

Sam and Gilly…I think he knows how it happened (I adore Gilly)

Is Sam going to be political? Scheming and such?

I’m just so nervous we’re going to have a scene where it’s revealed everyone was working together to go behind Dany’s back. Like give us hints. Show us something.

Don’t leave Ghost, Jon. Or at the very least fucking pet him, you monster.

He’s sad. I’m sad. You’re a monster Jonathan.

(Symbolially Jon giving up being a Starl?)

Aww Missandei and Greyworm…I just want good things for you. I don’t think we’ll get them, but I want them.

Interesting comment from Tyrion… all those years of war because Robert loved someone who didn’t love him back. Foreshadowing of Jon and Dany? (I don’t think so at this point), but interesting framing of it. Especially since you know Aerys burned Rickard and Brandon Stark…and so on.

But in all honestly, they keep forgetting that fucking part.

Is it just me or are one of the Dragons going to get shot down? Like they are showing them flying, everything seems so nice and happy.

And I was right. damn...

That is quite brutal. And I thought Rhaegal was going to be the dragon to survive…guess I was fucking wrong.

Those scorpions are quite impressive to say the least. And they’re designed to look like tentacles, HA!

NO Missandei

No Missandei

Did she die?

I really have to wonder if Cersei is pregnant? I mean Qyburn could just be saying yes, to literally everyone, because he’s 100% loyal to her.

Oh no, Missandei. My poor baby.

Why does she knock over the lion? Am I missing something?

It’s interesting how Varys was saying he would look her in the eye, but he doesn’t. Not until the end.

Also, Daenerys wants the appearance that she tried to avoid bloodshed, but not actually…

To be fair, Cersei is never going to surrender though. So, she’s not wrong.

But it also kind of reminds me of “Bend the knee or refuse and die” – not much of a choice.

Varys rarely ever tries to reason with Dany, but he always tries to reason with Tyrion to get him to see the truth about Dany. It’s interesting to me how that’s set-up.

There’s that phrase again, “worst impulses.”

“She too strong for him” – See this is why I want political Jon at this point. For one of their Main Characters they have just been undercutting him at every turn. Like is their going to be a twist or is Jon just pathetic and weak sauce now. I mean come on.

I hope there is going to be a twist with Jon (actually I hoped they let us see his POV), but it just seems that they keep undermining him in the narrative to power up Daenerys and Sansa and I guess even Arya. Like you can let them all shine and be capable and shit.

I do like this dilemma forming for Tyrion. He has to make a choice. He truly has to commit. He just does.

I THINK THAT’S THE SPOILER SCROLL (the one Sophie Turner kept).

It doesn’t seem to be that much of Spoiler, if it’s from Varys. Though I suppose that depends on what it says and it could simply not be from Varys. I had always hoped it was going to be from Jon…but it doesn’t look like that will be the case.

“as the rest of her advisors…” I’m curious to what the beginning and end of that sentence is. And what the Scroll says. Also, I assume we’re going to eventually see the scroll, I mean it has to be a prop that Sophie was able to keep.

Also, I love Sansa’s line of how she wanted to be there to see them execute Cersei and now she won’t get the chance. Just a great and cold line to Jaime. But it also has two meanings.

1. Daenerys is going to burn down KL and Sansa won’t get the chance to see it now.

2. It looks like Cersei is going to win now

Also, the struggle between Sansa and Cersei makes a lot more sense to me, because Cersei and Sansa have history and Cersei tormented Sansa. Why does Daenerys hate Cersei? Because she’s on the Iron Throne? What else?

Cersei didn’t kill Dany’s father. Nor exile her family. Like it makes sense for Cersei to hate Daenerys…because well she’s Cersei and Daenerys wants to take everything Cersei has clawed and bled and killed for.

But the same level of intensity from Daenerys, just seems empty. I don’t know.

But I do love that it is a battle between these three…but Cesei and Daenerys are too focus on one another, to even really consider Sansa. (Though Daenerys has been noticing her)

But I’m glad we got to see some scheming and plotting happening.

No Brienne, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.

I am curious if Jaime is leaving to kill Cersei or save her (and what he thinks is his unborn child)

She’s going to push Missandei off, isn’t she? I don’t want that.

I have to say, Dany’s dress looks less purposely grey and just like it’s dirty. Which I think is quite telling. Daenerys “savior” mission is becoming less and less about saving people, so the white become dirty.

Also, Daenerys’ army (I assume that’s not it…I hope), looks just so pathetic and small. And with the Scorpion weapons, how in the hell are they planning to take King’s Landing. I mean without burning it down to the ground, but again that’s a lot harder to do now too.

Qyburn is such an interesting character and a very different kind of creepy.

Tyrion is trying so hard here.

Is he going to trade himself for Missandei…I don’t think Cersei is going to go for that

She’s going to do it, she’s going to push her off…nope

Oh no, last words.

Dracarys

The way she just said it and how it echoed…damn. I honestly thought Drogon was going to well Dracarys everything. But that is very compelling. And just that that echo, I mean just wow.

Greyworm and his face are just killing me.

Oh shit they’re going to behead her.

NO NO NO NO….not Missandei…NO NO NO NO

OMG

Oh no Greyworm, he couldn’t even look. He looks like he’s going to throw up. His one fear came true.

Omg… I do not like this.

I’m going to cry.

Daenerys shaking. That anger. That sadness. The shock. I take it back about Daenerys not having enough reason to hate Cersei with such intensity, they gave her a very good reason (by fridging Missandei in all honesty)

That look. I know I say that a lot. But Daenerys’ angry look is getting better and better and it is fucking dark. You can feel the anger and hatred coming off of her in waves.

And I’m not saying Emilia is ugly, by any means, but it’s not a pretty angry face. Which I love.

She almost stumbles when she first starts to walk away. Like she’s in shock. Which she probably is. She didn’t look away.

Also, it looks like things are going Cersei’s way. She wants Daenerys to be pissed and angry. She clearly wants it. So I have to wonder does she even have a plan? Or is she just planning to go out with a bang and take as many as she can with her.

And that’s the end.

Promo

It’s very telling and quite interesting to me that we don’t see Daenerys in the promo. I mean we see her at a distance, next to the window (with her hair down…interesting) and on the throne. But that’s it. I mean, that seems to scream to me that we’re going to see some dark fucking shit with her.

I mean they’re building her up in that promo.

I still think there’s a chance for Jonsa or at least I hope there is one…but it seems less and less likely with every episode. I mean, Sansa does come across as jealous (to me) but I’m not sure if that’s just how I see it or if that’s actually what’s happening.

There’s also the weird “former flame” per episode kind of vibe they have going here. Theon episode 2, Tyrion episode 3, now Sandor episode 4.

I mean, it’s like they’re cancelling all the pontential romantic partners she could have before she gets to the final one?? I don’t know. It honestly feels like a stretch. But it interesting how poeple jumped on board with Theonsa in episode 2, the Sanrion in episode 3 and maybe Sansan in episode 4....maybe. Their interaction seemed the most final.

I wish we got to see Sansa and Arya react to the news of who Jon is.

I’m just not as hopeful as I once was for Jonsa ☹

The Last of the Starks

Interesting title…like I hope some people write-up to why they think it’s called this. I can’t think of reason as of right now.

Other than we saw the last of Starks all together (finally) but for like one scene.

Maybe that will be the last time we see them all together ever again…that’s fucking sad. But definitely a possibility with the way they’ve been treating the Starks.

Update: I just realized that Arya says that the four of them are The Last of the Starks in the Godswood, before Jon reveals he’s not their sibling. That went over my head.

#Game of Thrones #GOT #GOT Spoilers #The Last of the Starks #House Stark #Sansa Stark #Jon Snow #Jonsa #got s8 spoilers #Arya Stark #Cersei Lannister

16 notes · View notes

carbonitekisses · 5 years

Text

Alliances of Winter

Bran drops his hand from the carved face. The world is blurry before it rights itself to the present. It won’t be long, now.

Like a round of cyvasse, the pieces are all in place.

Cersei thrums her fingers on the throne, her nails clack against the darkened steel.

Daenerys touches Jon’s arm and gently turns him away from Winterfell and towards her.

The imp of Casterly Rock watches the eunuch watch the scenery pass by.

Lady Arya is nowhere to be found. It seems she isn’t there to welcome her cousin home.

The Lady of Winterfell opens her arms and holds Jon Snow in a welcoming embrace.

Jaime squints at the sun. Two more days and he’ll be able to divest himself of one of the many guilts that taint his conscience.

Bran watches as a clump of snow crashes to the ground from above. The heart tree’s leaves are heavy, weighed down by Winter’s first true snowfall.

The final game has begun.

[Posting the little scarps I had helped me through the rut I was in with this. Thanks for the comments, they definitely pushed me to make this a more cohesive and full story!]

[Tagging @terriandmike , @swainlake , @a-lighted-window-at-dusk , @thedreamergirlofsummer , and @tubbylita . Thanks for saying you’d like to read more of this story! It probably would’ve just stayed in my drafts lol.]

Read on Ao3

Or click on keep reading for the full chap.

Cersei thrums her fingers on the throne, her nails clack against the darkened steel. She was never a patient creature and the crown that rests upon her head only serves to validate her impatience. She is tired of waiting for men. The world would be better off without them, she thinks. They’re all treacherous scum seeking to feed off of the fairer sex. And once their appetite has been satiated they leave in search of something new.

The throne room is empty save for the Mountain. Qyburn has just left, his message delivered and received. The remaining lords and ladies have already scampered back to their hovels. It’s better to be alone than in bad company. Much better.

In strides Euron Greyjoy. If rumors are to be believed, he’s the last male Greyjoy with a working cock. Cersei thinks the wannabe pirate brags too much about his sword. Of what she’s seen, her prisoner in the dark cells is more of a kraken than both remaining male relatives combined. But that is the lot of women. Their sex will always pull them under. She is the exception.

A crown and a throne work wonders. A queen is so much more than a woman. A queen is power. And Cersei will burn anyone who stands in her way.

“You’re back. Good. Am I to assume you were successful?”

Euron Greyjoy tries to saunter towards her. He only succeeds in repulsing her. The weeks he spent away have diluted her memory of him. He is fouler than she remembered. The odor of stagnant ocean water can not be masked by the, rather obvious, perfumes he has brought back from across the Narrow Sea. Even from atop the throne she can smell him.

As if I would ever suffer another man with an ego-complex. Cersei looks towards her shield. The Mountain will snap his neck before his breath ever so much as touches me.

The Mountain strikes out a thick arm to stop his advances. Greyjoy lifts a dark eyebrow and puts his hands up in a mocking gesture of surrender. He doesn’t move any closer. Cersei likes this. Who knew she would one day be able to command men with a simple tilt of her head? The Mountain drops his arm but stays standing next to Euron.

“Yes, my queen,” his leer is more than evident in his voice, “I’ve brought back the Golden Company just as we agreed. Now, I expect to be properly compensated.”

She peers down at him. He wants to marry her and be her king. She would be an idiot to trust him. There are others who have pledged themselves to her. Others who she can, and has, controlled better. But there may be some use to him, yet.

Cersei leers back. She is queen, and a lion. She will not be cowed by an irreverent squid. “Ah, yes. Your compensation...”

It’s certainly not what I was expecting. Not that I know what I was expecting to begin with but... Dany accepts Jorah’s hand as he helps her dismount the finicky Northern steed. Her eyes wander to Jon who is looking towards Winterfell. Nevermind that. I’m sure it is more inviting, warmer, on the inside. Much like its former king.

“It is a sight I did not think I would ever see again. You have made one of my greatest dreams possible, my queen.”

Daenerys turns towards the old bear. She can see true thankfulness in his eyes. It is a homecoming for more than one northerner, today. In the flurry of action she had forgotten that Jorah would most likely be reuniting with family. She is glad one of her oldest supporters will soon fulfill their biggest wish because of her.

“My dear friend, it has been a long journey but you are finally back home in the north.” She clasps his arm. “Mayhaps the north will become a home of sorts for me as well.”

Underneath her hand she can feel him tense at her words. She knows her bear holds no love for the wolf that is slowly, but surely, melting the ice around her heart. Jorah’s jealousy is flattering but she knows what she wants. With a smile Daenerys leaves Jorah and walks towards Jon.

The white landscape and the cold makes her uncomfortable but she will never admit it. What is a little snow and winter wind to a dragon made of fire? Jon remains facing towards Winterfell when she finally arrives at his side. “We are almost there. I am eager to meet your family, Jon Snow.”

Jon hums his agreement.

They’ve stopped to arrange any last minute details before arriving at Winterfell. Her children are to be sent somewhere close to the keep but far away enough to not cause panic. Jon had insisted. She is loathe to part from them but ultimately yields. He probably knows the northerners better than she. Nevertheless, she misses them. She fears to lose them ever since the incident beyond the wall. Her eyes search the sky for Drogon. She can feel his presence. He is still near.

Tyrion, and Varys are discussing some trivial matters with the Unsullied about what to expect in regards to their welcome. Details, details, details. I’m tired of waiting.

Daenerys touches Jon and gently turns him away from Winterfell and towards her. He moves stiffly in the cold. I will be sure to warm him up later in his Lord’s chambers. “You have been awfully quiet. More so than usual. Should I be worried?”

Jon’s eyes slowly warm at her words. The corner of his lips upturn in a reassuring smile. No wonder Jorah is jealous. His worry over her is obvious now. In her very rare moments of worry, or anxiety he is always there to reassure her. She is quite sure he is in love with her. She herself doesn’t love him. Yet. I could. I am in danger of it. I feel it.

“No. There is nothing to worry about. I will speak with the Northern lords and make them understand that you are here to fight with us.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “They will see you for what you are.”

Those words again. Just like before they light a fire within her. He sees her for what she is. A liberator. A savior. A queen.

His queen.

The breaker of chains looks up at the last King of the North. He looks like he is holding himself back from a great emotion. He must want to hold me now. Daenerys wouldn’t care but he has been adamant in avoiding any kind of public intimacy for fear of repercussion to their political alliance. She admires his patience and fortitude. As mother of dragons she forgets how it must be for the rest of the world. To always have to care what others think or do. To not take without asking. Always waiting for permission. What a bleak existence that must be.

A shout from behind breaks their tension. It is time to move again. Jon nods at her and leaves to mount his horse. Daenerys watches his cloak flap behind him like black wings. Soon she’ll meet his people. His family. Soon she’ll learn more about the king who gave away his kingdom for love.

For me.

“He’s almost here.” Bran says. The low and long sound of a horn interrupts him. “Observe and take in as much as you can. Go.”

Tyrion had forgotten how utterly dull the North is. Everywhere I look, snow covers everything.

Varys has his hands hidden away, like always, within the confines of his sleeves. The muted colors of his robes only serve to remind him that summer is long gone. Tyrion turns to look outside of the carriage window. They are near Winterfell’s gates. Won’t be long before it all goes to the Seven Hells. The Northern fools are too stubborn to take kindly to a Targaryen queen. He doesn’t have high hopes for this alliance. Not since–

”You know, your face is doing that thing again.”

”I’m sorry but I’m afraid you will have to elaborate. My handsome features do many ‘things’. What exactly are you talking about?”

Varys looks out of the opposite window. The view is the same. Snow. “You used to be better at hiding your thoughts, your feelings. Not enough to fool me, of course. But now you’re an open book even an illiterate could read.”

Tyrion turns to look at Varys. “And what do you see on my face, hm? If I’m such an open book, pray, tell me.”

The imp of Casterly Rock watches the eunuch watch the scenery pass by.

Of course. Now he’s quiet.

The carriage rolls to a stop. They’ve arrived. “Fear, Tyrion. That’s what I see. You are wise to feel that way.” Varys pauses before fully exiting the carriage. “But a fool to show it.”

The serving girl leaves the godswood behind her. She picks up her coarse skirts and makes her way to the outside of the keep proper. The king is come back with a Targaryen! Her curiosity makes her run fast and nimble as she weaves her way through the soldiers and serving folk.

“Watch it, girl. You near ran me over!”

Anise doesn’t stop. Her hazel eyes drink in everything they can. The horses, the people, the carts. She perches herself atop a stack of empty vegetable crates to get a better view. She anxiously awaits for a sign of dragons in the overcast sky. The Lannister imp is here, as is a bald plump man. She can see them through the small windows of their carriage.

Varys. His name is Varys.

Anise has never met them before. But names are easy to come by. She notices the soldiers are well trained. Even in their strange winter garb they show no signs of discomfort. That must be the Unsullied.

There is another kind of soldier in the courtyard. They are quite different and seem to be faring worse than the Unsullied. Their ears are rust red and their long black hair swings wildly behind them. There aren’t many of them here. Thirty at most.

Dothraki.

They are speaking a strange mixture of the common tongue and a language Anise has never heard before. Nevertheless, she listens and recognizes a few phrases.

“Cold...Khalessi...Snow”

“...Gold...lions...burn”

“...food...food...food...”

Anise turns her attention towards the king. He has finally returned to Winterfell. He’s finally here.

Will he recognize me after all these years? Do I want him to recognize me?

Anise pushes these strange thoughts away. She is a simple serving girl. She has no ties to the king. She is only here to watch and observe.

The main party and King Jon are soon within the walls of Winterfell. The procession of Unsullied keeps passing by, arranging themselves around the keep. She watches them.

They are too many to house inside. The Targaryen girl and her retinue will be housed inside. But what about all her men?

Anise swings her feet and, to pass the time, makes a game of counting how many carts of food and resources she can see.

Five,

Grain.

Ten,

Cloth, animal skins, a few furs.

Fifteen,

Weapons.

Twen—

A screech is the only warning she and the rest of the bystanders receive before everyone scampers away in fear. Anise doesn’t know where her courage comes from but she stands on the crates and bends her head back in awe.

Dragons. They’re real.

They’re here.

The dragon flies directly above Winterfell before flying into the mist and fog of the woods. She jumps off the crates. There is much one can learn from being at the right place at the right time. It’s time to leave her perch. Anise looks with wonder at the passing caravan. With wide eyes and a juvenile smile she follows the Targaryen procession into Winterfell’s courtyard.

It’s cold and the days are getting shorter. Gilly is used to it so she doesn’t complain. Everyone is in a frenzy. A horn of some sort is signaling the arrival of Jon Snow and his aunt. She remembers hearing it an hour or two ago when they had first been spotted by the watchmen. Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen are here. Her name sounds funny to Gilly but what does she know of queens and dragons?

“Gilly, come! He’s here!”

Gilly looks at Sam in mild bemusement. He sounds like a child in his excitement. Gilly adjusts Little Sam on her hip and follows him to the railing that overlooks the courtyard. There is so much noise that Little Sam squirms in curiosity but Gilly strengthens her hold. It wouldn’t do for him to leave her arms. Not with soldiers and dragons in their midst.

“Where are the dragons, Sam?”

His eyes never waver from the action underneath. “Eh, I don’t know. Perhaps they’re away from the keep?”

She has never seen a dragon. But she has seen creatures of ice. She isn’t sure that creatures of fire are any better.

Gilly sets her sight on the newcomers. A head of white, silverlike hair stands off by the entrance to the castle. She, for Gilly can see her fair features, is flanked by soldiers. They are dressed in black leather with dark, sun-kissed skin she has never seen before. That must be the dragon queen. Then where is Jon Snow...

Gilly finds him. His head of black hair is walking towards Sansa Stark. Gilly inhales her surprise. The Lady opens her arms and holds Jon Snow in a welcoming embrace. In the small amount of time Gilly has been in Winterfell she has noted how restrictive Sansa Stark is with her affection and touch. When she first met her she had thought her to be Winterfell’s queen. Gilly brushes Little Sam’s hair back. She doesn’t think she has ever seen the Lady of Winterfell touch someone so intimately before.

She wonders where Lady Arya is. If Sam is correct, she was the one Jon Snow would talk about the most during their time at the Night’s Watch. It seems she isn’t here to welcome her cousin home.

In that moment a terrible sound meets her ears, and makes Little Sam cry. The courtyard is hit by wind and shadow as the sun seems to be momentarily smothered. In the covered walkway Gilly can only see the end of the beast’s tail as it flies overhead. She presses her son closer to her chest.

“Sam! A dragon! They—they’re real!”

What else could it be if not a dragon?

There is a change in the air after that small terrifying moment and Gilly focuses on the men and women in the courtyard. She wasn’t the only one scared by the dragon. Common and noble folk alike are twisting and turning their heads to see if another dragon will pass by. Lady Sansa acts as if nothing happened but Gilly can see how the blonde lady knight moved closer to her lady.

“...queen Daenerys Targaryen. I promised I would...”

“Oh.” Sam mutters. “Oh, no.”

No one is kneeling in the courtyard. Isn’t it part of their customs? To kneel? She read that somewhere, she is sure of it. But no one is kneeling when Jon Snow introduces his aunt to the people of Winterfell. Gilly is confused. Is he no longer king?

Little Sam pulls at his father’s cloak until Sam relents and carries him. Daenerys Targaryen walks towards Jon Snow and Sansa Stark. Unlike her soldiers, the queen is dressed in thick white furs that surely keep her warm.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.” Sansa Stark’s voice carries in the stillness of the moment. Gilly doesn’t believe her. She has seen this woman care for her castle like Gilly herself cares for Little Sam. Daenerys Targaryen seems pleased, though.

“Is Winterfell no longer the Starks’? What is going on, Sam?”

Sam continues to look at Jon Snow as he leads his aunt to the inside of Winterfell.

“I‘m not sure, Gilly. All I know is this complicates everything.” Gilly and Sam watch how the dragon queen’s eyes follow Jon Snow everywhere he goes. “Jon, what have you done?”

It’s strange, being here. He hikes his rucksack over his shoulder. I wonder if...

“This is queen Daenerys Targaryen. I promised I would come back with aid for the fight against the Others.” She begins to walk towards Jon Snow as he introduces her. “In bringing her to the North I have fulfilled that promise.”

Her white and red furs make her stand out against the stones, mud, and wood. Sansa Stark seems to lose some of the levity she had upon embracing her brother. He doesn’t blame her. Having a dragon flying above your home without warning and scaring your people is a bit rude. Then again, are there proper courtesies when it comes to dragons?

The Targaryen girl stops by Jon Snow’s side and faces Sansa Stark. He makes note that no one in the courtyard kneels before the mother of dragons. If the Lady of Winterfell doesn’t kneel neither does its people.

Well, this is awkward.

She doesn’t seem bothered. Or maybe she doesn’t see it as a slight. Considering her and Jon’s—

“Winterfell is yours...”

A servant squeezes past him and draws his attention away from the scene playing out before them all. His rucksack slides off his shoulder with her movement and thuds to the cold ground.

“Hey, look where you’re going,” he mutters as he bends to pick it up.

Quick as a whip the little maid turns her blonde head. Her mouth opens when she sees him. Her eyes shift from young innocence to something far too jaded for her age. The girl’s stare makes him feel transparent.

“What? You want to catch flies or something, kid?”

She looks down at his war hammer before looking back up at him.

“Gendry?” Her voice tilts at the end but it doesn’t sound like a question. She seems certain of who he is.

“Do I know you?” His eyebrows come together in concentration as he takes a step towards her.

Before he knows it she’s gone and lost among the Unsullied, Dothraki, and northerners.

The Hound hits his shoulder with a heavy hand. “Come on, Bull.” His voice is mocking. “Us beasts are far too low for them pretty creatures. She had one look at ya and ran away.”

He’s in Arry’s Lady Arya’s home, now. There’s no way he can forget how low he is. Gendry shoulders the offending hand away and follows the rest of the men inside. As if I needed a reminder of how low I am. I’ve known that my entire life.

Leagues away from Winterfell the fingers of winter are tightening their grip. Slowly and surely the grass and trees are stiffening with frost. Jaime squints at the lowering sun. Nightfall is drawing near. He would be worried but it has been more than a sennight since he left Kings Landing behind. The chances of being captured by his sister’s forces weaken with each step his horse takes.

“You know, it’s gonna cost you more than before. Now that there’s two queens who’d put your pretty blonde head on a spike.”

You’re wrong. There’s three queens. My father wasn’t wrong when he named Sansa Stark the Key to the North.

Jaime pulls on the reins of his horse and steers him towards an off-road clearing.

I’m only hoping Brienne will stay the hand of her red-haired queen.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d almost think you cared about me, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater.”

The mercenary lets out a cackle into the thicket and trees. “Oh, I care. You Lannisters always pay your debts.” He unstraps the bundles from his horse. “But you can only pay them if I keep you alive.”

Jaime let’s the conversation drop. They’re close to their destination. Two more days and he’ll be able to divest himself of one of the many guilts that taint his conscience.

Bran drops his hand from the carved face. The world is blurry before it rights itself to the present. It won’t be long, now.

He watches as a clump of snow crashes to the ground from above. The heart tree’s leaves are heavy, weighed down by Winter’s first true snowfall.

Like a round of cyvasse, the pieces are all in place.

The final game has begun.

#Reposting because tumblr messed up the formatting #and ate the tags #Cersei Lannister #Tyrion Lannister #Bran Stark #Arya Stark #Gendry Waters #Gendrya #Jaime Lannister #Dany #Gilly #anti daenerys #Anti-Jonerys #anti jonerys #Jonsa #jonsaff #Jonsa fic #Unfinished.#Alliances of Winter

40 notes · View notes

asofiaf · 5 years

Text

season 8, episode 2. onwards!

-I realise Jaime is not in a position to go ‘actually I’m super proud of murdering your father, it was my finest act’ but ouch. I kind of feel sorry for him, a bit.

Sansa has some better accusations, good job Sansa, and then Bran has a pretty sick burn to deliver.

-Ooh, Jon is Warden of the North now. I like the choice, seeing as Dany is basically naming him senior military commander of this part of the country and hence of the war against the dead. Many of the benefits of naming him Protector of the Realm while it avoids the problem of declaring herself unsuited for command.

-Tyrion: “they remember what happened last time a Targaryen brought dragons north.”

Me: …Jaehaerys and Alysanne? no, wait, Jacaerys Velaryon during the Dance, I think (certainly no dragons went North after the Dance). Tyrion is clearly implying something bad happened, but I have no idea what he means. Maybe in GoT-verse neither of those things happened and also Aegon took his dragons to the North during the Conquest? In which case, well, ‘made the King in the North bend the knee’ is exactly what happened so Dany can’t claim to be different. I am really puzzled!

-Dany: ‘taking it back from the people who destroyed my family and almost destroyed yours’. I mean for most of your life the Iron Throne belonged to the Baratheons, those were entirely allied with the Starks. I forget if calling Ned one of the usurper’s dogs is GoT canon.

-Davos talks about avoiding combat until the Battle of the Bastards, seems he has forgotten about the Blackwater?

-Sam is getting oddly philosophical about death when there’s a very literal army of dead people at the door.

-holy shit Ghost! they remembered Ghost exists! they still didn’t use the magic betrayal-detecting wolf when they were interrogating someone they suspected of betrayal, but hey.

-Hehe, Tormund called Jaime Kingkiller rather than Kingslayer but the Spanish subtitles translated it the same way. My notes just say ‘insert Rothfuss reference here’ but I could not think of a good one.

-And Sandor is here too. I guess they really want to remind you of every character that is around?? (immediately after i write that note, Beric Dondarrion shows up too, proving my point)

-Arya trying to flirt with Gendry was, uh. I guess that happened.

-'Almost everyone here’s fought the Starks’: by which you mean you and Jaime? Brienne and Davos started out on Renly and Stannis’ camps, respectively, and neither of those had a fight against the Starks. Tormund has mostly fought the Night’s Watch, maybe he fought Benjen at some point? Pod… hm, I guess he squired for Westerlander knights, would have been in some battle against Robb. So, three or four out of six.

Tyrion remembered the Blackwater for Davos, nice of him

-awww Jaime knights Brienne (and title drops! The episode is called A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, which is also the name of the omnibus collection of the Tales of Dunk and Egg published so far. Probably not coincidentally, Dunk is almost certainly Brienne’s ancestor)

Pod, though, he’s gonna die a squire apparently.

-Oh wow the show remembered Jorah and Lyanna Mormont are related (and found its excuse to show Lyanna).

Sam decides to give Heartsbane to Jorah to wield, to honour Jeor Mormont’s memory or something. I do feel the need to point out that Jeor explicitly gave his family sword to someone who isn’t Jorah, and indeed thought that Jorah having it would be dishonourable…

- How do Dany and Jon keep finding empty crypts to meet, nobody in sight, when supposedly all the noncombatants are sheltered down there?

I would have loved to see Jon processing his feelings about his adoptive father and biological parents, like, onscreen? When did he decide his real name was Aegon?

#episode discussion #got #ASoIaF

7 notes · View notes

valaenarhaegarovna · 6 years

Text

Melt me away: Chapter 17

Previous chapter

Melt me away

Master List

AO3

Ko-fi

Notes: And here we are! Another chapter for our Dragon Prince! As I have said before, what happens with the Targaryens is important to the story, so sometimes we will have chapters that happen far away from our main couple. Next chapter will be Jaime’s and then we will return with Ned. Just a warning: This story is not for Rhaegar haters. He is not evil here.

Rhaegar's head was throbbing.

He was so tired of dealing with his father’s small council. Those men clearly hated the Crown Prince, for he, unlike his father, paid close attention to every single expense, giving them no room for stealing the crown’s treasure.

“The birth of your heir is approaching, Prince Rhaegar.” The Master of coin, Lord Qarlton Chelsted, caught his attention. “Dragonstone’s maester said it won’t take more than a moon. I suggest we plan a Tourney or a Fair after the babe is born.”

“I am not sure of this, my lords.” Rhaegar couldn’t believe they had dragged him out of Dragonstone just for that. “After the storm destroyed a good amount of our crops, I think we should focus on buying more food rather than making silly festivities.”

Tywin’s face soured. The old lion considered the birth of his grandchild, a royal prince or princess with Lannister blood, to be the greatest event of the year. The festivity was most likely his idea, but he ordered someone else to say it instead. Rhaegar found that scenario very likely.

“Can’t we just ask the Reach for it?” Lucerys Velaryon spoke for the first time. “House Tyrell owns House Targaryen everything they have, and Mace is not the smartest man.”

“Lord Tyrell is married to Alerie Hightower, my lord.” The spider cut. “He was one of those who took offense in Lady Lyra’s ill-treatment. The Tyrells will claim that they need a lot of grain and that they cannot just give it to the Crown without some kind of payment.” Rhaegar was surprised to see the spider on his side. “Prince Rhaegar is right, we cannot afford any festivities at the moment.”

“We could ask the Iron Bank for a loan.” Lord Symund Staunton suggested.

“If the Crown fails to pay it back, it could be the end of the Targaryen Dynasty.” Rhaegar held the urge to snap at the man. “I prefer to avoid the Braavosi.”

All of them started to talk at the same time, suggesting many ideas so that the stupid tourney could take place. Rhaegar had no wish for such thing. He needed to save gold to the Tourney at Harrenhal he and his allies were planning. Besides, he felt that celebrating so soon after Elize’s death was distasteful, his wedding to Cersei had been enough.

“All of you seem to have forgotten that Princess Cersei is my daughter.” Tywin finally spoke, catching the room’s attention. “I have no problem in paying for the tourney myself.” His cold green eyes found Rhaegar’s Indigo ones. “The Crown would only need to repay half of its cost.”

Tywin was good.

“It would surely ease the Crown’s burden.” Lord Qarlton agreed, scratching his chin. “His Grace would like not having to pay the full price, we just need to plan everything before asking for his seal.”

“You forgot to ask my opinion on the matter, Lord Qarlton.” He interrupted the master of coin, his voice hard as steel. “It is my child you are talking about.”

“A royal prince or princess.” Pycelle raised his finger. “The King is the one to decide on such matters.”

Rhaegar’s patience was coming to its end. Those men were nothing but Tywin’s puppets. The Dragon Prince remembered how all of them were trying to get rid of the old lion prior to his wedding to Cersei. Now that the man was the future queen’s father, they were all liking his boots. Rhaegar’s blood boiled.

“If it is my father’s decision...” Rhaegar had given up, the council had ruined his mood. The dragon was awake. “Why did you summon me from Dragonstone, taking me away from my pregnant wife?” He saw Lord Symund squirm. “To inform me of things that could easily be informed by raven? You insult me, my lords.” He stood up and all the council did the same, except Pycelle, for his age, and Tywin, who eyed him darkly. “Make a tourney, if it suits you, but my family will not attend.”

Ser Gerold, who had been silent during the entire meeting, followed his prince through the door, staying on a respectful distance. They both walked in silence. Rhaegar was furious, something rare to see, something scary. His soft features were contorted in such anger that some could mistake him for someone else. Those who had known King Aerys would be able to finally see a similarity between father and son. They had the same face when they were angry.

Instead of returning straight to his chambers, he decided to see his lady mother. Nothing helped him calm down like Queen Rhaella. He knew that his father had not burned people that day, so His Grace probably left his wife alone. Rhaegar reached the door of his mother’s chambers, and the presence of only Ser Oswell told him his father indeed let Rhaella enjoy her day.

“Ser Oswell, please inform my mother that I have arrived.” When Oswell went inside, he turned to Ser Gerold. “Ser, please find Arthur and send him here, you ought to rest.”

“Of course, my Prince.” The Lord Commander lowered his head before leaving.

Just after Ser Gerold left, the door to his mother’s chamber opened, but neither Ser Oswell or his mother came out.

“Rhaegar!”

It was Viserys.

“Viserys.” He smiled at his younger brother, taking him into his arms. “How are you?”

“Mother was telling a story!” The little prince was radiant, a big smile on his small face. “But now that you are here, you can read something about dragons for me, right?”

“Later, Viserys.” He answered softly and the boy pouted. “I came to spend some time with mother before going back to your little niece or nephew.”

“Will you bring them here?”

“Maybe, Vis. Maybe.” His mother’s sweet voice grabbed Rhaegar’s attention. “They need to be born first.” She took her younger son from Rhaegar’s arms.

“Mother, I have missed you.” He murmured, knowing that she had listened by the big smile she gave him. “How have you been?”

“As good as I can.” She sat on the big chair near the fireplace, Viserys sitting on her lap with his wooden dragon. “Your departure to Dragonstone broke my heart, my son.” She told him sweetly. “But I understand why you did it.”

Rhaegar left for Dragonstone right after he learned that Cersei was with child, he wished to stay away from Aerys, that had started to see Joanna in her daughter. Rhaegar did not want his father harassing his wife, so he took her and her ladies to Dragonstone as soon as he had a good motive for it. The lioness pregnancy was going well, and Rhaegar wished he had stayed with his wife.

“How is Cersei treating you?”

Cersei was the perfect wife a Lord or a Prince could ask for. She was beautiful, gracious and receptive. More than receptive. Cersei was the one that went to his chambers or his solar in search of sex. After getting her with child, Rhaegar had stopped visiting her, his heart still full of melancholy for Elize’s death. But while her belly hadn’t started showing, Cersei would always search him. Sometimes he would grant her wish, but he always left after she fell asleep. He had so much to plan...

“She is a good wife.” It was all he managed to say.

“Yet you don’t feel yourself growing fond of her.” Rhaella finished what he could not say.

“I don’t like Cersei.” Viserys mumbled. “She never pays attention to me.”

Rhaegar eyed his brother, wondering if Viserys dislike for his wife had any credit. It was true that she had no obligation of liking all of his family, – he wouldn’t force her to like Aerys – but he did notice that she held no affection for the younger prince. Rhaegar thought that maybe it was because some people could use Viserys to threaten their future children, and he understood her fears. It just didn’t sit well with him, to see her ignore his younger brother.

“She may remind me of Joanna in looks, but they are very different.” The Queen took him away from his thoughts. “Joanna was kind and way more intelligent than she would let people know.” His mother remembered her old friend with a big smile on her face. It warmed Rhaegar’s heart. “Cersei has no such kindness in her.”

Rhaegar had wanted to say something in defense of his wife, but he couldn’t find anything to say. He would be lying if he said there wasn’t something missing in their interactions. She searched for him, yes, but only for sex or to show him around her ladies. They never truly talked. They would have supper together and the Prince would try to engage in conversation, but she would complain about how she missed court and what she would do once she became Queen. Sometimes the Dragon Prince just wanted to forget her burdens, but she never allowed him to. By the end, they would end in his bed, and he would leave once she fell asleep. We never wake up together.

“You drifted off again, Rhaegar.” Rhaella called him off his mind again.

“I am sorry mother.” He said instantly.

“You have always been like this.” She smiles at him again, waving her hand and dismissing the issue. “You just need to remember-

The door busted open, making Viserys jump and cling on the Queen’s neck. Rhaegar didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

“Boy!” The King snarled at him. “What are you doing here?”

“I am only visiting mother and Viserys, Your Grace.” Rhaegar stood to face his father.

The Mad King was followed by Ser Barristan and by Ser Jonothor. Both knights seemed worried about the situation, and Rhaegar couldn’t blame them for it. Everyone on the Red Keep knew how Rhaegar felt about the way the King treated Rhaella.

“He was just living, my love.” Rhaella said with a calmness that didn’t reach her eyes. “Take Viserys to his chambers, will you?” She tried to pass him the younger Targaryen, but he wouldn’t let go of her neck. “Vis, you need to go with Rhaegar...”

“Let go of him, your stupid woman!” The King roared. “If he doesn’t leave, he will watch!”

Rhaegar’s body tensed and he stared at his father, clenching his fists. The King hadn’t noticed the change in his son’s stance, but the Queen did. She grabbed his forearm tightly, making his wrathful eyes focus on her.

“Take Viserys and go.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “Please.”

He took some time to nod in agreement. He didn’t wish to leave her to face Aerys, but what could he do? Rhaegar managed to forcefully take Viserys, who was on the verge of a tantrum that would enrage their father even more. The King barked at them, ordering them to leave. Rhaegar hesitated by the door, turning to look at his mother. She nodded, and he left, cursing under his breath.

Arthur was waiting for him outside, his purple eyes full with pity, but Rhaegar wasn’t in the mood for any gentle words from his friend. He just started walking, Viserys safe in his arms. He wanted to get them away before their mother started crying. They reached the young prince’s chambers and Arthur opened the door for them, remaining outside as they went in.

“Will you stay until I sleep?” His brother asked when Rhaegar manage to get the boy to let go of him.

“Yes, I will stay.” He said gently, taking a seat in a very comfortable armchair. “I promise I won’t leave until you are asleep.”

Viserys nodded and laid down, tucking his head under the pillow.

Rhaegar stared at his brother’s small and terrified frame. He just wished winter would end so that he could set his plan in motion. He couldn’t start a war to dethrone his father in the middle of winter.

Everything was ready. He just needed spring to come and then the tourney on Harrenhal could take place for him to gather all the lords and secure their support. It would be over. Rhaegar would strip his father of his title and send him to the wall. It would be good to keep him close, but Aerys had supporters and Rhaegar’s position would only be fully secured if his father lost the privilege of stating his claim on the throne. Maester Aemon had received his raven and had promised to talk to the Lord Commander about it once the time came.

After his father was dealt with, Rhaegar could fully focus on his Prince.

He closed his eyes, feeling sleep take over his body.

He was dreaming, Rhaegar was sure of that.

He knew of no meadow of roses, and yet there he was, in the middle of hundreds and hundreds of red roses. Their sweet scent filling the air. He walked around the meadow, appreciating the view and the calm aura of it. He longed for such peace.

Then there was something different.

Not exactly a different smell, although it had something different in the air. Rhaegar felt a pull. He looked around in search of something unusual, but he could only see red. The Prince followed that urge, moving carefully not to step on the flowers. He walked for a long time, following the urge while doubting its existence, for he could not see anything different than the rest.

Still, he kept going and soon a hill covered in the snow came into view. Rhaegar had never seen so much snow in his life. Could this be the North? He walked up the hill, his feet sinking in the snow as he moved. It can’t be the North. He told himself after half of the journey to the top. Roses don’t grow in the North. He reached the hill’s top and stopped abruptly.

There was a rose.

A winter rose.

That was what he had been following. But why? Why would he follow the calling of a blue flower? What was so special about it? He knelt in front of it, reaching for the rose with care. The petals were cold, hurting his fingers. It’s a winter rose. Ice. He went to pick it up but ended up hissing in pain. He cut himself in one of its thorns. He took the injured finger into his mouth, his face twisting in pain. It hurt way more than expected.

‘You are not very smart, despite what people say.’ A sweet voice giggled behind him, but when he turned, he saw nothing. ‘I will have to teach you again, won’t I?’ The world around him changed and he saw himself in the middle of a forest. ‘Hurry!’

He wanted to ask who she was, but he couldn’t even open his mouth. Rhaegar could do nothing but follow. As he walked, he tried to find out where he was. He knew the kingswood very well and the place where he was looked nothing like that.

‘Why are you so slow today, Rhaegar?’ The voice chuckled again, guiding him through the trees.

Again, he couldn’t answer, but he moved faster towards the voice, almost running. She kept talking and it seemed that he was finally reaching her; but as he came closer, some unusual things caught his attention on the forest floor. First, it was a wooden lizard-lion being attacked by knights; then he found a shield resting against a tree, a mismatched armor in front of it.

‘Where are you?’ The voice called again. ‘I am waiting.’

His focus returned to her and he kept going. He was approaching the end of the forest, and a dreadful feeling took over his heart; there was something in the forest that didn’t like his presence, he wasn’t welcome there. Not yet, at least. Rhaegar arrived in a meadow, the woman he had been following was a few steps ahead, with her back turned to him.

She was small, much shorter than the Prince. Her long dark hair reaching just above her waist. He took a few steps in her direction before noticing the enormous weirwood the woman was staring at. It was a terrifying sight. The heart tree was so big that Rhaegar was sure that the girl could fit inside its open mouth.

‘You are drifting off again.’

‘I am sorry, my lady.’ It came out naturally like it always did with his mother.

She didn’t say anything, nor did she turn to face him. It drove him mad. Rhaegar wanted to see her face. On the ground behind her, it laid a crown of winter roses, blue as frost. He picked it up carefully, remembering how he had cut his finger earlier, and stared at it for a long minute before doing what he thought she was expecting him to do: put the crown on her head.

Even so, she didn’t turn. She remained still, silent. It bothered the Dragon Prince. He wanted answers, he wanted to know what all of that meant. His hand met the skin of her shoulder – cold – and he tried to turn her to him gently.

A deep growl came from the weirwood.

Rhaegar jumped away from the woman, staring at the tree’s colossal mouth as a huge white wolf came out of it, baring its knife-like teeth. As the Targaryen prince stared at the beast’s red eyes, he could hear a faint voice on his head.

Not yet.

‘When?’ He managed to say, too scared to move.

Soon.

He woke up with Arthur calling his name.

Rhaegar was back at Viserys’ room, resting on that same armchair. The sun was already rising and he felt sore. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep there. Still, he was glad he did. That dream... wasn’t a normal one, it meant something and he needed to know what it was trying to tell him.

The weirwood. It has something to do with the Old Gods. But what is it?

He needed to know.

“Rhaegar!” Arthur hissed. “Are you listening?”

His eyes focused on his friend, noticing his presence.

“Arthur...” The Prince whispered, getting up from his chair. “What is the matter?”

“A raven arrived from Dragonstone, Princess Cersei has gone into labor.”

Notes: And Cersei’s baby is coming! Is it a boy or a girl? Any guess?

Next Chapter

#Rhaegar Targaryen #Lyanna Stark #rhaegar x lyanna #rhaegar x cersei #rhaella targaryen #queen rhaella #ASoIaF #Arthur Dayne #asoiaf fanfiction #melt me away

4 notes · View notes