#oh davos you sweet sweet man
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This is it. This is the whole book. Everyone go home.
#oh davos you sweet sweet man#you’re amazing#you deserve the stars the moon the entire universe#davos seaworth#stannis baratheon#of bastards#and the worth of life#asoiaf#asos
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Jon is said to be called black heart bastard in books. Besides him Rhaegar, Jaime, Bronn and Brown Ben Plumm are mention to have black hearts. Melisandre told Davos that Others also have black heart. Do you think it's implying about treachery and duplicity in these characters?
Oh, let's do it the old-fashioned way and just check out Every Single Mention! :)
One thing that stands out is that the black heart is usually assigned in an accusatory manner by a different character, so the connotation to treachery or cruelty is definitely an in-universe trope, while at the same time creating some fun parallels between those so described.
Black hearts a-plenty. Lots of quotes.
"Rhaegar … Rhaegar won, damn him. I killed him, Ned, I drove the spike right through that black armor into his black heart, and he died at my feet. They made up songs about it. Yet somehow he still won. (AGOT, Eddard X)
-> Dead, yet triumphant. An armored heart.
So many dead, so very many. Their corpses hung limply, their faces slack or stiff or swollen with gas, unrecognizable, hardly human. The garments the sisters took from them were decorated with black hearts, grey lions, dead flowers, and pale ghostly stags. (ACOK, Tyrion XV)
-> A sigil worn by the dead.
Styr scowled. "His heart may still be black."
"Then cut it out." (ASOS, Jon II)
-> A mark of treachery. In need of killing.
"So tell me, Ser Davos Seaworth, and tell me truly—does your heart burn with the shining light of R'hllor? Or is it black and cold and full of worms?" [...] It is well you did not lie to me. I would have known. The Other's servants oft hide black hearts in gaudy light, so R'hllor gives his priests the power to see through falsehoods." She stepped lightly away from the cell. "Why did you mean to kill me?" (ASOS, Davos III)
-> Treacherous, in opposition to fire, with ill intent.
"Why? Is it your fault that Bronn's an insolent black-hearted rogue? He's always been an insolent black-hearted rogue. That's what I liked about him." (ASOS, Tyrion IX)
-> A mark of disloyalty.
Ser Brynden laughed again. "Much as I would welcome the chance to take that golden sword away from you and cut out your black heart, your promises are worthless. I would gain nothing from your death but the pleasure of killing you, and I will not risk my own life for that . . . as small a risk as that may be." (AFFC, Jaime VI)
-> A mark of treachery. In need of killing.
Jon felt as stiff as a man of sixty years. Dark dreams, he thought, and guilt. His thoughts kept returning to Arya. There is no way I can help her. I put all kin aside when I said my words. If one of my men told me his sister was in peril, I would tell him that was no concern of his. Once a man had said the words his blood was black. Black as a bastard's heart. (ADWD, Jon VI)
-> A mark of treachery (against his family) caused by torn loyalty (between the Watch and the Starks).
"Ser Grandfather knows how to count. The Second Sons have gone over to the Yunkai'i." Daario turned his head and spat. "That's for Brown Ben Plumm. When next I see his ugly face I will open him from throat to groin and rip out his black heart." (ADWD, Daenerys VI)
-> A mark of treachery. In need of killing.
A horn of mead was never far from his hand, so the spittle he sprayed when making threats was sweet with honey. He called Jon Snow a craven, a liar, and a turncloak, cursed him for a black-hearted buggering kneeler, a robber, and a carrion crow, accused him of wanting to fuck the free folk up the arse. Twice he flung his drinking horn at Jon's head, though only after he had emptied it. (ADWD, Jon XI)
-> Variety! An unrelenting negotiator with high demands who cannot be moved. Treacherous only in the expectations of generosity placed on him, not in true falseness.
Ghost came racing from the gate. Tormund's horse shied so hard that the wildling almost lost his saddle. "Naught to be feared?" Jon said. "Ghost, stay."
"You are a black-hearted bastard, Lord Crow." Tormund Horn-Blower lifted his own warhorn to his lips. The sound of it echoed off the ice like rolling thunder, and the first of the free folk began to stream toward the gate. (ADWD, Jon XII)
-> Same as above: Unrelenting, intimidating, stern.
Bonus Black-heartedness:
The Hoares
The west coast of the North has also oft been beset by reavers, and several of the Hungry Wolf's wars were forced upon him when longships out of Great Wyk, Old Wyk, Pyke, and Orkmont descended upon his western coasts beneath the banners of Harrag Hoare, King of the Iron Islands. For a time the Stony Shore did fealty to Harrag and his ironmen, swathes of the wolfswood were nothing but ashes, and Bear Island was a base for reaving, ruled by Harrag's black-hearted son, Ravos the Raper.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The North: The Kings of Winter)
Archmaester Hake tells us that the kings of House Hoare were, "black of hair, black of eye, and black of heart." Their foes claimed their blood was black as well, darkened by the "Andal taint," for many of the early Hoare kings took maidens of that ilk to wife. True ironborn had salt water in their veins, the priests of the Drowned God proclaimed; the black-blooded Hoares were false kings, ungodly usurpers who must be cast down. (The World of Ice and Fire - The Iron Islands: The Black Blood)
-> A mark of cruelty as well as treachery and illegitimacy. In need of killing. (Historically opposed to the dragons.)
The Heart of Old Volantis
Who built it? When? Why? Most maesters accept the common wisdom that declares it to be of Valyrian construction, for its massive walls and labyrinthine interiors are all of solid rock, with no hint of joins or mortar, no chisel marks of any kind, a type of construction that is seen elsewhere, most notably in the dragonroads of the Freehold of Valyria, and the Black Walls that protect the heart of Old Volantis.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The Reach: Oldtown)
They must have a library in Old Volantis, surely. I may find a better copy there, if I can find a way inside the Black Walls to the city's heart. (ADWD, Tyrion IV)
One looked toward the Long Bridge and the black-walled heart of Old Volantis across the river. (ADWD, Tyrion VII)
-> A black heart may simply be armored in black, protecting what is within.
So a black heart does, indeed, indicate treachery and duplicity, mortal animosity, often in opposition to a fire-related enemy. It can also indicate illegitimacy, and it carries a strong connotation with death, though in the case of Ben Plumm it is survival he champions. It may indicate a "wall" or "armor" around the true intentions of the heart, similarly to a metaphorical Wall of Ice.
Honorable mention: Dark Heart
One spoke with the timbre of a child. The floating heart pulsed from dimness to darkness. [...] Perched above her, the dragon spread his wings and tore at the terrible dark heart, ripping the rotten flesh to ribbons, and when his head snapped forward, fire flew from his open jaws, bright and hot. (ACOK, Daenerys IV)
-> In opposition to Daenerys and her dragons.
The dwarf woman studied her with dim red eyes. "I see you," she whispered. "I see you, wolf child. Blood child. I thought it was the lord who smelled of death . . ." She began to sob, her little body shaking. "You are cruel to come to my hill, cruel. I gorged on grief at Summerhall, I need none of yours. Begone from here, dark heart. Begone!" (ASOS, Arya VIII)
-> A child. A wolf child. A dark heart.
Or, interestingly distinct: Heart of Darkness
At her command, one produced an iron key. The door opened, hinges shrieking. Daenerys Targaryen stepped into the hot heart of darkness and stopped at the lip of a deep pit. Forty feet below, her dragons raised their heads. Four eyes burned through the shadows—two of molten gold and two of bronze. (ADWD, Daenerys II)
-> Where dragons dwell.
Most sinister of all the sorcerers of Asshai are the shadowbinders, whose lacquered masks hide their faces from the eyes of gods and men. They alone dare to go upriver past the walls of Asshai, into the heart of darkness.
On its way from the Mountains of the Morn to the sea, the Ash runs howling through a narrow cleft in the mountains, between towering cliffs so steep and close that the river is perpetually in shadow, save for a few moments at midday when the sun is at its zenith. In the caves that pockmark the cliffs, demons and dragons and worse make their lairs. The farther from the city one goes, the more hideous and twisted these creatures become...until at last one stands before the doors of the Stygai, the corpse city at the Shadow's heart, where even the shadowbinders fear to tread. Or so the stories say.
(The World of Ice and Fire - The Bones and Beyond: Asshai-by-the-Shadow)
-> A place of demons, dragons "and worse". A place of corpses. Marked by the run of a river named Ash, a city named Stygai. Truly stygian.
Far be in from me to cast aspersions (Lies, I love casting those.) but given that Jon is associated with the term most frequently, I'd suspect he will end up playing a role in opposition to a fire-related enemy, who will want him dead, guarding his heart's true intentions behind a black armor and plotting with ill intent. Perhaps accused of trying to be a usurper, perhaps accused of demanding too much, perhaps trying to reconcile a taint in his blood with his loyalty to the Starks.
#rouka queue#long post#quote compilation#black heart#jon snow#parallels#anti daenerys targaryen#not really but you know
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Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ADWD: Tyrion XI (Chapter 57)
The healer entered the tent murmuring pleasantries, but one sniff of the foul air and a glance at Yezzan zo Qaggaz put an end to that. "The pale mare," the man told Sweets.
What a surprise, Tyrion thought. Who could have guessed? Aside from any man with a nose and me with half of one. Yezzan was burning with fever, squirming fitfully in a pool of his own excrement. His shit had turned to brown slime streaked with blood … and it fell to Yollo and Penny to wipe his yellow bottom clean. Even with assistance, their master could not lift his own weight; it took all his failing strength to roll onto one side.
"My arts will not avail here," the healer announced. "The noble Yezzan's life is in the hands of the gods. Keep him cool if you can. Some say that helps. Bring him water." Those afflicted by the pale mare were always thirsty, drinking gallons between their shits. "Clean fresh water, as much as he will drink."
"Not river water," said Sweets.
Sunset found her squatting in the grass, groaning. Every stool was looser than the one before, and smelled fouler. By the time the moon came up she was shitting brown water. The more she drank, the more she shat, but the more she shat, the thirstier she grew, and her thirst sent her crawling to the stream to suck up more water. - Daenerys X, ADWD
+.+.+
Poor old Yezzan. The lord of suet was not so bad as masters went. Sweets had been right about that. Serving at his nightly banquets, Tyrion had soon learned that Yezzan stood foremost amongst those Yunkish lords who favored honoring the peace with Meereen. Most of the others were only biding their time, waiting for the armies of Volantis to arrive. A few wanted to assault the city immediately, lest the Volantenes rob them of their glory and the best part of the plunder. Yezzan would have no part of that. Nor would he consent to returning Meereen's hostages by way of trebuchet, as the sellsword Bloodbeard had proposed.
"No. Have the Yunkishmen chosen a new commander?"
"The council of masters has been unable to agree. Yezzan zo Qaggaz had the most support, but now he's died as well. - The Spurned Suitor, ADWD
The situation is bleak but salvageable. Yezzan might be gone, but there are still other lords who wish to honor the peace.
Unfortunately Barristan the Boob is going to arrest the one man who can save the situation.
+.+.+
"Some masters free their slaves when they die," said Penny.
Sweets tittered. It was a ghastly sound. "Only favorites. They free them from the woes of the world, to accompany their beloved master to the grave and serve him in the afterlife."
Oh good, Barry's already got his next job lined up.
+.+.+
The goat boy spoke up. "The silver queen—"
"—is dead," insisted Sweets. "Forget her! The dragon took her across the river. She's drowned in that Dothraki sea."
"You can't drown in grass," the goat boy said.
Should we consider Daenerys X her second rebirth on that Dothraki sea? Her final form. Lol.
She talks of prophecies . . . a hero reborn in the sea, living dragons hatched from dead stone - Davos V, ASOS
x
The frightened child who sheltered in my manse died on the Dothraki sea, and was reborn in blood and fire. - Tyrion II, ADWD
Thank you, @decadelongsummer!
+.+.+
"It was just a wish," said Penny wistfully. "We could sail away. There are ships again, now that the war is over."
Is it? Tyrion was inclined to doubt that. Parchments had been signed, but wars were not fought on parchments.
He should know better.
Some battles are won with swords and spears, others with quills and ravens. - Tyrion I, ASOS
Right idea, wrong execution from Tywin. Bran will show them both.
+.+.+
Sweets dabbed at Yezzan's fevered face with a damp cloth. "Yezzan must live. Or we all die with him. The pale mare does not carry off every rider. The master will recover."
Not everyone dies from the pale mare. Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.
Some people only lose their minds in the middle of the Dothraki Sea.
+.+.+
When men are dying every hour, no one looks too hard at one more dead man, especially one as well despised as Nurse. Yezzan's other slaves had refused to go near the overseer once the cramps began, so it was left to Tyrion to keep him warm and bring him drinks. Watered wine and lemonsweet and some nice hot dogtail soup, with slivers of mushroom in the broth. Drink it down, Nursey, that shitwater squirting from your arse needs to be replaced. The last word Nurse ever said was, "No." The last words he ever heard were, "A Lannister always pays his debts."
Don't mind Tyrion, he's just casually murdering someone who was already going to die.
Somehow I doubt George introduced those mushrooms to the story to kill Yezzan's overseer.
+.+.+
He waddled toward them. "Scar," he barked out, "the noble Yezzan has need of fresh, clean water. Take two men and bring back as many pails as you can carry. And be quick about it."
The soldiers broke off their game. Scar rose to his feet, brow beetling. "What did you say, dwarf? Who do you think you are?"
"You know who I am. Yollo. One of our lord's treasures. Now do as I told you."
The soldiers laughed. "Go on, Scar," one mocked, "and be quick about it. Yezzan's monkey gave you a command."
Tyrion hasn't lost his mind. He wants the soldier to send him to get the water.
Remember how George managed to include a bear in every ASOS chapter? This is kind of like that, except all the monkeys are probably Tyrion.
<- The Iron Suitor (Victarion I)
The monkeys, though … the monkeys were a plague. Victarion had forbidden his men to bring any of the demonic creatures aboard ship, yet somehow half his fleet was now infested with them, even his own Iron Victory. He could see some now, swinging from spar to spar and ship to ship. Would that I had a crossbow.
+.+.+
"Bring the pails," Tyrion told Penny. He went off with the man Morgo to fetch Ser Jorah Mormont from his cage.
The knight had not adapted well to bondage. When called upon to play the bear and carry off the maiden fair, he had been sullen and uncooperative, shuffling lifelessly through his paces when he deigned to take part in their mummery at all. Though he had not attempted escape, nor offered violence to his captors, he would ignore their commands oft as not or reply with muttered curses. None of this had amused Nurse, who made his displeasure clear by confining Mormont in an iron cage and having him beaten every evening as the sun sank into Slaver's Bay. The knight absorbed the beatings silently; the only sounds were the muttered curses of the slaves who beat him and the dull thuds of their clubs pounding against Ser Jorah's bruised and battered flesh.
+.+.+
Wearing a collar conferred certain advantages, particularly a gilded collar inscribed with the name of Yezzan zo Qaggaz. The chime of those little bells proclaimed their value to anyone with ears. A slave was only as important as his master; Yezzan was the richest man in the Yellow City and had brought six hundred slave soldiers to the war, even if he did look like a monstrous yellow slug and smell of piss. Their collars gave them leave to go anywhere they might wish within the camp.
Is that a Jabba the Hutt reference?
+.+.+
Elsewhere teams of slaves were raising ramps of stone and sand beneath their mangonels and scorpions, angling them upward at the sky, the better to defend the camp should the black dragon return. It made the dwarf smile to see them sweating and cursing as they wrestled the heavy machines onto the inclines. Crossbows were much in evidence as well. Every other man seemed to be clutching one, with a quiverfull of bolts hanging from his hip.
If anyone had thought to ask him, Tyrion could have told them not to bother. Unless one of those long iron scorpion bolts chanced to find an eye, the queen's pet monster was not like to be brought down by such toys. Dragons are not so easy to kill as that. Tickle him with these and you'll only make him angry.
The eyes were where a dragon was most vulnerable. The eyes, and the brain behind them. Not the underbelly, as certain old tales would have it. The scales there were just as tough as those along a dragon's back and flanks. And not down the gullet either. That was madness. These would-be dragonslayers might as well try to quench a fire with a spear thrust. "Death comes out of the dragon's mouth," Septon Barth had written in his Unnatural History, "but death does not go in that way."
Apparently the bookworm also forgot about House Uller.
In all fairness to him Meraxes was struck in the eye.
"It is said that the Yunkai'i have ringed the city all about with scorpions, to loose iron bolts into the sky should Drogon return."
Ser Barristan had heard that too. "It is no simple thing to slay a dragon in the sky. In Westeros, many tried to bring down Aegon and his sisters. None succeeded." - The Queensguard, ADWD
Two people from Team Daenerys claim a scorpion can't take down a dragon, which guarantees a scorpion will take down a dragon.
A man wounded Drogon with a spear, and crossbows tore through the membranes of his wings, so I don't know what the hell this whole eye business is about.
I imagine someone is going to attempt to stab a dragon in the eye.
+.+.+
To the naked eye the Ghiscari looked more formidable than the Yunkish slave soldiers, but Tyrion nursed doubts. The legionaries might be armed and organized in the same manner as Unsullied … but the eunuchs knew no other life, whereas the Ghiscari were free citizens who served for three-year terms.
In case it wasn't clear, Daenerys will stomp.
+.+.+
There were only a handful of wells within a day's march of Meereen, so the wait was always long. Most of the Yunkish host drew their drinking water from the Skahazadhan, which Tyrion had known was a very bad idea even before the healer's warning. The clever ones took care to stay upstream of the latrines, but they were still downstream of the city.
The fact that there were any good wells at all within a day's march of the city only went to prove that Daenerys Targaryen was still an innocent where siegecraft was concerned. She should have poisoned every well. Then all the Yunkishmen would be drinking from the river. See how long their siege lasts then. That was what his lord father would have done, Tyrion did not doubt.
Nobody is better at weaponizing a water system than Tyrion Lannister.
So to mark his manhood, Tyrion was given charge of all the drains and cisterns within Casterly Rock. - Tyrion III, ADWD
x
"I once had charge of all the drains in Casterly Rock," Tyrion said mildly. - Tyrion XII, ADWD
+.+.+
There was no better place to hear the latest news and rumors than around the well.
[...]
"The queen climbed onto the dragon's back and flew away," insisted a tall brown woman.
"She tried," said the old man, "but she couldn't hold on. The crossbows wounded the dragon, and the queen was struck right between her sweet pink teats, I hear. That was when she fell. She died in the gutter, crushed beneath a wagon's wheels. I know a girl who knows a man who saw her die."
I strongly believe this will not be the last time there's debate over how Daenerys Targaryen died.
Early the next morning, he was found dead on the throne, his robes sodden with blood, his arms slashed open by the barbs of the Iron Throne.
Thus ended Maegor the Cruel. How he came to die is a matter of much speculation. Though the singers would have us believe that the Iron Throne itself killed him, some suspect his Kingsguard, and others some mason whom the king had failed to kill and who knew the secrets of the Red Keep. But perhaps even likelier is the suggestion that the king killed himself rather than suffer defeat. Whatever the truth, it was a reign that ended in the only way it could after the six years of terror that Maegor had visited upon the realm. But his nephew's reign would do much to mend the deep wounds he had made in the Seven Kingdoms. - The World of Ice and Fire
+.+.+
Laughter erupted all around them. Even the old man joined in. "You saw her, then," said the redheaded boy behind them. "You saw the queen. Is she as beautiful as they say?"
I saw a slender girl with silvery hair wrapped in a tokar, he might have told them. Her face was veiled, and I never got close enough for a good look. I was riding on a pig. Daenerys Targaryen had been seated in the owner's box beside her Ghiscari king, but Tyrion's eyes had been drawn to the knight in the white-and-gold armor behind her. Though his features were concealed, the dwarf would have known Barristan Selmy anywhere. Illyrio was right about that much, at least, he remembered thinking. Will Selmy know me, though? And what will he do if he does?
Let you ruin her.
Someone who grew up with Cersei Lannister is not going to be enamored by Daenerys's beauty.
+.+.+
Selmy had never approved of Jaime's presence in his precious Kingsguard. Before the rebellion, the old knight thought him too young and untried; afterward, he had been known to say that the Kingslayer should exchange that white cloak for a black one. And his own crimes were worse. Jaime had killed a madman. Tyrion had put a quarrel through the groin of his own sire, a man Ser Barristan had known and served for years. He might have chanced it all the same, but then Penny had landed a blow on his shield and the moment was gone, never to return.
Barristan Selmy, Jorah Mormont, and Tyrion Lannister all hate each other. Add a Greyjoy, some sellsword captains, and a red priest and you have a terribly dysfunctional group of advisers.
+.+.+
"Ghazdor's collar," the old man boasted. "Known him since we was born. I'm almost like a brother to him. Slaves like you, sweepings out of Astapor and Yunkai, you whine about being free, but I wouldn't give the dragon queen my collar if she offered to suck my cock for it. Man has the right master, that's better."
Tyrion did not dispute him. The most insidious thing about bondage was how easy it was to grow accustomed to it.
+.+.+
The life of most slaves was not all that different from the life of a serving man at Casterly Rock, it seemed to him. True, some slaveowners and their overseers were brutal and cruel, but the same was true of some Westerosi lords and their stewards and bailiffs. Most of the Yunkai'i treated their chattels decently enough, so long as they did their jobs and caused no trouble … and this old man in his rusted collar, with his fierce loyalty to Lord Wobblecheeks, his owner, was not at all atypical.
+.+.+
Tyrion set the pails of water on the ground, grateful for the halt. His legs were cramping badly, so he found himself a likely rock and sat on it to rub his thighs.
"I could do that for you," offered Penny.
"I know where the knots are." As fond as he had grown of the girl, it still made him uncomfortable when she touched him.
Ask yourself why Tyrion doesn't want to be touched by Penny.
It's not her age, I can promise you that.
+.+.+
He turned to Ser Jorah. "A few more beatings and you'll be uglier than I am, Mormont. Tell me, is there any fight left in you?"
Boy, I can't help but notice the author keeps going back to this.
"The girl finally poked her nose abovedecks," Tyrion told him. "One look at me and she scurried right back down below."
"You're not a pretty sight."
"Not all of us can be as comely as you. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD
Not yet.
↓
A few more beatings and you'll be uglier than I am, Mormont.
Almost there.
↓
Ser Jorah had never been what one might call a comely man. The brand had transformed his face into something frightening.
Tyrion grinned. "As long as I look prettier than you, I will be happy." - Tyrion XII, ADWD
We made it!
↓
Sometimes she would close her eyes and dream of him, but it was never Jorah Mormont she dreamed of; her lover was always younger and more comely, though his face remained a shifting shadow. - Daenerys II, ASOS
Same monkey I've seen before!
It was Lemore who forced the water from your lungs after Griff had pulled you up. You were as cold as ice, and your lips were blue. Yandry said we ought to throw you back, but the lad forbade it. - Tyrion VI, ADWD
↓
Beneath her coverlets she tossed and turned, dreaming that Hizdahr was kissing her … but his lips were blue and bruised, and when he thrust himself inside her, his manhood was cold as ice. - Daenerys VII, ADWD
+.+.+
Sometimes he envied the girl all her pretty little dreams. She reminded him of Sansa Stark, the child bride he had wed and lost. Despite the horrors Penny had suffered, she remained somehow trusting. She should know better. She is older than Sansa. And she's a dwarf. She acts as if she has forgotten that, as if she were highborn and fair to look upon, instead of a slave in a grotesquerie. At night Tyrion would oft hear her praying. A waste of words. If there are gods to listen, they are monstrous gods who torment us for their sport. Who else would make a world like this, so full of bondage, blood, and pain? Who else would shape us as they have? Sometimes he wanted to slap her, shake her, scream at her, anything to wake her from her dreams. No one is going to save us, he wanted to scream at her. The worst is yet to come. Yet somehow he could never say the words. Instead of giving her a good hard crack across that ugly face of hers to knock the blinders from her eyes, he would find himself squeezing her shoulder or giving her a hug. Every touch a lie. I have paid her so much false coin that she half thinks she's rich.
Fuck yourself.
There's a lot to unpack here, but I don't have the patience or desire.
+.+.+
He had even kept the truth of Daznak's Pit from her.
Lions. They were going to set lions on us. It would have been exquisitely ironic, that. Perhaps he would have had time for a short, bitter chortle before being torn apart.
We are owed an ironic Tyrion death!
The author can't forget. He mustn't.
+.+.+
"Those are the tents we want, there."
"The Second Sons?" A queer smile split Ser Jorah's face. "If you think to find help there, you don't know Brown Ben Plumm."
"Oh, I do. Plumm and I have played five games of cyvasse. Brown Ben is shrewd, tenacious, not unintelligent … but wary. He likes to let his opponent take the risks whilst he sits back and keeps his options open, reacting to the battle as it takes shape."
Tyrion will end up promising Ben Plumm the world, making it likely that Tyrion will have to convince Daenerys to let the Second Sons return to her service.
That will be his first blunder as her adviser.
+.+.+
"A runaway slave is what I see. Three runaway slaves. Whose collar?"
"The Yellow Whale's." That from a third man, drawn by their voices—a skinny stubble-jawed piece of work with teeth stained red from sourleaf. A serjeant, Tyrion knew, from the way the other two deferred to him. He had a hook where his right hand should have been. Bronn's meaner bastard shadow, or I'm Baelor the Beloved. "These are the dwarfs Ben tried to buy," the serjeant told the spearmen, squinting, "but the big one … best bring him too. All three."
Rest in peace, Bronn's meaner bastard shadow.
+.+.+
"Come for another game of cyvasse, Yollo?"
"If you wish. I do enjoy defeating you. I hear you're twice a turncloak, Plumm. A man after mine own heart."
Oh, Daenerys. You silly stupid girl.
+.+.+
Brown Ben's smile never reached his eyes. He studied Tyrion as a man might study a talking snake.
Once again highlighting Daenerys was easily fooled by the man.
Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. - Daenerys VI, ADWD
Poor thing. Not everyone can be perceptive.
He had grey-green eyes that did not smile when his mouth did. - Sansa II, AGOT
x
"How . . . dutiful." Littlefinger smiled with his mouth, but not his eyes. - Alayne I, AFFC
x
"Oh, I think you do," said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes. - Alayne I, TWOW
+.+.+
"I know you as well, my lord," said Tyrion. "You're less purple and more brown than the Plumms at home, but unless your name's a lie, you're a westerman, by blood if not by birth. House Plumm is sworn to Casterly Rock, and as it happens I know a bit of its history. Your branch sprouted from a stone spit across the narrow sea, no doubt. A younger son of Viserys Plumm, I'd wager. The queen's dragons were fond of you, were they not?"
That seemed to amuse the sellsword. "Who told you that?"
"No one. Most of the stories you hear about dragons are fodder for fools. Talking dragons, dragons hoarding gold and gems, dragons with four legs and bellies big as elephants, dragons riddling with sphinxes … nonsense, all of it. But there are truths in the old books as well. Not only do I know that the queen's dragons took to you, but I know why."
"My mother said my father had a drop of dragon blood."
"Two drops. That, or a cock six feet long. You know that tale? I do.
Tyrion pretending dragons liking Valyrian blood is a secret only he knows.
Ossifer Plumm married Elaena Targaryen, but died while consummating the marriage. Somehow she still had a child nine months later. Many believe Aegon the Unworthy was the real father. Two drops.
Not sure how many dragons will be left by the time Daenerys parleys with Jon at the Trident, but I'm going to assume he'll have to pass the dragon test before she believes Rhaegar was his father.
Most of the stories you hear about dragons are fodder for fools. Talking dragons, dragons hoarding gold and gems, dragons with four legs and bellies big as elephants, dragons riddling with sphinxes … nonsense, all of it.
Most of these are common fantasy tropes.
Dragons riddling with sphinxes is not.
He said the sphinx was the riddle, not the riddler, whatever that meant. - Samwell IV, AFFC
No closer to figuring that one out.
+.+.+
Tyrion cleared his throat. "You can talk of old times later … after I am done explaining why my head would be of more use to you upon my shoulders. You will find, Lord Plumm, that I can be very generous to my friends. If you doubt me, ask Bronn. Ask Shagga, son of Dolf. Ask Timett, son of Timett."
"And who would they be?" asked the man called Inkpots.
"Good men who pledged me their swords and prospered greatly by that service." He shrugged. "Oh, very well, I lied about the 'good' part. They're bloodthirsty bastards, like you lot."
"Might be," said Brown Ben. "Or might be you just made up some names. Shagga, did you say? Is that a woman's name?"
"His teats are big enough. Next time we meet I'll peek beneath his breeches to be sure. Is that a cyvasse set over there? Bring it out and we'll have that game. But first, I think, a cup of wine. My throat is dry as an old bone, and I can see that I have a deal of talking to do."
What is he even talking about?
It was Tywin who knighted Bronn, and Cersei who arranged his marriage to Lollys Stokeworth.
The mountains clans are still in the mountains.
Final thoughts:
There's only one more Tyrion chapter in this book. :D
Today I learned Preston Jacobs theorized that Penny is still working for Littlefinger, and her objective is to kill Tyrion or the dragons. Lol
46 down, 3 to go. :(
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this is a very unserious question im sorry(hence the anon)!!!!
but has any dish/meal mentioned in asoiaf stood out to you?
im personally still thinking about the bomb-ass chowder davos had in ADWD
all the love xx
noooo this is a fun one!
for anyone who forgot, i believe this is the famous sisters stew anon is referencing:
The beer was brown, the bread black, the stew a creamy white. She served it in a trencher hollowed out of a stale loaf. It was thick with leeks, carrots, barley, and turnips white and yellow, along with clams and chunks of cod and crabmeat, swimming in a stock of heavy cream and butter. It was the sort of stew that warmed a man right down to his bones, just the thing for a wet, cold night. Davos spooned it up gratefully.
it does sound good as fuck. with the crabmeat and butter and vegetables. mmmmmm.
it happens a lot but i always love when they just mention having some bread and cheese for dinner, maybe a protein - jon does this a lot at the wall which makes sense bc it’s easy to preserve bread and cheese by freezing it. i am a charcuterie bitch lmao so whenever a character is like oh just a lil carbs and dairy, idk, i think it’s kinda cute and funny.
i have always loved the feast bran throws for his guests in bran iii acok because i love the descriptions of how differently the various houses in the north eat throughout the chapter. i also looooove seafood and the seafood the manderlys bring sounds so good:
Lord Wyman had brought twenty casks of fish from White Harbor packed in salt and seaweed; whitefish and winkles, crabs and mussels, clams, herring, cod, salmon, lobster and lampreys. There was black bread and honeycakes and oaten biscuits, there were turnips and peas and beets, beans and squash and huge red onions, there were baked apples and berry tarts and pears poached in strongwine. Wheels of white cheese were set at every table, above and below the salt, and flagons of hot spice wine and chilled autumn ale were passed up and down the tables.
I love honeycakes descriptions as well - i LOVE honey, i am a honey fiend, i love going to farmer’s markets and buying the lil sticks and getting organic types aksksk so i love when honeycakes are mentioned too. Like this breakfast description here, makes me soooo hungry, rich people really know how to do a good breakfast spread:
In the Queen's Ballroom they broke their fast on honeycakes baked with blackberries and nuts, gammon steaks, bacon, fingerfish crisped in breadcrumbs, autumn pears, and a Dornish dish of onions, cheese, and chopped eggs cooked up with fiery peppers. "Nothing like a hearty breakfast to whet one's appetite for the seventy-seven-course feast to follow," Tyrion commented as their plates were filled. There were flagons of milk and flagons of mead and flagons of a light sweet golden wine to wash it down.
And the dornish hot sauce!!!!!
The best snake sauce had a drop of venom in it, he had heard, along with mustard seeds and dragon peppers.
I love hot sauce and it sounds like a spicy mustard! Having venom AND peppers?? HELL YEAH LETS GO BARBECUE!!!!!!
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Melisandre of Asshai. The Red Woman. The King's Red Shadow. The Red Witch. The night is dark and full of terrors. Mother to Shadows. Prophet. Queen.
Fascinating and scary fanatic fave.
"Many called her beautiful. She was not beautiful. She was red, and terrible, and red."
"Davos: Are you good or evil, my lady?
Melisandre: Oh, good. I am a knight of sorts myself, sweet ser. A champion of light and life."
"When I gaze into the flames, I can see through stone and earth, and find the truth within men's souls. I can speak to kings long dead and children not yet born, and watch the years and seasons flicker past, until the end of days."
"She had no time for sleep, with the weight of the world upon her shoulders. And she feared to dream. Sleep is a little death, dreams the whisperings of the Other, who would drag us all into his eternal night. She would sooner sit bathed in the ruddy glow of her red lord's blessed flames, her cheeks flushed by the wash of heat as if by a lover's kisses."
"Lady Melisandre wore no crown, but every man there knew that she was Stannis Baratheon’s real queen [...]"
#melisandre of asshai#valyrianscrolls#asoiaf art#stannis baratheon#the red woman#asoiaf quotes#lord of light#prophecy#blood comet#sorceress#asoiaf witches
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ASOIAF - Their S/O Being an Unassuming yet Ruthless Lady
what if you were the problematic fave...
In this imagine, you'll be with: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Sansa Stark, Jon Snow, Benjen Stark, Jory Cassel, Theon Greyjoy, Yara Greyjoy, Victarion Greyjoy, Daenerys Targaryen, Jorah Mormont, Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, Bronn of Blackwater, Petyr Baelish, Robert Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Margaery Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Edmure Tully, Brienne of Tarth, Ramsay Bolton, Roose Bolton, Oberyn Martell, Arianne Martell
Ned Stark
Given the booming arranged marriage business in Westeros, Ned was not aware of that side of you for a while. You hid it well, and besides, it only came up when you were protecting him and your family. So Ned is conflicted. He was very fond of you at that point, even loved you, but the honorable man struggles to approve of the actions you were suggesting or already did. It doesn't sit right with him, even if it's to protect ones you love. You and Ned have had many conversations (and arguments) about it, but ultimately, he can't change you. He just tries to reel in your more egregious plans and attempts to compromise. It doesn't help that the North begins to whisper about the real wolf in Winterfell, the Lady Stark, who hides claws under her silk gloves.
Robb Stark
Robb doesn't see your ruthlessness for a long time because he's hopelessly in love and thinks the world of you. He's so lucky you love him back and want him safe, because you could've easily been the downfall of this boy. It's Robb's allies - especially his mother and Lord Roose - who can see your true cunning, and often wonder about your intentions. It's wartime when Robb begins to see this other side of you. While he disagrees with you on some issues, other times he understands the reasons behind your methods - he just struggles to stomach it. Behind his back you’re known as his Queen of Steel, and enemy and ally alike learn not to cross you.
Sansa Stark
For a long time, Sansa didn’t notice this side of you. You always showed care and love to her, and she knew you meant it. So even if she noticed some things you said, or heard some concerning rumors, Sansa justified it in her head. She knew you wanted to protect your family and her, and being a Lady was difficult to begin with. Of course you’re ‘forced’ to take the extreme measures you do. Depending on your actions, it may be harder to justify your actions to herself and others, even if you clearly love her. It could end up becoming a sore spot in your relationship.
Jon Stark
While Jon picked up some of your nature whenever he talked with you, he didn’t really see it until you had to protect those close to you. He’s conflicted. On one hand, he respects the lengths you go to defend your family and home. On the other hand, he’ll feel uncomfortable with some of your ideas and methods. If you were honest with Jon about your plans, he would feel better about them. You’re important to him, so he would want to keep you safe above all, knowing what sort of enemies you’re dealing with … but he also knows how stubborn and clever you are, so he watches and listens carefully,
Benjen Stark
Benjen picks up on your true intentions and the meaning behind your sweet words; reading people is something he’s adept at. While he understands why you might be like this - Westerosi society is enthusiastic when it comes to treating women terribly - he doesn’t always agree with your choices. Though he doesn’t protest too much. He’s a man of the Black, and politics like this are what he specifically avoids. Benjen admires your cunning when he hears rumors, and jokes with you about the reputation you’ve garnered when he visits your keep and warms your bed. And honestly, he really likes that sweet tone you use when you speak down to lords twice your age.
Jory Cassell
Oh, Jory. He doesn’t see it. Anytime he hears whispers and rumors about something you’ve supposedly done, he doesn’t believe it at all. His lover isn’t like that at all; you’re nothing but sweet and patient. You don’t mention any trouble you have with this lord or that, unless it’s some harmless complaining. You show the man nothing but your good side, and in return, you have his absolute loyalty. Even if confronted with some evidence, Jory would take a long time to believe it. If you did anything like that, it was obviously for a good reason.
Theon Greyjoy
Theon was one of those boys who teased you and was convinced you were a typical helpess lady. Prettier and cleverer than most, sure. It wasn't until the War of the Five Kings that all the wrath and fierceness you'd been hiding came out. And Theon was really into it. He agreed with your plans more often than not, and if any made him squeamish, he was determined not to show it so you wouldn't think him cowardly. When he joined his father's side against the North, he knew he just made a powerful enemy. He couldn't help but think of all the times he teased you and how you basically let him get away with it… now that he's a traitor, you won't be so nice …
Post-Reek, Theon is far more wary of you. Even if you treated him well and welcomed him with forgiving arms, he would be nervous. That glint in your eyes when you spotted an enemy filled him with anxiety, as if it were directed at him. Your unassuming nature would feel like a lie, a trap. It would be a difficult relationship to progress, if it was possible at all.
Yara Greyjoy
You thought you could keep that sweet act up around her? Once she’s sure she has enough reason to suspect you, she starts following the rumors and digging deeper. Yara would just bluntly confront you about the innocent smile you’re wearing. She’s not admonishing you - quite the opposite, she’s very attracted to how you get your way from men. It’s different from her method, but she respects it nonetheless. Yara loves watching you cut idiotic men down with words, though she doesn’t agree with all the schemes you concote. When you two hve discussions about the best way to handle a problem, she’s always amused when your ruthless side comes out. It’s very Ironborn, isn’t it?
Victarion Greyjoy
The big Ironborn had no idea of your schemes and plans for the longest time. He bought into the sweet, innocent act, seeing you as his helpless wife that needed protecting. Aeron and even Balon would comment on your cunning, but Victarion couldn't understand how they thought that. He'd only seen your affectionate side, and you were nothing but respectful to his family. You could keep your schemes hidden for a long time, if you were careful. But when you finally slip up, or just get tired of hiding and pretending, Victarion is… impressed. He agrees with the plans you put forward, noting it's what a true Ironborn would do. There's almost an eagerness and pride as he follows your orders to the bloody end. Your approval of his work makes it all the sweeter. You both have the potential to be a very frightening couple.
Daenerys Targaryen
Initially, Daenerys is so intrigued by you and your sweeter side, she doesn't pick up the rumors surrounding you. They seem too unbelievable. Once she does, Daenerys is off-put at first. She doesn’t like being deceived, though your affection for her is genuine. While she understands where you’re coming from once you come clean and explain your plans, she doesn’t agree with the harsher methods you employ. Sometimes your discussions get heated, even though Daenerys knows you have her protection in mind. Many times she’s said that she wants to protect you, not the other way around. Given her feelings for you, and her trust, the Dragon Queen will at least listen to your plans. Sometimes she uses them, sometimes she doesn’t.
Jorah Mormont
The poor man is so in love, he doesn’t see that other side for the longest time, unless you openly showed it. And even then, Jorah would do mental gymnastics to justify it. Westeros is a cruel place for a Lady, you’re doing what you must to protect your family and him - and Essos is dangerous, isn’t it? Aren’t you just doing what’s best? How could he fault you for that? Jorah would think that maybe he’d do the same.. If he had half a mind for schemes, anyway. It would take some extreme action for Jorah to actually speak out against you, and even then, as long as you love and reassure him, he’s willing to set it aside. His devotion is well known among your enemies, so while he’s your greatest defender, he may also be a serious weakness …
Tywin Lannister
Well. Tywin would see right through your persona, aided by the rumors and schemes he’d uncovered (and likely attempted to thwart before even meeting you). He understands how so many lords fall for those eyes and that smile, but it’s your mind he has to stay a step ahead of. In your married life, you’re the one everyone believes is harmless, completely unaware of your role in any intrigue involving the Lannisters and their interests. There were times - especially at the start of the marriage - when Tywin wondered if your affection for him was true or just another aspect of that persona… now he’s quite attracted to that fake innocence you give others, knowing what intelligence hides behind it.
Tyrion Lannister
Tyrion is one of the few people who sees through your unassuming nature right away, and it makes him wary. Your initial friendship was slow building, as it took time for Tyrion to realize that your claws and teeth only truly came out when you were dealing with your enemies. He began to admire your intellect and cunning, and in spite of himself, began falling for you. While Tyrion will occasionally admonish your methods, he can’t act like he hasn’t dirtied his hands for his family or himself. He finds it very amusing that between the two of you, people assume the worst of him, completely overlooking the dangers a charming lady can hold.
Jaime Lannister
Initially, Jaime’s feelings deafened him to the rumors of things you’d done. Whenever he did hear of them, it didn’t affect him much. His own family is rife with schemes and manipulations that Jaime has told himself he has no part in. If anything, your behavior is normal to him. The lengths you’re willing to go to protect your loved ones - him included - just shows how strong your devotion is. He might raise objections here or there, but Jaime is emboldened by what you’ll do on his behalf. It makes him want to do the same, recklessly throwing himself at your enemies with his sword, the only thing besides love he believes he can offer you.
Sandor Clegane
While he had some suspicions - who was that sweet and patient in this shithole of a court, unless they were planning something? - it took some time observing you before Sandor starts to pick up the things you’re involved in… not that it mattered to him. The fact you were so friendly and kind was strange, and he was suspicious for the longest time, but it was hard to keep those walls up for long. The fact you actually care for him and have an appetite for ruthlessly dealing with enemies makes you something of a conundrum to Sandor. He’s only ever seen power corrupt, not love. It would take a lot for him to fully trust that you enjoy being with him and want to stay, not dispose of him as soon as he’s no longer useful.
Bronn of the Blackwater
Yeah, this mercenary doesn’t notice that ruthless side unless you outright show it. He’ll write you off as a pretty face, amused by your flirting in spite of your ‘demure’ appearance. Once he sees that other side he finds it incredibly attractive. Bronn will start to notice that glint in your eye when you’re about to verbally eviscerate someone, or give an order that will lead to actual evisceration. He supports it, hell, he’ll help you with some of your shit if it means he gets to share your bed. Tyrion gives him plenty of warnings, but Bronn ignores them, obviously.
Petyr Baelish
When you met, he was both suspicious and drawn to that unusual smile playing on your lips. After much research and investigation, Petyr felt very clever for figuring you out. You would make a better ally than enemy, he decided, so he went about currying your favor. He didn’t account for two things - that you’re far more charming and cunning than he imagined. Petyr loves how you talk circles around him, foil his plans, undermine other’s schemes to benefit your own. It’s as infuriating as it is alluring. Try as he might, he can’t resist continuing to encourage and court you.
Robert Baratheon
No surprise, the oldest Baratheon is utterly clueless to your machinations. And they only help him, considering how many enemies Robert made with his coup. He believes you a capable queen and wife - in spite of his heartache over Lyanna - and often heaps praise upon you, especially when he’s drunk. If only he knew the half of it. It’s the likes of Jon Arryn, Tywin Lannister, Littlefinger and Stannis who see what a true obstacle (or enemy) you are. It’s well known you’re the true power behind the throne, the one who covers Robert’s weaknesses and highlights his strengths.
Stannis Baratheon
By the time you two were engaged, Stannis already knew you were clever and obviously hiding it from others. He appreciates it when you talk to him directly about your plans, as he has little patience for schemes. Stannis doesn’t always agree with your methods, but he does listen to what you have to say each time. He appreciates your blunt counsel and your way of seeing things, though he’ll stubbornly argue if he feels differently about a plan. Now, as far as that sweet persona you put on… it greatly annoys him. He doesn’t see why you have to hide yourself or try to deceive others. If you had true affection for him, he’d be even more unsure on how to accept it, wondering if this was just part of that act you’d play. It might actually take a while for him to accept your feelings and his own; more than unusual, anyway.
Davos Seaworth
Unlike some, Davos sees both sides as genuine. You’re ruthless to enemies, but much of that is a desire to protect those you love. In a way, some of your actions remind him of Stannis. You do unpleasant things to survive, and a lady in Westeros must do all she can to survive, or she’ll be crushed by other’s machinations. He will tell you when he feels you’ve gone too far, as he worries about losing you to your enemies. Some days Davos feels sorry for you, even as he holds you. He’ll idly wonder what your life may have been like if you were born in a kinder world. … Maybe you would have been the same?
Margaery Tyrell
While her grandmother warned her several times about you, Margaery couldn’t help but be drawn in by your sweet expression. She knew plenty of vipers with lovely faces in both Highgarden and King’s Landing, but this felt different. The closer you two became, the more she was sure that you cared deeply about her… and the more she began to see how you handled those you didn’t care for. It was almost thrilling, to have someone so capable and frightening at her side, protecting her. She understands why her grandmother and brothers are still wary of you, but she has full faith in your love for her. And she WOULD ask you outright if any rumor truly concerned her, but none have. You would never do such things to her or those she cared about.
Brynden Tully
Bryden isn’t as clueless to your more ruthless side as some men are. He’s heard rumors, though he avoids court and all the politics, it’s hard to ignore the reputation you were steadily building. Brynden knows your feelings for him and your other loved ones are true, but he’d still ask you about some rumors directly. He prefers you to be honest, and after thinking about it, Brynden could understand your viewpoint to some extent. Especially during the war - he might even think some of your machinations were necessary to help Robb. There are times when Brynden muses about the difficulties women in Westeros face. Perhaps, if he could just protect and hide you well enough, you wouldn’t have to do such schemes. Then again, he isn’t blind to the things you do for your own power. It’s conflicting, loving someone like this... But the Blackfish finds himself at your side each day, anyway.
Edmure Tully
Edmure is clueless to all of it, he truly is. His father and sisters may have worried about the match, but Edmure only ever saw your sweet smile and innocent persona. And he knows it’s true, he believes your feelings for him are real. Rumors and concerns brought to him are quickly dismissed. His dear wife would never do such things, and if she did, she would have had a good reason. It really isn’t until wartime that Edmure begins to see your true cunning, if you allow him to see any of it. Whatever discomfort rising in his chest would be pushed aside. You were doing it for the good of Riverrun, for him. He would always be your most ardent and loyal supporter.
Brienne of Tarth
She doesn’t notice it at first, especially when you’ve always been kind and good to her. The kindest that she’s ever had someone be, actually … so when she slowly begins to see things, notice them, and hear the rumors… it slowly chips at her. Brienne doesn’t want to believe it, she can’t. She’s always had you in such high esteem. She’ll be gutted when you come clean, even if when you explain your reasons. Even if they were for good, for protection. It takes a lot of talking and a lot of thinking for Brienne to want to stay beside you, knowing what you’re capable of. She often wonders if she made the right choice.
Ramsay Bolton
When he first brought you to the Dreadfort, got in your face, threatened you - he noticed something was off. That glint in your eye that the other girls didn’t have, especially Ladies. The more Ramsay saw that smile, the more he felt like a boy poking a snake’s den. It was exciting in it’s own way, and he wanted to keep poking, just to see what happened. He really didn’t anticipate the cunning you were actually capable of, even if his father warned him many times. You alternate between letting Ramsay think he’s in charge and taking control, putting him in his place through actions or words. It’s both humiliating and thrilling to the Bolton heir. He loves your anger, and he can’t decide if he prefers it directed at himself or others.
Roose Bolton
In your few interactions before your marriage, Roose had inklings of your true nature - but he didn’t want to admit he was roped in by that act, that sweetness and modesty that he thought he could take advantage of. It wasn’t until Roose was scheming to marry you that he began to see the truth. You countered him, infuriatingly, getting wind of his own schemes and turning them around. It was like a cat and mouse game that you both played, one that was both thrilling and frustrating. But he wanted more, and he encouraged more. It’s safe to say that you and Roose bring out the best and worst in each other. It’s been a long time since the Dreadfort saw such an unholy matrimony.
Oberyn Martell
Oberyn knows exactly what you’re up to most of the time, but he likes to play clueless. He’s admitted several times he loves seeing you fix your cold gaze on an upstart lord and using your sweet smile to dish out vicious words. When he first approached you, Oberyn knew of the rumors, but he also knew how kind you were to his family and daughters. He realized your fangs only come out for those you consider your enemies, and you used them to protect as well as attack… which he finds very attractive.
Arianne Martell
She had heard the rumors and did a few investigations herself; and she had to say, she was impressed. Playing the sweet flower while being a viper hiding underneath was something Arianne was used to, and you certainly kept busy. She approached you as an ally, though the closer you became, the more she admired your fierce protectiveness and natural cunning. You two became a fixture in Dorne’s court, a formidable pair that visiting lords and ladies often underestimated. While her father didn’t think you were the best influence, Arianne wouldn’t change you for anything.
#its like 30 characters instead of 40+ lol sue meeee#got imagines#got x reader#game of thrones imagines#game of thrones x reader#still too many characters to tag properly!!! AHHH#asoiaf x reader
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Knights and the Night’s Watch
@the-perfunctorily asked: Can a knight who has sworn NW vows knight somebody else? Or does he no longer have the ability? Similarly, can a Watchman be knighted or would that be gaining a title? Furthermore, can you be stripped of your knighthood if you fuck up badly enough?
A knight who joins the Night’s Watch is still a sworn knight, he's just not sworn to any lord but the Watch (and the gods I guess). And if knights who join the Watch stay knights (see the Shieldhall), I can't see why they couldn't knight others— it's not like a knighthood automatically grants lands or anything. The NW vows say “I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory,” but nothing about titles, so whether you’re keeping your ser or gaining one, it shouldn’t be a problem.
As for stripping a knighthood from an unworthy individual, I don’t think so unfortunately? Else Gregor should have lost his ages ago (though yeah, I suppose Tywin would have protected him). And consider what Stannis says about Jaime when writing his slam book letter,
“Make it Ser Jaime the Kingslayer henceforth,” Stannis said, frowning. “Whatever else the man may be, he remains a knight.” —ACOK, Davos I
Like, “he may be a traitorous kingslayer and sister-fucker, but he's still a knight, so you have to call him ser”. And Stannis is so precise, particularly with legal things, so he should know if anyone does. But let me check the wiki just in case...
...ah, hmm, it says knighthood can be stripped? and cites an ACOK Sansa chapter... oh, Dontos, I guess. Looking that up, the wiki editor was probably referring to this part:
“No one, sweet lady. I swear it on my honor as a knight.”
“A knight?” Joffrey had decreed that he was to be a knight no longer, only a fool, lower even than Moon Boy.
—ACOK, Sansa II
But I’m still not completely sure if this is a usual practice in Westeros. This may be just one of those Joff things, like making a non-knight a Kingsguard and dismissing a KG, flaunting established customs because he's the king and nobody tells him no. And people do still call Dontos Ser afterwards... though mostly just Sansa and Brienne, hyper-courteous and knight-focused... kind of a fuzzy situation there. So let me just check the text to see if there’s any other, better examples elsewhere. I’m particularly wondering about the incident when Ned attainted Gregor... aha.
“...I charge you to ride to the westlands with all haste, to cross the Red Fork of the Trident under the king's flag, and there bring the king's justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane, and to all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him, and attaint him, and strip him of all rank and titles, of all lands and incomes and holdings, and do sentence him to death. May the gods take pity on his soul.” —AGOT, Eddard XI
It does seem like Gregor’s knighthood was stripped! (Although reversed shortly thereafter by Joffrey or Cersei or Tywin.) So it’s definitely a thing in Westeros, not just a Joffrey quirk, albeit probably extremely rare for extremely terrible individuals. I wonder, though, if GRRM got this from something, if attainder ever stripped knighthood in the real world? ...Oh yes, it could:
For a case in the Parliament of 1610 presenting similar issues, see the “bill of particulars” brought against Sir Stephen Proctor, holder of a commission to investigate and collect royal debts. [...] The bill voids Proctor's commission, strips him of his knighthood and right to bear arms, subjects his lands and goods to bankruptcy proceedings to pay complaints against him, bars him from court, and prohibits him from taking future offices, stating that he “shall from henceforth forever stand and be disabled and made incapable forever to have, use, or exercise any office, place judicial or ministerial.”
So, to sum up, a knight sent to the Night’s Watch as a punishment would also have to be attainted before losing his title. And most knights who go to the NW (like the Warrior's Sons after Maegor's war against the Faith Militant, or Alliser Thorne et al after Robert’s Rebellion) just don't have that happen, so they’re free to knight others as they wish. I hope that helps!
#the-perfunctorily#asoiaf#asoiaf meta#valyrianscrolls#the night watch#westeros laws and customs#knights#knighthood#attainder#gregor clegane#dontos hollard#how many new knights can a night's watch knight if a night's watch knight can knight knights?
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The Meaning of Her Words
note: i’ve always been bothered by what happened to argella durrandon so i guess this is my attempt at getting some justice for her. this was written very quickly over two days so its perhaps not the best fleshed out but i hope y’all enjoy
I.
3 AC
"Your bath is ready, my lady.”
Your Grace, Argella thinks as she turned away from the window. It had been two years since her valiant father had lost both his crown and his life. When Orys Baratheon had arrived at Storm’s End with his army, Maester Samwell had implored Argella to open her gates and yield to the brother of the pretender-king. There would be no shame in it. Argella refused. She understood that refusal meant her life- the lives of them all. But a part of her father would have understood that death could await him when he had ridden out. She knew her father would agree with her decision. Remember our words, my daughter, he had told her solemnly after she kissed his cheek, when she had come to see him off. Those parting words would be the final thing Argella would ever receive from her father.
That, and his own murderer as her husband.
Her men proved to be weaker than she. They lasted for two days, before they had stripped her of her clothes and crown and delivered her bound in chains to Orys’ camp.
That had not been the worst part.
It was the fact that the man who had killed her own father had treated her with more gentleness than the men who had been sworn to her, but who had decided those oaths meant nothing.
If she had been her father’s son, she knew Orys might have chosen to execute her. Perhaps she would have been asked him to.
But she was her father’s daughter, and she was more useful alive.
‘I will take you as my bride,’ he said. ‘And to honour your father’s memory, I will take his words and sigil too.’
‘Is that because you have no words or sigil of your own, bastard?’ Argella snarled. She stared across the table at him, wrapped in the furs that covered her nakedness. Orys did not flinch, but merely did a sip of his wine before speaking. Argella’s own cup had remained untouched.
‘Guilty.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘But I think it would please your father, to know that House Durrandon will live on through his sigil and words.’
‘Don’t you dare presume to know what my father would want.’ Even just saying his name hurt. ‘You didn’t know him.’
‘I know he was a brave man. And I know he raised a brave woman.’ He put his hand on the table, almost as if he wanted to reach for her. ‘There are all different kinds of bravery, my lady. There is the bravery your father displayed in battle. There is the bravery you showed when you refused to yield your castle to me. And sometimes… there is bravery in acceptance.’
Acceptance, Argella thought. How could a simple word leave such a foul taste in her mouth? Accept the pretender as your king. Accept me as your husband and lord, the man who killed your father. Accept the life that was meant to be yours is gone now.
It had been over two years since Argella had gone from being a princess-born to a two -day queen, to lady wife of Lord Baratheon of Storm’s End. But two years could not revoke a lifetime, and often Argella found herself thinking these words whenever she was addressed in such a way.
“Thank you.” Argella shed her robe, exposing her swollen breasts and protruding stomach that held her child within. She was six moons gone, and she had come to rely on hot baths to ease her discomfort. Joy’s strong hands helped her into the tub. At her touch, Argella had to fight down that sense of panic she would feel whenever someone touched her. She had to remind herself that Joy had never hurt her, and those men had been sent away. I don’t care where you send them, she told Orys. I will not have them here, in my presence. I will not have them here, in my castle. Orys had complied. She would have preferred to see them beheaded and their corpses fed to stray dogs, but you couldn’t have everything.
‘You may leave.’ Joy nodded and gave a quick curtesy, before leaving. She would only be in the next room, Argella knew and would come once Argella called for her again. However, for now, Argella simply wished to be alone.
She often preferred it that way, these days.
Argella felt her stomach kick, and she shifted in the tub to get more comfortable.
‘You’re strong, aren’t you? Perhaps you’ll be as strong as your grandfather.’ She gave a sad smile. This child would never know his grandfather, thanks to the man who had planted his seed in Argella. Orys had been delighted with her pregnancy, and had insisted on her having the upmost care. It was almost sweet, Argella thought. If only she didn’t know that he was more concerned with the promise she could hold within – a precious son, to secure his Baratheon legacy. And for good measure, perhaps she could give him two more, before conveniently dying in childbed, as so many women did.
After all, he would have what he needed from her by then. What was the point in her being alive?
She felt her stomach kick, as if her question was being answered. This.
This child was just as much hers as he was Orys’.
It was from her, not Orys, that her child would receive the blood of kings.
And she would ensure her child understood what that meant.
II.
Her resolve weakens when her son is born.
After he is cleaned and handed to her, she realizes she has something more precious to lose now than a crown.
This was her flesh and blood, the only family she had in the world now.
She wonders if perhaps she did deserve to lose her crown then, if she is so willing to give up just now. Her father had never given up. And neither had she. She had resolved to die when Orys had arrived with his army, and even when she had been joined to him, she had never given herself to him completely- keeping him at a distance and nurturing treasonous thoughts about the pretender-king and his sister-queens. But the moment her son had been born, that furious resolve had withered away.
She would not know it yet, but one day there would be another birth in this castle. The birth of a different boy, to a different Lady of Storm’s End, that would be the answer to the wish she had been forced to relinquish when her own son was born.
III.
To celebrate the birth of Davos, Orys announces that there will be a grand feast. And that King Aegon and his sisters will be in attendance.
Argella cannot bear the thought of having them here. Of having to curtesy and call Aegon “His Grace”, when the only ruler she wanted to recognise was her father, and he was gone now. Thanks to Orys, and the people he served. Of having to pretend that she was proud to have her son be presented to these people.
But she had no choice. “These people” were her king and queens (that unnaturalness she would never get used to.) She must not forget that now, for her son’s sake.
IV.
Excusing herself, Argella left the feast to temporarily seek the solace of her bedchambers.
Illuminated in the candlelight, sat a woman at Argella’s dressing table.
Argella gasped. “Who are you?” She demanded, as she stepped into the room without thinking that it was perhaps not a good idea.
The woman smiled as she turned to face Argella. She realized with a jolt that the woman was startingly beautiful. She was tall and shapely, with dark curls and dark eyes
“A friend.” She said simply.
“A friend.” Argella repeated. She didn’t know why she hadn’t shouted for her guards yet. “Tell me why I should not call for the guards and have my husband question you? Or perhaps His Grace?”
The woman smiled. “Oh, I can think of many reasons, Your Grace.”
It is those two words that make Argella’s heart stop. Two beautiful, exhilarating, frightening words. “That’s treason you’re talking.”
The woman shrugged. “The only difference between us, my lady, is that I am open about mine.”
Argella feels an absurd jolt of fear surge through her. But somehow, looking at this woman she knew she had a right to fear her.
“What do you want?” Argella asked.
The woman locked her eyes on Argella. “I am simply here to give you hope.” She handed Argella a golden mirror. “Look.”
Argella licked her lips as she held the mirror up.
Instead of seeing her own reflection, Argella gasped to see a young girl gazing back. Pretty, with brown hair and sad grey eyes. The girl then faded, and Argella watched open-mouthed in horror as the mirror revealed a man effulged in flames, and another strangling himself to death as he fought futilely to reach a sword that lay out of his reach, and thus any hope as well. The image faded once more, to be succeeded by a man with silver blonde hair and purple eyes- instinct told her that this must be one of Aegon’s descendants. She watched, transfixed, as that same man’s ruby-studded armoured chest was smashed in by…. Why, that man looked so familiar… and Argella discerned that this had to be one of her own descendants. Powerful and strong, the way her father had been. The scene shifted once more, and Argella found herself watching that same man now crowned. While the girl before her was certainly pretty, the girl that stood beside him now was strikingly beautiful, with golden hair and emerald green eyes and a slender, graceful figure. Argella understood at once that this must be his queen. Behind them, was huge banners displaying her’s father’s stag.
A crowned stag.
Suddenly, the images in the mirror ceased and Argella saw only herself now. She tore her eyes away to look at the woman before her.
“Does this mean…” She was almost afraid to ask.
The woman nodded. “It will not happen for many years and you and your children and grandchildren and great grandchildren and great-great-grandchildren will be bones and memory by the time it does, but I promise you- House Targaryen will fall. And it will be House Baratheon that rules in its place.”
Argella’s heart was beating rapidly. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. Who was the girl with the sad grey eyes? What happened to their dragons? What caused House Baratheon to turn? Who else was involved?
But at the same time, all she could think was this - House Targaryen will fall.
House Targaryen will fall.
House Targaryen will fall.
And it would be her descendants that would be responsible for it.
Her descendants that would claim back the crown that was taken from them.
Argella’s heart took flight. Closing her eyes, laughter burst from her, as she realised that they would not just be getting back Storm’s End- they would be the rulers of the entire kingdom as well.
She could almost hear her father laughing.
Later when Argella returned to the feast with a ready excuse for taking longer than she intended, she watched Aegon talk with Orys, and thought how he had taught Westeros the meaning of fire and blood.
And that one day, House Targaryen would understand the meaning of her words as well.
#asoiaf#a song of ice and fire#game of thrones#anti house targaryen#house baratheon#argella durrandon#robert baratheon#lyanna stark#prince rhaegar targaryen#ours is the fury#OC#storm's end
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the rose next door | a Jonerys fluffy fic
Olenna Tyrell rules the cul-de-sac at the end of Kingsland Street. When sweet lonely Daenerys moves in next door, Olenna recruits a reluctant neighbor Davos to help her set Dany up with kind lonely neighbor Jon Snow. Chaos ensues.
“Jon used to be the new kid on the block, now it seems you are Miss Dany.”
“When did you move in again?”
Seven bloody hells man, are you that daft? Davos marveled, eyes widening at Jon Snow’s somewhat dopey smile. Dany grinned at him, purple eyes sparkling. “About three months ago.”
Jon was about to say something, when all three of them whipped their heads around to Olenna’s house, hearing her loudly calling “Yoo-hoo!”
Davos hung his head, reaching to press his fingers to his temple. He had a headache. “Olenna,” he mumbled.
She danced over to them, holding up a pie plate aloft, with mounds of perfectly spun meringue. Her green eyes were downright diabolical. “Oh I’m so glad you two have finally met, perhaps you can help me with this. I made too many lemon meringues, it’s my famous recipe, won awards and all that, anyway, my granddaughter was going to pop by and pick it up, but she’s been waylaid at work.” She thrust the pie plate at Jon, who took it quickly, so it didn’t fall. She grinned, looking from him to Dany. “Perhaps you both might like to split it? Half of my perfectly lovely pie for each of my perfectly lovely neighbors.”
His eyebrows lifted to his hairline, his moustache twitching over his upper lip. He hoped he was not smiling. Or gaping like a bloody fool.
Read here on Ao3!
#jonerys#jonerys fanfiction#jonerys fanfic#jonerys fic#jonerys modern au#jonerys romantic comedy#my fics#my moodboards#I hope you like this one as much as I liked writing it
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When Jon had first met Gendry he had taken an instant liking to him. Maybe it was because Starks and Baratheons were always meant to be friends. Or maybe it was because there was something about being two bastards thrust into roles they never thought they’d have to worry about that brought them close. All Jon knew though was that he wanted Gendry by his side. He trusted him as much as Davos and that meant a great deal.
Still it was hard to remember all of that when you catch the man you’ve been calling a friend sneaking out of your younger sister’s bedroom early in the morning. Jon could only watch on in complete silence As Arya his sweet wild young sister pulled Gendry back into the doors threshold long enough to place a kiss on his lips quickly before shutting the door on Gendry’s stupid face. Jon moved out of the way not wanting to be seen, as he had to control his conflicted emotions. On one hand Jon wanted to use longclaw right then and there to run through Gendry. On the other hand Jon knew he was being a hypocrite. Hadn’t he done the same with Ygritte? With Danny? The threat of the white walkers loomed over them and no one could say confidently how long they had for this world so who was he to stop his beloved sister from any happiness she could receive?
Besides he knew Gendry’s worth. He was a good man, a good friend. And he had known of Gendry’s and Aryas’ history. well only a little bit. Neither mentioned much of their time together, only that they wouldn’t have been alive if it wasn’t for the other. But obviously there was more to it than that.
So Jon began watching them. Watched when Arya, who was so different from the little girl he’d left behind. Who seemed to carry all the darkness and secrets of the world on her shoulders, would smile and joke easily when Gendry was around. Jon was glad to see that, that easy happy nature was still in her. He watched how the sullen look that seemed permanently etched on Gendry’s dirty face would instantly melt away as Arya drew close. The looks of adoration and protectiveness he sent her way told Jon all he needed to know. However that didn’t stop him from needing to hear it for himself.
“You, I need to talk to you.” Gendry stiffened for only a minute as he felt the weight of Jon’s hand on his shoulder. Looking around to see the concern etched on his king's face Gendry could only nod in agreement. Instructing the men working tirelessly in the forge to continue on with making the dragon glass weapons, he followed Jon out into the biting cold.
Jon was silent for a while instead of speaking out right he opted to walk with Gendry inspecting the on goings of the castle as he did. Pausing now that they were alone overlooking their surroundings at a gate post Jon caught Gendry smiling to himself.
“What’s got you laughing?”
“Just how similar you and your sister are.” Gendry watched as Jon’s eyes softened, at the comparison of his beloved sister. However Jon held back his smile as he forced his famous scowl and eyed his friend warily
“I hope not too similar, after all as much as I like you Gendry I don’t want you in my bed.” At Gendry's sputtering and choking Jon had to turn away to keep from chuckling.
“I- Your grace it’s not. I mean” Gendry was panic stricken looking around wildly whether for a trap, or even a possible escape route Jon didn’t know but he held back his smile for a few more moments enjoying his friends' panic. However when it looked like Gendry was contemplating jumping over the wall to get away from him Jon finally gave him mercy.
“It’s fine Gendry. Am I happy it happened like this? No. but I won’t try to stop you two. Besides it’s clear to me how close you two are. You said that Arya and I are similar, correct?” at Gendry’s nod Jon continued.
“Yes we are similar, but it’s always been more than that. Arya’s been the one person that I could always count on, the only one I’ve ever been able to be completely honest with and up until now I thought it was the same for her.”
“I-” Gendry was struggling to come up with words however Jon continued on knowing he had to get this off his chest.
“But I know now that it’s not. I can’t begin to imagine what the both of you went through together. Nor what Arya dealt with while she was in Braavos. I know my sister well enough to know that those are things she will keep from Sansa and myself, and won’t dare speak with Bran about. But She trusts these secrets to you Gendry. So I will trust you with her.”
“I promise I have no intention to ever leave her or hurt her again my king.”
“I believe you Gendry and I am happy that it’s you she’s chosen. But be warned if we all survive this, you two will have to tell Sansa about what you two have been doing and I suspect she will be less accepting than I am. At the very least a wedding will be demanded.”
“Oh she knows already.” Gendry spoke with such casualty, Jon wondered if he had misheard him.
“She knows?”
“Yes, she uh- she caught us a few weeks ago.”
“Weeks ago?” Jon wondered just how long he had missed the signs, He tried to ignore the annoying thought that came to him suddenly along with the memory of Ygritte’s laugh, yes it felt like she was laughing at him even now.
“Yes, she actually handled it even better than you, I think the only thing she was truly upset about was the fact that she caught us in the grain room. Complained about contaminating the food preserves.” Gendry laughed as he patted Jon on the back walking away from the stunned man. Not realizing his revelation left Jon mortifyingly paralyzed. It wasn’t until breakfast the next day when Danny questioned why he hadn’t touched his meal, on top of her overall concerns over his general tiredness that Jon could come out of his stupor. Though only because he could hear the low chuckle of Sansa sitting across from him.
He blinked blearily at his half sister, trying to ignore the mounting headache he was becoming oh so familiar with when dealing with Sansa. Who for her own part smiled deviously at him as she passed half of her food over to him.
“Yes Jon eat up, we can't have you losing your strength. Right Arya? It would be horrible for Jon to train today on an empty stomach, yes?”
Arya, who up until that moment was not so secretly flirting with Gendry from across the hall, turned to look at the two of them studying Sansa’s mischief and Jon’s discomfort before grinning wolfishly herself.
“Of course, only some one stupid would train on an empty stomach. Also Jon I know for a fact that this meal was made with a little extra love, so you should really try and finish it.” Jon, who had taken a sip of ale in a feeble attempt to deflect began to suddenly choke, gasping for breath as Arya ignored him and continued. “ Wouldn’t want to hurt the cook’s feelings.”
“They’re right Jon.” Danny addressed giving him a stern once over, “You shouldn’t waste this food. Especially with how little everyone has.” Jon exasperatedly looked around the room. Bran was sitting at the opposite end of the table being of absolutely no help yet looked suspiciously as though he too was in on it and enjoying the show. Looking out into the hall he spotted Gendry, who had clearly been trying to listen in and at least had the decency to blush before shrugging his shoulders as if to say “Eh what can you do?”
Jon feeling like a petulant child brought the gruel closer towards him as he pushed the food around with his spoon waiting for a chance to toss it to Ghost. As he waited he thought that maybe going up against the Night King wouldn’t be so bad, he’d have to be more merciful than this lot.
Arya having had her fun and seeing that Jon was at his limit rose asking Sansa and Danny to join her. Claiming she wanted to train with them for a bit. Both women readily agreed, all thoughts of food wasting forgotten. Relief and gratitude flowed through Jon. This was why Arya would always be his favorite. He silently nodded his head in thanks to her. She winked at him before turning away, as they stood to leave Sansa turned to Jon once more.
“If you must know, I had the bags they were rolling around on removed.” Jon looked skeptically at the bowl before him before turning to eye Sansa. Jon eyed her searching for deception when he felt secure enough that her words were the truth he took a giant spoonful, then another. It wasn’t good at all but food was food. Sansa, satisfied to see her brother eating, began to leave wanting to catch up with Arya and Danny. Only pausing long enough to say one final thing. Mirth glinting in her tully eyes.
“Honestly, Jon it’s not that big of a deal, at least you aren’t Bran, imagine he has to tune them out all the time. Why just the other day he caught them in your room.”
“Excuse me?!” Jon spat out gruel flying across the table as he looked accusingly towards Gendry who had suspiciously disappeared right after Arya. Looking towards Bran only to have his brother stare back blankly at him, giving nothing away. Jon cursed, pushing himself out from the table and away from the hall looking for longclaw. Forget what he had said last night. He was going to kill both Gendry and Arya, favorite sister be damned.
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I did it! didn’t think I’d get it done to be honest.I won’t lie I’m very happy with the way it turned out. just wanted something light and fun to get me back in the mood again! Hope y’all enjoyed it as well!
#gendrya fic#Gendrya fanfiction#jon snow#jon snow fic#Sansa Stark#Arya Stark#Jon and Arya#daenerys targaryen#bran stark#Gendry Waters#arya x gendry#game of thrones#game of thrones fic#ASoIaF#no danny vs the stark girls here#no mad queen#just love and jon torment#which is always fun#arya stark fanfic#Stark Family#everyone is out to tease jon
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Lavender Fields, Baratheon Dreams, a Gendrya Cottagecore AU
So...I wrote something that I couldn’t really get out of my head. It’s essentially the Gendrya cottage core fantasy of my dreams and it’s the first fic I’ve published in years. There may be more parts, but really, just let me know your thoughts. cool thnx. :)
UPDATE: Thank you so much for the reblogs and likes and comments. I genuinely thought I’d be posting this into an unknown void. I am currently working on Part 2, but I’ve decided to upload it onto AO3 as well. I’ll be adding a second part soon!
AO3 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
Rating: T (may go up?)
SUMMARY
Gendry Baratheon finds himself the owner of a failing lavender farm, but with the help of his cousin Shireen, a family friend Davos, and his long-departed friend Arya, maybe this season will bring more than just sweet-smelling fields.
Gendry loved the first day of spring, and his cousin Shireen was the second person who knew that. The first had left the country a long time ago, he hadn’t seen the girl who knew he loved spring since they were both kids. But that hardly mattered. He needed to get dressed for the day full of celebrations on the Baratheon farm today, not think about the girl with black hair.
He usually tried to hide his excitement for the equinox, but his younger cousin always saw right through him. Shireen often caught him feeling the ground for warmth in the days before, she saw him checking the amount of time the sun spent in the sky, she saw him planting some seeds early in the greenhouse on the far side of their land. And when she questioned him about it, all he said was that he hated the cold, that if it were up to him, he’d live in a place where he’d never have to see snow. When she told him he could leave anytime he wanted, he told her that he couldn’t leave his family after he had been searching for it for so long. They never talked about it again, but they still celebrated together.
The sun was barely peeking out of the sky when Gendry came downstairs to meet his cousin. The rest of the house was quiet, they weren’t expecting any visitors until the evening when the Baratheon house would come alive for its first celebration of the year.
“You’re late.” Shireen said, handing him a cup of tea, her hair was in one long braid that went down her back and she wore a white dress.
“Barely.” Gendry said taking a long sip and closing his eyes, he really wasn’t late, it was just Shireen who felt like spring could be rushed if they started their ceremony sooner. Gendry wished she were right, but every year, the Earth took its time waking up, not really paying attention to the two of them.
“Well, come on then, we should get started.” She grabbed the cup he was holding, set it down and went to put on a red sweater over her dress, it was still cold, but as soon as Shireen dragged him outside and towards their glass greenhouse, he knew that winter was over. There was fog, and although some trees were still dormant, others had begun to sprout buds, pretty soon, the air would be fragrant and warm. Today, though, the air felt sleepy, only some green present.
After some time, they came to the greenhouse, the air muggier and much warmer, but not as hot as it would get in a few months. There were some germinating herbs, especially lavender, one of Shireen’s favorites, that they’d plant in a few days. But they walked from through the rows of the plants to the empty pots they had painted the night before, there was already soil in them.
Gendry had painted his grey, with a bull wrapped around it. Shireen had painted a boat on hers. They looked at each other and smiled, “I’ll get the candles, you put on the music.” He said, walking towards the cabinet with the pillar candles. Shireen put on the songs that reminded her of spring.
They made their way to a table in the corner of the greenhouse, and Gendry took some seeds from his pocket. He handed two of them to Shireen but she refused. “You always plant cilantro, I’m trying lemon this year.”
Gendry laughed. “If you think you’re going to be able to grow lemons this year, I think you may be a little too optimistic.”
“That’s the whole point of this.” He rolled his eyes and they sat down. He placed a gold candle in the center of the table. Later that evening, the whole Baratheon clan would plant seeds for intentions, but the two of them had been doing these smaller ceremonies for the past five years. She was the first person of the family who made Gendry feel welcomed, and though the whole family loved him now as one of his own, he always liked spending time with Shireen, she was the only one who really knew about Gendry’s life before he had come to the Baratheon farm, an heir out of nowhere to the fortune and lands. Or…really…just the lands, his late father Robert had spent most of the Baratheon fortune, leaving Gendry, Shireen, and their advisor Davos to rebuild it.
“What do you wish for?” He asked her.
“If I told you, the surprise would be ruined, wouldn’t it?” She said, rubbing the seed in between her palms and placing it gently into the soil. He nodded and did the same, closing his eyes and making his wish. He wasn’t much for believing that it would come true, especially after he had spent all this time wishing for the same thing. For the same girl to come back, the girl who knew he loved spring, who had every reason to hate him after he left her alone. It was ridiculous. He knew that, but he wished he could explain how ridiculous he was, he wished to see her again, to hold her hand.
He planted the seeds and sprayed them with rose water. Shireen had told him the rose water would help them grow faster. And once they were done, he grabbed his pot and placed it under the grow lights. If the plants grew, their wishes would come true, if not, he could always try again next spring. All of his previous seeds with that wish had died after a few weeks. Shireen’s always grew into full, healthy plants. Maybe he was just not cut out for this whole planting seeds thing. Shireen always told him that he needed to care for them for longer than just two weeks, he would change the subject. This year, he’d really try to keep his cilantro alive, maybe he’d even make something with his newly grown herb. This year he was going to try.
“Even if it doesn’t work, this year we’re going to have busy growing season, I can feel it.” She said, placing her pot next to his under the light. “We may not be the icons of lavender just yet, but give us a few more seasons, we will be.” He smiled and they grabbed spray bottles. They began to spray the growing lavender that had been germinating since February.
“I really hope you’re right.”
“And, once it’s all planted, we’ll be able to get visitors to come too. We’ve got the plans Gendry, this year will be great. I know it.” They finished their round in silence, and before they left, he blew out the candle, he’d be back the next morning to light it again for a little while.
“We should get back. Davos will be up, and we still have to finish cleaning out the barn.” He said, and the two of them walked back. Farm hands were making their way around the fields, looking for signs of growth.
The sun was in the sky, the morning energized, the fog had mostly cleared and the doors to the Baratheon mansion were open, receiving food for the evening’s celebration. Life was flowing through the house, the lights on, music playing, people coming in and out. Shireen went to the back house to feed the animals while Gendry walked back to the house to see if he could look over some of the financial plans he had made the night before.
Davos was standing in at the entry way, a clipboard in his hand, he looked up to greet Gendry. “Good morning.” He said back to the old man. “Anything burning down?”
“Not yet. But if you’ll excuse me, I think they brought too many tables, and you know how Shireen doesn’t like empty tables.” He rushed out of the house, before turning around, remembering something. “Oh,, you have a visitor. I don’t recognize her, but she said you knew her as a kid. She’s in the kitchen.”
Davos left the house, and Gendry walked to the kitchen.
He really couldn’t be it when he saw her, as if she heard his thoughts this morning and decided to appear to trick him. Her black hair was longer and she looked…good. She was holding the abandoned teacup he had left this morning, half full when she looked at him.
“Arya.”
#gendrya#arya x gendry#game of thrones#got#fanfiction#cottagecore#arya stark#gendry waters#shireen baratheon#davos seaworth#lavender fields baratheon dreams
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"That was the night I stole up to his bed to give him comfort. I bled, but it was the sweetest hurt."- Sansa(ASOS VII). "I think Brandon liked the sight as well. A bloody sword is a beautiful thing, yes. It hurt, but it was a sweet pain."- Turncloak(ADWD). Both Lysa and Barbrey recalling about how they have sex with LF and Brandon to Sansa and Theon. Though LF love Cat and Brandon was engaged to her. Barbrey was again slighted when Ned, with who her father wanted to marry, choose Cat.
Hi there! :)
I wouldn't narrow it down to these two characters and their relation to Catelyn, exactly. The idea of "sweet pain" is one that connects many characters, sometimes in good and sometimes in bad ways. Sometimes sexual, sometimes otherwise.
I think, it ultimately comes down to GRRM wanting to emphasize the blurred lines when it comes to life. Not all pain is sweet, but not all pain is bad, either, and it's not always easy to tell the difference.
Melisandre invokes a false constant duality, an in escapable constancy of war.
"The way the world is made. The truth is all around you, plain to behold. The night is dark and full of terrors, the day bright and beautiful and full of hope. One is black, the other white. There is ice and there is fire. Hate and love. Bitter and sweet. Male and female. Pain and pleasure. Winter and summer. Evil and good." She took a step toward him. "Death and life. Everywhere, opposites. Everywhere, the war." (ASOS, Davos III)
But Meera Reed and Jojen insist differently:
"Oh, I do. My lord father told me about mountains, but I never saw one till now. I love them more than I can say."
Bran made a face at her. "But you just said you hated them."
"Why can't it be both?" Meera reached up to pinch his nose.
"Because they're different," he insisted. "Like night and day, or ice and fire."
"If ice can burn," said Jojen in his solemn voice, "then love and hate can mate. Mountain or marsh, it makes no matter. The land is one."
"One," his sister agreed, "but over wrinkled." (ASOS, Bran II)
If hate and love can coexist, contradicting and not contradicting each other, so can pain and pleasure, sorrow and joy, bitterness and sweetness. Not war but a mere multiplicity. Life is not that simply, not that black and white.
The Mystery Knight adds a similar example:
"This is the proper way to fill a pie," Ser Kyle sniffed, cleaning off his tunic. "The pie is meant to be the marriage, and a true marriage has in it many sorts of things—joy and grief, pain and pleasure, love and lust and loyalty. So it is fitting that there be birds of many sorts. No man ever truly knows what a new wife will bring him."
The sentiment is all over the books, in good and bad ways. Often involving sex, but also in other moments that draw a special emphasis on life itself. The pain of breathing in icy air, but breathing nonetheless. The ache of straining muscles. Some pleasures come hand in hand with some pain. But also the pleasure that can mask harm and abuse.
Marillion’s voice becomes even sweeter when mixed with pain and fear and sorrow in his imprisonment - a sweet voice in a bad man in a horrible situation. How can beauty thrive in this, born from this man? Well, it simply does.
Victarion claims this:
"Always." Life is pain, you fool. There is no joy but in the Drowned God's watery halls. "Do it." (ADWD, The Iron Suitor)
But Jon and Sansa, respectively, claim this:
It was so sweet and silly that Sansa had to laugh, despite everything. Afterward she was absurdly grateful. Somehow the laughter made her hopeful again, if only for a little while. Smiling, she let the music take her, losing herself in the steps, in the sound of flute and pipes and harp, in the rhythm of the drum . . . and from time to time in Ser Garlan's arms, when the dance brought them together. (ASOS, Sansa III)
Jon had to laugh. Even now, even here. Ygritte had been fond of Longspear Ryk. He hoped he found some joy with Tormund's Munda. Someone needed to find some joy somewhere. (ASOS, Jon X)
And I think you can tell with whom the author agrees.
#asoiaf is not grimdark#sweetness#bittersweet#pain#coexisting parts of life#inherent contradictions#perseverance
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Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ASOS: Davos VI (Chapter 63)
The nightfire burned against the gathering dark, a great bright beast whose shifting orange light threw shadows twenty feet tall across the yard. All along the walls of Dragonstone the army of gargoyles and grotesques seemed to stir and shift.
This is your daily reminder that we should always be thinking of Daenerys during a Stannis chapter.
+.+.+
King Stannis stood beside her [Selyse], jaw clenched hard, the points of his red-gold crown shimmering whenever he moved his head. He is with them, but not of them, Davos thought. Princess Shireen was between them, the mottled grey patches on her face and neck almost black in the firelight.
Ugh.
+.+.+
The voice of Ser Axell Florent rang loud as a trumpet. He stood barrel-chested and bandy-legged, the firelight washing his face like a monstrous orange tongue.
Will Ser Axell Florent be burned alive? How appropriate.
+.+.+
When he was a boy, the septons had taught Davos to pray to the Crone for wisdom, to the Warrior for courage, to the Smith for strength. But it was the Mother he prayed to now, to keep his sweet son Devan safe from the red woman's demon god.
I know you're a lost cause, but have you ever considered sending your 11-year-old son home?
+.+.+
"Fire is a living thing," the red woman told him, when he asked her to teach him how to see the future in the flames. "It is always moving, always changing . . . like a book whose letters dance and shift even as you try to read them. It takes years of training to see the shapes beyond the flames, and more years still to learn to tell the shapes of what will be from what may be or what was. Even then it comes hard, hard. You do not understand that, you men of the sunset lands." Davos asked her then how it was that Ser Axell had learned the trick of it so quickly, but to that she only smiled enigmatically and said, "Any cat may stare into a fire and see red mice at play."
Ser Axell Florent stares into the fire and sees what he wants to see.
Unlike Melisandre, who has it down to a science.
+.+.+
He had not lied to his king's men, about that or any of it. "The red woman may see what we intend," he warned them.
"We should start by killing her, then," urged Lewys the Fishwife. "I know a place where we could waylay her, four of us with sharp swords . . ."
"You'd doom us all," said Davos. "Maester Cressen tried to kill her, and she knew at once. From her flames, I'd guess. It seems to me that she is very quick to sense any threat to her own person, but surely she cannot see everything. If we ignore her, perhaps we might escape her notice."
I think the author just established a new rule. Melisandre can sense any threat to her life.
I'll die of laughter if she's shown a vision of her killer and misinterprets it. Is that what happens? Oh man.
+.+.+
The maester broke off. "That will be enough for now, Edric."
The boy was puzzled by the intrusion. "Lord Davos, Ser Andrew. We were doing sums."
Ser Andrew smiled. "I hated sums when I was your age, coz."
"I don't mind them so much. I like history best, though. It's full of tales."
Edric and Sansa are endgame!
I couldn't make sense of this Jaime -> Davos chapter transition, until I realized this is the chapter Davos orchestrates an escape mission for Edric Storm. Jaime will do the same for Tyrion.
+.+.+
Pylos touched the chain of many metals he wore about his neck. "My place is here on Dragonstone. Go with Lord Davos now, and do as he says. He is the King's Hand, remember. What did I tell you about the King's Hand?"
"The Hand speaks with the king's voice."
Unless his tongue has been cut off?
Jokes, jokes.
+.+.+
"I shall go with you, Cousin," Ser Andrew assured him. "There's nothing to be frightened of."
"I am not frightened," Edric said indignantly. "Only . . . is Shireen coming too?"
"No," said Davos. "The princess must remain here with her father and mother."
Please take Shireen.
+.+.+
"He does not want to see you." Davos had to say something, to get the boy moving. "I am his Hand, I speak with his voice. Must I go to the king and tell him that you would not do as you were told? Do you know how angry that will make him? Have you ever seen your uncle angry?" He pulled off his glove and showed the boy the four fingers that Stannis had shortened. "I have."
It was all lies; there had been no anger in Stannis Baratheon when he cut the ends off his onion knight's fingers, only an iron sense of justice. But Edric Storm had not been born then, and could not know that. And the threat had the desired effect. "He should not have done that," the boy said, but he let Davos take him by the hand and draw him down the steps.
One more reminder that Edric Storm is a good lad.
And he likes history best! He knows history! The author loves that.
+.+.+
He went to one knee before Edric Storm. "I must leave you now," he said. "There's a boat waiting, to row you out to a galley. Then it's off across the sea. You are Robert's son so I know you will be brave, no matter what happens."
"I will. Only . . ." The boy hesitated.
"Think of this as an adventure, my lord." Davos tried to sound hale and cheerful. "It's the start of your life's great adventure. May the Warrior defend you."
Edric and Sansa Arya are endgame!
+.+.+
"And may the Father judge you justly, Lord Davos." The boy went with his cousin Ser Andrew out the postern gate.
[...]
May the Father judge me justly, Davos thought ruefully. But it was the king's judgment that concerned him now.
Uh oh. I haven't verified, but I don't think you ever want that said to you.
+.+.+
If he survived this night, he would take Devan and sail home to Cape Wrath and his gentle Marya. We will grieve together for our dead sons, raise the living ones to be good men, and speak no more of kings.
He didn't. He didn't do it.
This is the first Davos chapter that I've read where I've felt a strong sense of his doom.
+.+.+
A half moon was sliding in and out amongst thin high clouds, and Davos could see familiar stars. There was the Galley, sailing west; there the Crone's Lantern, four bright stars that enclosed a golden haze. The clouds hid most of the Ice Dragon, all but the bright blue eye that marked due north.
There's an Ice Dragon that points north, and another star called Galley that sails west... Lmao.
+.+.+
The wings of the stone dragons cast great black shadows in the light from the nightfire. He tried to tell himself that they were no more than carvings, cold and lifeless. This was their place, once. A place of dragons and dragonlords, the seat of House Targaryen. The Targaryens were the blood of old Valyria . . .
Bad news, they're hot and full of life, and Crazy's coming home.
+.+.+
"Your Grace." Davos stepped forward. "Lady Melisandre saw it true. Your nephew Joffrey is dead."
[...]
Melisandre moved closer. "Save them, sire. Let me wake the stone dragons. Three is three. Give me the boy."
"Edric Storm," Davos said.
Stannis rounded on him in a cold fury. "I know his name. Spare me your reproaches. I like this no more than you do, but my duty is to the realm. My duty . . ." He turned back to Melisandre. "You swear there is no other way? Swear it on your life, for I promise, you shall die by inches if you lie."
Here's a guy that just agreed to burn an innocent child alive - his own nephew (Hello, Daenerys?) - and nobody in this stupid ass fandom holds it against him.
I'll eat a table the day the author gives this man the glory of winning back Winterfell.
+.+.+
Stannis made a fist. "Tommen is gentler than Joffrey, but born of the same incest. Another monster in the making. Another leech upon the land. Westeros needs a man's hand, not a child's."
Sorry everyone, we had to abandon that time gap.
A child it will be.
+.+.+
"Gone?" Stannis turned. "What do you mean, gone?"
"He is aboard a Lyseni galley, safely out to sea." Davos watched Melisandre's pale, heart-shaped face. He saw the flicker of dismay there, the sudden uncertainty. She did not see it!
There's also the possibility that someone games the system, and she never sees it, but I lean towards her being shown her own demise. That's so much more fun.
+.+.+
Her red eyes made him squirm. "I should have left you to the dark, ser. Do you know what you have done?"
"My duty."
"Some might call it treason." Stannis went to the window to stare out into the night.
Mental note, Stannis accused his Hand of committing treason, because he wouldn't let him burn someone alive.
+.+.+
"Your Grace, you made me swear to give you honest counsel and swift obedience, to defend your realm against your foes, to protect your people. Is not Edric Storm one of your people? One of those I swore to protect? I kept my oath. How could that be treason?"
Stannis ground his teeth again. "I never asked for this crown. Gold is cold and heavy on the head, but so long as I am the king, I have a duty . . . If I must sacrifice one child to the flames to save a million from the dark . . . Sacrifice . . . is never easy, Davos. Or it is no true sacrifice. Tell him, my lady."
+.+.+
"She talks of cows," Davos told the king. "I am speaking of a boy, your daughter's friend, your brother's son."
"A king's son, with the power of kingsblood in his veins." Melisandre's ruby glowed like a red star at her throat.
A king's daughter, Davos! With the power of kingsblood in her veins! Davos, the daughter! Please!
+.+.+
Stannis slid Lightbringer from its scabbard. Its glow filled the chamber. "Say what you will, but say it quickly." The muscles in the king's neck stood out like cords.
Davos fumbled inside his cloak and drew out the crinkled sheet of parchment. It seemed a thin and flimsy thing, yet it was all the shield he had. "A King's Hand should be able to read and write. Maester Pylos has been teaching me." He smoothed the letter flat upon his knee and began to read by the light of the magic sword.
If Starks melt when they ride below the Neck, what happens to southron lords like Stannis and Littlefinger when they travel north?
Final thoughts:
Edric is still hiding in Lys, most likely waiting to be given Storm's End at the end of the story.
Sorry Gendry, you can't read and you don't know history.
-> return to menu <-
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For me, I have already accepted it as canon that Arya returns to storms end after her little cruise trip and Arya and gendry get married (jon is invited and davos cries tears of joy throughout the whole wedding) and have a thousand wolf pups. Give me all your Arya lady of storms end headcanons! I need them! Please 🥰😍❤❤
oh i accepted it before the finale even aired lol. i was sitting on another ask by @artoftalent07 that requested the same thing but i put off answering them and you because i was trying to channel all my creative gendrya energy into finishing my stupid fic but the people have spoken!
we’ll pick things up when arya left KL on horseback. lets just scrap the whole boat thing for this tbh.
arya reunites with gendry on the kingsroad. he’s the one she loves and thats that on that! arya wants him to be her family and she tells him as much. the callback to 3x05 that we deserved goddamn it. she wants to live and love and make a home and a pack.
she proposes to him (again) and he accepts.
tent!sex
neither of them is the textbook lady/lord but thats why its so good. arya challenges the inherent misogyny in the idealization of a sweet, obedient lady wife and gendry challenges the inherent classism in lordship.
they help each other run the stormlands. their complimentary traits balance each other out but they value the same things; providing safety and stability to their people
its not easy winning over the lords with a baddie lady and a blacksmith lord but fuck ‘em!! like uncle stan said honestly.
arya and gendry are fierce and stubborn enough for the stormlands
a lot of people talk shit about how gendry needs to learn to control his woman. gendry thinks those losers can shove it.
gendry and arya leave each other flirty little notes as he’s learning to read/write
they definitely have precious babies and pick sea shells with them on the shoreline
since we’re talking show verse here i love the idea of a gendrya baby named after davos - makes the old man cry
they get the soft epilogue they more than earned.
#btw i am almost done with the above mentioned stupid fic#i swear lmao#the otp headcanons#princessaryathevaliant
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HEART DON’T FAIL ME NOW
gendry + arya + anastasia au // ao3
Gendrya Appreciation Week, Day 2: AU
Girl gets a family.
Boy gets rich
And fairytale gets a spin
How can we fail with everything to win?
Conman and princess get their wish
Fairytale comes true
Funny, one small part I never knew
With everything to win
The only thing I lose is
You.
- Everything to Win, Anastasia The Musical
*****
Never, in his twenty-seven years of life and twenty-one of making a living as a thief, a swindler and a trickster on the streets of Leningrad, Gendry Waters had a worse job than teaching one infuriatingly stubborn orphan girl how to be a princess.
If only Arry did not look like the absolute older mirror copy of Princess Arya Stark, he would’ve long ago vetoed the whole idea and, with or without Davos approval, left the girl somewhere near the closest bar so she could find a job better suited for her fiery temper and foul mouth. But, to his eternal despair, she is every bit as pale-skinned, grey-eyed and dark-haired like The Lost Princess and the fact that she doesn’t seem to remember a single thing from childhood only makes the whole con easier.
She is also desperate to find out anything about her past and willing to believe in the story they made up about her with a heart-wrenching determination.
Truth to be told, Gendry can understand that. He too, comes from nothing. Maybe if he was not sure of that, if he didn’t remember his mother’s clients kicking him for laughs as if he was a street rat, he would also entertain the thought of having a loving family once. But he does remember and he has no doubt at all that he is a rat indeed. A clever, Russian rat, but a rat still.
See, that is the whole problem about Arry – it is all about this idea of a loving family for her. She doesn’t care if they were Starks or simple factory workers. She just needs to belong somewhere, it is clear as a day.
And that makes it impossible for Gendry to hate her, even when she is bickering with him all days long and getting on his last nerve every time she opens her mouth.
Which means all the damn time.
***
He found her in Winter Palace; a small figure curled on the damaged wood of the ballroom’s floor, tracing the ruined tapestry depicting the former royal family with her fingertips.
In the cold winter light getting through the shattered windows, she looked like something straight out of a dream. Dressed in mismatched, baggy clothes to keep warm and with an uneven cut hair underneath man’s hat, she might have been just another poor girl, whoring herself to keep starvation at bay. She was probably just looking for shelter from the cold.
No need to pay attention to her at all, I should just leave her be and look through the second floor like I planned to –
Her gasp could be heard even across the room when Gendry stepped on the particularly squeaky floorboard.
She jumped to her feet immediately, quick as a flash.
‘’Don’t be afraid.’’ He said, but the cold shock spread through his body, making him freeze in place.
Because the girl was standing tall in front of the tapestry and the stray sunlight framed her, caressed her features so lovingly – her cheekbones and her chin, her eyes, and her brow – that something sweet and long gone resurfaced suddenly in his memory. Buried underneath the years-long past like a smell of his mother’s hair and the screams of people butchered on the streets.
On the wall behind her, there was a damaged depiction of a small girl in silver furs, Dark-haired, long-faced, gray-eyed.
And she was staring at him silently. Dark-haired, long-faced.
Fire burning in her grey eyes.
***
‘’ One more time. You learned how to ride horses at three.’’
‘’And my father got me my own when I was six.’’
‘’Correct. The horse’s name was –‘’
‘’Nymeria.’’
‘’I don’t believe we told her that, did we?’’
***
‘’Robb. Sansa. Bran. Rickon. Robb. Sansa. Bran. Rickon. It doesn’t seem right.’’ She whines, wriggling in her seat.
The train slowly rolls through snowy hills of Poland towards France and Gendry wants to do nothing else but savor the triumph of getting out of godforsaken Russia – oh, excuse him, Soviet Union – but he could not do that with Arry’s constant chirping. Sometimes, he wonders if the perspective of Princess Sansa offering him the girl’s weight in gold is a worthy reward for all his trouble. She’s a small thing, after all.
With a pained groan, he covers his eyes with his arm.
‘’Would you shut up for a second?’’
He can hear Davos’ warning huff and then Arry’s voice, dripping with honey.
‘’Gendry, can I ask you something?’’
He wants to say no, but he has pushed his luck enough already. You need to control your temper, my boy, Davos said. We need to keep her happy.
‘’Yes?’’
‘’Do you truly believe I’m a princess?’’
No.
He drops his arm and nods his head slowly. Arry sits with her back straight as a rod and her chin up, the way they taught her. Gendry cannot help but think that this posture suits her.
‘’Yes, I do.’’
She bites on her lip slightly and then one of her eyebrows slowly raises up in a perfect arch.
‘’Well, is it a way to speak to a princess then?’’ she says coolly, dignified, and Davos doesn’t manage to reach for his tissue fast enough to mask his laughter under fake coughing.
Somehow, it’s hard to scowl at her after that.
***
‘’What’s so incorrect about that?’’ he asks her later, in the dead of the night, when only Davos’ snoring interrupts the silence in their car.
‘’Huh?’’
‘’No, huh. Pardon.’’
‘’Fine. Pardon?’’
‘’When you were repeating- ‘’ Princess Arya’s ‘’-your siblings’ names. You said that there’s something incorrect about them.’’
‘’Oh, that.’’ She stays silent for a moment and he turns his head slightly to glance at her. In the darkness he can only see the outline of her body, its hills and valleys under the blanket. He can paint the rest in his mind; Arry in a white nightdress, her feet bare and hair loose. Warm and pink.
He shivers slightly and pulls his own blanket higher under his chin.
‘’I just think there is something missing. Or rather someone. There should be one more person, before Robb.’’
Gendry’s heart loses its rhythm in his chest.
‘’Have you read about this person somewhere?’’ he asks cautiously, but he somehow already know what her answer will be.
‘’No. All the books you gave me name five royal children. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Rickon.’’
He’s glad for the darkness, cause just as it shields her from him, it also shields him from her. So she cannot see how he’s staring at the ceiling, internal battle tearing him apart.
‘’There was.. there was one more Stark child.’’
She sits up so abruptly that she bumps her head against the top bunk of her bed and groans.
‘’What? If so, why didn’t you-‘’
‘’His name was Jon. He was King Ned’s bastard son, that’s why he’s not in the books. Not worth mentioning.’’ Gendry’s voice drops to a whisper. ‘’He was also not very popular at the court. There is not much to know about him, anyway. They sent him to the military before the Revolution and he died at war.’’
Gendry can hear her sharp inhale. He doesn’t dare to look in her direction.
‘’Well, it was stupid of you not to mention him anyway. What if Princess Sansa asked me about her – about our forth brother and I wouldn’t know what she’s talking about?’’
Gendry knows Arry is right. He doesn’t know himself why he told Davos not to inform her about the existence of the Bastard Prince.
(Only, it’s a complete lie, because he does know. Because Princess Arya was rumored to have a lot of affection for Jon, going as far as calling him her favorite brother. Out of all her siblings, he would be probably the most difficult for her to forget. Which meant- which could mean that-)
‘’Jon.’’ She flops back on the mattress. ‘’Jon. Robb. Sansa. Bran. Rickon.’’
Gendry remains silent, hands clenched into fists.
‘’Yes.’’ She sighs sleepily against her pillow. ‘’Yes, now it sounds right.’’
***
He is sure he has suffered through the worst of it; through history and etiquette lessons, through her terrible table manners and sailor’s mouth, through getting out of Russia and getting to Paris.
He thinks that he and Davos actually managed to transform dirty orphan Arry into a well-educated, bright and charming Princess Arya, or at least, a very good imitation of her. She doesn’t keep her elbows on the table anymore, can recite the whole family tree of the Starks three centuries back and is an excellent cyvasse player.
And he… enjoys her company. Somehow.
So the dancing lesson takes him by a complete surprise.
‘’Come on, lad, pull her closer! I could’ve fit another couple in-between you.’’ Davos barks and he sounds far too gleeful for Gendry’s taste. ‘’Her Majesty is doing splendidly. Maybe she should be the one instructing you, huh?’’
Arry laughs at that, gracefully spinning underneath Gendry’s arm. Her blue dress swirls around her bare calves when she turns.
It’s really pretty. It looked good on the hanger in the shop when he was picking it out, but now that she’s wearing it – now that she’s wearing it, it has completely transformed into something truly beautiful.
‘’One, two, three. One, two, three.’’ Davos counts, but it sounds distant somehow.
All Gendry can really hear is his own heartbeat and the slide of silk against her skin; all he can really feel is the smell of her hair and her perfume, light and fresh. Where did she get it?
Left and right and backward and forward, they waltz to the music from a borrowed gramophone in their hotel room. Arry avoids looking down at her feet by staring right into his eyes as instructed, and it somehow makes him feel both hot and cold, uncomfortable and hungry.
After two rounds, they no longer step on each other’s feet and simply go through the motions, silently moving around each other. Closer. And closer.
She’s so confident now, no longer skittish like a deer. There is not a single ounce of shyness on her face. Only curiosity… curiosity and a dash of awe.
One, two, three, one, two, three, left and right and backward and forward and spin.
His fingers itch to caress her blushed cheeks, to brush stray strands of hair from her forehead.
One, two, three, one, two, three, left and right and backward and forward and spin.
His hand fits in the dip of her waist perfectly.
This smell… light and fresh. Nothing with flowers. More like a wind – like pines, like snow –
There is no snow in Paris, it’s ridiculous, pull yourself together Gendry, for fuck’s sake
‘’I think Davos went to sleep.’’ Arya whispers and Gendry abruptly stops moving, making her lose her balance and bump against his chest, their legs tangling together.
He glances at the empty armchair above her head. You old fox
‘’Yeah. It’s – it’s probably late. I think we practiced enough.’’ He lets out through clenched teeth, looking down at her still in the circle of his arms.
Arry bites on her lip and there’s this overwhelming desire in Gendry, wild and dazzling, to just reach out and pull it from in-between her teeth, to just press his mouth to her instead, to make her moan and gasp the way she sometimes does in her sleep and I am forced to listen and do nothing, nothing at all, cause this is just a con, and she is just a girl, and none of this is even real.
‘’Goodnight, Your Majesty.’’ He drops her hands and leaves, leaves as fast as he can.
***
‘’You’re playing a dangerous game, lad.’’
‘’I don’t know what you mean.’’
‘’Oh, young hearts. They want what they want, truly.’’
‘’Fuck off and let me sleep, won’t you?’’
***
Gendry finds her on a bridge next to the hotel. She’s staring at the Seine lazily passing down below, humming to herself this strange lullaby, as she always seems to when she’s feeling uncertain.
Far away, long ago, burning dim as an ember
‘’Stressed?‘’ he asks, softly, so as not to startle her.
But maybe she knows his steps just as well as he knows hers by now, because, when she turns around to face him, she doesn’t look surprised at all.
It fits her, all of this. The beautiful dresses they obtained through Countess Shireen. Hair bows and pearls. Fine silk stockings.
Her hair reaches past shoulder blades now, curling at the ends a bit. Even when they are messed by a wind, she’s still every inch an image of a princess. Every inch of her perfect and enchanting.
‘’A bit. ‘’ Arry admits. ‘’Tomorrow, I might get everything I’ve ever wanted. But I can also find out that this-‘’ she gestures down at the pink skirt of her gown and her shiny shoes. ‘’-is just a lie. That I’m a lie. I can break this woman’s heart.’’
Gendry takes a few steps to stand next to her, leaning on the railing by her side.
‘’I just wish I could feel like Princess Arya. She’s still somehow a foreign person to me.’’ She raises her eyes to the outline of the Eiffel Tower at the horizon, harsh black lines against sky bleeding with a setting sun.
And the resolve that Gendry kept inside his heart for fifteen long years breaks.
‘’I saw her, once. When I was twelve.’’
Arry whips her head towards him, mouth opened in shock, but Gendry’s firmly staring down at the dark river, lost in the memories.
‘’There was a parade in Saint Petersburg. It was hot, especially in a crowd – I think it must’ve been June or July. Royal family rode in a carriage, surrounded by guards, but I was tall for my age, and quick; I ran along, hoping for a glimpse of them. There were rumors that they wear clothes made of gold.’’ He chuckles quietly. ‘’And then there was some commotion on the street, so the carriage stopped. And I saw her.’’
Her, not you. His hands grip railing tighter, but Arry doesn’t seem to notice.
‘’How did she look like?’’ she asks, her voice shaking like a leaf on a wind.
‘’She was wriggling in her seat like a worm. I think Princess Sansa was scolding her, but she didn’t seem to listen. She kept on waving to the people and, for just a second, our eyes met.’’
He remembers it so well. Ever since he Arry appeared in his life, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about that day, how it made him feel everything at once; how such an insignificant thing turned his world upside down.
This image of a little princess, so joyful and so vibrant, has kept him warm through many long nights. And the thought that such a bright light was snuffed out in a bloody basement so easily, made him the person he is now. There is nothing beautiful in this world, not a single thing he can protect or preserve. Nothing.
Or, so he thought. Until another pair of gleaming eyes gazed into his.
‘’She had – she had such beautiful eyes. Such happy eyes. I had never seen eyes like that before.’’
The silence falls between them for a moment, before Arry inhales deeply.
‘’A parade in June.’’ She says. ‘’In Saint Petersburg.’’
‘’That’s right.’’
‘’Crowded streets. ‘’ she closes her eyes. ‘’It was hot, not a cloud on the sky. I was riding with my family and everyone was cheering for us and Sansa kept on telling me to sit down, but I wanted to see better. I wanted to see all those people, to thank them for coming to see us.’’
Her skin turns honey-golden when the sun submerges into the Seine.
‘’Then the boy caught my eye. Tall and skinny. Dark-haired. He looked at me with those pretty blue eyes…. and bowed.’’
Boom. The church bells ring.
Boom. His heart hammers in his chest.
Boom. Arya spins on her feet and looks at him, wide-eyed.
‘’I didn’t tell you that.’’ escapes from in-between his stiff lips.
‘’I know.’’ she takes his hands in hers, cool from the metal railing and trembling. ‘’I remember.’’
Boom.
He drops to his knees.
***
The worst thing is, he should be happy.
He should be happy, cause he is about to become filthy rich; no more sleeping on the streets, no more struggling, stealing, running away. He is in France and there is a whole wide world ahead of him. Their impossible, half-cooked plan actually worked and it seems like they somehow, by some insane miracle, actually did not con anyone at all.
They delivered Princess Arya to her sister. She finally had a place where she could belong. The family she dreamt about her whole life.
And for this good, good deed, Gendry is going to be rewarded with a pile of gold.
So, he should be fucking overjoyed.
‘’I don’t want it.’’ He says to Princess Arya’s butler. The man looks as if he did not understand Gendry’s Russian, so he repeats in French. ‘’I don’t want the money.’’
‘’But sir, Princess Sansa-‘’
‘’Please tell her that – that the joy of her sister is a big enough reward for me. I don’t want this money.’’
Arya, in the opera, in this night-sky-dress sparkling with diamonds and falling down her body like a waterfall. The line of her spine and her shoulder blades moving underneath her skin. The smell of her hair; pine and fresh snow.
Her happy grey eyes.
A silver tiara atop her head.
He wants nothing to do with the Starks, nothing at all.
***
‘’So, you didn’t take the money.’’
‘’I didn’t.’’
‘’Why?’’
How can you ask me this?
‘’I didn’t feel like taking them.’’
‘’That’s not an answer.’’
‘’Yes, it is.’’
‘’No, it isn’t!’’
‘’Yes, it is! Gods, Arya, can you, for once in your life, not make it difficult for me?’’
He doesn’t know what she’s doing here, standing in front of his hotel in the pouring rain and letting it soak her to the bone. He would offer her his umbrella or a coat, if he wasn’t so angry at her.
She has her sister now, what is she looking for here?
‘’I just want to know why you didn’t take the money.’’ She stubbornly repeats. Droplets slide down her cheeks like tears. ‘’Tell me that and I’ll let you go.’’
‘’Oh, and what’s stopping me know, Your Majesty? Did you bring your guards with you, ordering to stop me from leaving if you won’t get what you want from me?’’ he snarls and regrets it the moment the words drop in no man’s land between them.
Arya’s face breaks and she takes a step back as if he slapped her.
‘’You know I didn’t, Gendry.’’ She sounds awfully small, looks awfully small in a wet dress and with her hair plastered to her head and neck.
Desperation does ugly things with a person, Princess.
‘’I’m leaving Paris, Your Majesty. I wish you all the happiness.’’ He says stiffly and steps on the street, passing Arya with his suitcase in one hand and an umbrella in another.
‘’No.’’
He wants to weep. He knows her. How could he believe it would be so simple?
Arya has her arms wrapped around his waist, her face pressed to his back. He can feel shivers running through her body.
‘’Please, Gendry. Please. Tell me why.’’ She whispers and his blood boils in his veins, coloring the Paris red in front of his eyes.
‘’Because you are not a transaction to me!’’ he shouts desperately, turning around to face her. His hands grab her shoulders; the umbrella and the suitcase drop to the pavement and the cold rain viciously attack all exposed parts of his body. He cannot find it in himself to care about that, not even a bit. ‘’Because maybe it started as a con, but it isn’t and it’s – it’s you, Arya. It’s you and I cannot pretend anymore that I don’t care, because I do. I care so much. And you’re a princess and I’m just me and this can never work, and I-‘’
Her lips are cold and wet against his. He tastes salt on them; salt, pine, and snow.
His hands fit around her waist perfectly.
His stubborn, impossible princess, laughing, when she embraces him.
***
Dear Sansa,
I am so sorry for leaving so quickly after we reunited, but you know yourself I was never suited to be a princess. It seems that I have found myself a family even before I met you again. I cannot abandon him now.
Wish me luck! We’ll be in Paris together soon, I promise.
I hope you’ll understand. After all, you’ve always loved grand stories of romance.
Your little sister,
Arya.
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Fine, I’ll Do It Myself - Podrick Payne
Pairing: Podrick Payne x reader
Requested: By my dear friend Courtney who is a total slut for Pod
Prompts: None
Warnings/notes: Mentions of sex, cursing, mentions of violence
Wordcount: 2045
Description: You’re Bronn’s sister and you come with Jaime to Winterfell and reunite with Podrick who you, much to everyone’s surprise, hold a strange attraction to. (Whatever happened with the prostitutes, it didn’t happen in this imagine. Also shoutout to those of you who understand the meaning behind this title hehehe)
“I don’t trust her.” You said as you, Jaime and Brienne walked down the hill, away from the meeting you had just had with the dragon queen where Brienne had vouched for the two of you.
Jaime glanced at you, amused. “You always see the worst in people.”
“Because people are the worst.” You snorted.
“You said the same exact thing after meeting Cersei for the first time.” Jaime pondered, eyes full of amusement.
“I don’t trust her, either.” You deadpanned, not even bothering to sugarcoat the truth.
“Who do you trust?”
“Brienne.” You responded instantly without batting an eye. As you were looking straight ahead, you completely missed the proud smile that made its way onto Brienne’s face.
“And you.” You glanced at Jaime. “A little, at least.”
He put a hand to his chest. “I’m offended.” He narrowed his eyes playfully. “And I’m sure your brother would be as well, don’t you trust him?”
You scoffed. “Unlike Bronn, I believe in something called true loyalty. No money, no castles, no whores involved. He wouldn’t hesitate selling me away if it meant that he got what he wanted.”
“It’s a good thing you’re here and not him, then.” Jaime chuckled, causing you to crack a smile.
The tree of you fell quiet after that, continuing your walk down the hill towards the fighting and sparring grounds. It wasn’t until you got close enough that you spotted the familiar face. But you almost couldn’t recognize him.
“Is that-” You cut yourself off, squinting to get a better look at the boy who was currently beating another man by far in a sparring session. “Is that, Podrick?”
Upon hearing his name, Podrick looked up, eyes widening as he met your judging gaze. He hurried to block a hit and shove his opponent to the ground in a rather pathetic attempt to impress you, before stumbling to walk towards the three of you up on the hill.
“He’s gotten good.” Jaime commented, nodding his head as he witnessed Podrick coming out on top of the pretend-fight.
“He’s alright.” Brienne responded.
“Alright?” You asked no one in particular, drawing in a low whistle as Podrick approached you. “The things I would let that man do to me, I-”
“(Y/N), I’m quite sure Brienne does not want to hear about your sexual fantasies with her squire.”
Realizing your mistake, you looked up to see Brienne look at you with a judgmental and disgusted expression.
“Oops.” You snickered, just as Podrick reached you.
“My lady, m’lord.” He greeted Brienne and Jaime, getting nods in return.
“You look good, Podrick.” Jaime offered.
Podrick smiled proudly, letting his hand fall to the hilt of his sword. “Thank you, m’lord.”
You couldn’t help but follow his hand with your eyes. You had always loved his hands. Pity they’d never touched you, seeing as Podrick was too oblivious to notice when a female flirted with him.
This being what had happened your whole time together while him and Brienne had been in King’s Landing.
Something Bronn and Jaime had a very fun time joking around about, much to your annoyance.
“Lady (Y/N), it’s nice to see you again.” Podrick said then, breaking you out of your trance and causing your eyes to snap up to his. You heard Jaime snicker.
“Likewise, Podrick.” You smiled politely at him, but you were obviously still checking him out, something Podrick for once seemed to notice, a faint blush coming to rest at his cheeks.
Jaime looked to the sky, squinting slightly. “It’s getting dark, we should get back to the castle.”
“Yes.” You agreed. “I’ll be damned if I don’t drink myself dead on my last night alive.”
And with that you walked ahead.
Podrick had been watching you from across the room for what seemed to be an eternity. His body was filled with more emotions than ever at the same time as he watched you drink all while getting chatted up by some knight from the Vale.
“Why don’t you go over and talk to her?” Jaime nudged Podrick in the side suddenly, causing him to jump and return his gaze to his company, only to find them all looking at him.
“What?” He asked, looking between him and the others.
“(Y/N).” Tyrion said. “You’ve been staring at her for hours. It’s getting quite irritating to see your sulking face every time I go to fill up my cup.”
“I haven’t-” Podrick began. “I’ve just been looking out for her. He doesn’t seem safe.”
“Then why don’t you go do something about it?” Tormund joined in, leaning forward and giving Podrick a smile that hinted to anything unholy.
Podrick didn’t have the time to respond before they all heard you speak up. “Listen, Wilter.” You said, causing them all to turn to look at you from their seats.
“It’s Walter.” The knight in front of you corrected.
You smiled sweetly at him. “Wilter.” You repeated yourself. “I’m not interested in you in that way.”
“What way?” Walter leaned forward slightly, a filthy smirk painted on his equally as filthy lips.
You gave him a disgusted look. “Pick one.”
“I know what you’re doing.” Walter’s grin only seemed to grow. “You’re playing hard to get.”
“Oh, man.” Jaime snickered. “She’s going to blow up anytime now.”
Ser Davos was the one to nudge Podrick this time. “This is your chance, lad.”
Podrick tore his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him, looking to Brienne with a hard, questioning look.
“Go.” Brienne waved her hand, and that was all he needed to hear before standing up and making a beeline in your direction.
Noticing Podrick approach out of the corner of your eye, you stood up just in time to avoid the knight’s hand groping your breast.
“Looky here.” You said happily. “My lover has finally come to take me to my chambers for the night. It has been a pleasure talking to you, Wilter.”
“It’s Walter.” The man scoffed, now having dropped the sleazy act to glare at the boy who had taken your side.
You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. “I don’t give two shits.” And then you proceeded to take Podrick by his arm, drag him over to the wine table to grab a flagon, and then past the group of people by the fire and towards the door.
“Hey, Podrick, no wine for yo-” Before Brienne could finish her sentence, Jaime had nudged her side, causing her to fall quiet with a glare. “Fine, but only half a cup.”
As Podrick was too busy keeping up with your rushed pace, you only raised the flagon over your shoulder to show her that you had heard what she said, before successfully dragging the boy in your grasp out the room and down the corridor, leaving the group snickering at the knight storming off in annoyance.
“Thank you for saving my ass.” You told Podrick as you walked, letting go of his arm.
Podrick wanted to tell you to keep touching him, but he figured it would be a much too strange thing to say and instead opted to sulk for himself about the loss of contact and warmth.
“You didn’t seem to be enjoying the attention very much.” He answered quietly.
You chuckled. “A fine observation.”
You reached the door to your room in no time, and you wasted no time in going inside.
You put the flagon of wine down on your bedside table, walking over to the fireplace to start a fire. Putting a few pieces of wood in there as a start, you successfully lit the fire without too much trouble.
Half expecting to see Podrick inside your room, you turned around to see him still standing in the doorway, looking around in a tense manner.
You raised an eyebrow, clearing your throat.
Podrick whipped his head around to look at you, a blush rising to his neck. But luckily the redness of his skin was masked by the glow that was now emitting from the burning fire.
“Are you going to stand there looking at the furniture all night or are you going to come in?” You asked him, walking over to table with wine, pouring a cup and holding it out for him to take.
Hesitating slightly, Podrick finally walked inside, coming over to accept the cup with a small smile, raising it to his lips and sipping it carefully.
You raised another eyebrow and had to suppress a chuckle as you watched him drink for what seemed to be the first time in his life. But then again, you wouldn’t really be surprised if it was.
You poured yourself your own cup of wine before walking over to the door, pushing it closed with a thud.
Podrick jumped slightly at the sound, and once again you had to hold in your laughs. To have grown up to look so fine, he had certainly not changed much personality-wise.
You moved to sit on the end of the bed, patting the spot beside you lightly while taking a drink of wine.
Podrick hesitated, but nonetheless moved to sit beside you.
He could feel your gaze burning into the side of his face as he looked into his cup, twirling the liquid inside.
You looked at him, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as your eyes ran over his eyes, taking in his long, black eyelashes, all the way to his lips, taking in the soft, slightly chapped skin that was stained a light shade of red from the wine.
You watched as his lips parted slightly as he brought the cup up to take another sip, the feeling growing in your stomach at the sight causing you to tighten your grip on the silver cup in your hand.
“I really want to kiss you.” You blurted out, successfully shocking Podrick with your words to the point where he choked on the liquid currently running down his throat.
“What?” He coughed, bringing the cup down and slapping his chest.
“I said if you die, I wouldn’t miss you.” You teased. “Are you going deaf on me, Payne?”
“You’re drunk.” Podrick coughed, putting his cup to the side before standing up.
“I’m not drunk, Podrick.” You rolled your eyes following his example of putting away your own cup and standing up to face him. “Why is it so hard for you to believe someone would want you?”
He looked away briefly, uncomfortable under your gaze. “I’m a squire. And you’re, well, you.”
“Yes, I’m me and you’re you, and I want you.” You admitted, moving one of your hands to the buckle of his sheath and the other to rest at his chest.
Podrick’s breath got caught in his throat, causing you to chuckle. “Are you nervous?”
He chuckled uncomfortably. “Am I that transparent?”
“You can’t hide your emotions for shit.” You snorted, unbuckling the sheath and carefully putting the sword on the chest at the end of your bed. “Is it your first time?”
“No.” He gulped. “I’ve been nervous many times.”
You felt yourself mentally facepalm. “You’re such an idiot.” You laughed. “A cute idiot, but still an idiot.”
“I-” Podrick started, but you interrupted him quickly.
“I ment your first time kissing. Or having sex. However far you want to go.” You snickered teasingly.
You watched in amusement as his ears and cheeks tinted red, this time too evident for the fire to hide.
“Yes, I mean, no, I’ve been with women before.”
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not very good at lying, you know that?”
“Yes, m’lady.” He mumbled, now more sheepish than ever.
“Are you going to kiss me, or am I going to have to wait all night?” You whispered.
Podrick’s breath shook as he felt you push your hand up his chest to grab a hold of his neck, slender fingers going to grip lightly at his hair.
“Fine.” You snickered. “I’ll do it myself.”
And with that, you pulled him down to your height and pressed your lips to his, seconds later feeling him respond and wrap his arms around your waist.
Your stomach and chest erupted with tingles as you were finally able to touch Podrick the way you had always wanted.
#podrick x reader#podrick payne#podrick payne x reader#podrick payne imagine#jaime lannister#jaime x brienne#jaime x reader#jaime lannister x reader#brienne of tarth#brienne x reader#brienne x jaime#brienne x podrick#bronn of the blackwater#game of thrones imagine#game of thrones x reader#game of thrones
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