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ikeromantic · 4 years

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Farewell to Beauty

A Mitsuhide Akechi fanfic - featuring Yoshimoto! Because I really wanted to write this scene from his perspective and I have a certain love for triangles ^_^ Scene occurs toward the end of Ch6. Fluff and light angst. Approx 1200 words.

First: Mitsuhide and the Maiden

Previous: Kitsune’s Work

Yoshimoto felt sick. His stomach churned acid since he’d stepped foot in this village as part of Yoshiaki’s entourage. It was harder to give up nobility than he’d expected. The shogun’s parade of expensive alcohol and cheap women was wearing thin. In truth, it had since the first day. But being here in this village, seeing how the shogun’s allies treated their people - vassals and peasants alike - was too much.

And then she’d walked into the manor, dragged along by the daimyo’s guards. The girl from Azuchi. Sasuke’s childhood friend. Her fright and anger fading to apathy had broken his heart. Worse, he’d known how she would be treated after Yoshiaki rejected her. Doing nothing felt like her suffering was on his hands. Something Yoshimoto could not conscious.

Beauty should be cherished. There was more to his thoughts as well, but he refused to give them even a breath. They settled on his heart instead, seeds of an affection he would not - and could not - pursue. Yet when he saw her at the market, Yoshimoto could not pass by. He had to have her to himself, if only to explain.

She was docile enough when he clapped a hand over her mouth, grabbed her arm and dragged her from the market and into the bordering forest. A farmer’s path, overgrown with weeds. It smelled of growing things, ripening fruit, and soft, dark earth. Beautiful. It would be the perfect setting for her - a jewel sparkling with life amidst this green vista.

That’s what Yoshimoto was thinking when she flipped him onto the ground.

“You got the jump on me, but I can destroy y- Yoshimoto?” Her expression went from rage to confusion in the blink of any eye.

With cheeks flushed and eyes wide, she was breathtaking. All he could do for several heartbeats was stare and smile, words flying from his mind like birds fleeing the hunting hawk. “I see you are not only a patron of the fine arts, but of the martial as well,” he managed after untying his tongue.

“Oh my god! Yoshimoto, are you alright? I hope I didn’t hurt you! Mitsuhide’s been teaching me how to defend myself but I didn’t mean to unleash on you!”

“I’ll be fine. I should apologize for handling you so rudely. I dearly wished to speak with you in private.” Inside, he cringed a little over her reaction. She wouldn’t have said that to Shingen or Yuki, or even Sasuke.

She smiled and shook her head, a loose hair falling against her cheek like a delicate leaf shaken free of it’s branch. “You could have said something instead of dragging me out here.”

“Yes,” he agreed, struggling to a sitting position. He thought his back was certainly bruised, and his shoulder would be sore. No less than he deserved. Yoshimoto looked back up at her. “I thought about simply asking, but people tend to notice me. It makes private discussions troublesome.”

The beauty considered his argument for her rough treatment and after a moment, she smiled more widely.

Yoshimoto considered this an agreement, so he added, “I wanted to avoid alerting Yukimura and Sasuke to my presence.”

“But they followed you all the way here! They are worried about you.” She pushed the loose hair behind her ear, her expression a mix of annoyance and concern.

“I expect they are.” He tried to change the subject, unwilling to talk with her about his own sorrows. Everyone had burdens, and his were for his shoulders alone. “That aside, I was actually out looking for you.”

“For me?” Her eyes went wide again, colored glass through which he could see the vibrant spirit in her.

It made Yoshimoto want to stroke her cheek, to touch the source of such compassion. A penitent worshipper - and he realized she was waiting for him to reply. “Ah, yes. I saw you enter the manor last night. I asked my servants what happened -” He stood and reached for her hands, clasping them between his own. Her skin was soft, but for the callouses on her thumbs. It only made the rest of her feel silkier to touch.

Then Yoshimoto bowed his head. “I wanted to tell you I am sorry - so sorry - that you were put through that.”

She didn’t pull away, but her tone was not one of forgiveness. “Thanks. I - in my hometown, we don’t treat each other that way. But I’m . . .” she trailed off, taking a moment to swallow her emotions. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure. But hey! You didn’t do all this just to check up on me, did you?”

Yoshimoto stroked the back of her hand. It was a small gesture of comfort, one she probably didn’t even notice. “I did.”

“Thanks! That makes me feel better.” Her smile was genuine, if still shaded by her experience.

He let go of her hands and took a step back, realizing he needed to stop putting off his the real reason he’d brought her out here. It was hard to focus on goodbyes though, with her standing so close. He could see the press of her breasts against the thin fabric of her costume, the way they rose and fell with her breath. The beginning curve of her hip.

“Yoshimoto?”

He coughed. “Ah, sorry. I - I wanted to tell you that I think you are incredibly strong. Life and all its forces flow through you as naturally as wind, trees, and water. Yet you - you outshine them all.” His voice cracked at the end, emotion showing through the polish of his practiced words.

She was blushing brilliantly now, her eyes lidded and downcast.

“I feel as if you are the opposite of me,” he added softly. An impossible star shining down on the dark pool of still water that was him.

“What? No! You are as shiny as they come. You should have seen yourself in Azuchi!” She held out a hand to him, one he did not take. “I wish you could see yourself talk about art and beauty. You come alive.”

Yoshimoto knew she believed what she said. He could see it in her eyes, but he could not see himself as she did. He knew better. “I am pleased to know you think that.” He moved his eyes to the trees, unable to keep looking at her. She was simply too bright.

After a moment of awkward silence, “Yoshimoto . . . what are you doing with a man like Yoshiaki? Why are you running from your friends?”

He found that he did not wish to lie to her. “You could say that I have come to see the once stalled fall of the Imagawa clan to its natural conclusion.” The words fell from his lips like pearls of poison. Cold and harsh, undeniable.

She started to ask him another question, but Yoshimoto could not say more. His chest ached, and his tongue swollen. He only wanted to say goodbye and that was done. Turning to look at her one last time, he smiled. “Please. Be careful on your way back to the market.”

Next: Butterflies

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen yoshimoto #imagawa yoshimoto #otome #otome guys #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff

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kareem-mohammed · 5 years

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[Monday, Sept 24rd, 2019]

I wish I can explain it to you, but I still don't have the words for it.

It's been weeks of feeling this way, as if I'm functioning on autopilot, as if I'm not there, someone/something else is occupying my body, controlling it, since I seem to be failing to do so.

Weeks of feeling utter numbness, with sudden intervals of feeling everything. Nothing and everything. Innocence and Instinct. Enemies and familiar friends. And yes I am referring to RED, since it is some sort of a fight inside. Only I haven't really chosen it. I'm not doing anything, sweety. Not ignoring my feelings, not bottling them up, not distracting from them. And yet, I am forced to bear this fight I didn't plan to fight.

I was on my way to get a few books, today, when I noticed where I was. Last time I was there, it was night, and I couldn't be sure where exactly was that, only that it was familiar. The sudden flashbacks I got once my brain registered it is, in fact, the same place, unsettled me. And while the scorching sunlight made it an almost alien place, I still panicked. So, on instinct, I looked up to the sky, expecting to see the dark grey of angry clouds, but saw clear, blue nothingness. Then, why was I feeling the burn of raindrops on my aching skin?

___

‘For much like Icarus and the Sun,

When it rained I cursed the skies.

Fearing it would put out your flames,

Even if it would heal my burning pains.’

—My subconscious recited these at one of my recent dreams, and I wanted to have a word with it; mostly because of how cliché these lines were.

___

Accepting things doesn't necessarily mean they'll stop hurting. It only means that now when it does, we'll understand why it's hurting. It doesn't lessen the pain, doesn't prevent the panic attacks accompanying the unexpected resurfacing of the to-only-be-accepted shit. It's easier to accept our mistakes, our shortcomings, because we've got something to blame it on, even if it's ourselves—especially if it's ourselves. So, we acknowledge the mistake, and work on not repeating it again, or at least not too many times. Basic actions and reactions. You make a mistake, and the universe makes you pay for it. Except it never really required any actions on my behalf for the universe to beat the living hell out of me.

See, we've all been raised on the idea that bad things happen to bad people. And then we grow up, and we find that bad things happen to almost everyone. Bad things happen to us. Does that mean we're bad people, then? Or does it mean that shit just happens anyway? To everyone, every time, everywhere? Whichever concept is true, can you accept either of them?

________

[Tuesday, Sept 25th, 2019]

[23:57]

Heart, it's raining. Again.

And so, I am stuck between the raging storms behind my shutters, and the siren screams echoing against my brain walls. Again.

Triggered. Again.

And I don't know when is this absurdity going to stop.

A couple mornings ago, I started my day with school it is raining that day.

And:

___

‘I hoped it was wrong, but I opened the shutters and there it was: The static, the weighted atmosphere, the greyness—it is going to rain, sweetheart, and I'm not sure I can handle a single raindrop descending on my skin.’

___

That was what I wrote at that moment, the first thing I've written in month of silence.

And I almost caved in again. Because, see, ever since then, every time it would rain, I would hide in my room for even longer.

It is that bad, and, I don't know what to do.

________

[Wednesday, Sept 26th, 2019]

It's 03:35, now.

And something is happening to me.

My brain snapped into a sudden shutdown once that rain continued for over 2 hours, and I can feel it slipping deeper and deeper, and I don't know how to stop it before it's a total shutdown.

It's still raining.

In fact, it's getting even heavier now.

I'm not panicking, yet.

But I feel like I'm drowning.

I am breathing.

But..

Do you know how it feels to take a breath underwater?

Every breath I'm currently taking, feels this way.

I've got a lot of things to do.

I've got a mug of chamomile in front of me. I currently have 4 different types of chamomile at home. And while none of them currently helps me sleep, they just help in keeping me calm. And right now, I'd do anything not to panic just because it's raining again.

That's why I'm writing. Actually, I'm forcing myself to write.

Much like I've been forcing myself to do everything lately.

study. Exercise. Go to walk.

Except, I force myself into starting, and my subconscious forces me to overdo it. Last Sunday, I sat for too many hours overworking on some drawings. I finished 47. I didn't even notice how many I've finished until my hand was tremoring bad enough and I realized I couldn't make a straight line. Last time I exercised, I overdid it until I collapsed breathless. Last few times I forced myself to go to school, it forced me to walk for nothing less than 2 hours on my way back.

And , there must be a reason why I'm beating myself up that bad.

___

‘Nolan: Logically, people punish themselves for something they did, or something they didn't do. So what have you screwed up?

House: I don't know.

House: Okay.. there may be a problem.’

—House M.D., Season 6, Episode 21 ‘Baggage’.

___

And heart, it's not just a ‘september’ in my case, because there IS a problem. It's that rain have been a major trigger for me the last month. I know my triggers. Some of which I outgrown, some I know how to handle, some I still struggle with but can be managed, and some I avoid at all cost because they'll take me back places I'd rather forget ever existed. Rain had never been one. And right now, it makes no sense for one natural element to encompass every single trigger I've fought to avoid. Now all it takes is a thunderclap, a raindrop on my skin, the smell of the earth during rain, and they're all unleashed at me, and.. I'm not sure if I'm really that sleepy, or if I'm just losing consciousness bit by bit..

It's 18:00, now.

My subconscious won.

The triggers came one after the other.

Thoughts of putting an end to it all became louder.

At some point I couldn't fight it anymore, and I surrendered to it, lied down and felt it all. Listened to the thunder claps echoing with my screams; the muffled ones, and the ones which slipped out there to pierce the atmosphere.

I don't remember when I slipped, only that suddenly I wasn't awake, and I was stuck in a self-created hell.

My subconscious trapped me into a total shutdown disguised as sleep. 15 hours of it, in which I wasn't there. Hours in which it shut me out of the world completely. Hours in which I fought with it, wanting to wake up, and it refusing.

And I know it's a coping mechanism. But I hadn't noticed the triggers were that much that it required a total shutdown for my brain to keep me sane and alive.

It makes no sense.

It's childish, and absurd.

I don't know how to stop this.

I don't even understand the root of it all so I could stop it.

‘Traumatic coupling’ was what my therapist called such incidents.

But this is the most fucked up coupling my subconscious created.

___

‘“What’s going on in that head of yours?” He wrapped himself around me. “I don’t know what to do,” he said again. “I don’t know what to do.”’

—Sylvia Day, Crossfire: #5 One With You.

________

I'm writing this part now, the time I'm posting this.

You might be wondering why I'm using my tumblr post format, with dates and timestamps. I'm even mixing it with my hamlettings format, with quotes and lyrics. It's just because I've been writing bits and pieces the last few days. Pieces that aren't even connected. And connecting them will be hard.

Because these pieces make no sense.

But they do, in my head.

They should do, in yours as well.

But they won't.

Much like the last time I wrote you should've but didn't.

Why writing again the last few days?

Because the rain thing became too stupid it's making me angry at you, myself, and the universe. After all, I haven't written about anything more of importance except the rain thing. Because nothing has changed since the last time I wrote you.

Perhaps I'll add that one too, and stop this madness rollercoaster right there, what do you think?

_______

[Thursday, Sept 27st, 2019]

sweety,

I'm only writing this time because I'm hurting. I'm knocked down with pain. In every sense of the word. And I hate you, just as much as I currently hate everyone. and i love !

I was scared that what's been happening would trigger my cynicism again. And I tried, heart. I tried. But to fucking hell with it. Humans are fucked up. We are fucked up. Yet at least we have the decency to admit it. To not take it out on others and pretend like we're not. To put them in hell, then blame them for burning.

___

Do I need to tell you I'm shutdown again? Or has it become a given, once I'm reaching you this way? Have you noticed I'm shutdown? Have you noticed the difference this time? No. You'll have to see me out of this virtual world to see it. Because over here, I'm functioning, nothing is wrong. But the truth is, everything is wrong. And I stopped functioning fully yesterday.

You're wondering if this has anything to do with you, right? And you expect me to tell you it's not, even if it is, because I am that kind. Right? Well, I'm never kind once I'm in this state. I'm only true. And the truth is, you caused this. Whether deliberately or just by your mere haste.

See, sweety,

I think I've avoided this for enough time, now. Or at least that's what my brain decided. Most probably because there were no more distractions to use. And the latest novel series I picked to distract me, in fact, triggered me. I didn't know it would. There were no trigger warnings anywhere. And I'm still trying to understand how the fuck there were none if everything was going to be that detailed. But I'm not angry because of the novel. I'm angry because it made me realize why I was distracting to begin with, why I was avoiding reacting to what you did, why I treated it all so coolly as if it was nothing.

You triggered me.

Heart, you triggered in me a feeling I prayed to never feel again as long as I lived. The only feeling I knew I'd never manage to fight because it's the only one that's true. The only feeling I never doubt. Yet the only feeling I pray was just wrong.

________

Back to meantime.

It makes sense why I stopped writing, after this. Nothing has changed since then. It's the same cycle. No matter what I do, no matter what choices I make, it remains the same. I hadn't noticed I never finished writing this one, though. But then again I remember why I stopped. At that time, I didn't want to share it with the world, and I later sent you everything I didn't write in it, directly. An attempt I tried to help you understand what was happening, so we could find our way around and through it. But you failed to see it that way. And as the days went by after that, I started noticing the effect of it all. There was something worse than the triggers. But it won't make sense to anyone but those who've dealt with it directly; my instinct. Heart, it never failed me. My gut feeling had always been on point. My instinct is the only thing I never doubted. Never. Yet, somehow, it failed me big time with you. And I'm still not sure if it's just been a human error of misinterpreting the signs, of if it really backstabbed me.

___

‘Ziva: I almost died.

Gibbs: But you didn't. You've got to trust your judgement, Ziva. Moment you don't, it won't be “almost”.’

—NCIS, Season 5, Episode 16 ‘Recoil’.

___

But none of that matters,

I just find it worrying that a big part of me taking a step and publicizing my My photos and my drawings was a mere distraction I needed. And my worry grew after that day I overworked myself beyond my limits and didn't know when or how to stop.

I always worry that I'll be the end of me, sweethear.

And I'm finding that to be the ultimate truth, with every passing day.

You know what's another, more important, ultimate truth?

None of what I just wrote matters.

None,.

None.

#pain #broken heart #love #art #Feelings #Poetry #writing prompt

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douxreviews · 5 years

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Game of Thrones - ‘The Last of the Starks’ Review

"We may have defeated them, but there's still us to contend with."

Previously, I'd written reviews for a couple of different episodes centered around epic battles. In this case, I felt fortunate to be reviewing an episode that's all about the aftermath of an epic battle, as well as a prelude for the next one.

Because I really couldn't decide how I felt about the sudden end to the White Walkers, the Long Night and the Great War until I saw how they planned to go forward. I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but I do know that -- as rushed as The Last of the Starks was -- there is a lot here that I quite enjoyed. At the very least, taking the zombies and ice demons out at the midway point leaves plenty of room to further explore the joys and pains of these awesome characters as they face an uncertain future.

Celebration of Life

The episode's opening is very bittersweet. We start with the somber mass funeral of those who died defending Winterfell from the Army of the Dead, and neatly segue into a joyous victory feast in the castle's great hall. These people just overcame death incarnate, and quickly realize there is much to celebrate. This leads to some beautiful moments.

Dany surprises everyone by singling out Gendry, son of her lifelong nemesis, and legitimizing him as a full-fledged Baratheon. I especially loved that Davos began the cheers for him, it's a nice vindication of his undying loyalty to the family.

Tormund once again attempts to woo Brienne of Tarth, but this time gets soundly cock-blocked by Jaime Lannister. Watching Tormund tearfully relate this tragedy to the uncaring Hound before shacking up with some horny northern girl was hilarious. Which gives us the scene between Sansa and Sandor Clegane, a reunion I had been waiting for.

Although not quite as intimate as it is in the books, theirs is still a significant connection; he helped inspire her strength, and she helped inspire his chivalry. It was nice to see Sansa gain the Hound's respect, and it's always nice to see this hard man's softer, more vulnerable side.

And we finally see Jaime and Brienne become a thing. That love scene was so cleverly adorable in its execution, these two misfits struggling to approach the act of consummating their feelings toward each other. Brienne's awkward stiffness as she finds herself in a mutually romantic situation for the first time in her life, and Jaime's even more awkward attempt at flirting after a lifetime of ignoring all other women in favor of his twin sister. Very well handled.

Of course, there are still a couple of episodes left and they can't be full of nothing but our favorite characters happily prospering. As Littlefinger previously addressed, and as Tyrion reaffirms here, defeating the mythical White Walkers and saving the world means everyone must now deal with that world and each other.

Moments of Truth

Daenerys is quick to recognize this as well. The celebration only reminds her that she is still a stranger in her own homeland, that Jon Snow is the heroic leader people revere, and that his claim to the throne is stronger than hers regardless of whatever her destiny truly is. Emilia Clarke's performance shines here in a way I haven't seen for a couple of seasons now. This is because for the most part we only see her wearing Dany's queenly mask of superiority, mostly cool but occasionally smoldering. Whereas now we are seeing Dany in a state of palpable desperation.

The scene between her and Jon really brings their circumstances down to earth quite dramatically. They are in love and want to be together, but the truth of Jon's origin threatens to tear them apart and the realm along with them. Dany begs Jon not to reveal his secret identity to anyone else, but he feels compelled to tell Sansa and Arya because they are his family.

I'm disappointed that we don't see Sansa and Arya's immediate reactions to the truth, but their choices later on are just as telling.

Sansa chooses to betray Jon's trust by spilling the beans to Tyrion, hoping to erode Dany's power in favor of Jon. This would almost certainly guarantee an Iron Throne controlled by the Starks.

Arya chooses to join the Hound on a suicide mission to King's Landing, which is a bit more ambiguous. Is she questioning her own existence after learning Jon's secret and refusing Gendry's proposal, finally accepting that she wasn't born to be a subservient sister or wife but an instrument of death? Or is she risking her life in order to protect Jon, who she will always love as her brother, no matter where he came from?

Either way, it seems like a lot of carnage could have been avoided if Arya had just offered to go south and single-handedly assassinate Cersei for Jon and Dany.

The R+L=J revelation also leads to a few great scenes between Tyrion and Varys. Tyrion is clearly distressed, but Varys (rather hypocritically) begins suggesting that they should kick Dany to the curb and put Jon on the Iron Throne. It's been so long since we've seen the serious side to this duo. Now it seems Varys is poised to betray the queen he marked as a savior, in the name of the people. Meaning he's probably got dragonfire in his future. Or maybe not. The way their last conversation ends, you get the feeling that Tyrion's plea for Varys not to threaten Dany is more of a warning. Tyrion did start off his relationship with Varys by threatening to kill him for potentially endangering a woman he cared about.

For once, Tyrion is the character who's really hard to read. He seems to know Jon is a more ideal choice, but he can't bring himself to consider betraying Dany. He fears Dany's potential for madness and destruction, but he also genuinely believes in her potential for greatness.

I still think Tyrion's loyalty to Dany goes beyond just finding a ruler worth sticking with. Part of me thinks he's got some repressed romantic feelings toward her, and another part of me thinks he views her as the sister Cersei never was. Which likely makes the fact that they are at war with Cersei all the more complicated, since Tyrion just can't bring himself to give up on her.

Despite the whacky Stark kids, the legendary warriors and the various schemers and pretenders to the throne, the story really does seem to center around our three main outsiders, Jon, Daenerys and Tyrion. And I think Tyrion is drinking so much because he understands that he is caught in the middle and has the burden of deciding all of their fates and doesn't know the right choice. He is finally beginning to see the long shadow he is casting.

And despite Jon's stubborn optimism that everyone can get along, even he seems indecisive and adrift. He claims to not want the throne or the crown or even his "true" identity, but his departure from Winterfell shows us that he's still leaving behind everything that's been a core part of who he is: the North, the Free Folk, his friends and family, he even asks Tormund to bring his direwolf Ghost beyond the Wall. Whether he knows it or not, he is being drawn toward the Iron Throne, his supposed destiny. But his scenes in this episode drive the point home that he will always be Jon Snow at heart, not Aegon Targaryen VI. His connection to the Starks, the North, the First Men (hell, maybe even the Old Gods) is clearly much stronger than the blood of the dragon running through his veins.

Death of Dragons

And to drive this point home, immediately after Jon leaves Ghost behind, his dragon Rhaegal winds up dead.

Yes, "The Last War" quickly goes wrong for Dany as Euron Greyjoy lays an ambush at Dragonstone, destroying the rest of the Targaryen fleet and capturing Missandei in addition to killing one of her dragons with new souped up scorpions.

It's both frustrating and amazing that Cersei has been allowed to turn the tables like this, though forgivable in that it's largely a result of other people. Euron's unpredictable nature and talent for raising hell is key to her strength, Jaime's theft of the Tyrell wealth is the only reason she could afford the Golden Company, and she likely wouldn't have gotten this far if a crazy resourceful bastard like Qyburn hadn't been backing her up. Gold, cruelty and fool's luck have subsequently left her in a position where she is more dominant than a woman who had previously dominated almost half a continent.

Dealing with an enemy as maddeningly chaotic and power hungry as Cersei is doing the opposite of what Tyrion wants by provoking Dany to be just as bad or worse in her quest for victory. That Tyrion continues to delude himself into thinking Cersei is "not a monster" because she "loved her children" still annoys me. You could argue that he's trying to reason with her simply to avoid any more bloodshed, but Tyrion should be smart enough to know by now that appealing to Cersei's humanity and rationality is hopeless. Which Cersei proves by having the Mountain decapitate Missandei, spitting on Dany's last bit of mercy. Our dragon queen has never been closer to giving the order to "burn them all" than she is now.

Missandei's resolute final words -- "Dracarys", which calls back to the moment she went from enslaved translator to royal herald when Dany began her revolution in Slaver's Bay -- might give us some hope for sweet revenge and catharsis, but I imagine the end result will be more difficult to reconcile. King's Landing is a powderkeg just waiting to go off. I mean, we've got the combined Stark and Targaryen forces about to do battle with the combined Lannisters, Ironborn and Golden Company sellswords, Dany unleashing her wrath on dragonback while Cersei uses the populace of King's Landing as a shield, the Hound facing off against the Mountain, Arya coming to kill Cersei and Jaime possibly on his way to do the same (more on that below), there's a good chance Cersei will use wildfire again to give her more of an edge, all on top of Tyrion and Varys butting heads as they toy with Jon and Dany's lives in the game of thrones.

If The Long Night was any indication, we'll likely see most of this resolved in the next episode after much senseless violence. However, unless everyone ends up killing each other, that still leaves a bunch of other unanswered questions. Will our heroes Jon and Dany come to terms with who they are? How does Tyrion go on after the downfall of his dysfunctional family? Can the Stark children ever come back from the tragedies and horrors that have defined their lives? Is what's left of Westeros going to survive the long winter? How long will this winter be? Why are the seasons so long anyway? If the realm does survive, will it and its people learn from this devastation and evolve, or forget and doom themselves to repeat history over and over? What exactly is the Prince That Was Promised, or the Lord of Light? Where does any of this magic come from? Does Bronn get his fancy castle? Was the Three-Eyed Bran the bad guy all along? Will the gallant cat Ser Pounce ever return?

I guess I'll find out, one way or another. Hard to believe this show's almost over.

Schemes & Plots:

* The funeral scene got to me. Guess I just wasn't ready to see characters like Jorah, Theon or Dolorous Edd get laid to rest.

* I love how Podrick casually sets up a threesome in the background as Sansa talks to Sandor.

* Bronn gets a scene with Jaime and Tyrion that, while fun, is basically a retread of most other scenes between these characters. Which pretty much boils down to this: "You fuckers owe me a castle!" I know it's a cute way of illustrating that Bronn would rather not kill the Lannister bros, but realistically he should have cut his losses a long time ago.

* Varys mentions that the "new Prince of Dorne" has declared for Daenerys. Whoever this is, I doubt we'll ever see him. Guess the show chose to forget that Oberyn Martell had eight daughters, which would leave five still alive after the demise of the loathsome Sand Snakes.

* Gilly is pregnant with Sam's baby. Big surprise, they're gonna name it Jon if it's a boy.

* Not long after the Jaime/Brienne ship sets sail, it capsizes when Jaime learns that Cersei is gaining the advantage over Dany. He then apparently abandons his chance at honor, love and peace to go back to Cersei, breaking Brienne's heart. Or so it would seem. I think Jaime is really going back to put an end to Cersei himself, and simply played the villain to keep Brienne from following him to almost certain death. Jaime states the unforgivable things he's done for Cersei as if to affirm that he is just like her, but I think this is him owning up to the fact that loving Cersei made him into a monster, something he doesn't want to be. In this light, Jaime killing Cersei would be as poetic as Tyrion killing Tywin; their struggle to please these hateful tyrants enslaved them both, forcing them to compromise their principles and accept lives of humiliation and scorn. A missing sword hand isn't Jaime's greatest handicap no more than dwarfism was Tyrion's. It's Cersei. She's a chain he needs to break free from.

* Watching Jaime struggle to unbutton his tunic or ready his horse makes me think of all the other one-handed difficulties he must have dealt with during his solo journey north.

* I still really hate that there's no snow in King's Landing. After all the talk about how "Winter is Coming", winter has had far less representation than I imagined.

* Tyrion's parlay with Qyburn reminded me of the deleted scene from The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King where the heroes meet the Mouth of Sauron.

* We see the way this world's history repeats itself through Gendry. House Baratheon was originally founded by a man said to have been Aegon the Conqueror's bastard brother, and they are once again made rulers of the Stormlands by another Targaryen conqueror. It's taken even further when an overjoyed Gendry asks Arya to be his wife and gets rejected, just like his father Robert was rejected by Lyanna Stark. The Baratheons are typically very gifted individuals, but they are woefully unlucky when it comes to love and family.

* Speaking of history repeating, it turns out Cersei really is manipulating Euron the same way she manipulated King Robert, tricking him into believing that her Lannister incest baby is his Greyjoy heir to the throne.

* Rhaegal died at Dragonstone after being unceremoniously impaled by three javelins and sinking into the waters. This was similar to his namesake, Rhaegar Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone who was unceremoniously defeated and died in the waters of the Trident.

* Still not enough Ghost.

Quotes:

Sandor Clegane: Used to be you couldn't look at me. Sansa Stark: That was a long time ago. I've seen much worse than you since then. Sandor: Yes, I've heard. Heard you were broken in. Heard you were broken in rough. Sansa: And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him. Sandor: How? Sansa: Hounds. Sandor: (chuckles) ... You've changed, little bird.

Jaime Lannister: You know the first thing I learned about the North? I hate the fucking North. Brienne of Tarth: It grows on you. Jaime: I don't want things growing on me.

Daenerys Targaryen: (to Jon) I saw the way they looked at you. I know that look. So many people have looked at me that way, but never here. Never on this side of the sea.

Jon Snow: If you only trust the people you grow up with, you won't make many allies. Arya Stark: That's alright. I don't need many allies.

Tormund Giantsbane: (to Jon) You've got the north in you. The real north.

Sandor Clegane: (to Arya) Must've felt good, sticking your knife in that horned fucker.

Varys: How many others know? Tyrion: Including us? Eight. Varys: Then it's not a secret anymore. It's information.

Varys: You know our queen better than I do. Do you think she wants to share the throne? She doesn't like to have her authority questioned-- Tyrion: Something she has in common with every monarch who ever lived. Varys: I worry about her state of mind. Tyrion: We're advisors to the queen. Worrying about her state of mind is our job... We still have to take King's Landing. Maybe Cersei will win and kill us all. That would solve all our problems.

Euron Greyjoy: She's coming for you. Cersei Lannister: Of course, she is. Keep the gates open. If she wants to take the castle she'll have to murder thousands of innocent people first. So much for the Breaker of Chains.

Daenerys: They should know who to blame when the sky falls down upon them. Damn.

Varys: I have served tyrants most of my life. They all talk about destiny. Tyrion: She's a girl who walked into a fire with three stones and walked out with three dragons. How could she not believe in destiny?

Though I'm not crazy about the direction these last few seasons have gone in, it was an absolute pleasure to be able to write reviews for this show. Game of Thrones is truly phenomenal. It'll be a shame not to have it to look forward to anymore. Three and a half out of five Starbucks coffee cups.

Logan Cox

#Game of Thrones #Jon Snow #Daenerys Targaryen #Arya Stark #Sansa Stark #Tyrion Lannister #Cersei Lannister #GoT #A Song of Ice and Fire #Game of Thrones Reviews #Doux Reviews #TV Reviews

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awolfhowled · 7 years

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A TOUCH FOR SILENCE

Series: Part 1 of To Freeze or To Thaw Rating: M Pairing: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen

CH. 03: THE MYTHS AND PEOPLE

Summary: Jon discovers a thing or two about Daenerys Targaryen, the woman behind the legends.

Word Count: 3,583

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JON II

He had no desire to start making hollow assumptions, which was why he had not attempted to decipher her story and identity by himself. A small part of him was still gullible enough to give people the benefit of the doubt and the belief that they may be truthful. It was difficult for anyone to blame him. Northerners in particular were raised by an old code of morality and, in that regard, Jon had learned from the best: Eddard Stark. There were many who whispered that it was this honor code that had brought about his damnation, painting him out as a fool. But in reality, the differences between the North and the South were too grand. The Starks believed there was honor in an honest death and shame in a life led by deceit.

Curiosity and restraint battled it out inside him, the former gripping him intensely with each moment she would keep the hood tucked around her face, clearly with a definite purpose. Her sighing broke the pregnant silence that had made their exchange dormant.

“I told you people called me Dany but it is only partially true,” she said, her gaze traveling from the ground to meet his. It was still too dark, the hood continuing to sew a mosaic of shadows through her features. Even like this, half cloaked in obscurity, Jon could see he had rightfully assessed her youth. He elected to not say anything, simply observing her in anticipation, a cue she seemed to have picked up quickly. “Once that was all that I was called, but I was just a foreign orphan in Essos then. I was nothing special to the people there. They did not care about my family name or the power my father once possessed, none of that mattered to them.”

His curiosity was besting him.

“Your family name,” Jon repeated, a flurry of possibilities unleashing in his head. “Let us cease with such vagueness, my Lady. Candidness is all I ask of you for now.”

“Yes,” she quickly responded. “Let us.” Her gloved, dainty fingers traveled to pull down the blue hood with the fur lining, a certain lack of hesitance etched through her motions. Her silver-gold hair was bound in a simple braid that fell across her shoulder as the hood was removed and her violet eyes were staring at him intently. “My name is Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Some call me the Breaker of Chains, some Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, some Queen of Meereen, some the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, some the Unburnt, and some the Mother of Dragons. Sometimes they call me all of it. I have many names and titles, Jon Snow. I have given you the only name still sacred to me, the only name none of the rumors and stories mention.”

Jon remembered Maester Luwin’s lessons when he was a child. Because of how close in age they had been, he had often learned at the same time as Robb. Things about the Great Houses, the history of Westeros, the myths of the North, the world across the Narrow Sea.

Of course, he’d learned about House Targaryen – the “greatest dynasty of Westeros” as many had called them. But his knowledge pertaining to Daenerys Stormborn was much more limited. Everyone heard of the rumors about her three dragons and her likelihood to return to reclaim the throne Robert Baratheon had “stolen” from the Mad King. But if there was anything beyond that, which her myriad of titles did suggest, then the Night’s Watch was the place where those rumors had stopped traveling. Queen of Meereen, Breaker of Chains, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea. All so foreign and undoubtedly with stories of their own.

The only stories Jon knew were the stories told by Maester Aemon. He thought of the old maester and felt a bitter pang in the pit of his stomach. Had Daenerys Targaryen arrived a few months earlier, he would have been able to meet the only person left who shared his blood. Now, he rested on board of the Cinnamon Wind, and Jon had trouble shaking off the feelings of guilt creeping up his spine.

His reaction failed to arrive, its wording trapped somewhere between the slight daze of seeing the rumors of her grand beauty turned to reality and the ghost of the less than pleasant history backing her family up.

“Were we not meant to cease with such vagueness, Lord Commander?” said Daenerys. “I would surely deem your silence as sufficiently vague.”

“You must forgive me,” he sighed. “Runaway women are one matter. Runaway Targaryen queens are another.”

“You are not certain what your feelings on the matter are.”

I am not, he thought. Jon Snow had plenty of reasons to feed into grudges and suspicions. But they did not belong to this moment here. He was only the Lord Commander.

“No,” he admitted. “But perhaps you could enlighten me. What interest does Daenerys Targeryen hold for the Night’s Watch?”

“My dragons have been stolen,” she said, bitterly. Jon’s heart leaped in his chest. Gods be good, the dragons truly did exist? “My kingdom has been taken and my people slaughtered.”

“What kingdom would that be?”

“Meereen. Yunkai. Astapor. All that I have built by the sweat of my palms.”

“And journeying across a whole continent ought to somehow help you?”

For a brief moment, Jon detected some sort of frustration in her features. Perhaps he was asking too many questions for her liking.

“There is nowhere in the entire world where I am safe,” she said, flatly. “I cannot save anyone when they are too worried about my safety, there is no peace to think and plan when on the run.” There was a pause, during which Jon allowed himself a moment to think. But the moment ended soon enough, banished by the sound of her voice. “Euron Greyjoy has gained mental control over my dragons.”

Jon froze, bewilderment clear in his tone.

“Euron Greyjoy?”

“He possesses some magical horn which gives him the power to bind their will. I fear he will completely be able to control them soon.” Jon was still too taken aback by having this knowledge dumped on him all so suddenly, without having requested them to begin with. “What do you think a man crazier than my own father would do with such a power? How long before the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms stands aflame with no hope among the people? That is why I am here, Jon Snow. My children have been taken from me, they have been bound in mind and soul. My people are suffering. I am here to find a way to put an end to all of it, no matter the cost I must pay, but I need peace and safety to do so.” It was blatantly obvious that exasperation had pushed Daenerys into playing her game to the best of her ability. But it was not despair at the root of her display. There was only fire. “So, tell me, do you think certain death and destruction brought to you soon by a mad man with magical control over three full-grown dragons is a good enough reason for you to harbor a woman?”

Dragons, magical horns, a kraken to allegedly soon swallow them whole… Even for Jon Snow, it was all particularly overwhelming.

How much more certain mass destruction could the Seven Kingdoms handle? It was his first initial thought and it veiled his features in a cloak of grimness. After a brief moment of silence, he turned heel, walked back behind the desk, and collapsed into the chair with a soundly thud. He prompted his elbow against the surface and pinched at the bridge of his nose. If he thought everything over too much, he would only gain a massive headache, which was why he decided to shed off all attempts at piecing together a strategy in his head beforehand.

“A good enough reason?” he finally responded, leaning against the backrest and gazing toward Daenerys with a gaze molded on the unreadable, icy Stark features. “Strange as it may be, by the rules of the Watch, it technically isn’t.” Just how lying with a woman was equally forbidden and theoretically unbreakable. “In reality, it does not sound like something I can turn my back on. We are the sword in the darkness, the shield that guards the realms of men. The threat may not come from Beyond the Wall, but it is a threat nonetheless.” If she sought peace and quiet to form her plans, however, the Night’s Watch wasn’t the place to be at. While she’d be preparing for her own war, the Long Night could befall them at any given moment and the Wall was the first place it would strike.

He observed Daenerys as she followed toward the desk, gracefully reclaiming her own seat. Ever since she had removed the shielding of her hood, she had not lowered her gaze once, Jon noted. Even then, her eyes of lilac stared at him intently, with unwavering boldness and conviction.

“You believe me?” she questioned.

“I can believe a great number of things,” he said, making no attempts at containing the weariness of his voice. He would be no different from all the stubborn Southern lords that refused to see the threat of the Others if he elected to dismiss her sayings simply because of how unlikely they seemed.

“What is your answer then?”

His fingers drummed briefly against the armrest and he skewed his head as he stared her down inquisitively.

“I do have to make sure that you’re well-informed on what you’re getting into. Some of the men here won’t be intimidated by the presence of your guards. And if they attack a brother of the Night’s Watch, I will have no choice but to send them away. I hope you understand that.”

“I understand,” she said and Jon could detect tired resignation in her voice. “I promise my guards will do nothing more than protecting me. They will not start up any trouble with your men and if they have to stop someone, they will not harm them but simply deter them away from me.”

Jon nodded slowly.

“That would be most appreciated.”

“Fret not,” Daenerys shifted in her chair, leaning into it, “this is not the first time I have been surrounded by men. I have managed well enough until now to stay out of, shall we say, undesired situations.” This was the biggest concern she should have had on her mind. Jon was grateful that she was fully aware of it, sparing him the tedious task of having to spell the risks out.

It struck him now that, in his intention to possibly ensure her wellbeing, he might have come across as somewhat… say, incompetent. What would anyone think if the Lord Commander essentially said he couldn’t keep his men under control well enough to avoid any unpleasant occurrences? That wasn’t really the case, Jon knew that. As long as he was around, he felt confident enough that he could keep everything under control without having it spiral negatively. But when he wasn’t present, there was nothing he could do. It would probably take one beheading after another to keep some of the men in check, but even this fear, it would only last for a while. It wouldn’t take long before it developed into anger and a full-blown warfare would blast from within the heart of the Night’s Watch. During a time so severely delicate, it was the last thing they needed.

He was still struggling to appease the group of brothers who had cast their votes for Alliser Thorne during the election. Some, Jon had won over, but none of them were the people he knew cunning and with enough hatred for him to motivate them beyond doubt. Still, he felt no need to explain himself. Some may have seen his stance as a weakness, but there were many things he had to discard in order to maintain an already-frail peace. She offered her own reassurances that no violence would come from her men’s part and that was all that mattered.

He was already starting to think of the proper way to explain their presence at the Wall to the rest of the Watch and of a way to enforce their prohibitions. If push came to shove, he’d have to reason with Thorne. The man was narrow-sighted, bitter, and hateful, but he didn’t strike Jon as the type to encourage needless violence. There were better chances the men that followed Thorne would listen to him instead. For now, at least.

Jon gave a short nod, a spark of dim gratitude flashing in his eyes as they fell down to the desk. He briefly wondered what kind of circumstances had placed her in the company of men who could be comparable to the infamous rapists, thieves, and murderers that composed most of the Night’s Watch. She’d spent a good portion of her life in Essos, a place Jon had scarcely heard stories about. Those stories, though, reflected that it was a land with a certain rawness to it and with very few rules to dictate social behavior.

There were still so many questions and so many unclear things, but he figured it would be impossible to find answers in that moment and in that place.

“You have my permission for a stay of a moon’s worth for now,” he said, at last. “Your men can help with physical labor.” It was a risky call to make, especially given his sensitive predicament. But it would be an even greater risk to possibly send away the one person who could the key to their survival in the great wars to come. Within the next month, there would be plenty of time to test just how genuine Daenerys Targaryen had been in her claims.

A small twitch tugged at the corners of her lips. Jon would not blame her if she were tempted to give into the feeling of relief.

“Only my men?” she asked, surprise clear in her features.

“I figure you already have a lot on your mind, so you needn’t partake in any chores. It would probably be for the best. Us highborn are not shaped for kitchen duties. And I mean no disrespect, but I would rather not see our numbers grow even thinner because of meal fatalities.”

His words had rolled off his tongue as a second thought, a casualty of his mental exhaustion, hence his surprise when the comment sparked laughter in her reaction. The sound of it was bright and clear, quite a contrast to how she had been presenting herself before, though he presumed he could attribute it to the positive news she had received. Life at the Wall was so incredibly morose that no one found anything funny anymore, not unless drunk. Crystal-clear laughs and genuine smiles were very rare, with all the people rounding up Castle Black being mostly as icy and lifeless as the giant structure visible from outside of his window.

“We all have our strengths,” she said, her voice light. “Cooking is indeed not the usual strength of a highborn and I am definitely not the exception.” She shook her head lightly, but still with a smile gracing her lips.

Ultimately, he responded with a faint rise of his lips, one that came without a second thought and which bubbled naturally to his face. Across it, a veil had been lifted, and he was temporarily left with shoulders without the usual boulders weighing on top of them.

“Good,” Jon replied. “It’s best to not let these tasks distract you from your goal.”

“Thank you, Jon,” said Daenerys, knocking him off-balance with how seamlessly and nonchalantly his name fell from her lips. Likely realizing the effects, she continued, “I hope it is alright I call you that. After all, I gave you permission to use my nickname. I think it is only fair I address you with your real name when in private.” With this clarification, it became obvious she was only seeking out an even ground, equality. Truthfully, he had not intended to continue using the name she had presented him with in the beginning, but there was something liberating in this alternative that made it difficult to resist.

The only people who still referred to him merely as Jon were his closest friends, though he could count them on the fingers of one hand. He had only been the Bastard of Winterfell once. Now he was Lord Commander, Lord Snow, King Crow, a traitor, a turncloak, an oathbreaker. It made him wonder how he could have been so shallow as to complain that he had to sit at the back of the dining hall in Winterfell. Oh, he would give so much just to be able to return there, but he didn’t want to dwell on hypothetical scenarios. That was the surest way for any black brother, isolated from everything they love, to slowly lose their marbles.

“Permission granted,” he spoke after a moment, drawing his lips in a tight line, sheepishly. “The title draws on for far too long, anyway. I have no idea how people can stand speaking it without falling into deep slumber midway through.”

“It is quite the title, indeed, but long titles usually command respect. They sound more important, the longer they are.” Was that why she carried so many with her? He caught her eye, noticing there was something intent in her stare. “You were a part of House Stark before you joined the brotherhood, correct?” Jon had wondered whether his name had reached her as well.

Swallowing down on a bitter boulder, the hand he rested on the table started to bawl into a loose fist.

“I was never part of House Stark,” he retorted, a hollow look in his eyes dictating that he’d accepted the fact so strongly it stopped affecting him altogether. “My father was. There’s only some Stark blood running through my veins.”

“Maybe not, but they were still your family,” spoke Daenerys, the soft conviction in her voice pulling his gaze to meet her eyes inquisitively. “You do not have to share their house to be family. A family is not just blood or the ones you share a name with, it is those you love and care for.”

“Aye,” he spoke, eager to slip away from the binds of this particular topic. “I would not dare to call them anything but my family.”

After a moment’s silence, Daenerys uttered, “A friend told me your father was an honorable man.”

“He was,” Jon said, his gaze aimlessly scouting the desk as he fiddled with his fingers. There was no one Jon admired more than Ned Stark, even from beyond the grave.

“He told me Lord Stark was against the brutal murders of my sister-in-law and her children. The deaths of your family are equally as unjust.”

There was a battle both inside of his head and outside, bursting through his irises. He didn’t know whether it was confusion or a feeling of ease winning the strife. On one hand, he found the sudden change in topics somewhat unsettling. It struck too close to his home, and to his heart, and his feelings of helplessness. Fury and sorrow toward the tragedy befallen on his family had been known only to Jon and the stars, whenever he’d lie awake with thorns prickling at his chest. On the other hand, sympathy was something that had become foreign to him. Those that had sent their condolences in the past had only managed to get a rush of anger out of him, but he supposed he’d moved on beyond that. It didn’t sound as if she was speaking for the sake of formality, but rather out of genuineness. Which, truth be told, was even more difficult for him to deal with. Too few people still cared about others and their feelings.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, not unkindly. “He was a man who sought justice. Always. But he sought justness and honor in a place that knows neither. So did my brother.” Surprisingly, there was only a subtle hint of frustration in his voice. It was more of a statement than anything, especially since he wasn’t aware of how much she knew of King’s Landing. Jon didn’t know that much either, in all frankness. But if Maester Aemon’s stories and Janos Slynt had been anything to go by, it was as much of a snake nest as he’d heard it was. He had to let go, to the best of his ability, of the grudges against the Lannisters for the sake of his own sanity. It would’ve driven him to a corner to map out revenge plans he knew he could never carry out.

Instinctively, he felt the need to respond with a kind word or two regarding her family, though the fact that they had been murdered before she was even born wouldn’t help not make it look like an obvious formality meant to pull attention off his own family. Luckily, there was something he could say with genuineness.

His eyes rose and met hers, briefly wondering whether his words would have any effect.

“There’s someone… It would have brought him great joy to finally meet you. Our previous maester, Aemon of House Targaryen.”

#jonerys #jon x daenerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys fic #tfott #atfs: 03

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