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hoaryoldbitch · 3 years

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and i’ll be your safety, you’ll be my lady (1/3)

Sansa's decision has filled Jon's heart with joy, but there is still space for relief in it when all the other people finally leave their room. Their scents still linger though, and he could swear they are clinging to the breeches he's wearing, so when Sansa isn't looking, he unlaces them and pushes them down his legs, tossing them into a corner.

Satin enters again with a tray that holds two bowls of soup. Sansa wants Jon to eat human food again. Most of it still tastes wrong to him, but he's trying, for her. Satin mumbles an apology when his eyes linger on Jon's nakedness, his cheeks flushing red.

Jon shrugs as he puts the tray down on the table, next to the jug that's holding the flowers Ghost picked for Sansa. He can't quite understand why the other man is so bothered by his lack of clothes. He watches him walk away, and he's already at the door when Jon remembers to thank him.

He turns around to face him and offers him a nod and a smile. "My lord."

Jon's lip twitches. Satin keeps calling him that, but he doesn't think it's right. He is not a lord. He picks up a bowl of soup and waits for Satin to close the door before he brings the bowl to his mouth.

The soup is warm and it fills him up, but he doesn't like the smell of it, and he likes the odd sensation of the small bits and pieces in the broth even less.

Sansa emerges from behind the screen that partitions off a corner of the room. She likes to pretend that Jon doesn't know she keeps a chamber pot there, but he's not sure why it's something she wants to hide from him. She's changed into the greyish night rail she's sewn for herself.

He puts his bowl back on the table and walks over to her, wrapping his arms around her so he can breathe in her scent.

"Where are your breeches?" she murmurs into his shoulder as her hands come to rest on the small of his back.

"Gone," he tells her. "Smelly breeches."

Her breath fans against the skin over his collarbone as she sighs, so before she can say anything, he releases her and takes her hand. He leads her to the table, sits down in one of the chairs and pulls her into his lap. He offers her the other bowl of soup, but she only smiles at it with drooping eyelids.

"Soup will cold," he tells her. He reaches for a spoon and scoops up broth and vegetables, bringing the spoon to her mouth. She accepts it reluctantly, and after a couple attempts he drops the spoon into the bowl and puts it back on the tray.

She's leaning into him, letting his body support hers, but her cheeks are flushed and there's a slightly feverish look in her eyes. She's tired, but he can tell there's something else.

"Sansa not like soup?" he asks her softly.

"It's good soup," she mumbles unconvincingly.

He wraps his arms around her waist. "Smelly soup."

She laughs--such a delightful sound--and turns to rest her forehead against his, looping her arms around his neck. He tilts his head up until their noses are almost touching and then he slants his mouth over hers, slowly, gently, hesitantly.

Her lips are so soft and warm against his when she leans in to answer his tentative kiss. His arms tighten around her body, pulling her close, and her hands slide over his shoulders, and then back up his neck and face until her thumbs are grazing his cheeks.

He parts his lips to let her deepen the kiss, and it almost feels as if he's drowning. This time, he's not afraid of falling, of being pulled under. It's not the darkness that's welcoming him, it's Sansa. They're both panting by the time he pulls away, and he nuzzles her cheek as he lets his fingers glide through her silky hair.

He lifts and turns her in his lap until she's straddling him. He keeps one hand on her waist and uses the other to brush some loose wisps back from her face.

"Please, touch?" he asks her.

Her eyes search his and she nods.

He lets his hands explore her body languidly, holding her gaze to watch her reactions. Her eyes are darkening, her heart is speeding up, her breath hitches with almost every shift. When his thumb traces the underside of her breast, she whimpers his name. He can smell her arousal, and his own is making him feel too hot and tight inside his own skin.

He slips a hand under her night rail and up the side of her thigh, the other supporting her where it's splayed on her back. Her fingers are tangled in his hair, and her mouth finds his again. She nips at his lips, provoking a hiss.

His hand travels to the top of her thigh and up, heading for what lies between her legs, and his lips brush over the hollow of her throat. He buries his face between her breasts, growling her name before he turns his head to mouth at one of them through the fabric of her night rail.

One of her hands tightens in his hair, and she pulls him back, her other hand clasping over his where it's still moving up on her thigh. "Stop," she gasps.

Her reaction snaps him out of the haze that had him in its power. He pulls back, bracing his hands on the arm rests of his chair. He has to push down the wolf's urge to howl in despair at her rejecting him again. He lets his forehead drop to her shoulder and inhales heavily, trying to steady himself.

"Why stop?" he wants to know when he is no longer panting. "Jon yours, Sansa mine, no?" It's true, it's true. She loves him, she wants to be his. "Sansa marry Jon," he reminds her, and himself.

She covers one of his hands with her own. "We are not married yet."

He lifts his head to look at her and reaches up with his free hand to cup her cheek. If that is the issue, it can be easily resolved. "Marry Jon now."

The corners of her lips curl up, but she shakes her head. "Now is not the right time, not for a wedding, and not for that other thing either."

Time has become mostly irrelevant for him. Other than the rhythm of night and day, sleeping and waking, and the passing of it, that puts distance between him and the horrible things that were done to him, it means little to him, but he wants to try to understand.

He thinks of her sad face, her need for comfort, the tension in her body. His tongue lies thick and useless inside his mouth as he tries to find the words to figure what she is concerned about.

"Too much?" he asks her.

She nods, pressing her cheek into his palm. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. "I suppose I am a bit overwhelmed by everything."

"Too much. I see," he answers her with a grave nod. He remembers her nightmares, the stench of her fear.

She opens her eyes. "Do you?"

He thinks he understands more than she realizes, but he doesn't know how to tell her that, and he's not sure what she's expecting him to say either, so he stands, lifting her in his arms, and puts her down on the table. He catches a loose strand of her hair and winds it around his finger, studying it as he thinks. He understands most of what was discussed earlier today, even though some of the things he's heard don't mean much to him. Perhaps they will, one day, but right now, he only really cares about her. She's overwhelmed, but he doesn't know how to talk to her about the things that trouble her.

Some of those things should bother him as well, but the wolf is keeping him safe. To the wolf the world is simple. Sansa is his pack, he wants to protect her and make her happy. He wants to make her his. Now is not the right time.

"When Sansa want wedding?" he asks her.

"When? I'm not sure, but I'd like to have our wedding in Winterfell's Godswood."

Come and see. The words enter his mind out of nowhere, and a shiver runs down Jon's spine. He knows Winterfell used to be their home, and though his memories of the things that happened there recently are blurry, he's aware they can't return there right now.

He lifts her head with a finger under her chin. "Sansa really want marry Jon?"

She takes his hand and brings it to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. "I do, but..."

"Complicated?" he finishes for her. That excuse is starting to exasperate him. He pulls his hand from hers.

Her face falls and he almost regrets his reaction. "Well, yes, sort of," she mumbles, looking down at her lap, where she's wringing her hands together. "I have to explain things to people. They still think you are my brother. And there is Winterfell, and Robb's will."

So these matters have an influence on his life, whether he cares about them or not. "Sansa Queen. Complicated."

"Unfortunately, yes."

He tries to imagine what might be troubling her about becoming queen. When he closes his eyes, he remembers her as the girl she used to be, eager to please, greedy for any kind of praise. "Sansa will be good queen. Kind, clever, strong."

Her eyelashes flutter against her reddening cheeks. She looks so lovely it makes him ache for her. She reaches for his hand again, squeezing it.

"And you'll be my king," she whispers.

He frowns down at their hands. "No, Sansa," he muses. "Wolf. Man. King." He shakes his head. "Too much."

"You're overwhelmed, too," she gathers, hopping off the table to embrace him. "But things will get better."

He lets his cheek rest on the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair as he clings to her body. But what if they don't? What if he cannot be everything she needs him to be?

"No," he repeats more firmly, "too much. Sansa Queen."

#jonsa #jon x sansa #jonsa fic #jonsa ff #my writing #series: tale as old as time

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what-do-1000-swords-look-like · 3 years

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More proof in the pudding for 15x20 breaking the fourth wall theory

I kind of already discussed this theory on this post here but in going over the last two seasons of GoT to add to this dark!Dany meta I’ve got going, I noticed something that I think is worth taking a look at.

GoT 8x06:

We all remember what happens after this weighted ominous walk of Jon’s.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7XhfGY5pIPg&t=254s

“When I was a girl, my brother told me it was made from a thousand swords of Aegon’s fallen enemies. What do a thousand swords look like in the mind of a little girl who can’t count twenty? I imagined a mountain of swords too high to climb. So many fallen enemies, you could only see the soles of Aegon’s feet.” “This is our reason. It has been from the beginning since you were a little boy with a bastard’s name and I was a little girl who couldn’t count to twenty.” “You are my queen, now and always.” -- this is dialogue meant to call back to the Dany the audience has known since season 1 - this was done in an effort to keep her character sympathetic to the end but it’s problematic since she just torched an entire city that held a million innocent people, and it completely negates the true moral of her story - her brother is mentioned who we haven’t seen since season 1, who by all means is not a good influence or a hero in this story but in this last season, she has started to embrace the Targaryen side of things (that we’ve seen reflected in her wardrobe, I see you Michele Clapton, you brilliant woman, you) - the dialogue even invokes season 1 Jon in that one line, though obviously the focus is not on Jon but Dany herself - Jon who had just been acting as the audience mouthpiece in the jail scene with Tyrion (acting as the writers’ mouthpiece - again breaking the 4th wall), saying “You are my queen, now and always”, something the split audience (the ones who felt betrayed by Dany’s dark turn and still stan her to this day) keep saying - yes “now and always” was a common saying in the North, but this wording is purposeful as is this piece of dialogue for essentially what is Dany’s death scene, the most controversial death to come out of this episode, the end of this series I would even argue

15x20:

We all remember Dean’s monologue that took close to 10 mins to happen as he was “fading pretty quick”, so much so that Sam couldn’t call for help

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“There’s a few things that I need you to hear. Come here. Let me look at you. There he is. I am so proud of you, Sam. Do you know that? I’ve always looked up to you. Remember when we were kids, you were so damn smart, you never took any of Dad’s crap. I never knew how you did that. And you’re stronger than me. You always have been. Hey, did I ever tell you that night that, uh, that I came for you when you were at school? You know when Dad hadn’t come back from his hunting trip? The woman in white, that’s right. I must’ve stood outside your dorm for hours because I didn’t know what you would say. I thought you’d tell me to get lost or get dead and I didn’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t have you. ‘Cause I was so scared. I was scared. ‘Cause when it all came down to it, it was always you and me. It’s always been you and me.” “I can’t do this alone.” “Yes, you can.” “Well, I don’t want to.” “I love you so much. My baby brother.” -- notice anything...familiar? -- this is dialogue meant to call back to season 1, to the original audience that started out with the brothers in season 1, that may not have stuck with the show for all 15 seasons but maybe ducked back in for the finale just to see how the show chose to end the boys’ stories - John is mentioned who is not a good influence nor a hero in the story which the show has gone out of their way to show time and time again, despite 14x13 - this is the result of one of their dad’s old unfinished hunts from season 1 including the “villain” - Dean mentions events of the first episode when John hasn’t come back from an old hunt, when he goes to get Sam from school, the woman in white being their very first MOTW of the show, even the dialogue from that first episode where the lines are reversed and Dean tells Sam he doesn’t want to do it alone - the dialogue is meant to invoke nostalgia of that pilot and that time, that version of the boys’ stories, where it was Winchester only - Dean’s death (outside of Cas’) is one of the most controversial deaths to happen this episode, even this series (though it has a lot of problematic deaths, i.e. Charlie but I mean in the main character arena) - this was done to keep season 1, specifically the pilot, in the viewers’ minds and as a callback to the beginning of the show, the dialogue was very purposeful, it’s also no coincidence that Sam is the focus here and once Dean is finished telling him goodbye essentially, he looks away behind the camera and talks about how he didn’t think today was going to be the day but it is (which adds to the pudding even more, because this is later season Dean talking who did not want to die on a hunt and wanted something different for himself, season 1 Dean always knew he would die young on a hunt)

And let us not forget this:

Andrew Dabb: “If you thought Game of Thrones was bad, just wait” (x) - this is said in a joking manner but where is it said? Comic Con 2019, the same Comic Con D&D canceled their appearances at & left the cast who did appear to deal with the fallout. This isn’t a man flipping off people and being like “Ha! Crybabies, we’re doing what we want to do and that’s that! Ha!” He said it in a joking manner when he talked about how only 30% of people would be pleased after seeing the finale and Jared joined the conversation. This is the same man who pushed hard along with Bobo Berens for a spinoff that featured women and women of color as well as having proper queer representation but got shut down by the network in the end. The same guy who worked to separate Dean and Sam from their toxic co-dependency and bolstered the found family theme in the narrative, while also taking the baton that Carver started with of Dean and Sam thinking of what they would actually want for their endings, and running with it, developing that even further.

What did GoT have? 2 final seasons as it were. To be fair, season 7 cannot be considered an alternate ending, it had way too many open endings but here (x) it’s stated that D&D did want to end GoT with season 7 initially before being convinced by the network to go to 8. They wanted to move onto other projects (that never happened because they’re egotistical greedy idiots, but I digress) and their rush to end the series showed. HBO wanted 10 seasons but they didn’t want to move forward without D&D. GRRM thought at least 13 seasons would be appropriate.

What did SPN have? 2 finales. 15x19 is not only the finale that closes up the mytharc but also the found family finale. I’m not sure if they knew this ahead of time or found out last second (Misha’s line of “Cas’ ending was supposed to be different but I don’t think we’re supposed to talk about that” still haunts me), but ultimately, that’s how it worked out. 15x19 was for the later season fans, the found family, the mythology fans (meaning Heaven, Hell, angels, nephilim, Lucifer, Jack, etc). That’s why we get the huge montage of characters at the end of the episode, the initials on the table, Dean demanding Cas be brought back in the beginning of the episode and Lucifer’s phone call, Dean and Sam wanting Jack to come back to the bunker but he can’t, Dean and Sam driving off in Baby together with “Running On Empty” playing. 15x20 was the series finale for early season fans, Kripke fans, Winchester-only fans. That’s why there’s no big montage in the beginning of the SERIES FINALE that they had done every season premiere, every season finale, and every mid-season premiere. They didn’t want the found family (yes, including Cas and Jack) in the viewers’ minds. But they couldn’t remove those two characters from the narrative completely (they were too integral later on in the series plus later season fans are watching this too) so they get mentions. This is why the Carry On My Wayward Son twice, Sam married to Blurry Wife and having Dean Jr., the Winchester-only mantle, the MOTW that calls back to one of their big bads (vampires) in season 1 (outside of YED & any demonic forces), why the brothers-only ending. This is why Dean is all ‘Cas who?’, why Eileen disappeared, and why Jack is off shooting a new spot for Architectural Digest. They only wanted Sam and Dean on your minds in 15x20 with the extension of John, Mary, Rufus, Bobby, and Baby with a touch of the Roadhouse in the background. This is also why no pictures of Blurry Wife on the Winchester-only mantle either. This is why Sam’s son was named Dean. This is why after putting on the Party City wig, Sam goes to sit in Baby and cries, thinking of Dean.

I’ve said it before and I will say it again: 15x20.👏 Was.👏 A.👏 Vehicle. It’s no coincidence that W*lker was more heavily promoted during 15x20 than any other time before. That what happens in 15x20 for Sam and Dean (and that Sam is once again the focus after having the story split between the brothers for years before) parallels somewhat to what happens in Jared’s new show and his character. This is the same network that uses its shows to backdoor pilots of spinoffs and other shows time and time again (think Green Arrow and The Canaries, Legacies, etc). It’s also no coincidence that W*lker is in the same time slot as SPN had been in, that they intersperse the use of #SPNFamily and #W*lkerFamily on Twitter, that the C*W SPN twitter account is used to steer followers to their other content, that the C*W YouTube account for SPN no longer has any clips or promos available for that show, almost as if it doesn’t exist. You know why? Simple, they don’t want SPN on your minds anymore. They want you watching W*lker and any other new content they are cooking up and throwing at you. Don’t be surprised if they start heavily promoting another new show (besides their returning ones) during W*lker episodes now. That’s just the name of the game, how it works. They already pushed the audience they wanted from 15x20 to W*lker and now SPN is an officially closed chapter for them. Dabb and the actors had other projects to move onto. In their minds, it’s done...until they try to reboot it in some way in a couple of years. And it will not only feature a younger generation of actors but will have what they consider to be appropriate queer representation as well as POC representation in the new cast. It may be the same Winchester story though changed or a whole new story in that universe. You laugh but watch. It’ll happen. This network is not known for its quality or originality, only for their brand. There’s a reason they keep on showrunners to head up new content if their original source of content works and they become “favorites” (i.e Julie Plec).

Ultimately, GoT was referenced many times on SPN, in dialogue between characters whether it applied or not. GoT was mentioned by the actors when discussing watching it, at cons and in interviews. SPN (and Dabb) was very well aware of GoT and what happened with that show. Not only because it was all over the media everywhere, being a pop culture phenomenon that had HUGE backlash, but also because they were there at the Comic Con where the backlash was felt strongest. To the point where even other people mentioned it in their panels (i.e. Seth Rogen). I’m obviously not in Dabb’s head nor was I on set when they filmed the finale or in the writers’ room with J2 and the writers when they pitched the ending so I don’t know. But isn’t it odd that 8x06 of GoT features a scene that has been confirmed by Kit Harington as breaking the 4th wall to speak to/get the viewers’ attention, make them think, and SPN is a show that has featured that same concept (usually in a comedic fashion) time and time again? And in 15x20 they have Robert Singer make an appearance? And the infamous bridge crew shot, J2 talking to you while still in costume as Sam and Dean from that same shot, and the voiceover “And cut” before it cuts to black?

I don’t think we’ll ever really get answers. I think any we get will always be complimentary to the network, or “we can’t talk about it”, or “it was always planned that way”. I’m not saying those people are being less than truthful (and seriously, I don’t blame any of them, it’s PR and they need to protect their careers, feed their families, if you speak out on anything in this universe, something really serious or the tiniest thing, you risk ever getting hired again, you will be blacklisted, it’s not right and it’s certainly not fair, but this is the way this particular business works) but something is not adding up (a lot of somethings actually). I think there was definitely a different ending for Cas, possibly even Jack (meaning he might have made at least one appearance). I do think there may have been a different resolution to Destiel and Saileen (unless they truly planned to keep it ambiguous all along). I don’t know if Dean would have had a different ending, I think he might have at one point as suggested by the narrative during Carver’s and Dabb’s eras, but I’m not sure what their “true ending” was going to be regarding him or Sam. To have Sam be the one that died would have been redundant from Swan Song (5x22) so I doubt they would have gone in that direction. I hate to think it but I don’t think we’ll ever really know. As far as death scenes go, Dean’s death in 9x23 was way more meaningful and impactful for me when he tells Sam that he’s proud of them, than what we got in 15x20. No offense to the guys’ acting or to the boys themselves, but the 9x23 scene was more appropriate imho. And that also leads me to believe that Dean’s manner of death may not have been what they planned all along. But until we get answers (which again I don’t think we will), we’ll never truly know for sure.

As for me, this is just more proof in the pudding. I’m not saying Dabb & Co purposely sabotaged 15x20 at all but I wouldn’t be surprised if they kept the reaction to GoT’s finale in mind at a couple of key points while getting these last two episodes shot. 15x19 was our finale, sad to say. 15x20 was the network’s finale, meant to induce nostalgia and callbacks, bringing the boys’ original fans over to Texas to watch a certain ranger do roundhouse kicks. Sad but true.

#The15YearShow #spn #spn posts #got mention #got and spn parallels #spn 15x20 #who's she #the rancid nutwork #daenerys' death #dean's death #season 1 callbacks parallels #for each

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kalgalen · 5 years

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A dozen of recorders click on at once when Daisy pushes the door open. She takes a moment to roll her eyes at the ceiling; as intimidation tactics go, she's seen better.

"Still bad?" she asks, softly closing the door behind her.

A grunt answers her, and she comes closer to the shape slumped on the desk, careful to keep her steps light and quiet. She takes one of the chairs and sits down; only then Jon opens a bleary eye, staring at her from where he's resting his head atop his crossed arms.

"Hardly see how it could get better," he rasps dryly. "I admit the comparison is rather - fitting, but this is not addiction." Daisy raises an eyebrow, and he amends: "Not an addiction to chemicals, anyway. I don't think going cold turkey will cut it."

"If I'm being honest..." Daisy hesitates, unsure this will help, but she figures Jon deserves to hear it: "I don't think so either."

Jon lifts his head then, straightening up as he squints at her in the semi-darkness of his office. He looks terrible. Or rather, more terrible than she's ever seen him, which is not saying much since "looking terrible" seems to be Jonathan Sims' natural state. The dark circles under his eyes are more marked than ever and only serve to highlight how ravenous his gaze is; his hair is mussed beyond saving, and there's an imprint on his cheek from where he's laid on his sleeve too long.

"Didn't it work for you?" he asks, sounding confused and annoyed and so, so tired.

Daisy shrugs, leans back in her chair. "I wouldn't say it worked. It would imply it's over. And I didn't die like you did, so I guess the struggle isn't as hard in the first place."

It's not that it isn't hard in any way; she can still hear the call, the promise of a thrill if only she accepts her nature. Some days, she's almost convinced giving in would be the best choice; she'd be more useful, for a start. But there's once thing she hates more than Basira not relying on her, and it's the person she was before the Coffin.

"What - am I doing here, then?" he demands, voice tight. The compulsion is notably absent from his tone, and Daisy nods encouragingly at this. He really is trying.

"We will find a solution eventually," she promises. "Basira is looking into it, and so am I. We just need some more time, alright?"

She scoots closer, quietly apologizing when the scrapping of her chair against the antique wooden flooring makes him wince. She reaches out to pat him reassuringly on the arm, and his shoulders drop. He suddenly looks like he's about to cry, and Daisy isn't sure she's got the mental fortitude to deal with this today.

Instead of breaking down, though, Jon takes a few deep breaths. The chains that keep him tethered to his desk rattle when he lifts a hand to run it through his hair.

"I... I am -" Jon starts, then trails off. His eyes go unfocused, looking at a point somewhere left of Daisy's face, and he licks his chapped lips. "I am so hungry, Daisy. I've finished all the statements I could reach," he gestures at the carpet of paper around his desk, at the discarded file boxes. "There's nothing - nothing left here. I only have my own fears to feed on, and it's - it feels like being scooped out bit by bit. Like the inside of my head is being scraped clean. It is - absolute torture. I need something to keep me alive, Daisy."

His eyes hone in on her again, and the greedy shine she sees in them almost makes her snatch her hand back. She remembers all too well the way Elias had cracked her open like it was nothing, extracted the events that had made her what she was without a care in the world. Jon wouldn't do that, though. He is trying.

He also is a monster, and as close to an addict as is possible without actual substances.

Daisy takes a centering breath and slowly leans back in her chair again, folding her hands on her lap. A part of her wonders if the chains would be long enough to allow Jon to reach for her, but she decides that backing further away would do more harm than good. She still trusts him, even if the others don't, because she's the only one to have the slightest idea of what he's going through.

The Archivist stares at her for a long time, and she holds his gaze as well as she can. He doesn't blink much - at all, actually. Daisy realizes he's stopped breathing as well and doesn't seem to be bothered by the fact. An uneasy shiver runs down her spine, and she can hear her own voice in her head, crystal clear: creepy little man.

Then Jon blinks and slumps down again, like a puppet with cut strings. His breathing is loud and erratic, as if he's forgotten how to do it correctly, or as if he's just almost drowned. He hides his face in his hands, refusing to look at Daisy.

"I'm sorry," comes mumbled by his palms. Daisy doesn't know what to answer; none of this is fine, and she won't insult him by lying, but she can't tell him it's not his fault either - because he was the one to let it go that badly in the first place, with all his secrets.

In the end, silence seems to be what Jon needed; he drops his hands after a couple of minutes, eyes rimmed with red and lips pressed in a thin line.

"You should go." He tries sounding gruff, but his voice is hoarse with grief, and wavers a bit when he speaks again: "I won't keep apologizing, because it's no use when I keep -" he huffs, irritated, "fucking up like this. Maybe it would be better if you didn't come again."

"Maybe," Daisy concedes with a one-shouldered shrug. Jon looks like she's just slapped him, and she shakes her head. "No, look - you need friends, Jon. Or at least, a friend. I think it's been proven you can't deal with it alone, and I'm not sure how we're supposed to encourage you to fight for your humanity by isolating you from everyone."

"Basira seems to think it's the best solution," Jon murmurs bitterly, and Daisy makes a disapproving tss noise.

"Basira has a lot on her plate. I don't."

She stands up, making sure not to let her chair drag against the ground. Jon looks up at her, a desperately lost expression on his face. She hesitates - only for a second - before reaching down and combing her fingers through his hair, half an attempt at putting some kind of order back in the messy curls, half a shot at comfort. Her heart feels tight in her chest when he immediately leans into the touch, and she steps away with some regret.

"I'll see if I can get you new statements," she says, cracking the door open. "Take care, Jon."

He nods, crossing his arms back in front of him with a clinking of chains. He looks very small, behind the large oak desk.

#the magnus archives #jonathan sims #alice daisy tonner #fic tag #i'll prob...put it on ao3 later #IDK MAN i suddenly had a lot of feelings about jon quitting statements again

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asherlockstudy · 5 years

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Here’s why every character surviving to the end of GoT is a loser

Yes, even your Starks

I made a post yesterday saying I would like it if Jon was King Beyond the Wall and Sansa Queen in the North. Despite this, I will now tell you why this was the worst ending possible for every character involved in the last episode, including the aforementioned ones.

Daenerys. I will say it. Of all the horrible endings, Dany's was the least horrible one! The major problem with her plot line is how rushed it is. Other than that, we always had signs of what she could become. Dany ends up being the female Hitler and honestly I don't mind that. She came big and she left big...just from the other side.

Drogon. GREEDY HUMANS! FUCK YOUR POWER HUNGER! IT’S ALL FOR NOTHIIIIIIIIIIING! DROGON’S OUTTA HERE

Jon. Oh boy. I never cared for Jon yet even I felt sorry for that character. No wonder Kit was crying. Jon becomes the ultimate vessel for the plot and the sole reason of his whole heritage and existence is to cut off Dany's bullshit. What's worse is that he can't do it on his own, he can't think for himself and for the people anymore and Tyrion has to brainwash him. He becomes a coward, shivering in front of his destiny and his true name. Let alone that he has zero chemistry with Emilia and therefore the oh so tragic moment when he overcomes himself and kills her convinces nobody. Yes, he finds the free folk in the end but the problem is that it is not his choice. It is not self-exile. His siblings sent him away all alone to appease... Greyworm. A disgrace to all the years Kit was shooting with that costume in a snowstorm.

Greyworm. Ultimate character assassination. Yes, Greyworm was fiercely loyal to Dany but he never struck me as blind to justice and mercy. Would Jorah obey THIS Dany even after her death? Man, I don't think so. Even Jorah would quit before Jon and Greyworm and this says something about this writing. But the absolute worst is that in the end he sails to Naath. What, were we supposed to feel sorry for him? To empathise? He's a mass murderer. Why the fuck should I care if he misses Missandei? The last moment "he sails for a good cause now" is fucking ridiculous.

Tyrion. Up until he's imprisoned, he's relatively okay. After that, he forgets very easily his losses and especially the one of his most beloved family member, his brother's demise. His trial is a joke, where he soon takes the upper hand again, and chooses the worst candidate for a king (more on that later). After that, it is clear clever Tyrion learned nothing from his journey, his experiences and his grave mistakes that led to the destruction of the whole city and his own family. He happily becomes the Hand of the King again, enjoys sitting in the chair and tells stories about brothels, thus confirming that whatever they do, the governance of poor Westeros will always be shitty.

Bran. Man. Where do I begin. Bran the broken. Dude, Bran is probably the least broken in there. To a fault. The implication here is that Bran played them all. He clearly says that he headed south because he knew he would be offered the crown. What happened to the “I don't want anymore, I live in the past, don't envy me, I am not the Lord of Winterfell, I'm something else now” crap? In some scenes Bran has a glimmer in his eyes but the problem is that if they wanted to play with that (and it would be fairly decent), they should have made Bran openly evil or greedy or machiavellian at least before the end. If he is just the 3ER, I doubt he wants power or to involve himself with the matters of the country and the commonwealth. He should be wise, humble, withdrawn and helpful only when a crisis arose that nobody but him was aware of. Instead, we get a very human and flawed Bran who doesn't agree with the rest of his supposedly semi-divine nature. Furthermore, we were already proven right - from those few scenes we got it is already clear that Bran is an insufficient king, distant and absent. He comes and goes in seconds lmao... I'll check where Drogon is. I must go now... Worst choice for a king ever made. This becomes an emotionless Big Brother dystopia.

Sansa. I could be happy she became the Queen in the North but do you know when this would make sense? If the king of Westeros was someone other than her brother!!!!!!!!! What's the point of an autonomous North when it’s a Stark that rules the Seven Kingdoms anyway? Do you know what the only conclusion that can be drawn is? That Sansa’s one and only objective was to rule. She risked Jon’s head and spread his secret only to have a chance at having a relative in the Iron Throne that she could later persuade to let her rule on her own in Winterfell. Being the Lady / Queen of Winterfell is more important to Sansa than her relatives’ safety or the unity of the family. Remember when Arya insinuated this in S7? She was right... Even in Tyrion’s trial, which is a joke, Sansa revels in taking the lead out of nowhere. Think about this before you cheer for her success. Imagine if Jaime was the King of Westeros. Would Cersei demand that the Westerlands would be autonomous so that she could be queen there? Nah. There you have it, at this point, the Lannisters seem much much more likeable than the Starks. (Which I always kinda thought but now it’s obvious.)

Arya. It’s so obvious that D&D loved Arya but didn’t know what to do with her character. Her choice to travel once again is an excuse to wrap up her story. It is clear that Arya’s story arc ended with the death of the Night King but they couldn’t kill her off and they also feared that if they gave her a conventional ending with Gendry, it would not be feminist enough. What they don’t understand is that feminism is a woman’s liberty to make choices and change goals according to her aspirations and desires without being restricted by ANY social expectation or stereotype whatsoever and not being a tomboy for tomboy’s sake. Last season Arya wanted to return home, home, home but now she’s like nah I ain’t going back there ever again, I’m going where No One has been. Okay, great. I suspect Arya is once again pissed off with Sansa and honestly I can’t blame her. So Arya has the most pointless ending ever and of course when she says she’s leaving and never coming back, Sansa and Bran are sooo emotional. NOT. I saw people saying “at least this scene was so emotional” and... are you kidding me? Neither Sansa nor Bran gave a fuck about Arya’s decision. Maybe Jon a little but it’s all so cold and distant between the wolf pack, my ass. I guess the actors gave up at some point and I wholeheartedly understand it... what would you do with a script like that? The Starks won the thrones and lost themselves in the process. Nice.

Brienne. Let me tell you why even Jaime had a better ending than Brienne. So, apparently in the end Brienne is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. First of all, why on earth would she prefer this to being in Sansa’s Queensguard? She wouldn’t. Having her there in the council forced to endure Tyrion and Bronn’s ridiculous conversations is a fucking disgrace. That was not what she was meant for. She survived it all to end up in a dystopia. Furthermore, she functions as a vessel to restore Jaime’s reputation. You know what the problem here is? That it does not fucking matter anymore! The point about Jaime’s redemption was to finally receive some acknowledgement for all the good he had done, to SEE people appreciate him with his own eyes. Jaime is in heaven now (fight me). He never got to know if people would eventually respect him and his contributions. If the scene had one meaning, that was that Brienne moved on. Not from her love but from her heartbreak. She understood Jaime. She probably knew that Jaime’s respect and adoration and attraction for her was all genuine but he simply couldn’t stand a peaceful life when his siblings and especially his sister and his child were confronting death. Brienne still loves Jaime and doesn’t hold anything against him because, yeah, his departure was very problematic but this man also rescued her from rape and lost his hand, saved her life, armoured her, gave her his own sword which was one of the most valuable in the world, gave her what now is her best friend, always valued her opinion and acted based on it, followed her to the North to measure up next to her, saved her life many more times, knighted her when no other knight would, shared carefree and intimate moments with her and was the first one to love her and reciprocate. And whatever D&D do, all this simply DOES NOT FUCKING CHANGE. So how could Brienne ever hate him, especially a woman like her, full of love and goodness and understanding? Thus, I know many of you will disagree, but I think Brienne should have got pregnant. Don’t forget that Brienne, behind all her defense mechanisms, was a romantic at heart and had many traditional “womanly” desires and this is perfectly okay. She wanted to be courted, loved, held and married, provided that there was someone she deemed worthy in certain ways. Brienne still carries Oathkeeper. None of what happened between her and Jaime is changed or will be forgotten. So what would be a better gift for her, the most beautiful token of that short time she lived her dream with a man she loved unconditionally and a man who did for her things nobody had done for her before? Or even for most women? How many women, pretty or not, can claim their man saved them from death and rape many times, was willing to sacrifice himself at any time for them and gave them objects of inestimable value that were meant only for noble men to wield or wear? In conclusion, I am willing to bet that Brienne would want a child from Jaime, a reminder of him and her happiest memories. She would return to Tarth where she would bloody be the Lady of Tarth and continue the lineage of her father instead of serving others her entire life. She would be a great mother. Imagine a child with the prospects of both Jaime and Brienne, raised by her. Furthermore, Tyrion was the Hand of the King and he would certainly persuade Bran to legitimize the kid and then, there would be a continuation of the great House Lannister, which D&D were so eager to obliterate. Now, we can only hope for Tyrion’s visits in brothels. Nice.

Ser Pod. Okay, let’s be serious for a moment. I know it is sweet that Pod survived everything and is now a knight but... he doesn’t deserve that title, all right? Look what Brienne has been through to get her title. Then Pod is like oh yeah I’m a knight too. Fanservice at its best. I mean, obviously Brienne made him a knight lol but this is not serious storytelling. Pod deserves all the good endings in the world but being a knight just to carry Bran around is not one of them.

Davos. I love Davos with all my heart. I told myself that surely, there is a reason he’s been in (I think) seven out of the eight seasons. After Melisandre died, I thought he had some great part to play before the end. And you know what? He did! His role was to call out the level of stupidity in this writing. “Did the Lord of Light just fuck off after the fight?!” Yes, Davos, he did!!! D&D had a character make fun of their own writing, what can I say after that? Anyway, what I mean is, there was literally no reason for lovely Davos’ survival and whole existence in general.

Bronn. Talking about useless characters. He was not always useless but now he is. Which is why he is the most fitting for this council of incompetence. How did I dare question his position in that council - he has just as much right as everyone else to be there. Another fanservice without substance.

Sam. Yeah, he found the title for the Song of Ice and Fire, something that 99% of the fans had predicted years ago. That’s it. No Tyrion in it and at this point, I agree it was probably for the best.

Edmure. Best character ending ever. He started as a fool and survived the show as a fool. I shouldn’t include him here, he’s the only winner. Him and Tormund.

I don’t know if I forgot someone but I want to add as a side-note that Jaime hardly had the worst ending after all. I mean, he died as an overly emotional, addicted and not very clever tragic hero but, I mean, he still was a tragic hero. Everyone else’s character here was a joke with the exception maybe of Dany and Brienne, whose endings were only rushed and incomplete respectively but at least they were not jokes.

#got spoilers #got season 8 #game of thrones #braime #brienne of tarth #anti-dany #jon snow #anti-sansa #anti-bran #jaime lannister #tyrion lannister #bronn #podrick payne #ser davos #edmure tully #samwell tarly #arya stark

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sfbhs · 3 years

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jasperscreations · 6 years

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Out of Necessity

Chapter 1: Do You Have Time For a Riddle?

Summary: Edward is a homeless con man, conning people out of their money using riddles. Jonathan is a student at Gotham City University, where he's studying to be a psychiatrist that specializes in fear. Jon takes in Edward, and together they become two of the most well-known villains throughout Gotham. However, the Batman, who claims to want to help the rogues, starts terrorizing them.

Tags: r*pe/n*n-c*n, Graphic depictions of violence, needles, internalized transphobia, internalized homophobia, (Jon doesn’t r*pe Edward, dw)

Notes: Jon and Edward do not rape or abuse each other. This is the first fic I will have written in over 5 years, and I’m really excited! I hope you guys enjoy!

Read on Ao3

Edward sat up on the mattress in the dingy motel room he’d bought for the night. ‘Disgusting,’ he thought as he climbed off the stained bed. He took a quick shower and got dressed. He made a face at the state of his suit, and wondered if he might make enough money to get some simple repairs. He fussed with his hair and his general appearance for about an hour before deciding he looked good enough and walked out the door into the Gotham streets.

Edward walked through the streets, avoiding the police sirens and alleys as he made his way to his usual spot. He plastered a smile onto his face as he began his usual routine. Edward walked up to someone he’d never seen before. “Well hello there! Got a minute to solve a riddle?”

“A riddle?” The guy questioned with a thick raised eyebrow. “What are we, children?”

Edward suppressed an eye roll at the comment and kept his immaculate smile. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal! You get the riddle wrong, you give me $50. If you get it right, I’ll give you $100!” He offered, studying the guy’s expression.

He smirked. “Alright, kid, sure. I know a good amount of riddles, I doubt you can stump me!”

Bingo. Edward, with a wry grin, said, “riddle me this: What gets wetter and wetter the more it dries?”

The guy scoffed smugly. “A towel! Everyone knows that riddle, kid. Now hand over the money!”

Edward gave a bored expression. “Yes, I suppose that is a pretty easy one. How about this. I’ll do a slightly harder one, and up the ante! If you get it right, I’ll give you $200 instead of $100. But if you get it wrong, you have to give me $100 instead of $50!”

Edward had always appreciated cockiness. It was one of the common person’s greatest weaknesses. People were so easy to egg into overestimating themselves. How dull. “Alright,” the guy said with a sneer, “I bet I can solve it.”

“Okay,” Edward spoke, “riddle me this: I can be long, or I can be short. I can be grown, I can be bought. I can be painted, or left bare. I can be round, or I can be square. What am I?” Edward asked the riddle, the words falling out of his mouth with ease. He hated this riddle; it was nonsensical. But he loved seeing others struggle with the nonsensical riddles.

“The fuck kinda bullshit riddle is that?!” The guy sputtered. “I take it back! Gimme my money for the first one!”

Edward wagged his finger. “Ah, ah, ahh, you agreed to the deal! Answer the riddle, or pay up, my friend.”

The man scowled at Edward, his face turning red. “You little weasel!”

“Insulting me won’t get you anywhere, friend! It’s a simple riddle, really. At least simple for me! Just answer!” Edward knew the dangers of egging someone on that was twice his size, especially here in Gotham city, but he knew how to handle himself if the guy happened to try anything. “Do you want me to repeat the riddle?”

The guy frowned, his already ugly mug turning uglier with the action. “Fine, weasel. Repeat it. I bet I can answer!”

Edward repeated the riddle and waited as the guy thought. He counted the minutes. Five minutes and 39 seconds went by before the guy finally sighed. He took $100 out of his wallet and handed it to Edward. “Here. What’s the answer, anyway?”

Edward raised his hand backwards so the guy could see the back of it, and waggled his fingers. “Fingernails!” Edward replied gleefully.

The man rolled his beady eyes and grumbled as he walked away. Edward sighed in relief, knowing he’d be safe for now.

Edward’s day went on much like that. He could almost always pull people into giving him $100. Sometimes, if he was feeling greedy, he’d pull people into giving him $300 or $400. It was easy, especially with people who got cocky. He could tell intelligence pretty quickly, and asked seemingly hard riddles to them. “Alright, this one’s pretty hard, but remember, if you win, I give you $400 and if you lose, you give me $300!”

The teenager, almost Edward’s age, scoffed. “I bet I can get it!”

“I bet you can! Now. A man is sentenced to death. He’s allowed to choose between three rooms. Room number one is filled with fire. Room number two, trained assassins with loaded guns. And room number three, lions who haven’t eaten in years! Which room is the safest?” Edward loved this riddle. It forced the person to think, to take it literally, but it was easy enough to answer. 2 minutes, 41 seconds.

“Oh! If the lions haven’t eaten in years, they’re all dead! The third room is the safest!” The teen proclaimed proudly.

“Very good!” Edward said with a smile. “Do you have the money to risk another $100? I have one more for you!”

“Alright! $400 is my limit though, and I’ll be happy to win $500 off you!”

Edward smirked. “Oh I bet you would.” He thought for a bit, coming up with a new one. “Alright, riddle me this: before mount Everest was discovered, what was the tallest mountain?”

The guy got a confused look on his face. “Uh… Oh man, I swear I learned this in history….” Everyone said that. They had to have learned it at some point, right? Wrong. 7 minutes, 58 seconds. “That’s a dumb riddle anyway! I’m not giving you shit!” The guy said, and started to walk off.

“Oh, that my friend, is a bad idea.” Edward said darkly. His demeanor changed as he followed the guy, and before the guy could process, there was a pressure on his head, and a small click. “I would hand over that money now, unless you want to give me all your money, and no longer be alive to protest.”

The kid was shaking suddenly. “Okay! Okay okay god please don’t hurt me!” The guy took the $400 from his wallet. “Please, man, this is all I have.”

“Oh, I don’t think it is. I think you have more than that.” Edward felt almost bad for cheating the man out of his money, but he had to eat somehow. “Here, I’ll cut you a deal: you give me $500 right now, and walk away scot-free. Or, I could ask another riddle. If you get it right, you only have to pay $200. If you get it wrong, you pay with your life. What’ll it be?”

“I’ll take the riddle!”

“Feeling brave, are we?” Edward patronized. He could see the guy’s eyes looking around, looking for help. He must be fairly new to Gotham. No one ever batted an eye at a gun pointed at someone’s head. You live here long enough, you learn to look the other way so you don’t get yourself killed. “Riddle me this: I am always around, but never seen. I am often avoided, but you can't outrun me. for I will come when you’re old and grey, or maybe even the very next day. I will come with cold embrace, and give you rest with a chilled kiss on your face. I come in many forms of emotional state, weather it's irony, love, laughter, or hate. I am everyone's final fate.”

The guy had tears rolling down his face. He was too panicked to think. “I-I dunno man, I dunno please please!”

Edward sighed. “Fine, here. Follow me.” It was never respectful to murder someone in plain sight. One of the many unspoken rules of Gotham. If you wanted to get away with it, then you always dumped the body in an alley. The guy seemed to relax somewhat despite the fact there was still a gun pointed at his head.

“Wh-what are you gonna do with me?” He asked.

“Don’t ask questions. That’s just something you don’t do here in Gotham.” Edward said, and lead the guy straight into the nearest alley. “Now. You wanna take another crack at it?” He asked. He was being merciful, for him.

“What was the riddle again?”

Edward repeated the riddle with immaculate grace, as he always did.

“Uhh… Uh… s-sleep?” The guy guessed pathetically.

Edward laughed darkly, and simply said, “wrong answer.”

Edward walked out of the alley with a bright smile, and $860 in his hands. “The little liar. Saying $400 was all he had.” He mumbled to himself as he put the money in his pocket and inspected himself for blood. He tried to keep clean as well as he could while living on the streets, and today was no different. As he walked down the street looking for a new victim, his eyes settled on a person no older than 5 years above him. He wasn’t conventionally attractive by any means, but the way he held himself fascinated Edward. He held himself with a quiet confidence that wouldn’t draw the eye, but gave off a certain air to those who cared to look.

Edward walked up to the man with a bright smile. “Want to try to solve a riddle?” He asked. The man looked up at Edward through grey-blue eyes. They held no light, no emotion, but they held intelligence like no other. His tall, thin frame caused him to tower over Edward, almost in an intimidating fashion. Edward could tell he was no one to be crossed, and only hoped this went well.

“Me?” The guy asked, looking around.

“Yes, you! Here’s the game: answer my riddle correctly, and I give you $100! Answer it wrong, and you give me $50!”

The guy considered Edward under his unique gaze. Edward would have to be careful with the riddles he chose. “Fine.” He said simply.

“Alright, let’s start easy! Two ladies sit down for lunch, and order iced teas. One lady drinks 5 while waiting for their food, while the other drinks one. The girl who drank one dies, while the girl who drank 5 doesn’t. Both drinks were poisoned.”

“The poison was in the ice.” The man answered. His voice held only the slightest hints of a southern accent. Georgia maybe?

Either way, he was every as bit as intelligent as Edward thought. “Very good!” He said. “Usually people get that one wrong, though most people are dull, and judging by the sheer amount of text books in your arms, you seem to be much less so.” He babbled. The guy raised his eyebrow at Edward, but before he could respond, Edward continued to speak. “So let’s up the ante, shall we? Answer my next riddle right, I’ll give you $200! Answer it wrong, you give me $100.”

“You’d better not be playin’ games with me.” He warned.

“No games. I give my lost money, fair and square.” Edward promised. The guy regarded him warily, but nodded. “Alright, riddle me this: I can be long, or I can be short. I can be grown, I can be bought. I can be painted, or left bare. I can be round, or I can be square. What am I?” Edward counted the seconds. 1, 2, 3, 4-

“Fingernails.” The man answered correctly. Edward was miffed.

“Not even five seconds? Really?” He spat.

“Were you really counting?” The man drawled.

Edward scoffed. “Fine! Try this one on for size! What do these words have in common: madam, civic, eye, level?” 1 second.

“They all begin and end with the same letter.” Edward could see the inquisitive look in the man’s eye. It’s the same look Edward gave others when they actually managed to interest him. He gave the same look to this very man just moments ago, but now his look was nothing but a glare.

“Forward I am heavy, backward I am not.” Edward shot.

“Ton. Forward it’s a ton, backwards it’s not.” The man shot back.

“What type of dress can never be worn?”

“Address.”

“In a green house there’s a white house, in the white house there’s a red house filled with little babies.”

“Watermelon.”

Edward let out a frustrated snarl. “Fine! I give in!” He snapped, and started to dig the $200.

As he pulled it out, a long, spindly hand came to push his hand back towards his chest. “Just your luck, I don’t take money from the homeless. Even if they can afford it.” The man said calmly, and started to walk off.

“How the hell would you know if I had a home?!” Edward called after him.

The man didn’t even turn around as he replied, “now riddle me that,” and kept walking.

The encounter left Edward dazed for the rest of the day. He was distracted, and his riddles were subpar, causing him to lose about $300 of what he’d made throughout the day. He couldn’t stop thinking about that man. His eyes that held no emotion, no regard for any human being around him, but intelligence that could match up to Edward’s well. Not that Edward would ever see him again. He never conned the same man twice.

The rest of the week, however, went without a hitch, and Edward was able to keep himself in hotel rooms and even pay for good repairs on his suit. But one thing dangled at the back of his mind. That student, who probably went to Gotham University. With his thick books, his subtle accent, and his intelligence. He had to admit he found the stranger attractive.

As Edward prepared himself for the day, he considered something. He considered going back to the spot where he’d first met the man, and seeing if he might run into him again. He considered how stalkerish he might seem to the stranger. He also considered what might happen. This man could get annoyed with him, or worse. Gotham wasn’t home to the friendliest of folks, and people with such little regard for others tended to be more dangerous. Trying to interact with this man more than once might be a mistake. But Edward was oh, so curious; and as always, Edward’s curiosity had to be satisfied.

So, he went about his day, conning people out of money, was unlucky enough to actually get jumped, but he got away with his life and a need to buy more bullets for his gun. Luckily, he’d come into a lot more money than he expected from the altercation.

Edward went to a nearby restaurant to clean up his face and suit. He always carried a bloodstain kit on him at all times. Peroxide, and a rag or two to get it all out. They were only small drops of blood, nothing too big. He looked at himself in the mirror as he finished, just to reassess the damage. His right eye, the green one, was swollen and black, but not swollen shut. His blue eye was fine, however. His lip was split, and upon looking down further, he could see a few bruises on his torso peeking out from under his binder, thanks to being kicked.

Edward sighed as he finished his process and put his outfit back on. He would definitely be feeling his ribs for the next couple weeks, and hoped he wouldn’t have to break out the sports bra. He had just turned to leave as the door swung open, and his mismatched eyes met steely blue ones. He noticed there were brown flecks throughout the irises, and he found himself mesmerized. Suddenly, Edward became fully aware that he was staring, and offered a smile. “Well if it isn’t the intelligent student. Riddle me this: what is yours, but others use it more than you do?” He asked. He didn’t even have to count before the man answered.

“Your name. You didn’t actually think that one a challenge after yesterday, did you?” The man asked, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

“Of course not! I figured a simple one to break the ice, and you got it correct! The answer is your name, which I seem to have failed to get last time we met.”

The man hummed, and walked past him to the urinal, causing Edward to turn away in embarrassment. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever get used to using the men’s restroom and seeing those urinals. “I have no interest in giving it.” The man answered finally as he stepped back and came to the sinks to wash his hands.

“None at all? Mine is Edward, Edward Nygma.” Edward introduced.

“I never asked,” the man said, “and me having yours does not incline me to give away mine. Now excuse me, I’m late for a class,” and with that, he walked out the door.

Edward was happy to sit and sulk, until he spotted a textbook on the counter. Advanced Social Psychology. That was all Edward needed to know to go bolting out of the restaurant. He took a minute to look around, and was grateful for how tall the man was above the crowd. No less that 6’3”. Edward took off and soon fell in stride with the man. “I have lots to say, but never speak. I open, but you can’t walk through me. I have a spine, but no bones. What am I?”

Edward could feel the irritation radiating off the man. “Do you intend to stalk me until you run out of riddles? The answer is a book- wait.” Edward smiled smugly and offered the book in the man’s direction. The man tried to take it, but Edward swiped it back at the last second with a smirk.

“Tell me your name.” He said simply.

“I am late for class. Give me the book and leave me alone.” The man demanded.

“Just tell me your name, and you can be on your merry way!” Edward retorted brightly. He soon regretted it as the man turned and deliberately towered over him. He was grabbed by his tie and yanked forward as the man leaned down towards him.

“You will regret it if you do not hand over my damn book. My name is none of your concern.” The man demanded. Edward couldn’t answer. He was frozen in fear. It’s what always happened before he got jumped. It was why they were always able to land hits. All Edward could think about was how dreadful it would be to have it happen twice in a day. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for a blow, but all he got was a tug at the book in his hands, and then the man was walking the other way.

Edward felt breathless as the man walked away with his book. The man had sounded exactly like his father. His tone, his threats, the way he intentionally made Edward feel very, very small… But he didn’t hit him. No one had ever passed up a chance to hit him like that. Edward was intrigued. This man was a riddle, and like all other riddles, he wanted to solve it.

#fic #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #chatper 1 #dc #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #dceu #dceu fanfiction #edward nygma #jonthan crane #the riddler #the scarecrow #riddler #scarecrow #scriddler #my writing

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newagesispage · 4 years

Text

MAY 2020

PAGE RIB

Check out the We are One Global film fest on youtube from May 29-June 7. We will be able to experience movies from Cannes, Sundance, Tribeca and Venice for free!! Yahoo!!

*****

May 10 will bring us The Feeding America comedy Fest. So far the stars on board are Eddie Murphy, Adam Sandler, Tiffany Haddish, Chris Rock, Louie Anderson, JB Smoove, Brad Garrett, Jon Lovitz, Tim Meadows, Keegan-Michael Key, George Lopez and Sarah Silverman, just to mention a few.

*****

Jim Carrey will release his Memoirs and Misinformation on May 5.

*****

If you need honest medical info, take a look at Quackwatch: A guide to quackery, health fraud and intelligent decisions.

*****

Current times are a magnification of a problem that has been brewing for quite some time. The kiss ass, the indifferent, the greedy who don’t miss a trick are todays fortunate sons.** If half of this country didn’t want the other half to have a fighting chance we wouldn’t be in this situation right now. The Federal government should have all of our best interests at heart. I will never understand why so many of the’ have not’ voters love supporting the’ haves ‘that love to fuck over the little guy.

*****

SAVE THE USPS!!

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I guess we know how this country would be prepared to react to bioterrorism.

*****

SNL is working from home like so many but with Tom Hanks, Brad Pitt, Fred Armisen, Paul Rudd, Miley and Sandler.

*****

George Gray, announcer for the Price is Right is recovering after a week of 3 heart attacks.

*****

Marijuana use is at an all -time high. Alcohol use is up 40%.

*****

What is up with Georgia Governor Brian Kemp who seemed so surprised at the virus months after everybody else seemed to know the facts? This is what happens if we only listen to Trump and Fox news.** He is so ready to open up the state early. ** A Georgia citizen said it best: Kemp mandates restaurants open, whether I reopen dining rooms or not. I file for business interruption insurance, it does not go through since I am “allowed” to operate full capacity. My landlord can demand all their money since I am allowed to fully operate. Furloughed staff that is collecting unemployment insurance have to come back to work or I have to let them go. Their unemployment insurance then goes on my tab. If things blow up again they are still on my tab, not on the state since they are no longer employed. This is about screwing the working class.** A dog has now been diagnosed with the virus as well as some cats.

*****

UFO footage has been declassified by the pentagon. Wow, anything to distract! ** This whole Scary Clown 45 mess often seems like a big government experiment. Just how much will we put up with? How stupid or complacent are we??

*****

The President’s council on reopening America has a message for our country: Die you fucking slaves. Die Die Die. We’re rich and you’re not and we’ll be even richer after the mass burials are over. Sucks to be you.

*****

The Federal government does not have absolute power. Why do “big government” haters suddenly want the Feds to run their lives??** Some checks were delayed because Trump wanted his name on them?** The Huffington Post has reported that $180,000 a year of Trump campaign money is given to his son’s significant others.

*****

The Carter’s have asked donors to the Carter Center to instead give those donations to local organizations in need.** A great charity is RIP medical debt which puts $100 to every dollar you donate to wipe out medical debt.

*****

Need some nature sounds in your life? Visit NPS.gov/sounds

*****

It looks like Macgruber may become an 8 episode series according to Will Forte.

*****

It is sort of reassuring to see that the late night hosts who mostly hover around my age, are no better at technology than I am.** BTW, Billy Eichner is such a great guest from home.. more please!** I see that one of the 8G band on Late Night has a big pic of Mick’s face behind him at home. I also see that same pic everyday above my desk. A kindred spirit.

*****

Linda McMahon, wife of WWE chair, announced the18.5 million Trump super PAC in Florida. Governor DeSantis now calls WWE essential. Many of the wrestlers were fired so the bottom line looks good.

*****

Being willfully stupid is not part of the Christian tradition.- John Meecham

*****

Some fast food workers went on strike. This is a good time to do it. Risking your lives for minimum wage is hardly worth it.

*****

Threadgill’s, the Austin bar that helped launch Janis Joplin is closing down.

*****

Is this true? 150 members of the Saudi royal family tested positive for covid-19.** Did Trump play down the virus because he owes millions to China’s state owned banks or was it to try to get dirt on Biden?

*****

I am not sure what has happened to the American workplace. So many strides were made in the mid 20th century but a lot of that seems to have fallen away. I see so many employers leaving it to employees to provide supplies before they even get the job. Teachers sometimes buy things for the classrooms. Some employees must buy their own cell phones for video conferences or even punching in and out. Some nursing home employees bring in their own cough drops or snacks for residents. How much $ do the people at the top need?? No sick pay? Work or starve!

*****

Everyone staying at home proves how badly we need a better high speed internet system in the U.S.

*****

Porn hub has been giving free porn.** The My Pillow guy is praising Trump as he donates 50,000 masks.

*****

All these Trump worshipping MAGA shills, they’re willing to die for the dumbest, flounciest fancy lad in history. –Patton Oswalt.

*****

So we don’t want to give Government help to immigrants who pay taxes, we do want to help cruise lines who avoid taxes by registering as foreign companies. Got it! ???

*****

The Neo confederate hate group, ‘league of the south’ is moving ahead with its annual conference in June.** Trump is getting ready to open the country with a coalition of his republican Governors and companies (some of whom seemed surprised). ** How did we get here? If our Pres is incapable of reading simple memos, he is incompetent. ** Scary Clown is trying to speed up the Wall as we are dropping like flies.

*****

This can’t be true. Federal agents are confiscating masks and supplies in hospitals, presumably for ICE agents??** Was Scary Clown 45 trying to force congress out of session so that he could skate some recess appointments by?** Rules have been weakened as to the release of mercury and various toxins from oil and coal power plants.** Dr. Oz and Dr. Phil do not seem to concerned about the virus.** Trump circled back around to the heat and light thing as a cure because he could not get over the shit he got for telling us that spring’s warm weather would take care of everything, right?

*****

Chicago businessman Gene Staples has purchased Indiana Beach amusement park and will open in July if he is able.

*****

Nascar will be back this month with new races but without the live audience.

*****

Catch Ashes to Ash: The disappearance of Robert Bee on Youtube.

*****

As everyone is sick with respiratory problems and the pollution has ebbed a bit, scary clown 45 has to roll back some of our rules that protect clean air. Auto emissions are rolled back to 1.5%. He has to be loving the fact that we can’t all gather and protest. Hmmm?? Perhaps it is a conspiracy.. but his.** Oh but the disbelievers did gather in Michigan with dolls in nooses and confederate flags. Why do they think that the medical experts are telling them this for partisan reasons or just for their own kicks? They have our safety in mind. Use your fucking heads. How can this country get stupider as time goes on? ** Why can’t they just cover Covid treatment? Medical debt is gonna skyrocket.** I don’t like big government either but in times of crises and health care, we need it to work properly. ** But when the powers that be tell us that animals can’t get it and then a tiger gets it or that masks don’t protect you and then they suddenly do, it makes us all skeptical. Way to confuse us fuckers!! Even with the ignorant and the panicked, just tell us the truth and the average person will be with ya!!** It was snowing in April? Where was this warmer weather that was going to kill the virus?

*****

You just knew that Trump and his cronies had money on the line when it came to hydroxychloroquine. ** Scary Clown 45 has removed the very man who was set to oversee the $ 2 trillion stimulus. The good ol boys can’t wait to get their hands on that money while people are dying. ** Trump delayed checks that are not direct deposit because he wants his name on them.** People had trouble getting thru when applying for unemployment. Canada gave out the benefits and then checked the details.** States and companies are very confused. Jared claims he is in charge, Pence is supposed to be in charge and FEMA claims they are the final word. Trump seems to thrive on chaos. The states bidding, stocks up and down and Doctors disagreeing are right up his alley. He probably does hate being stuck at the WH.

*****

People will forgive you for not being the leader you should be, they will never forgive you for not being the leader you claim to be.

*****

Why should it be surprising that poor communities are being hit so hard? The poor, the minorities do so much of the cleaning, the cooking and delivering that still has to be done. When people are not sheltering in place because they are needed or they need that paycheck, of course they are getting infected since they are still out there. Add to that, little or no health care and poor diets from food deserts etc. and there you go.

*****

White House press secretary Stephanie Grisham is out after 9 months. Kayleigh Mcenany is in.** Vaccine chief Rick Bright is reassigned. He recently wanted to put hydroxychloroquine to some rigorous tests. He has been vocal about the administration.

*****

Lights Out is leaving Comedy Central and looking for another place to air.

*****

Can’t wait to see Mrs. America about the women who shaped our past.

*****

I rarely pay attention to advertising but I love that Chantix turkey. I hate the fact that he had a smoking problem, though.

*****

Every prisoner in every prison, especially the non -violent and the elderly should be reviewed. There needs to be more room made for white collar crimes that hurt so many more of us.

*****

Word is that Kim Jung un is brain dead.

*****

Rumble media has released Planet of the Humans from Jeff Gibbs on Youtube . The film will run free for 30 days and sort of explodes the myth of our ‘green’ heroes.

*****

Common, Woody Harrelson and Shinola watch co. have created a cannabis leak motif watch and the proceeds will go to criminal justice reform.

*****

Navy Captain Crozier was fired for telling the truth and looking after his crew. ** The U.S.S. Comfort isn’t taking Covid patients??

*****

Good bye Schitt’s Creek. We sure will miss ya!!

*****

Franklin Graham was asking volunteers for his field hospital in NY to sign a ‘statement of faith.’ It stated that they, “believe in God’s plan for human sexuality within the context of marriage between a man and a woman and that those that stray from those beliefs face eternal damnation and eternal judgement in Hell.”**

*****

Jon Cryer has a new book out: So that happened.

We can see now what would happen if all the humans were dead. The mountain goats have come down the hill and taken over a town in Wales. The Pandas are finally mating in Hong Kong now that they have some privacy.

*****

Bernie is out after 4 long conversations with Obama and tells us that he will concentrate on the pandemic. Looks like we are stuck with Biden. At least Biden is talking about lowering Medicare to 60. It’s not enough but at least it’s a start.** Who will the female VP pick be, Klobuchar, Witmer, Abrams??

*****

Netflix along with Steve Carell and Greg Daniel will bring us Space Force on May 29 with Lisa Kudrow and John Malkovich.

*****

In Sweden, all land is for public use. Imagine!!

*****

ICP cancelled their Juggalo fest.

*****

Perhaps home schooling will become more popular. Perhaps with the pollution dropping, humans will get the message that we have really fucked ourselves in this world. Less cars people!!** The Twitter CEO donated a billion. That made the other top $ people look like schmucks.

*****

Kleenex Cottonelle is donating a million rolls and a million bucks. Share A Square!!

*****

Fight Island??

*****

Tiger King.. who cares.. Crip Camp is the one to watch. A Secret Love is also great. This is the world that we should build from the ashes of Covid-19.** Stop trying to get me to watch Tiger King. –Bill Maher

*****

We are in a recession.** I don’t understand when I see so many “devout” people show no respect for religions other than their own.

*****

Tom Pelphrey on Ozark this season just blew me away!! He has to be the one to watch at the Emmy’s.

*****

On a personal note: Hey Aunt Ritski, I will never forget that you saved a couple of people from drowning when you were a lifeguard. I will never forget one of your favorite tales, that you wanted to be Miss Kitty when you were 5 years old and got a little drunk trying. I will never forget the times that you drove thru the ditches, your Cooter Brown stories or the way that you often left all the change on the bar when we were out. How could anyone forget the weddings, the bullet you had to live with the rest of your life and the love you had for your siblings. We will miss you forever because all of the lives you touched would have been a whole lot different without you in it. What the fuck would we have talked about if not for the saga of you? I can think of nobody who would disagree with that. Your family loves you baby. Go in Peace and serenity.

R.I.P. Adam Schlesinger, Ellis Marsalis Jr., Mort Drucker, Lorena Boreja, Janet Alexander, Patricia Bosworth, Bucky Pizzarelli, Logan Wiliams, Maeve Williams, Wallace Roney, Joe Diffie, Andrew Jack, Alan Merrill, John Prine, Thomas L. Miller, tornado victims, Charlotte Figi, David Driscoll, Hal Willner, Patricia Bosworth, Ann Sullivan, Brooke Taylor, the Canadian shooting victims, Matt Seligman, Barney Ales, Bootsy Barnes, Bruce Meyers,Roger Beatty, the tornado victims, Tim Brooke- Taylor, Jorge Camara, Andrew J. Fenady, Brian Dennehy, Don Reed Herring, Henry Graff, Allen Daviou, Tom Lester, Bill Withers and Rita Hale.

0 notes

readbookywooks · 7 years

Text

Catelyn

Tell Father I have gone to make him proud." Her brother swung up into his saddle, every inch the lord in his bright mail and flowing mud-and-water cloak. A silver trout ornamented the crest of his greathelm, twin to the one painted on his shield.

"He was always proud of you, Edmure. And he loves you fiercely. Believe that."

"I mean to give him better reason than mere birth." He wheeled his warhorse about and raised a hand. Trumpets sounded, a drum began to boom, the drawbridge descended in fits and starts, and Ser Edmure Tully led his men out from Riverrun with lances raised and banners streaming.

I have a greater host than yours, brother, Catelyn thought as she watched them go. A host of doubts and fears.

Beside her, Brienne's misery was almost palpable. Catelyn had ordered garments sewn to her measure, handsome gowns to suit her birth and sex, yet still she preferred to dress in oddments of mail and boiled leather, a swordbelt cinched around her waist. She would have been happier riding to war with Edmure, no doubt, but even walls as strong as Riverrun's required swords to hold them. Her brother had taken every able-bodied man for the fords, leaving Ser Desmond Grell to command a garrison made up of the wounded, the old, and the sick, along with a few squires and some untrained peasant boys still shy of manhood. This, to defend a castle crammed full of women and children.

When the last of Edmure's foot had shuffled under the portcullis, Brienne asked, "What shall we do now, my lady?"

"Our duty." Catelyn's face was drawn as she started across the yard. I have always done my duty, she thought. Perhaps that was why her lord father had always cherished her best of all his children. Her two older brothers had both died in infancy, so she had been son as well as daughter to Lord Hoster until Edmure was born. Then her mother had died and her father had told her that she must be the lady of Riverrun now, and she had done that too. And when Lord Hoster promised her to Brandon Stark, she had thanked him for making her such a splendid match.

I gave Brandon my favor to wear, and never comforted Petyr once after he was wounded, nor bid him farewell when Father sent him off. And when Brandon was murdered and Father told me I must wed his brother, I did so gladly, though I never saw Ned's face until our wedding day. I gave my maidenhood to this solemn stranger and sent him off to his war and his king and the woman who bore him his bastard, because I always did my duty.

Her steps took her to the sept, a seven-sided sandstone temple set amidst her mother's gardens and filled with rainbow light. It was crowded when they entered; Catelyn was not alone in her need for prayer. She knelt before the painted marble image of the Warrior and lit a scented candle for Edmure and another for Robb off beyond the hills. Keep them safe and help them to victory, she prayed, and bring peace to the souls of the slain and comfort to those they leave behind.

The septon entered with his censer and crystal while she was at her prayers, so Catelyn lingered for the celebration. She did not know this septon, an earnest young man close to Edmure's age. He performed his office well enough, and his voice was rich and pleasant when he sang the praises to the Seven, but Catelyn found herself yearning for the thin quavering tones of Septon Osmynd, long dead. Osmynd would have listened patiently to the tale of what she had seen and felt in Renly's pavilion, and he might have known what it meant as well, and what she must do to lay to rest the shadows that stalked her dreams. Osmynd, my father, Uncle Brynden, old Maester Kym, they always seemed to know everything, but now there is only me, and it seems I know nothing, not even my duty. How can I do my duty if I do not know where it lies?

Catelyn's knees were stiff by the time she rose, though she felt no wiser. Perhaps she would go to the godswood tonight, and pray to Ned's gods as well. They were older than the Seven.

Outside, she found song of a very different sort. Rymund the Rhymer sat by the brewhouse amidst a circle of listeners, his deep voice ringing as he sang of Lord Deremond at the Bloody Meadow.

And there he stood with sword in hand, the last of Darry's ten . . .

Brienne paused to listen for a moment, broad shoulders hunched and thick arms crossed against her chest. A mob of ragged boys raced by, screeching and flailing at each other with sticks. Why do boys so love to play at war? Catelyn wondered if Rymund was the answer. The singer's voice swelled as he neared the end of his song.

And red the grass beneath his feet, and red his banners bright, and red the glow of setting sun that bathed him in its light. "Come on, come on," the great lord called, "my sword is hungry still." And with a cry of savage rage, They swarmed across the rill . . .

"Fighting is better than this waiting," Brienne said. "You don't feel so helpless when you fight. You have a sword and a horse, sometimes an axe. When you're armored it's hard for anyone to hurt you."

"Knights die in battle," Catelyn reminded her.

Brienne looked at her with those blue and beautiful eyes. "As ladies die in childbed. No one sings songs about them."

"Children are a battle of a different sort." Catelyn started across the yard. "A battle without banners or warhorns, but no less fierce. Carrying a child, bringing it into the world . . . your mother will have told you of the pain . . . "

"I never knew my mother," Brienne said. "My father had ladies . . . a different lady every year, but . . . "

"Those were no ladies," Catelyn said. "As hard as birth can be, Brienne, what comes after is even harder. At times I feel as though I am being torn apart. Would that there were five of me, one for each child, so I might keep them all safe."

"And who would keep you safe, my lady?"

Her smile was wan and tired. "Why, the men of my House. Or so my lady mother taught me. My lord father, my brother, my uncle, my husband, they will keep me safe . . . but while they are away from me, I suppose you must fill their place, Brienne."

Brienne bowed her head. "I shall try, my lady."

Later that day, Maester Vyman brought a letter. She saw him at once, hoping for some word from Robb, or from Ser Rodrik in Winterfell, but the message proved to be from one Lord Meadows, who named himself castellan of Storm's End. It was addressed to her father, her brother, her son, "or whoever now holds Riverrun." Ser Cortnay Penrose was dead, the man wrote, and Storm's End had opened its gate to Stannis Baratheon, the trueborn and rightful heir. The castle garrison had sworn their swords to his cause, one and all, and no man of them had suffered harm.

"Save Cortnay Penrose," Catelyn murmured. She had never met the man, yet she grieved to hear of his passing. "Robb should know of this at once," she said. "Do we know where he is?"

"At last word he was marching toward the Crag, the seat of House Westerling," said Maester Vyman. "If I dispatched a raven to Ashemark, it may be that they could send a rider after him."

"Do so."

Catelyn read the letter again after the maester was gone. "Lord Meadows says nothing of Robert's bastard," she confided to Brienne. "I suppose he yielded the boy with the rest, though I confess, I do not understand why Stannis wanted him so badly."

"Perhaps he fears the boy's claim."

"A bastard's claim? No, it's something else . . . what does this child look like?"

"He is seven or eight, comely, with black hair and bright blue eyes. Visitors oft thought him Lord Renly's own son."

"And Renly favored Robert." Catelyn had a glimmer of understanding. "Stannis means to parade his brother's bastard before the realm, so men might see Robert in his face and wonder why there is no such likeness in Joffrey."

"Would that mean so much?"

"Those who favor Stannis will call it proof. Those who support Joffrey will say it means nothing." Her own children had more Tully about them than Stark. Arya was the only one to show much of Ned in her features. And Jon Snow, but he was never mine. She found herself thinking of Jon's mother, that shadowy secret love her husband would never speak of. Does she grieve for Ned as I do? Or did she hate him for leaving her bed for mine? Does she pray for her son as I have prayed for mine?

They were uncomfortable thoughts, and futile. If Jon had been born of Ashara Dayne of Starfall, as some whispered, the lady was long dead; if not, Catelyn had no clue who or where his mother might be. And it made no matter. Ned was gone now, and his loves and his secrets had all died with him.

Still, she was struck again by how strangely men behaved when it came to their bastards. Ned had always been fiercely protective of Jon, and Ser Cortnay Penrose had given up his life for this Edric Storm, yet Roose Bolton's bastard had meant less to him than one of his dogs, to judge from the tone of the queer cold letter Edmure had gotten from him not three days past. He had crossed the Trident and was marching on Harrenhal as commanded, he wrote. "A strong castle, and well garrisoned, but His Grace shall have it, if I must kill every living soul within to make it so." He hoped His Grace would weigh that against the crimes of his bastard son, whom Ser Rodrik Cassel had put to death. "A fate he no doubt earned," Bolton had written. "Tainted blood is ever treacherous, and Ramsay's nature was sly, greedy, and cruel. I count myself well rid of him. The trueborn sons my young wife has promised me would never have been safe while he lived."

The sound of hurrying footsteps drove the morbid thoughts from her head. Ser Desmond's squire dashed panting into the room and knelt. "My lady . . . Lannisters . . . across the river."

"Take a long breath, lad, and tell it slowly."

He did as she bid him. "A column of armored men," he reported. "Across the Red Fork. They are flying a purple unicorn below the lion of Lannister."

Some son of Lord Brax. Brax had come to Riverrun once when she was a girl, to propose wedding one of his sons to her or Lysa. She wondered whether it was this same son out there now, leading the attack.

The Lannisters had ridden out of the southeast beneath a blaze of banners, Ser Desmond told her when she ascended to the battlements to join him. "A few outriders, no more," he assured her. "The main strength of Lord Tywin's host is well to the south. We are in no danger here."

South of the Red Fork the land stretched away open and flat. From the watchtower Catelyn could see for miles. Even so, only the nearest ford was visible. Edmure had entrusted Lord Jason Mallister with its defense, as well as that of three others farther upriver. The Lannister riders were milling about uncertainly near the water, crimson and silver banners flapping in the wind. "No more than fifty, my lady," Ser Desmond estimated.

Catelyn watched the riders spread out in a long line. Lord Jason's men waited to receive them behind rocks and grass and hillocks. A trumpet blast sent the horsemen forward at a ponderous walk, splashing down into the current. For a moment they made a brave show, all bright armor and streaming banners, the sun flashing off the points of their lances.

"Now," she heard Brienne mutter.

It was hard to make out what was happening, but the screams of the horses seemed loud even at this remove, and beneath them Catelyn heard the fainter clash of steel on steel. A banner vanished suddenly as its bearer was swept under, and soon after the first dead man drifted past their walls, borne along by the current. By then the Lannisters had pulled back in confusion. She watched as they re-formed, conferred briefly, and galloped back the way they had come. The men on the walls shouted taunts after them, though they were already too far off to hear.

Ser Desmond slapped his belly. "Would that Lord Hoster could have seen that. It would have made him dance."

"My father's dancing days are past, I fear," Catelyn said, "and this fight is just begun. The Lannisters will come again. Lord Tywin has twice my brother's numbers."

"He could have ten times and it would not matter," Ser Desmond said. "The west bank of the Red Fork is higher than the east, my lady, and well wooded. Our bowmen have good cover, and a clear field for their shafts . . . and should any breach occur, Edmure will have his best knights in reserve, ready to ride wherever they are most sorely needed. The river will hold them."

"I pray that you are right," Catelyn said gravely.

That night they came again. She had commanded them to wake her at once if the enemy returned, and well after midnight a serving girl touched her gently by the shoulder. Catelyn sat up at once. "What is it?"

"The ford again, my lady."

Wrapped in a bedrobe, Catelyn climbed to the roof of the keep. From there she could see over the walls and the moonlit river to where the battle raged. The defenders had built watchfires along the bank, and perhaps the Lannisters thought to find them night-blind or unwary. If so, it was folly. Darkness was a chancy ally at best. As they waded in to breast their way across, men stepped in hidden pools and went down splashing, while others stumbled over stones or gashed their feet on the hidden caltrops. The Mallister bowmen sent a storm of fire arrows hissing across the river, strangely beautiful from afar. One man, pierced through a dozen times, his clothes afire, danced and whirled in the knee-deep water until at last he fell and was swept downstream. By the time his body came bobbing past Riverrun, the fires and his life had both been extinguished.

A small victory, Catelyn thought when the fighting had ended and the surviving foemen had melted back into the night, yet a victory nonetheless. As they descended the winding turret steps, Catelyn asked Brienne for her thoughts. "That was the brush of Lord Tywin's fingertip, my lady," the girl said. "He is probing, feeling for a weak point, an undefended crossing. If he does not find one, he will curl all his fingers into a fist and try and make one." Brienne hunched her shoulders. "That's what I'd do. Were I him." Her hand went to the hilt of her sword and gave it a little pat, as if to make certain it was still there.

And may the gods help us then, Catelyn thought. Yet there was nothing she could do for it. That was Edmure's battle out there on the river; hers was here inside the castle.

The next morning as she broke her fast, she sent for her father's aged steward, Utherydes Wayn. "Have Ser Cleos Frey brought a flagon of wine. I mean to question him soon, and I want his tongue well loosened."

"As you command, my lady."

Not long after, a rider with the Mallister eagle sewn on his breast arrived with a message from Lord Jason, telling of another skirmish and another victory. Ser Flement Brax had tried to force a crossing at a different ford six leagues to the south. This time the Lannisters shortened their lances and advanced across the river behind on foot, but the Mallister bowmen had rained high arcing shots down over their shields, while the scorpions Edmure had mounted on the riverbank sent heavy stones crashing through to break up the formation. "They left a dozen dead in the water, only two reaching the shallows, where we dealt with them briskly," the rider reported. He also told of fighting farther upstream, where Lord Karyl Vance held the fords. "Those thrusts too were turned aside, at grievous cost to our foes."

Perhaps Edmure was wiser than I knew, Catelyn thought. His lords all saw the sense in his battle plans, why was I so blind? My brother is not the little boy I remember, no more than Robb is.

She waited until evening before going to pay her call upon Ser Cleos Frey, reasoning that the longer she delayed, the drunker he was likely to be. As she entered the tower cell, Ser Cleos stumbled to his knees. "My lady, I knew naught of any escape. The Imp said a Lannister must needs have a Lannister escort, on my oath as a knight—"

"Arise, ser." Catelyn seated herself. "I know no grandson of Walder Frey would be an oathbreaker." Unless it served his purpose. "You brought peace terms, my brother said."

"I did." Ser Cleos lurched to his feet. She was pleased to see how unsteady he was.

"Tell me," she commanded, and he did.

When he was done, Catelyn sat frowning. Edmure had been right, these were no terms at all, except . . . "Lannister will exchange Arya and Sansa for his brother?"

"Yes. He sat on the Iron Throne and swore it."

"Before witnesses?"

"Before all the court, my lady. And the gods as well. I said as much to Ser Edmure, but he told me it was not possible, that His Grace Robb would never consent."

"He told you true." She could not even say that Robb was wrong. Arya and Sansa were children. The Kingslayer, alive and free, was as dangerous as any man in the realm. That road led nowhere. "Did you see my girls? Are they treated well?"

Ser Cleos hesitated. "I . . . yes, they seemed . . . "

He is fumbling for a lie, Catelyn realized, but the wine has fuddled his wits. "Ser Cleos," she said coolly, "you forfeited the protection of your peace banner when your men played us false. Lie to me, and you'll hang from the walls beside them. Believe that. I shall ask you once more—did you see my daughters?"

His brow was damp with sweat. "I saw Sansa at the court, the day Tyrion told me his terms. She looked most beautiful, my lady. Perhaps a, a bit wan. Drawn, as it were."

Sansa, but not Arya. That might mean anything. Arya had always been harder to tame. Perhaps Cersei was reluctant to parade her in open court for fear of what she might say or do. They might have her locked safely out of sight. Or they might have killed her. Catelyn shoved the thought away. "His terms, you said . . . yet Cersei is Queen Regent."

"Tyrion spoke for both of them. The queen was not there. She was indisposed that day, I was told."

"Curious." Catelyn thought back to that terrible trek through the Mountains of the Moon, and the way Tyrion Lannister had somehow seduced that sellsword from her service to his own. The dwarf is too clever by half. She could not imagine how he had survived the high road after Lysa had sent him from the Vale, yet it did not surprise her. He had no part in Ned's murder, at the least. And he came to my defense when the clansmen attacked us. If I could trust his word . . .

She opened her hands to look down at the scars across her fingers. His dagger's marks, she reminded herself. His dagger, in the hand of the killer he paid to open Bran's throat. Though the dwarf denied it, to be sure. Even after Lysa locked him in one of her sky cells and threatened him with her moon door, he had still denied it. "He lied," she said, rising abruptly. "The Lannisters are liars every one, and the dwarf is the worst of them. The killer was armed with his own knife."

Ser Cleos stared. "I know nothing of any—"

"You know nothing," she agreed, sweeping from the cell. Brienne fell in beside her, silent. It is simpler for her, Catelyn thought with a pang of envy. She was like a man in that. For men the answer was always the same, and never farther away than the nearest sword. For a woman, a mother, the way was stonier and harder to know.

She took a late supper in the Great Hall with her garrison, to give them what encouragement she could. Rymund the Rhymer sang through all the courses, sparing her the need to talk. He closed with the song he had written about Robb's victory at Oxcross. "And the stars in the night were the eyes of his wolves, and the wind itself was their song." Between the verses, Rymund threw back his head and howled, and by the end, half of the hall was howling along with him, even Desmond Grell, who was well in his cups. Their voices rang off the rafters.

Let them have their songs, if it makes them brave, Catelyn thought, toying with her silver goblet.

"There was always a singer at Evenfall Hall when I was a girl," Brienne said quietly. "I learned all the songs by heart."

"Sansa did the same, though few singers ever cared to make the long journey north to Winterfell." I told her there would be singers at the king's court, though. I told her she would hear music of all sorts, that her father could find some master to help her learn the high harp. Oh, gods forgive me . . .

Brienne said, "I remember a woman . . . she came from some place across the narrow sea. I could not even say what language she sang in, but her voice was as lovely as she was. She had eyes the color of plums and her waist was so tiny my father could put his hands around it. His hands were almost as big as mine." She closed her long, thick fingers, as if to hide them.

"Did you sing for your father?" Catelyn asked.

Brienne shook her head, staring down at her trencher as if to find some answer in the gravy.

"For Lord Renly?"

The girl reddened. "Never, I . . . his fool, he made cruel japes sometimes, and I . . . "

"Someday you must sing for me."

"I . . . please, I have no gift." Brienne pushed back from the table. "Forgive me, my lady. Do I have your leave to go?"

Catelyn nodded. The tall, ungainly girl left the hall with long strides, almost unnoticed amidst the revelry. May the gods go with her, she thought as she returned listlessly to her supper.

It was three days later when the hammer blow that Brienne had foretold fell, and five days before they heard of it. Catelyn was sitting with her father when Edmure's messenger arrived. The man's armor was dinted, his boots dusty, and he had a ragged hole in his surcoat, but the look on his face as he knelt was enough to tell her that the news was good. "Victory, my lady." He handed her Edmure's letter. Her hand trembled as she broke the seal.

Lord Tywin had tried to force a crossing at a dozen different fords, her brother wrote, but every thrust had been thrown back. Lord Lefford had been drowned, the Crakehall knight called Strongboar taken captive, Ser Addam Marbrand thrice forced to retreat . . . but the fiercest battle had been fought at Stone Mill, where Ser Gregor Clegane had led the assault. So many of his men had fallen that their dead horses threatened to dam the flow. In the end the Mountain and a handful of his best had gained the west bank, but Edmure had thrown his reserve at them, and they had shattered and reeled away bloody and beaten. Ser Gregor himself had lost his horse and staggered back across the Red Fork bleeding from a dozen wounds while a rain of arrows and stones fell all around him. "They shall not cross, Cat," Edmure scrawled, "Lord Tywin is marching to the southeast. A feint perhaps, or full retreat, it matters not. They shall not cross."

Ser Desmond Grell had been elated. "Oh, if only I might have been with him," the old knight said when she read him the letter. "Where is that fool Rymund? There's a song in this, by the gods, and one that even Edmure will want to hear. The mill that ground the Mountain down, I could almost make the words myself, had I the singer's gift."

"I'll hear no songs until the fighting's done," Catelyn said, perhaps too sharply. Yet she allowed Ser Desmond to spread the word, and agreed when he suggested breaking open some casks in honor of Stone Mill. The mood within Riverrun had been strained and somber; they would all be better for a little drink and hope.

That night the castle rang to the sounds of celebration. "Riverrun!" the smallfolk shouted, and "Tully! Tully!" They'd come frightened and helpless, and her brother had taken them in when most lords would have closed their gates. Their voices floated in through the high windows, and seeped under the heavy redwood doors. Rymund played his harp, accompanied by a pair of drummers and a youth with a set of reed pipes. Catelyn listened to girlish laughter, and the excited chatter of the green boys her brother had left her for a garrison. Good sounds . . . and yet they did not touch her. She could not share their happiness.

In her father's solar she found a heavy leatherbound book of maps and opened it to the riverlands. Her eyes found the path of the Red Fork and traced it by flickering candlelight. Marching to the southeast, she thought. By now they had likely reached the headwaters of the Blackwater Rush, she decided.

She closed the book even more uneasy than before. The gods had granted them victory after victory. At Stone Mill, at Oxcross, in the Battle of the Camps, at the Whispering Wood . . .

But if we are winning, why am I so afraid?

#ClashofKings

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