“Robb! Robb wait, please!” He can hear the pitter patter of bare feet upon stone. Sansa runs after him, her skirts hiked up and looking disheveled. For a moment she had looked like the girl from his childhood. The girl before courtesies and Septa Mordane and Kingslanding. She used to run after him when she was a little girl, skirt hiked up, begging him to be her knight. For a moment, he pretends that they are both children and this is some game. He’s still her knight and favourite brother but the illusion cracks the moment she speaks again.
“Robb! I love him and I know you do too!” Her voice is thick with tears and something else. Her pain slices through him but he doesn’t dare look. “Robb, please,” she weeps. His heart breaks at the sound of her voice and he near stops. Her pain is a living and breathing thing and he wants to tame and quell it, just like he had done when they were both children. He has never been able to ignore her tears and pain. Even now, he wants to turn around and comfort her. He forces the urge down. Sansa is still a girl but he is no longer a boy. He can’t just stop because he loves her.
The sound of her running stops but her cries bounces off the wall, loud and piercing. He releases a breath, relieved. She may not feel it now but she’ll get over it one day. It is better this way.
He expects her to cry and rage at him. He expects cold and blank stares but he doesn’t expect bare feet pounding against stone, loud and desperate and he doesn’t expect her soft and small body to collide against his. They both fall to the ground and he makes to push her away but she clings to him, nails digging into skin. He struggles for a bit but Sansa’s grip is stronger than first thought. He turns away from her, refusing to look at her, terrified and angry. “Robb. Robb look at me.” He refuses, closing his eyes tightly. He wants to place his hands over his ears but she grips his hands tightly.
“Robb, please, it’s Jon!” That one name drains him of all his energy and sense and he finally opens his eyes. Sansa’s face is close to his own, her cheeks wet with tears. Her eyes are red and tears still cling to her eye lashes. She has never seemed so young to him. Even the angry and fierce stare is reminiscent of the girl from his childhood. He does not mention that, he can’t.
“He broke his vows.” His voice is that of a stranger. It doesn’t sound anything like his own. It is hollow and cold, perhaps his kingly voice. Sansa’s eyes are wide, making the blue stand out so sharply. They are eyes that one can drown in but he doesn’t allow himself to fall.
“He’s your brother.”
“And he’s yours.” He rises slowly but Sansa’s grip gets tighter, wrapping her whole body around him. He catches sight of her knees, bruised and cut up, knobbly, even now that she’s near womanhood.
“Robb, please, don’t do this” she weeps, trembling as she says the words, nails biting deeply into flesh.
“No, what you did, what he did was wrong. I can’t.” He finally brushes all her long and gangly limbs away and stands. Sansa is still on her knees, trembling at the sound of his words.
“If you have any love for me. If you ever loved either of us, you won’t do this.” He only shook his head. There was more to this world than love. There were broken vows and broken trust. There was seeing the siblings that looked so like your dead parents, entwined and clinging to each other.
“It will be an easy and quick death,” he says gently but that only seems to enrage her and Sansa jumps to her feet and rams her body into his again. He steps back slightly but this doesn’t stop Sansa. She pushes him again, her face twisted into one of fury.
“He doesn’t have to die!” She rails against him, tiny fists pounding against his chest. He wants to take her hands in his and hold her but she doesn’t give him the chance to. She doesn’t stop for even a moment, her fists and body ramming into his chest. He allows her to do it, waiting for her to collapse within herself. When they were children, Sansa would rage at him, her voice high and girlish and furious. He would always eventually be able to redeem himself with promises of treats and a kiss to the cheek. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to do that now.
“Princess, let me take you to your room.” Sansa shrugs the person off but he looks up and starts at the sight of his wife. He hadn’t even noticed to her but then, when does he notice her. Their marriage had settled from a desperate and passionate marriage to one with empty stares and coldness, all without a hitch. He can’t say he’s surprised. Duty begets duty and loneliness begets loneliness.
He pushes her away and she stumbles. He steps to catch her but he shrugs her off.
“Jeyne, stay with my sister. Look after her,” he says, only staring at his sister. Her face is red and angry and terrified. He turns away from her, feeling more like a boy than a man grown and a king when he sees her. “I won’t ever forgive you.”
He pauses but forces himself to move. He can live and deal with her unforgiveness, sharp as it may be.
“It’s not your forgiveness that matters now,” he says only that before walking away. This time, Sansa doesn’t run after him. ……………………………………………………………………………………………
They bring the prisoner out to the place where Bran once witnessed his first beheading. There is no one there but the two of them. It would be so easy now to let Jon run, to let him go but duty closes his mouth. Jon was his brother but that was before the Nights Watch. There exists are no blood ties once you become a Black Brother (he wonders if that means what Jon and Sansa did wasn’t wrong then). It’s a stranger that you’re executing, not your brother, he reminds himself. It is hard to believe that thought when all he sees when he looks at him is the boy he used to be and his father all at once.
There is so much of that boy still in Jon now. When they were children and dreaming of knights and glory, it had always been things that he could never have that he shouted for. The Dragon Knight and The Lord of Winterfell and Barriston Selmy. Why did you always have to want things that you could never have? He asked himself, suddenly angry. Jon had been the Lord Commander and respected by all. Why couldn’t that have been enough? Why did he have to have their sister as well?
“Well, I guess it’s time now.” He sounds exhausted. There are dark and heavy circles under his eyes.
“Was it worth it? All of this? You’re going to die and you’re going to be remembered as an oathbreaker.” Jon only smiles sadly, but that is unsurprising. Jon has always been sad. Even when he was a child, staring up at them with hurt and resentful eyes he had been sad. He’s hoping and praying that Jon will say no, that’ll he say he regrets it. That he wants their sister and his brother more than he wants Sansa’s kiss. He would let him go in a moment if Jon said he did. If he allowed them to fall back into their normal family dynamics.
“I don’t regret loving her.” He wants to pretend that this is brotherly love, that Jon is confessing his love for his sister rather than a lover. He wants to let him go but his face is too tender, too loving, too full of wist and longing to ever be mistaken for anything else. He unsheathes his sword. This is all the answer he needs to know. …………………………………………………………………………………………… He enters Sansa’s room, not bothering to even knock. She looks up at him, her eyes shining with hope. She’s still that girl, the thought is hollow and empty, the same girl who believed in songs and good. She takes one look at his face though and he sees that faith and hope die. It is as if all the light in the world has been extinguished. He’s no longer the brother who would save her from all the monsters and kiss her pain away.
“Get out.” Her voice is empty and strange. He tries to open his mouth to say something kind or comforting but the words die in his mouth.
“Sansa.” This seems to awaken her and she runs towards him, hand rose up. He expects her to push him again or shout but she does none of that. His head whips to the side, cheek screaming in pain but his heart hurts more. The loud crack of the slap echoes through the room, loud and sharp. She raises her hand up again and slaps the other cheek. She finally pushes him away from her.
“Get out!” She screams. He stumbles out of the door. Sansa’s pained wails rips tears through him but he can’t bring himself to look. Craven, you’re craven. She’s your little sister. He ignores and forgets that, he runs. ……………………………………………………………………………………………
They find him hours later in the crypts, their faces panicked and scared. “My King,” they say, their voices hushed and gentle. “Your sister, she’s.”
His realisation is a slow thing. It’s like he’s underwater, the sounds and colours blurred and muted and far away. But then there’s always that moment when everyone must come up for air. And when he comes up, everything smashes against him, so hard and fast in their hits that he’s dizzy from it. My little sister.
i have eight tabs open on acl reconstructions right now
in other news, writing remains the stupidest hobby
It was the week before the surgery, and someone was at the door.
“Stay,” Viktor told Makkachin as he unfolded out of a heel slide. The swelling had mostly gone, but he’d learned the hard way that the knee still had a tendency to buckle when she came unexpectedly underfoot.
It was Yakov. “I’m doing the pre-op exercises,” Viktor said, more irritably than he’d meant. “You don’t need to check up on me.”
Yakov snorted. “Have you packed?”
“Packed?” Viktor hadn’t. “What for?”
“Vitya,” Yakov said impatiently, like they’d had this conversation before. Possibly they had. “You can’t stay here by yourself while you recover.”
"You don't want to wake the dragon, do you?" Or "Why there should be more sympathy toward Viserys Targaryen".
Viserys was the older brother of Daenerys, and the second surviving child of Rhaella and Aerys II Targaryen. By the time we saw him, in A Game of Thrones, he was an arrogant, cruel, mean, not clever and greedy young man, who was abusing and bad treating his little sister. His death at the hands of Khal Drogo felt well deserved.
Viserys’s life was one of the most tragic in ASOIAF. And that tells something, as ASOIAF is filled with tragic lives and destinies and deaths.
He was born in 276 AC, 17 years younger than his brother Rhaegar. His mother Rhaella had already suffered still-births, miscarriages, and a baby that lived only 6 months before dying. The World of Ice and Fire gave us more details about the Targaryen family, and we know that at the time Viserys was born, Aerys was already quick-falling into madness (he was always mad but he was becoming worse). The King was paranoiac on many levels, and didn’t trust his Queen Rhaella - he believed she slept with other men, and that’s why Gods were punishing her with the inability of birthing healthy children. Paranoiac Aerys didn’t allow Viserys time alone with his own mother - even her milk dried up quickly. Neither Aerys was trusting Rhaegar - he got somewhere in his mind that Rhaegar was plotting with Tywin to remove him from the throne. Few years later, numerous gossips were running in the Realm that Aerys would even deny Rhaegar and proclaim Viserys his heir.
That basically suggests that Viserys lacked parental and familial caring, as Aerys was keeping him well guarded and away from mother and brother. Viserys didn’t receive the affection a child needs.
Yet Viserys was still educated and brought up as a Royal family member. A Prince, son of the King and - maybe - the Heir of the Iron Throne and the Seven Kingdoms (not that he was old enough to understand all that it meant, but still). He was taught the history and knew that he is part of the Greatest House in Westeros. He knew he is Blood of the Dragon, that his ancestors were riding dragons. He lived in a big castle, full of wealth and riches, treated as any Royal family member should be treated, and with guards protecting him.
Then, from almost one day to the other, at the age of 8, he lost his castle, his brother, his father. He witnessed his mother’s death. Viserys LOST Everything he knew in a very very short time, and was forced to flee only with one guard and a new born baby. And that is Very traumatic for a 8 year old boy (it would be traumatic at any age).
Viserys case is worse than Arya’s, for instance. Arya lost her father, and was forced to flee, but she found friends on her way, she wasn’t completely alone, she wasn’t responsible for a newborn baby. Arya got time to get used to her new position before she knew her mother and brother were murdered. But Arya also knew she has a sister alive and a brother (Jon) alive. She knew Winterfell was hers to come back (even if it was burnt), and nobody was sending cut-throats after her. She didn’t have to beg all the time. I am not saying Arya had a happy life - she didn’t for sure. But Viserys case was Worse.
So the 8 year old boy, who used to be a Prince, found himself with no family, no home, no place to go, and knowing constantly that his life is in danger. Above this, he needed to care for a baby. For few first years he had Ser Willem Darry helping him, but the knight died soon, and Viserys stayed completely alone.
He was running from city to city, penniless, begging people for protection and shelter. Always running, always fleeing from killers, with a small child above that. He knew how people mocked him behind his back.
I have become the most splendid beggar in the world, but a beggar all the same. She hated it, as her brother must have. All those years of running from city to city one step ahead of the Usurper’s knives, pleading for help from archons and princes and magisters, buying our food with flattery. He must have known how they mocked him. Small wonder he turned so angry and bitter. In the end it had driven him mad.
My brother visited Pentos, Myr, Braavos, near all the Free Cities. The magisters and archons fed him wine and promises, but his soul was starved to death. A man cannot sup from the beggar’s bowl all his life and stay a man.
Yes, Viserys’ behavior toward Daenerys was unacceptable. Yes, he was cruel and he is better dead than alive. And even yes, Viserys had always a madness in him since childhood, as Ser Barristan states out.
But his life was just very very sad and tragic. And I think when remembering Viserys Targaryen, we should not forget everything that he went through.
When Viserys sold their mother’s crown, the last joy had gone from him.
AU where victor actually died in a car accident on his way to japan to spontaneously become yuuri’s coach. he died with regrets so his spirit was allowed to stay on earth until he fulfilled his wish of helping yuuri win the grand prix final. yuuri thinks his grief has caused him to become delusional when victor’s spirit latches onto him and claims he’s here to help him find his love for skating again, but gradually learns to accept his presence when he finds out victor can’t rest in peace otherwise. months go by, and to the world and the people around him, it seems like yuuri is improving impossibly fast on his own. some say watching him skate is like watching the ghost of victor nikiforov skate again. he’s finally the figure skater he wants to be, but the closer he gets to the grand prix final, the more he and victor realise their time is almost up.
Hey butterfly. Just finished reading TWOIAF chapter on Aegon V, and it hit me that from the tragedy of Summerhall Dunk did his duty and saved what Targs he could. He saved Aerys, Rhaella and Rhaegar. So Dunk is the reason we have Egg as 1/2 a peasant as well as the reason the Mad King is alive to ascend the throne. Did I miss something or lose details in that? Not earth shattering but ties the D&E tales into the novels in quite a heart wrenching way.
Well, the Dunk and Egg stories have always been relevant to the current days of ASOIAF. I mean, if you just want to check the effects that we knew before TWOIAF was released, there was:
the death of Baelor Breakspear in the Ashford Tourney (via Dunk’s trial of seven), leading eventually to the succession of Maekar and then Aegon V
the branch off of the green-apple Fossoways because Raymun got sick of his cousin being a jerk (in Dunk’s trial of seven)
the swift end of the Second Blackfyre Rebellion
the namesake of Duncan Targaryen (the Prince of Dragonflies; see also Jenny of Oldstones and the Ghost of High Heart)
So who knows what else we’ll learn about in future D&E stories. The Winterfell story alone (whenever that comes out) will probably tell us things about the Starks that will be very enlightening. (I expect to see young Old Nan for sure, and whichever Brandon she came to Winterfell to nurse.) And I have theories about Tanselle and House Martell I’d like to see pan out one day too.
But yes, the story of the tragedy at Summerhall is the most tragic and heartwrenching for sure. :(
Few could doubt that Baelor Breakspear would be a great king, for he was the heart of chivalry and the soul of wisdom, and came to serve his father most ably as Hand. But no man can know the will of the gods. Baelor Breakspear was cut down in his prime by his own brother Maekar at the tourney at Ashford in the year 209 AC. It was not in the tilt, or the mêlée, but in a trial of seven—the first in a century—in which Baelor fought on behalf of a lowly hedge knight of no parentage of note. His death was a mishap, almost certainly, and it is written that Prince Maekar always bitterly regretted Baelor’s passing and marked its anniversary every year. Yet Baelor died, and doubtless Maekar and the realm wondered if one hedge knight was worth the loss of the Prince of Dragonstone and the Hand of the King. (But then, they did not know how high that hedge knight would rise—though that is a different history.)
“Just because we’re children doesn’t mean we aren’t capable or weren’t capable of what we did. Is Future Foundation going to do their job, or are you just going to baby me and excuse my actions? I’m one for justice, even if I’m on the receiving side.”
100 Reasons Why Portugal Was Late to the Meeting of Nations
This isn’t what I figured I’d be spending my Sunday afternoon on, but here’s some incredibly ridiculous dumb in honour of Hima torturing us, chartini’s encouragement, and the delighted Portugal-fest that is currently my dash right now.
#1) Forgot directions
#2) Followed Spain’s directions
#3) Followed Austria’s directions
#4) Obtained directions from a random stranger but ended up on a date with them
#5) Decided to gain direction from the stars but had to wait until night-time
Koumei sighed and looked away. It was true but he couldn’t help feeling a bit disappointed. After all, he loved flowers most in the whole world and to not be able to have them well…it felt sort of strange. He wasn’t angry though, he understood. Still, he couldn’t help feeling disappointed.
“I see…” And rather then continuing to be upset about the matter or the pinch to his ear he simply leaned on his hands, slouching so his forehead rested on the others should. “Sorry for asking…”