hadriel_logs | [OPEN] Be my mirror, my sword and shield

Entry tags:

[OPEN] Be my mirror, my sword and shield

Who: OPEN. Jon Snow and… maybe your character?
What: Open direwolf meet and greets, horse exercise, hanging out at the Speakeasy, planting trees, and attempting to start to come to terms with some extremely difficult truths about his identity: the man he thought was his father, and idolized, was not; his parents accidentally started a war with their elopement; that throne people have been fighting over for seven seasons should have been his all along. [This is written in prose, but any format is fine.]
Where: All around Hadriel.
When: Late October/first half of November, up to the upcoming memory share event. Fourth Wall is technically over, but since this log is partly intended to deal with the fallout of those events, fourth wallers are still welcome for threads set before the end of October, or threads set after that if they have apped and been accepted.
Warnings: Jon is a good guy, but interactions with him always carry a general Game of Thrones warning, mostly for violence (medieval warfare and justice) and adult themes (heavy sexual content, various incestuous relationships that are varying levels of scandalous and central to the plot, etc). Anything set during or after Fourth Wall has an additional disclaimer for the fact that he's learned about his actual parentage during this event… which means, sorry dudes, but he's just figured out that the girl he's fallen hard for is his aunt. The show has not addressed the potential problems with this one way or another yet... but while the books suggest that marrying your aunt or uncle is juuust within acceptable limits in their culture, it seems important to acknowledge that it's obviously way outside of acceptable limits in ours.

This log is intended to deal with the fallout of that revelation, so it's definitely going to come up in some of these prompts -- not least because his claim to the throne is better than hers if he chooses to pursue it. Still, you can leave me an ooc note about your comfort levels, avoid the prompts where he's visibly upset, set stuff a little before Fourth Wall or after the first week of November (where he's likely to be less upset about all of it), etc.

Prompts in the comments! Here's a visual reference for Ghost, by the way:

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"What happened then? Did Reed avenge himself?"

The landscape, such as it is, slips past them, and sometimes it's a little hard to hear her over the low roar of waves all around.

"Can't imagine the squires went crying to their masters. Beaten by a girl... it's not something they'd have wanted to boast about."

"No, he refused the armor." This was a story her brothers knew and she had never had the chance to tell before. There was a hint of excitement for her to see how much her son might be able to work out on his own. Given that she was interested in telling him this story should be enough of an indicator, but he seemed to focus on the present rather than more elusive details.

"Strangely, the next day a mysterious knight entered the tournament. He had mismatched armor and a booming voice. The only sigil he carried was a laughing Weirwood Tree." She leaned forward, steadying the horse as he travailed over rocks and crevices. She didn't need to slow them, only to shift her weight to properly distribute them over the uneven land.

"Their masters learned about what happened when the knight beat them. He only agreed to return their shields if they punished their squires. After that, the knight disappeared and was never found."

"A laughing weirwood tree?" He sounds dubious. "It sounds like a heart tree. Some of them look like they're laughing." Some of them are quite a bit more imposing. "A Northerner, I'd guess, unless he wanted to throw people off the scent."

He watches the rocks flying by under them, and it occurs to him that the stories of her horsemanship were rather understating things. He's this good -- maybe. Maybe not. Either way, it takes years and enthusiasm to get to this point.

"The mismatched armor. Either the knight didn't have armor of his own, or he wanted to hide who he was. I'd say the latter, if he disappeared and was never found. Did you watch these fights?"

He has his suspicions.

"There was a bit of romanticism in the sigil. Weirwoods are considered frightening by Southroners." More often strange, but frightening as most of them had been destroyed. "Or perhaps the knight needed to paint something that would be both memorable and easy in such a short amount of time?" It only took white and red paint, after all.

"The squires served knights belonging to House Blount, Haigh and Frey. Those knights placed high, but when they were beaten by the mysterious opponent, the small folk cheered. They were hated as much as their squires." True, she was basking in this memory, preening at the accomplishment of this mystery knight. It wasn't a story she got to tell very often and she would prolong it as much as possible.

"Perhaps both?" She grinned. "I wasn't in the stands when it happened. Though I heard Robert Baratheon and Richard Lonmouth said they wanted to unmask the knight. Aerys thought that this was some sort of plot against him, so he ordered his knights to fight the man the next morning so his identity could be revealed. But the knight disappeared without a trace. Prince Rhaegar was sent to find him, but there was only his shield, left next to a tree."

"If they'd painted the sigil to frighten, then why make the tree laugh? Enough heart trees have a forbidding look. The knight wasn't a Blackwood, or there would have been ravens on his shield."

But he feels like he's humoring her, so he hazards a sharper guess. She wasn't in the stands, and she'd wanted to tell him this story to begin with. It doesn't sound like her beating the squires with swords is the point of it; the mystery knight is the point of it. Prince Rhaegar is the point of it.

He tenses slightly against her back, and says more quietly, "Is that how you met him?"

Are you the sort of person who wanted to fight for a little crannogman, even though it was forbidden? He can't think of any other reason to hide the knight's identity. If it wasn't her, it was probably Benjen, but his heart says no.

Edited 2018-11-15 05:55 (UTC)

"Is there a Northern House that would paint a laughing Weirwood tree? We're a gloomy lot. This knight was more concerned with how he might appear and whether he would match the songs that often come from such things. A mysterious knight seeking justice, he needs a proper sigil." Said as though this were a fact that anyone should know.

He was a clever boy and she wasn't trying to make this into much of a mystery. It was something she was proud of and didn't want to disassociate from, especially now that they didn't have to worry about anyone else finding out and harming her. She could view it with fond eyes rather than anxiety for all the trouble it brought.

She let one hand fall against his arm, gently squeezing it reassuringly. Clever boy. "Mhm. I saw him during the feasts, but we didn't speak until I was pulling off my helmet and he managed to catch up to me."

"What did he -- "

He clears his throat. The wind is whipping into his face, and if his hair weren't tied back, it would be at his eyes.

"What did he say to you?"

He already knows. Not the words, but from what had come of it: Prince Rhaegar had liked the gallantry. He hadn't turned her in to his father. He had lied to protect her, which means he must have known what she was up to.

"He said I had a good heart."

There were natural questions about how she managed and how such a small girl had knocked three grown men from their horses. Whether it was courage or madness that pushed her to this. But when all of the initial circling was through, there was the simple fact that she had seen someone being tormented and gone out of her way to help them.

No matter the risk and cost.

She couldn't tell him everything that happened, because a part of it would always be hers and should be secreted in a place in her heart. However, this would at least show him that they had known each other before they had run off.

"He thought I deserved a reward because of my courage, but he couldn't do very much otherwise everyone would know. He found a way around that..."

"You did," he says quietly, near her ear. "You do."

Have a good heart, he means, but he understands the impulse to give her a reward for her courage. And it says something about his father, too, that he had been so taken by the way the girl defended a lad who was being bullied.

"But the way he found around it, what was it?"

That was a matter of debate now. She had good intentions, but it seemed that they only managed to bring further conflict to Westeros. Her family suffered, friends were killed and House Targaryen had nearly been destroyed.

But she wasn't going to linger on that. There had been enough misery. Having Jon behind her, holding firmly to her waist as they raced along the coast. It gave her something more than the shadows of the past, it was a glimpse of a future she had prayed for but would never have in Westeros.

"He gave me a crown of winter roses."

He's very quiet for a long moment, and she doesn't allow the horse's pace to flag.

"There were blue winter roses in the glass gardens at Winterfell when I was a boy. Not now, but -- then."

"They were there when I was a girl too." They had always been her favorite. Despite playing in the courtyard with the boys, she often spent time collecting flowers for her room and for her brothers. "Your father made certain that I had winter roses in the Tower."

She had clutched them close when she spoke with her brother, the blue petals turning brown against the air. The beauty was lost in the stench of blood and death, shifting the perfume to something sickening.

"What happened to them?"

Again, it takes him a moment to answer. Even though he's slow to speak, the story is a brief torrent.

"After my fa-- after Lord Stark was killed, and after Robert died, there was a war. The Northern lords would not follow the Iron Throne anymore, not after that... they made my brother Robb King in the North. He lost Winterfell to an Ironborn who attacked it in his absence, someone he trusted who had been raised as a hostage there -- you know Lord Stark's way, he treated him as a ward. Theon smashed and burned much of it, the wood and the glass.

"Robb was murdered at supper, at a wedding, by Roose Bolton and Walder Frey, but... Tywin Lannister's hand was in it. Winterfell was given to the Boltons after that, along with the North."

It is a lot to take in and this wasn't the way that it should be digested. She tugged at the reins, rearing the horse back until they stopped. For a moment, she sat in silence, watching as the waves slammed against the coast. This was the world that Robert left behind. Her brother was murdered, as were his children and their home was seized by a house notorious for torturing their prisoners.

It left her sick. She slid off the side of the horse, breathing in the harsh sea air. It could almost take her back to White Harbor. There was no snow in the hair, no wisps of ice tangled in her hair from the water sprinkles and cold wind. She frowned, trying to sort it out in her head. She had given him so much information, but it seemed that it was repaid to her now, telling her of a future she couldn't imagine.

"But you were named King?"

He follows her down from the horse more slowly, not really surprised that this is what made her stop in her tracks. Once he's on the ground, he takes the horse's reins, pats the side of its neck. It doesn't want to halt so quickly; it steps here and there, as horses do.

"Aye, but not then. They married Sansa to Bolton's son. He was -- his cruelty was -- well, he was cruel to her, kept her locked in a room, beat her. She escaped from him and came to me at Castle Black, and Ramsay Bolton killed his father so that the North would be his."

Thank the gods that she had never met any of the Boltons, save for passing interactions at feasts and festivities. But would she have even seen the evil in them? She didn't trust Tywin, but she didn't contemplate what the man was truly capable of. She knew the song of his House, she knew the legends, but the true horror was beyond her comprehension.

As it should be for anyone with a good heart. Though...wasn't that what brought her family to where it was? What was the answer in the end? Play the game and go to such depths or keep your integrity? It was something she hoped her son would never have to answer, but seemed forced to.

"And then? You raised an army?"

He nods.

"Our brother Rickon, the youngest. He was a lad of twelve, and Bolton had him, and -- there really wasn't anywhere else we could go. Couldn't stay at Castle Black, and couldn't leave him to Bolton. The Wildlings were willing to fight for me, right enough, but the Northern lords were harder to convince.

"We had the Mormonts, and the Mazins and Hornwoods, and in the end, Sansa was able to call on the help of the Vale Knights, because -- her aunt Lysa had been married to Lord Arryn. The young lord is her cousin.

"And Ramsay Bolton is dead. We found once we got past the gates" (how do you get past the gates of Winterfell?) "that they'd done a good part of the work of rebuilding what had been burned. But no winter roses just now. The glass garden had been all smashed."

He shrugs, pats the horse again. "When the lords all came to council to swear fealty to the Starks again, they named me king."

There were such an influx of emotions. Her frustration and anger for what her family suffered, the pain of knowing her family home had been decimated and barely left standing, and annoyance at the irony of all of this. "The North lords would not join you against the Lannisters and Boltons, but they rose up against King Aerys?"

One family had ruled for generations, the other had broken guest right and usurped a position that was never truly theirs. They had seen that children had their heads dashed out, women tortured and humiliated. Yet they managed to keep the loyalty of those that had served under her family since the North was united.

"The North had to be regained by the Vale?" Somehow that seemed the worst insult. "You cannot trust them, sweetling." The sad reality. If House Bolton could revolt, if all of Westeros could revolt, anyone could. "You are king now. Remember that Tywin Lannister began as Aerys' servant, his friend. Don't harbor a beast close to your breast."

He sighs: not in resignation, but patiently, as a man who's being told something that he already knows.

"The Northern lords lost men, all of them, even heads of houses, at the wedding where my brother Robb was killed. He had promised to marry a Frey girl and then married a foreign girl. I never met her, I don't know much about her. But she was killed with him. As many of the North's fighting men as they could kill at the Twins, they did. And when Sansa and I came to them, we didn't have much, no real proof that we had any chance of victory. She had been married to a Lannister and a Bolton and betrothed to Cersei's son before that, and I'm a bastard."

He pauses there to give her a look: as far as anyone in the North knew, he was.

"I wanted them to risk going against Bolton, I pleaded our case, but Lord Manderly's sons were killed at The Twins. Lord Glover had received no help from Robb when Deepwood Motte was taken by the Ironborn. I know what they are, but I know more than that. We can't fight amongst ourselves when the Army of the Dead is coming."

Edited 2018-11-15 08:04 (UTC)

"A bastard." She nodded, once again cursing at Ned for continuing this lie despite the protection it offered. It was smart, he fulfilled his promise, but it still broke her heart and infuriated that her son was forced to believe he was beneath trueborn lords of the North. "When you tried to gather support, why did you not go to House Reed?" Someone could have at least told him the truth that would have aided them. With Ned gone, he would be the last to know.

"These were the same men that joined Ned after your grandfather and uncle were killed. They lost sons and fathers and so much else during that Rebellion, but they were brow beat by the Lannisters?" Cravens! Fairweather cravens. "It was the dragons they knelt to, but somehow a lion is enough to make them piss themselves?"

She grabbed a rock, tossing it towards the waves with all her might.

"Lord Manderly lost sons? What of what you lost? What of what I lost? I might be a woman and far beneath him in years, but I still have fight in me to beat every last Lannister bloody!" Again with the dead. If Rhaegar were here, he'd pierce through her anger and remind her of the greater picture. Jon was right to do what he needed, deep down she understood that. But it wasn't enough to subside her anger. "The Others take them, all of them. They supported Robert's claim, they broke their oath with House Stark!"

"The Reeds were too far from us, with winter coming. We needed to hit before the worst of the snows. Stannis tried to take Winterfell some months before we did." He hesitates: what happened to Stannis is a little more complicated than this, and more disheartening, but not all that relevant to the topic at hand. "He lost partly because he wasn't prepared for the snows that came. His troops weren't prepared; they were freezing and starving."

But apart from that, he lets her release her fury -- which is impressive. Mostly, he watches, looking a little dubious.

"The Others will take them, if we don't band together," he finally says, as calm as he can manage. What else can he say? All his explanations of how things have changed have only enraged her. "I've seen them. I've killed them, and I've watched them kill, and whatever you remember of the stories..." He presses the corners of his mouth together. "It's worse than that. It's a thousand times worse. Houses, thrones, they don't matter. Not now.

"I wish you could have been there, when I was a boy. I wish I could have had a mother, I wish I could have felt --" Like something other than a bastard. "But they're no threat to you now." There's apology in that, because he's grateful the Night King will never hurt her, never touch her.

"Howland is the only one who knows now." He was so close to learning the truth of his life. All it needed was a small deviation, a journey to the Neck and he might have heard who he was. Those Northern lords would know he wasn't a bastard and was more than worthy to claim Winterfell, far more than a Baratheon! But the gods had a way of mocking her, stealing every opportunity for her son to find some way back to her. So close, but always separated by a wall.

The last of her anger began to fade and she sank to the ground. Her knees were soon damp from the wet sand, water and earth mixing against her skin. The two worlds she had known colliding in such a strange mix. The deserts of Dorne and the cold of the North, all of it wrapped into this strange place where there was no hope, only a future that she could not affect or experience.

She said before he sounded like Rhaegar and now was no different. He held the greater picture in mind, not the simple hurts and frustrations that consumed her currently. How had it been for Ned? Seeing a boy more and more like the fallen prince while the only traces of Lyanna were looks?

"They're a threat to you, my love." She managed finally, staring ahead at the horizon. "Do you think it really matters if they can touch me or not?"

He drops the horse's reins when she falls to her knees, walks over to her, and after she asks her question, he places his hand gently on her shoulder.

"To you? No. But to me." A long exhalation. "I've been fighting them for so long."

Daenerys may fall to them. Sansa may fall, and patient kindly Wolkan, and little Lyanna Mormont, and Edd and Tormund Giantsbane and every other face he's ever considered familiar. But the faces lost to him, Ned Stark and Robb and Rickon and Bran, maybe Arya, certainly Ygritte, now Lyanna too: death is nothing but a great pool of blackness, or not even that. But it holds them safe from the Others.

He lifts his hand from her shoulder and holds it out to her.

"Come on, get up."

She doesn't ignore his hand and accepts the offer back to her feet. As soon as she's standing, she turns and pulls her son in for a hug. Her eyes shutting as though it were enough to banish the monsters and external threats that would fill his life. Her dreams for his future and been idealistic and naive. This was the truth of it all, a war that his father predicted but they had not prepared him for.

All of it was on his shoulders.

"You are fighting your father's war." She said in a long exhale, feeling far older than sixteen. It was almost as though she had lived for centuries, the weight and pressure of the passing generations burying her deeper and deeper into melancholy. "And we did nothing to protect you from it."

Only to ensure that he fought it alone.

In the long hug, he holds her just as tightly. And as it happens, she might as well not be sixteen -- she's like any mother. It's like what it must have felt like when Robb's mother hugged him.

"It's my war. It's everyone's war. He'd be nigh on fifty now, if he had lived. We'd be in a better position to fight it, but I wouldn't have been to the Wall, I wouldn't know. Maybe Uncle Benjen would have known, maybe he would have convinced Father -- Lord Stark, maybe Prince Rhaegar would have believed it all. But with things as they are --"

The embrace breaks apart, a little.

"I don't know what you could have done. It's a twist of fate here, a little mistake there, something that means everything." He laughs, suddenly, a little mirthless bark, as a thought strikes him about the prince he might have been. "When Cersei's son Joffrey was at Winterfell, I wasn't allowed to train in the yard with the other boys. I was so -- I thought they were saying I wasn't good enough, and it was --"

Bastards can't be allowed to wound princes.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject