rise from the ashes

❝ 知己知彼, 百戰不殆. ❞

[fromashe]

𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞. 𝐢𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐨𝐟𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐰. 𝐲𝐞𝐭, 𝐢 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 #𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞  𝘐𝘐 closed to @103ac 𝘐𝘐 ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ʙʏ ᴀꜱʜ. (ꜱʜᴇ/ᴛʜᴇʏ) ©

⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖ • lady yerin harlaw, ruling lady of ten towers  ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞⊹ ࣪ ˖ • liege aila tully,   lady of riverrun  ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

࿐𓆩♖𓆪⫘⊹ ࣪ ˖ • lady seraphina hightower ,  lady of oldtown  ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

𖣂𖣂 𓅪𖣂𖣂⊹ ࣪ ˖ • lady mizuki blackwood,  lady of raventree  ⸻ [ 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘐𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘐𝘐 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘴 𝘐𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 ]

[rybacanu]

࿐ Pursuit of Jade 逐玉 ‧ 2026 Episode 38

[yingtan]

PURSUIT OF JADE 逐玉 (2026) — Changyu, I like you.

[dingyuxi]

PURSUIT OF JADE 逐玉 (2026)

[dingyuxi]

PURSUIT OF JADE 逐玉 (2026) — What are you doing here? I came looking for you.

[rottedhearts]

rarely  in  her  adulthood  has  akira  witnessed  mizuki  like  this.  frazzled,  despondent,  crying.  watching  her  slide  to  the  floor,  hs  heart  breaks.  he  bore  the  weight  of  their  parents'  disappointment,  but  she  always  carried  their  expectations  and  their  bloody  hope  for  the  gods'  messages.  but  it  wasn't  only  their  hope,  was  it?  it  was  their  family's,  and  the  swarm  of  people  their  family  led,  all  desperate  for  guidance,

akira  swallows.  slowly,  he  sits  beside  mizuki,  careful  of  his  injury.  they  are  not  close  enough  to  truly  touch,  but  in  the  uneven  rhythm  of  their  breaths,  their  arms  may  nearly  brush  by  one  another.

"i  need  not  ever  ask  you."  he  murmurs.  "not  on  the  morrow,  nor  the  next  day,  nor  ever  again."  his  gaze  to  the  ceiling  as  he  speaks;  past  the  stone  rests  a  sky  of  stars  where  each  of  their  gods  is  housed.  watching  them  all  as  he  does  them.

do  they  ever  bring  mizuki  comfort?

"i  cannot  relieve  you  of  the  gods,  mizuki,  but  i  do  not  need  to  know  what  they  show  you.  i  did  walk  my  life  without  your  translation  for  over  twenty  years  of  my  life.  i  was  without  before,  and  being  without  again  ---  it's  easier  than  you  may  think."

[fromashe]

the promise akira makes draws a dry laugh. he says this now to offer solace and comfort but the wheel turns, it goes and goes, chaos is around them. the dragons. the dragons circle the keep, the tower. it will crumble. it is crumbling. nothing will be as it was.

"you fought a dragon." the warning she had given him, what if she hadn't? he had an injury easily enough healed in the grand scheme of the world and time and what if she does not see, does not know? mizuki turns to hide her face in akira's shoulder. he is alive. he is here. shizuka is alive. ren is alive. but she blurts out. "the fire still burns. water stills gives and takes life."

"i've seen a fallen dragon." she takes akira's hand, holding tight. "she's dead. strangled by fate, by tragedy, by their own folly." the dreams are stronger than ever, but she feels so much further from the old gods. will they punish her? are they abandoning her when she searches blindly for that familiar gaze and presence? she lifts her head to look upon her older brother, more gentle and present a parent than their own who treated her as an entity than daughter.

"you could have died." it's taken days for the realization to settle when so much was focused on the dangerously injured, dead, and missing. "i keep seeing death." her breathing wavers, tears threaten to fall anew. "am i failing the gods? is that why they are so loud?"

[fromashe]

how could she think with anything besides her heart? it was amerei who helped her into this family, the simple declaration from their light of the riverlands that a little sibling would please them, easing the old trout's heart into accepting a stranger into their family and house, a child of his own heir. the debt that can never be paid. it sits with them heavier than ever.

growing up in riverrun, they tried to be good with lessons from the maesters and septa, but aila's memory was only stellar with topics of genuine interest. most histories were dull. they could name some of the most niche battles across the realms but likely not betrothals and lineages. they preferred stories told by people than reading them on the page. maths had been best if there was a reason for it, without the ink on parchment blended together. it's why they'd ask to squire, figured if that was where talent lay, baba and mama had said her birth parent was a skilled warrior. then she'd be of use, do good.

there were so few memories of them. her diē and niáng. a child's memory held feelings and a handful of moments. but if asked about her parents, it is the tullys' visages that come to mind. brynden is around the same age as she was when she lost them. the only memory aila has concretely of her niáng is feeling a warmth while a woman with a blurred face, sharing the same raven hair, humming a melody while braiding her hair. she isn't sure if it's something she made up when gifted a hair piece on her nameday. but she treasures it anyway. is that all brynden would have? memories rebuilt from the stories they'll tell of amerei?

aunt sabitha's scolding pulls an exhausted wandering mind back. the sentiment clear even dressed in frustration. the confession of love and care from likely the family member who oft had the most to critique, who intentionally or not sparks the most of aila's doubts tightens their chest. the self-made demand to not cry becomes even more challenging. "sorry." they repeat, meaning it every single time. apologies always found their way too easily on their lips. when the maester is satisfied with their work, aila raises slowly from their seat and towards their aunt. "i'll go back and rest if you and brynden come with me."

aila presses a kiss atop her sleeping nephew's head and lingers for moment. they put their good arm around their aunt, careful to not disturb the toddler in her arms. "i'm glad you're here and safe." they mumble into the embrace. the terror that gripped aila when racing towards the crumbled stands once the dragon lay dead, fearing they were too late, would only find ruin and death. the frantic search for someone, anyone, to see with their own eyes that they were not to be alone in the world again, that gods would not be so cruel to take them all in one fell swoop. "i love you too, aunty sabi. so very, very much." if a stray tear or two glides down their cheek, she plans to pretend otherwise.

[tearsofalyssa]

"I love you too, Aunty Sabi. So very, very much."

...When had been the last time someone had said as much to her? In her self enforced solitude, in her rise in responsibility, in the way her watchful eyes counted gold with quill and parchment, made promises to herself to grow the money in their coffers under her own careful ministrations, to be of use, because Sabitha could never not be of use, even in defiance of her father. There has been steady drum in her heart for many years now at the thought of power over her house, control, dominion.

Where is the all consuming need right now? How can she fall victim so easily to a few sweetly uttered words, no calculation behind them, for little Aila is not capable of such. Who loves her still? She, who haunts Riverrun like a phantom, who glides about it like a falcon, ready to strike everyone in the keep, everyone in her family. She will not wish death upon herself; she is not so self sacrificial....Let Aila be the lamb. Aila and Grover and Amerei (Lady Mother, please bring her back.) are her idiot little lambs, and she the shepherd, pushing them down the right path.

She says nothing in return to her sweet little words, but shifts Brynden's sleeping form to one arm, and uses the other to tug Aila closer into her bosom. Her eyes steal one last look at Grover, before she declares, "Let us rest, then.", and shuffles the three of them out of the room delegated to him and into the one right next to it within the Tully chambers.

Her vial of sleeping aid twinkles in its place upon her nightstand, but she makes no move to take it, as she gently places the babe in the middle of the bed before pulling Aila onto one of his sides and laying upon the other. Her hand, now free, reaches across the child to drag slow fingers down her niece's dark hair (Like Amerei's, Amerei's, Amerei's), and she whispers, "Sleep well, little Aila." before she closes her eyes to the unbearable deerlike ones that look back at her.

end.

[firedreamt]

he leaves his shirt open for the sake of familiarity, and the nature of the keep now breeds discontent. winter was nearly coming and hopefully there are no northerners added to the fray to complicate things. their fingertips tap to their own goblet, their leg jiggling beneath the table as thoughts pervade them. when she gives a pause, taliesin glances towards her, and there is solace and gladness in her presence, and yet at the same time, the dread yawns beneath them like a stalwart chasm. taliesin would have laughed if this was another predicament. the word rebellion offers such an unpleasant association with it now. brows quirking: "you've been an informant? for the targaryens? ... and i'm seen as rising above my station when i'm tossing out the suggestion of inheriting hand after my father's death." it is not as well-known as one might think that alester was their father.

"a path ... yes, a fucking path. aunt elissa has so conveniently placed us to the side as decorations for her future castle." musing, refusing to take their eyes from her, and oddly enough, sipping at their wine as opposed to her gulping. what is it that i want? what a stifling question, what a broad-shouldered and faceless man kind of question. "i want to be free of all this. of the irons. i want to be simply a person and that seems to be far too much to ask of anybody." she is excluded. he needs not be concerned that she views him as one. but to pursue a declaration of legitimacy, he might as well throw himself on a spike. "i suggested to be hand to no one but shiera, by the way. i dare not be so stupid." their wants are so basic. what else could there be for a bastard to want? to be wed?

[fromashe]

"it's not ambition that drives me." not for power, wealth, glory, none of that. she desires safety, security, for her and hers. seraphina closes the distance between them. she sets her glass down and lowers herself onto his lap, cupping a hand on his cheek. "i want you to be safe, above all else. i don't have much i can wield but i'll use it. i want you and the few people i love so deeply that i ache to not have to exist in fear for circumstances out of their control." she sighs, resting her forehead against his, taking a moment before contemplating breaking her promise to falyn, to put dangerous knowledge out into the world that cannot be taken back. "i'm going to tell you something that you must swear to me you will share with no one else. not a single word. swear it on our babe that could not be brought into the world because of its cruelty."

because in another life, it would be her and their babe needing protection, and taliesin, himself, knew the life of a bastard. but would that understanding prevent him from sharing the news with his own brother? sera swallows the lump in her throat, wondering if this was the test falyn suggested, when one learns if a love can withstand. she moves to sit beside him, taking their hand and gripping it.

she prays to the seven that he'll keep his promise and she isn't ruining things like she always does. "i need to help secure falyn as heir to highgarden because she deserves it, because she is my late sister's eldest, because... because she has a daughter. she and..." her voices catches. "you and i share a niece of sorts. addam. he... t-they had a relationship before his banishment, apparently. and he refused her letters, she's attempted to tell him but now... addam does not know. the realm, obviously, doesn't know. and no one else can."

"falyn can't even know i've told you. but rylene... she's innocent and she's so small. this wonderful, sweet babe, and i will not let anyone use her in this game."

[firedreamt]

the   concern   is   not   missed.   at   last,   she   has   something   to   think   about,   something   to   do.   delfina   pries   her   hands   from   against   her   chest   and   leans   herself   up   to   sitting,   brushing   aside   the   plait   hira   had   given   her.   the   state   of   her   hair   near   constantly   in   knots,   a   terrible   omen   in   its   own   right,   and   after   seraphina   gives   what   she   knows   thus   far,   a   silence   befalls   them.   at   least   neither   have   to   shout,   voices   hoarse,   skin   in   a   pallor   of   fear.        “        the   baratheons?   …   that   cannot   be.   they   have   sat   at   my   table,   they   heard   the   stories   about   the   dragons.        ”        a   disparaging   sigh.        “        there   is   always   a   bolton   where   skin   is   lost,   i   should   not   be   surprised.        ”        yet   a   part   of   her   cannot   comprehend   it,   cannot   fathom   the   concept.   why   would   they   dare   to   do   such   a   thing   if   true?   and   a   celtigar,   and   a   tully?   a   hand   steeples   to   her   forehead   as   she   sighs   out   the   tension,   a   throbbing   in   the   marks   upon   her   chest.

“   what   a   fucking   nuisance.   surrounded   by   hightowers   and   celtigars   and   boltons   …   no   offence,   my   dear,   we   do   not   choose   our   names.   and   house   …   westerling,   and   now,   poor   falyn.   i   suspected   as   much   in   house   tyrell   but   could   never   prove   it.        ”        if   these   things   hit   their   marks,   what   in   the   seven   hells   could   be   done   about   it?   the   wheel   turns,   and   the   only   method   of   the   wheel   stopping   its   turn   means   breaking   the   wheel,   and   she   is   the   one   currently   broken.   how   wretched.        “        maekara ... she   is   truly   mine.        ”

spoken   in   affectionate   passion,   imagining   the   disparaging   grief   and   the   spite   and   loathing   which   would   emerge   from   maekara's   lips.        “        she   will   need   to   be   made   aware   now.   especially   considering   the   house   into   which   she   weds.   mara   lannister   desires   your   father's   position.           ”        the   conversation   is   in   a   gleaming   haze,   but   she   remembers   it   well   enough,   ferried   away   in   the   dark   of   night,   in   secret   demand   and   acquiring   more.        “        does   he   say   much   on   that?        ”

[fromashe]

out of instinct, she approaches to help delfina settle against the bed, unsure of the appropriateness but offers the help regardless. "no offense taken, princess delfina." seraphina could understand. as much as she loved her siblings, the looming presence of their lord father and his ambition that doomed them all. she respected lady helvis but her faith may be twisted by her father to further his own cause. she considered it for a moment before continuing. "my brother is my father's pawn, more than anything." would that be enough? likely not. a turncoat to her own blood out of selfish desires. perhaps she'd burn in the seven hells but in the smallest areas, if she could try to ease the treachery of her brother's initiatives in the princess's eyes. "lady helvis and elyas were... connecting in the sept during your disappearance. and i know ceryse was befriending liege jocelyn or the intention has been set by my father."

she played with her fingers, considering the pressure maekara was under, to wed from what it seems, a good friend, a dearest friend, yet be entangled in a game when most of the realm wished for the targaryens to fail. "my father hasn't said about his intention for hand. but i do promise you, to the best of my ability, i will continue to be a friend and ally to maekara. and her sisters."

"i know it is not a priority of yours." but these are priorities of mine. "may i ask about... the futures of falyn and for lord alester's children. i believe maekara approached shiera. i'm confident i can guide taliesin to be in alignment."

[fromashe]

the sudden embrace takes seraphina off guard but the older hightower welcomes it all the same. she rests a hand on the back of rowan's head, gently running her fingers through wild tangled locks, letting them sit in the silence of the moment. a surprising swell of emotion comes from who knows where with rowan tucking themselves small against her belly, the memory of her hands rubbing over her abdomen in a similar motion when realizing that a seed had taken root, when in the most fleeting moments she let herself imagine motherhood, and a babe who'd grow into a toddler stumbling about. rowan retains that innocence about them, the same sweetness that seraphina thinks is a true miracle to have survived the silent sisters.

"i, too, am very glad, ro." the hold tightens and blue eyes turn skywards to the sun's rays that shine through autumn leaves. all she knows to do in this moment is to continue petting rowan's mess of hair. even the starry sept and motherhouses spun ill-spirited whispers about the silent sisters. a sacred duty to some. to most, a looming threat for misbehaving novices. the cost of silence too heavy when sera missed rowan's carefree eruption of giggles when she concocted some strange fantastical story for their late night entertainment. it's at their only younger sibling's gut-wrenching question that the older of the two loosens rowan's grip upon her back so she may lower herself to meet their gaze.

"oh sweetling." utter disregard for the dirt and crunching of leaves when knees press her skirts to the ground, seraphina rests her forehead against rowan's own. "for? you are not for anything. no one is meant to be for a thing. that's what father, mother, and rest have gotten wrong. you are imperfectly wonderful as you are." she presses a kiss to their sibling's temple, before resting both hands to cup their cheeks. "rowan, you are meant to be whatever it is your heart desires, that your mind conjures, anything you do, and say, and breathe. all that is more than enough. you are kind, intelligent, brave, all these things and more." she leans in to pull rowan into a tight embrace, needing to hide all the rage that reignites with a bright fury for all the insecurities bestowed upon them each by lord perceon. the ones seraphina shares each time she's left alone on a mattress questioning if all she's worth is her lost purity of flesh. "i'm sorry that i haven't been there for you."

[bethemouth]

your eyes widen as her words hit the childhood walls inside your chest. lacking a purpose is a concept that fits nowhere inside you. it violates every paternal lesson, every prayer, and every morning spent treating yourself as an altar offering. your cheeks burn with a humiliating shame because a starving part of you wants to believe her. your lips part and close. you should argue for your father, the seven, and the stranger who would judge you for taking unearned comforts. instead you fold silently in the godswood. your shoulders drop, your forehead slides down from hers, and your face buries itself in her shoulder. you let out two strangled breaths, your fingers clutching weakly at her back.

the first tear falls silently, then another. your body shakes as you try to stay quiet, feeling like the seven are judging this weakness. yet you cannot pull away from the warmth you starved for during all those years. you shut your eyes and nod twice. "...i'll try..." you whisper through a tight throat. "...is that okay?" looking down to hide your wet face, you notice her shoes through your blurry lashes. she is standing on a thick weirwood root, using the extra height to look down at you. a wet laugh jumps out of your chest, cutting through a sob like a ghost from your childhood. you wipe your cheeks with the heel of your hand, your nose pink and your breath uneven. looking up, a watery smile appears. "it's not fair," you wobble. "you're using a root to look taller."

end.

[liver-y]

Laughing hurt his side, which shouldn't happen when he could still feel that woolly dullness that came with milk of the poppy. He groaned and stretched himself out again and squinted at Aila's arm where she was trying to tear out the bandages she had just carefully applied on her arm. Beautiful. Ugly, rather. A big ugly gash: that was its own kind of trophy. Grover had never been the sort to boast about scars because mostly his were rather uncool, none of the value of a great gory swipe to the face or a line across his chest or even a talon-shaped claw to the arm: ugly, but so long as it was only ugly it was also a point of pride. Well: he had one now, uglier than any swordmark and unlikely for him to brag about. Aila was the better off amidst them. He patted their hand. "We'll get the armorer back home to make you dragonscale armour. Maybe dye it. Hey, Aila. Hey. Can smiths dye dragons?"

A pause. "Smiths can't, but you can!"

Laughing still hurt his side, but he was still going when the ribbon they'd traded back and forth for years tied around his wrist. He twisted his fingers until he could grip it, holding on as if to a luck charm. If it was one, he was glad Aila had had it. "None of that," he said, "no, really. I love you tons, too, but none of that horse—" no no no, rewind rewind, "-ing around with affection. I know. And you know. And I know you know and you know I know, so we don't need to do this, because nothing crazy's going to happen now. What's crazier than a dragon anyhow?" he tugged at the ribbon's knot, but his grip wasn't good enough to really nudge it. "Want to know a secret?" he asked her, looking at the way the frayed edge of the ribbon looped around his fingers instead of settling in place.

[fromashe]

can smiths dye dragons... smiths can't but you can? aila repeats in their mind trying to find logic in the humor. they can't find it. would it not instead suggest that she could have died? or rather, that the dragon died? they trip themselves up in the silliest of a mind fogged by poppy to keep from sitting in grover's equal part dismissal and confirmation of familial love. perhaps in the past, it was enough to know in their heart of hearts but the younger tully needed it said aloud, acknowledged, to keep in recent memory.

"yeah, what secret?" aila pressed in an exaggerated whisper, trying to return to the lighter mood, watching grover toy with the ribbon. they scooted closer, resting their elbows on their knees. "you know i love secrets." she didn't really but she liked being included.

[xiaolanhua]

Tian Xi Wei as Fan Chang Yu Pursuit of Jade ‧ 逐玉 ‧ 2026

[rybacanu]

Is that all you've got? You've been collecting debts for so long, haven't you saved up something nastier?

PURSUIT OF JADE ⁃ 逐玉 (2026), Episode 25.

[rybacanu]

Tian Xi Wei as Fan Chang Yu in Pursuit of Jade 逐玉, Episode 26.

[therukurals]

"When she beat us up earlier, she was actually holding back!?"

[theygods]

erik  flinched  at  her  words.  she  was  grieving  and  he  knew  this.  the  pain  of  losing  your  own  child  would  never  heal.  if  he  had  lost  rodrick,  erik  did  not  know  what  he  would  do.  the  drowned  god  did  bless  his  weapon  but  he  did  not  bless  his  soul  ...  something  erik  thought  about  every  time  he  approached  battle,  soon...  someday,  he  would  come  for  the  lord  reaper,  it  was  what  he  felt  like  he  deserved. he  did  not  wish  anything  else  to  happen  to  the  ruling  lady  but  here  she  was,  demanding  more  of  him.  it  was  a  tough  line  that  he  had  to  walk,  and  when  he  and  his  sister  were  still  at  each  other  throats,  she  deserved  this  from  him. he  wiped  the  sweat  off  his  face  and  nodded.  "lady  harlaw..."  he  started.  erik  pushed  himself  up,  to  stand.  he  wanted  to  seem  stronger  than  how  he  felt  in  this  moment.  "suho  and  i  travelled  to  visit  my  sister."  he  began.  "she  had  been  held  up  somewhere,  not  exactly  being  gracious  to  her  hosts.  overstaying  her  welcome."  he  told  the  harlaw  honestly. when  he  received  the  letter  on  her  location,  erik  set  sail  immediately.  he  wanted  her  to  return  to  pyke  with  him,  to  mourn  their  father  together.  his  sister,  had  other  plans  as  it  turned  out.  "when  we  arrived,  she  already  seemed  upset,  like  she  was  expecting  me."  he  told  her.  "suho  had  told  me  that  we  should  leave  and  return  when  things  had  settled  more..."  erik  explained.  "i  should  have  listened  to  him,  he  was  always  smarter  than  anyone  gave  him  credit  for."  he  said. "when  she  attacked  me,  it  was  suho  who  stepped  in  to  stop  her.  she  had  not  been  prepared  for  him  and  i  think,  that  caught  her  by  surprise."  he  explained.  erik  let  out  a  breath.  "it  was  too  late,  the  blow  would  have  been  a  powerful  one  for  even  i  to  avoid.  for  suho,  it  was  fatal."  he  spoke  like  he  had  a  pound  of  sand  in  his  mouth.  these  were  hard  words  to  speak  out  loud. "he  saved  me."  erik  choked  out.  "he...  died  saving  my  life."  he  continued.  "i  do  not  wish  that  fate  upon  anyone  ...  i  would  have  died  that  day  if  it  weren't  for  suho."  he  said.  it  was  the  truth  but  he  still  wished  there  were  things  he  could  change.  perhaps  if  he  left  with  the  young  harlaw  when  he  raised  his  suspicions,  he  would  still  be  alive.

[fromashe]

she thinks that it is fortunate that it's her alone that requests clarity on the death of their youngest. that there's enough good will in the depths of her heart that respects suho's love and admiration of their reaper lord. there were no words, no actions, that could resurrect what the drowned god had robbed from her. nothing could remedy this harrowing ache that resides in her chest. even if there are moments when yerin looks upon both greyjoy siblings, sees the girl she mentored, sees the boy who ran through the waves with that same shining curiosity that deemed him a good fit for suho.

jeong had strong discernment, an innate sense of direction, embodied the ways of an ironborn. meanwhile, suho came into the world turbulent and nearly claiming both mother and child, a difficult birth but the sweetest child. how strange it was to be bestowed the honor of motherhood and feel a part of yourself drown and sink into the darkest depths. "you must forgive my insolence. i won't offer you any false words and claims that i'm glad it is you instead of my son before me. he cherished you in the same way he loved and admired jeong."

for it to have been by dagna's hand, another torturous betrayal. and for that the greyjoys will pay. "it speaks to your judgement that a child had more sense than you. though you've slain a dragon, do you think the ironborn see you fit when you are the rightful lord reaper, yet your sister's spouse will be marked in histories as an assassin and poisoner, when you cannot manage your own house?"

"your heart is soft, erik. in that, dagna will have the advantage." is she intentionally fanning the flames? she cannot say, too worn to be more strategic. it's the truth. who was she to judge when she was the very same? "don't let this injury be an excuse to falter. your enemies will not waste this opportunity." she certainly wouldn't.

[deokmis]

Pursuit of Jade (dir. Zeng Qing Jie)