#asshaid

[lannistherarchive]

♕ ⊱ @asshaid ⊱ semi-plotted.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐘  𝐃𝐈𝐃  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘  𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃  𝐘𝐎𝐔,  𝐎𝐅  𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄?  ❞  The  red  woman's  unabashed  presence  perplexes  her,  how  fearlessly  she  has  approached  when  she  is  heretic  once  sworn  to  an  enemy  of  the  crown.  Of  all  the  emissaries  for  the  Northern  rebels  to  send,  why  her?  Why  a  religious  zealot  who  has  spent  the  past  seven  years  sowing  sedition  and  supporting  the  man  who  challenged  her  children's  legitimacy  for  his  own  gain?  ❝ Do  you  think  I  do  not  know  who  you  are?  You  were  Stannis'  little  priestess,  for  all  the  good  that  did  him.  I  should  have  you  imprisoned,  or  executed  for  participating  in  his  treason.  ❞  She  should  have,  but  the  Asshai's  boldness  has  piqued  her  curiosity.  Instead  Cersei  has  granted  her  one  meeting,  one  chance  to  make  her  plea  of  why  the  queen  should  pay  any  mind  to  the  fairytales  spouted  by  the  fools  in  the  North.

ㅤㅤㅤEmerald  and  ruby  clash,  equally  unyielding  as  Cersei  circles  the  table  in the center of  her  solar,  her  gaze  locked  upon  the  priestess'  burning  eyes.  She's  never  seen  eyes  so  red  before,  as  if  fire  itself  lives  within  them.  ❝ I  did  always  wonder  what  could  have  persuaded  a  man  like  Stannis  to  follow  that  bland and ugly  wife  of  his  into  a  heretical  faith.  Now  I  see  that  it  must  have  been  more  than  power  that  lured  him  in,  ❞  the  queen  scoffs,  a  sinisterly  gleeful  twist  to  her  lips  as  her  gaze  openly  travels  down  the  woman's  crimson-wrapped  frame.  Certainly  a  gorgeous  woman;  one  that  men  could  hardly  resist.  Perhaps  Stannis  was  more  of  a  man  than  she  had  thought.  ❝ It's  quite  humorous,  actually,  for  I  always  thought  him  immune  to  such  temptations.  But  clearly  it  was  not  your  sermons  that  charmed  him.  ❞

ㅤㅤㅤShe  takes  a  few  more  ambling  steps,  circling  closer  to  where  Melisandre  stands,  almost  taunting  in  her  words.  This  one  will  prove  to  be  nothing  but  words  and  wind,  just  as  the  rest  of  them  have.  There  is  no  magic  in  this  world  anymore,  and  there  is  no  need  for  tales  of  monsters  born  of  ice  and  darkness  when  there  are  enough  monsters  lurking  in  every  court  and  cobbled  street.  ❝ Did  you  seduce  the  Northern  Bastard  the  same  way?  Or  did  the  so-called  Dragon  Queen take pity on you?  I  wonder  which  would  be  foolish  enough  to  trust  you  after  you  failed  your  previous  king.  ❞  Cersei's  green  eyes  glimmers  with  a  dangerous  test,  and  though  her  words  make  mockery  of  the  priestess'  alleged  power,  the  queen's  eyes  belie  a  different  expectation;  a  desire  to  see  something  real,  as  if  daring  her  to  prove  her  wrong.  ❝ What  else  do  you  offer  them  if  not  a  pretty  lie?  ❞

[hvitrulv]

❆ ⊱ @asshaid ⊱ ❝ I want no gifts from you. ❞ *cough*

ㅤㅤㅤEVERYTHING  HAS  BEEN  A  WILD  HAZE  SINCE  HE  AWOKE.  How  long  had  he  been  one  with  Ghost,  his  body  nothing  more  than  a  cold,  blue  corpse?  Too  long.  Far  too  long.  Sometimes  he  still  thinks  he  is  the  wolf.  Sometimes  all  he  has  is  instinct,  his  thoughts  too  jumbled,  sorting  through  which  mind  is  his  and  which  belongs  elsewhere.  Even  now  he  can  taste  the  blood,  and  it  frightens  him,  how  unsure  he  is  that  it  is  not  his  own.  But  it's  not,  he  realizes  with  relief;  it's  the  blood  of  the  hunt,  of  a  fresh  kill  that  Ghost  has  taken,  and  the  phantom  taste  is  warm  and  rich  as  it  pours  down  his  throat.  It  was  easier  to  be  Ghost.  To  live  so  uncomplicated,  to  do  whatever  he  wished  when  he  wanted  to.  A  simple  drive  to  hunt,  to  take  and  eat,  and  cower  any  threat  that  rose  against  him.  Everyone  seems  a  threat  to  him  now  after  his  own  sworn  brothers  slipped  their  knives  into  his  flesh.  There  are  few  who  have  not  earned  his  suspicion  or  his  ire.

  ㅤㅤㅤAnd  then  there  is  the  Red  Woman,  the  one  who  brought  him  back,  and  he  is  not  sure  if  he  should  thank  her  or  curse  her  for  it,  for  all  the  horror  that  has  become  of  his  mind.  But  he  breathes.  Gods,  he  breathes,  and  it  feels  so  good,  that  rise  and  fall  of  his  chest.  This  is  her  doing.  He  still  has  no  trust  for  her  god;  perhaps  less  so,  if  this  god  intends  to  use  him.  But  he  doesn't  want  to  know  now.  It's  all  still  too  fresh.  It  hurts  to  think  about  it,  to  be  forced  to  remember,  even  in  the  name  of  seeking  answers.  No,  he  doesn't  want  answers  right  now.  He  wants  to  forget.  To  let  himself  become  the  wolf  again.

  ㅤㅤㅤ❝ I  know  exactly  what  it  is  you  want,  priestess.  You've  made  that  clear  enough,  ❞  Jon  catches  her  by  the  arm,  a  foot  pushing  shut  the  door  before  she  can  slip  away.  ❝ Death  has  ruined  my  patience  for  these  games.  I  don't  know  what  purpose  this  serves  you,  nor  do  I  think  I  care  anymore.  ❞  Steel  eyes  burrow  into  hers,  pull  of  her  captured  arm  bringing  her  to  his  frame,  a  sudden  collision  of  bodies  that  makes  his  pulse  quicken.  How  wonderful  and  torturous  it  is  to  feel  that;  to  remember  that  he  is  alive.  Grip  releases,  pressing  against  the  small  of  her  back  instead  as  his  arm  snakes  around  her,  and  Jon  leans  closer,  feeling  her  warm  breath  as  it  mingles  with  his  own.  ❝ If  we  do  this,  it  doesn't  mean  I  give  a  fuck  about  your  red  god,  do  you  understand? This  is  not  faith.  This  is  carnal.  ❞

[khalesci]

♛ ⊱ @asshaid ⊱ 💬

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ YOU KNOW, FOR ALL THE SENSE OF DREAD AND HORROR seeping through this place, I really feel quite at home here. ❞ Dragonstone is an imposing fortress like no other. The draconic structures may prove menacing to most, but to Daenerys, they are a welcome presence, the immobile guardians of her family's history. The ancient sorcery within the black stone the citadel was built from lingers still, warm and inviting to the blood in her veins that sings in resonance. She was born here. This was supposed to be her home. But it has been tainted since then, occupied by usurpers. Perhaps that is why most have come to dread this place, for how can anyone feel welcome here if the magic within it is in dissonance, the quietest rejection of its forced occupancy until its true heirs could return? ❝ If only I could make my home here instead of King's Landing, but I suppose I would not be an approachable queen if I did. ❞ And Dragonstone by right should one day belong to her heir. The Dragon Queen cants her head, finding the priestess' eyes, two bright rubies glimmering in the light. ❝ You once told me that you've been alive longer than most people would believe. And you know things about my family that no history books speak of. Have you ever seen this place in the days of its glory? Long ago, I mean, before you came here to join Stannis Baratheon. ❞

[dcviline]

᯽⊱ @asshaid ⊱ 💬 for jaime

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ SOME THINGS ARE BETTER LEFT UNSAID. ❞ He's never been one to trust the word of any god, let alone some strange red one from across the sea. What are gods worth when they stand by and do nothing as evil men thrive and innocents die? There is no justice in life, no fairness, and his life will be dictated by the sword in his good hand, not any prayers that leave his lips. If the gods were good, they would have killed the Mad King and not left that burden upon him as a mere child. If the gods were good, Joffrey wouldn't have been an uncontrollable cunt of a prince and this continent would not have been torn asunder. If the goods were good, then Jaime Lannister would be dead. ❝ Whatever you've seen of me in your fires, I don't want to hear it. What could R'hllor the Red possibly offer me besides a glimpse of my death? ❞

[dcviline]

᯽⊱ @asshaid ⊱ 💬 for vyrela

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ YOU HAVE SEEN DARK VISIONS. ❞ The heat of the fire sinks into Vyrela's skin, amber drawn to the brazier by which the Asshai communes with her god. She is no stranger to fire and all the sorceries that can be birthed through offerings to the flames. The changes of color were surely tricks, no more than that. Powder can bid a fire to shift more easily than a spell. But the colors, the displays, those are for skeptical onlookers. The Red Woman clearly sees something different. Something real inside her flames. There is little the eyes of a fox cannot notice. ❝ I see you, priestess. I see the tricks you employ to stir fear inside the foolish. But I also see that there is more to your fires than trickery. Something speaks to you from the flames. Something of great power. ❞

[dcviline]

᯽⊱ @asshaid

❝ sorcery comes at a cost. ❞ - for rylen

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ AM I THE ONE THAT MUST PAY THE PRICE THIS TIME, PRIESTESS ? ❞ His scoff is joyless. When the Red Woman comes to call, someone always ends up paying her price one way or another, he's noticed. Always the blood, the body, and other tolls paid behind closed doors. ❝ Does my father not deliver you enough prisoners to feed to your flames? ❞ Ser Richard's warmongering ways had certainly served her well to his knowledge. His father loves to spill blood, and she needs blood for her fires and visions, that much he's figured out. Rylen had always stood in silence as the work was done, and never did he expect to be approached by Melisandre herself. Surely she won't burn him. He's committed no ❛ treasons ❜, not like poor Alester. Distrustful as he may be, he is a knight pledged to serve King Stannis, and the will of his king is for the woman to not lack for anything she may require. It would be against his oath to refuse. Ever the loyal knight, the sword at his knee and the whetstone in his hand are set aside, and Rylen rises to his feet with no further resistance. ❝ What is required of me, Lady Melisandre? ❞ For the sake of his father and his king. Not this woman's red god.

[dcviline]

᯽⊱ @asshaid

❝ beauty can sometimes mask deadly danger. ❞ - for saede

ㅤㅤㅤINDEED IT CAN, AS THE RED WOMAN HAS PROVEN MANY TIMES. Maester Cressen and his poison, undone with a drink. Renly Baratheon felled by the will of R'hllor. Storm's End, saved from a treacherous master. Melisandre speaks, and false gods and false kings alike burn in the Lord of Light's fire. Men have their swords and shields and armor, but what could save them from the will of a god put at the hand of a woman? Let the lords pretend to their authorities. Let them savor their bows and courtesies and oaths. These things are fleeting. One lord rises, another falls, and power slips through their hands like threads of silk. The only real power to be had is in the magic. In that way, the priestess is the most dangerous of them all. ❝ I want to be dangerous. ❞ The young woman's eyes gleam. No, she doesn't want a sword, or armor, or even the prospect of a lordship. She wants the power of God in the palm of her hand. ❝ I want to be like you. ❞

[khalesci]

♛ ⊱ @asshaid ⊱ AFTER THE BATTLE

ㅤㅤㅤTHE TIREDNESS SHE FEELS IS THE KIND THAT SOAKS INTO HER BONES. Her body is too heavy to carry at the moment, so Dany sinks to the ground, back resting against the structure behind her. She's sure the others will want to celebrate. What greater cause could there be to celebrate than the perseverance of life itself? But all Dany wants to do is rest. The battle may have started and ended in a night, but the war is one she's fought since she walked unburned from the pyre. That feels like a lifetime ago. She can hear the sounds around them, sounds of both wails and cheers, joy and sorrow, victory and mourning. Daenerys isn't sure where she falls between the two. So many are happy enough to be alive, but before a celebration, they must count their dead, and she's not sure how many will be left cheering once their losses are accounted for. Such is the curse of the victors, the ones who survive when others don't.

ㅤㅤㅤ❝ There will always be more bloodshed. The gods love it too much. ❞ The field of bodies is proof enough of that. Most of them are the Others, dead long before this battle, yet she sees plenty of fresh blood in the snow around them, and it unnerves her how hard it is to tell who is which. ❝ But hopefully this will be enough to keep them sated for a while. ❞ Dany still isn't sure what to make of the gods. Sometimes they give grace and gifts. Other times it seems they are unbearably cruel for no reason at all. But they are there. That is the one thing she is certain of; she's seen too much to think otherwise. Even Melisandre's god has his power, and they were better with it than without in this battle. Dany turns to the red woman. ❝ What will you do now? There are still matters to settle, but . . . you did what your god asked of you. ❞