#fakewesteros

[realfakewesteros]

ROBOTS OR DINOSAURS?

[tzviaarchival]

Oh my.

I just made a "worst mohel ever" joke about Ramsay Snow on Twitter.

King Joffrey favorited it.

JOFFREY KNOWS WHAT A MOHEL IS GUYS.

I am 500,000% done.

[kaava]

[granduchessa]

[nobodysuspectsthebutterfly]

(Darnit, I hate when I look for a post that made me laugh like a loon. and find that the whole blog is deleted. Hooray for Google cache, I guess.)

[akcentric]

Empty

Dear Edric,

Have you ever wanted something so badly nothing else seemed to matter?

Of course, you have. We’ve wanted to be our fathers since our first festivals where bards sung of the warrior king and the death-defying smuggler.   Six years later, I’m strolling along the deck of my first ship, Smuggler’s Son. It’s the flagship of my future fleet, purchased on credit from the Iron Captain. I’ll pay it off with a year of free deliveries to the iron islands.  But it’s all mine. Not a hand-me-down, a second-hands cog, or my master’s castoffs, but a ship built and bought for Devan Seaworth. At 12, I’ve done more than my father did in his twenties. So why do I feel so empty?

I’m sitting in the captain’s cabin, playing with a bottle of Arbor Gold. Don’t give me that look. I’m not gonna drink it.  I’m just trying thinking about the last lesson the old master  gave before he chocked, “Life is suffering. Suffering stems from desire.” In short, Devan you’re so miserable because you wanna be someone else. But I don’t wanna be lord Davos or even Ned Dayne, I wanna be Edric Storm. I wanna walk into a room and command everyone’s attention. I want people to see me and forget that I’m poor or common looking, and love the boy they see. But I can’t be you. I can’t be you no more than fire can be ice.

And just like that, everything clicks. I’m laughing, you can’t hear, but I’m laughing so hard that tears run down the cheeks, dripping onto the fine paper. The answer’s so clear: be me. Just be Devan Seaworth again.  When you’ve supped on bitterness as long as I have, it clines to your lunges like a fine past, creeping into your heart. I punch my stomach but nothing comes up. I punch again, harder than you could, but the damn stuffs got me and it’ll never let go.

Defeated, I slump into the chair, clutching my Arbor.  The first swig burns going down, but still I take another, and another, and another til the bottle’s empty and my fingers look like snakes. I bet this is how drowning feels, the moment you realize that no one’s coming, so you let the current drag you to the Drown God’s watery halls. Matthos knows. Maybe I’ll ask him one day.

Signed Devan Sewaorth, Friendless on Dragonstone

[akcentric]

The One Time Lord Davos Struck Me

Oh Edric, 

By now you know the painfuly short history of House Seaworth: siege, onions, fingers.  Even with him grace's lo--"hospitality", my father hated court life. Sure, he attended some banquets but it was always in teeth-grinding silence. When his grace invited my father to celebrate Shireen's brithday, my father shared his pain with me.

I was onlt ten,  my first time away from home. I jumped headfirst into all the pomp, the food and people that were sailor’s talk in a backwater like the Wrath. I visited the docks so much a lordling invited me to go sailing with his family.  Oh Edric!  Robert's Hammer cut through the sea faster than Black Betha ever could. And the power!  There isn’t a ship in the King’s or iron fleet that could match it!  After a day like that I couldn’t go back to Betha! I couldn’t go back to the chipped paint, the termite ridden hauls, the creeks the wake you up at night. I couldn’t take it.

 I was sullen the day we went back. My father noticed and brought me aside.  I shouted that I didn’t want to go on his rust bucket.  Vic, my dad’s a hard man, too hard for a hug, too hard to lie. But I swear that man was so pissed he’d cuff me if I didn’t keep talking. But even my best apology was cruel, “if you traded up for a better ship, they’d invite us back more!” He struck me then, hard and fast. For all the pain I felt, his words were worse. We’d only been there a week and he thought court already rotted. He didn’t talk to me for days after. I think he still pissed now; maybe that’s why he never took me on as a cabin boy. 

Edric, you're smart when you're not stupid. Do you think he hates me? 

Yours in blood (blood brothers, remember?:D),

Devan Seaworth, writing from the Wall. 

[akcentric]

The Girl from the Reach

Once I saw a girl from the Reach, picking followers along my trail. She dumped her basket into a proud, little pile and offered me one. When her fingers brushed mine, my mouth turned to dust and I muttered a stupid, “t-they’re l-lovely.”  Every week since, her cousin would deliver a basket of flowers: snapdragons, violets even a red rose on my name day. And every morning, I stuffed some flowers in my trouser to carry her sweet garden with me all morning.