(2013) open rp post

[181]

permanent open rp post

new year, new post.
❧ select one of my characters (or one that you know I play but isn't on the list)
❧ leave a prompt: pictures work best; lyrics, scenarios of your own creation, etc.
❧ reply as many times as you want.
❧ the apocalypse finally happens.

❧ please note that I am extremely backtag friendly and will be backtagging these threads until the cows come home. and I'm always really eager to do things even if this post is found months after it's posted. also lol sometimes i may take a bit to get to them since some characters are harder for me to think up things and require some canon review! sorry for the wait, i'll make you a vegemite sandwich in the interim.

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kingslayer

[drogon]

THE BEST AU EVER

[inviolable]

[ a lion does not bow to any other animal. but the dragon is not an animal, is it? he had always thought it to be a myth. king aerys may have called himself a dragon, but all jaime saw was a rat; rats were cowards, were they not? they fed on the scraps other wild animals left behind. and the wild animals of westeros had feared a rat, disguised in the scales of a dragon, with its fiery breath and awful temper. they had almost let that rat burn it to the ground, if it hadn't been for the lion. ]

[ but it's because of the lioness that he's here, in the dragon's clutches. he had made a mistake, had found himself caught between her claws, and hadn't been freed since. he's not sure if he's merely forgotten; a distant memory that haunts the walls of king's landing. the kingslayer dead at the hands of a forgotten queen. but she's not a queen, not really. ]

[ when he looks at daenarys targaeryen, he doesn't see a rat. he knows what he sees, but he never dares to say it. a lannister pays their debts, but they never turn traitor on their own kind. ]

[ the land burns. smoke fills the air. and jaime thinks of westeros, of the mad king's desire to burn it to the ground. he wonders if it would've smelt like this; victorious, with the sharp tangy scent of despair clinging around them thickly. he wonders if what he had done, all those years ago, was for nought, for the mad king's mad daughter has done just as he had desired. except, this is not westeros, and she had not used wildfire. she had used empathy; she had given them a chance, had agreed to negotiate some sort of understanding, yet, because she wore a skirt, she was undermined as a leader. and, so, the mother of dragons had struck. and, in turn, so had the lion who had been led from his den and into the belly of said dragon. ]

[ he looks at her now. a slight smile tugs at his lips. he's not sure what it is that he's feeling. it most certainly isn't pride at a victory well-earned. it's not contentment at shifting from a prisoner to being in a position that almost resembles that of the kingsguard; he still wears shackles around his wrists, even if she doesn't lock them into place or slip them over his hands anymore. ]

I fear the stories do not do you any justice. [ he doesn't say your grace, although, he does say it with his typical humour. but the girl who robert had been so desperate to put to death had grown into a force to be reckoned with. he glances up into the sky, seeing the dark silhouettes of her dragons take ownership of the heavens that are rightfully hers in this very moment. ]

i'm crying over how beautiful this is already

[drogon]

[ she had wanted to tear him to shreds the first time they had met, somehow still calm in the face of the man who had betrayed her own father and helped the usurper secure the throne for himself while her mother and brother fled as far as they could to escape a worse fate. the throne is mine by right, she had argued, though the words had seemed lodged in her throat the moment the kingslayer had painted a bloody image of the deeds her father had planned, content to burn westeros to the ground in his maddened, fiery fury. how very much like viserys had father had proven himself to be — but it was rhaegar's steps she would hope to follow in to this day, noble and brave ( noble and brave to a fault, perhaps, but she shakes that thought from her mind ).

she does not see a traitor when she looks upon jaime lannister now, attention drawn away from the flames in the distance. even freed of his shackles, he has not betrayed her — not as selmy or jorah had. she wants to ask if he thought her a monster for burning their city; she had presented them and opportunity only for them to so foolishly threaten and disrespect her, as though she were meant to be ashamed of her womanhood ( the same way others had made her feel ashamed from the very start, using the word woman as if it were meant to be a verbal weapon, as if being a woman gave her little right to rule, as if she were weak ).

but she doesn't ask the question that's on the tip of her tongue, waiting to be voiced. would he not have refused to follow her? would he not have stopped her as he had her father, a man who had been poisoned with rage and the thrill of power? and yet here the lion stands by the side of the dragon, faintly smiling in her direction. ]

I fear the stories do not do you any justice. [ she repeats it back to him, the words gentle and genuine. kingslayer, they say with disdain, but she sees a different man before her eyes. she smiles as she observes him, ignoring the sounds of her dragons making their ascent overheard, silver hair billowing in the wind caused by their flight.

she pauses. a hand touches his shoulder to convey what she does not say in this moment — thank you — before she dares to ask the question that has been plaguing her since their eventful evening. ]

Would you return if given the chance?

[ to westeros, she means; would he return to the life he had left behind if an opportunity was presented in front of him? perhaps the answer is not one she would wish to hear, but curiosity has struck down countless men. ]

catches all of your tears with BOTH of my hands

[inviolable]

[ of all the truths he lets spill, he doesn't utter anything of her father appointing him as a knight of his kingsguard to slight his father or of how poorly the mad king had treated his sister-wife. they need one lie to rest between him, he thinks; he doesn't wish to take away the little memories she may have, spun by viserys' imagination or her own, of her father or mother. he had sought to protect her mother, but he had been rebuffed; they protect her from those outside of the walls of her marital bed. he does think of letting her in on his and lord tywin's little theory, however, but learning the atrocities that made up the man she may have admired and wished to avenge all at once was in poor taste. ]

[ he thinks of a reply to her statement of the stories of the kingslayer; they're all incredibly biased, not painting him in much of a favourable light. it doesn't surprise him she has heard of them. they spread, far and wide, almost as if held together by the web of spiders. he does wonder why she hadn't had him slain the moment she had him in shackles. he did, after all, stab her father in the back. why would the dragon believe the word of a lion? the stories of the kingslayer are twisted and vile, he thinks. the people of westeros judge him as the wolf had judged the lion; not one had thought to ask the lion of his tale, for the mad king was simply mad, with no sense of reality, of no sense of how to be fearful and vile. it had maddened him, at first, but now, with a built resistance to the ser jaimes said to his face and kingslayer whispered behind his back, he wears it as he had his white cloak. ]

[ jaime doesn't believe he needs to atone. he has done nothing in order to ask for it — except for, poorly, deciding to push a young boy out of a window — but perhaps he does, for queen rhaella, of the inaction on his part; for joanna, to make him someone she would be proud to call a son; for cersei. he assists daenaerys stormborn in the manner in which he had wanted so desperately to do for queen rhaella, for how he serves cersei. ]

[ he looks at her hand on his shoulder, a touch that is hot like fire, rather than cold like that of the winter storm that wraps cersei up so tightly. would he return to king's landing? he thinks yes. it is his home; he has no other place. yet, the war that had been brewing beneath the surface of the kingdom has his home in shambles. he knows tyrion would forgive him. but lord tywin and cersei … he knows his assistance of the dragon queen would not be so easily ignored. the new boy-king would have his head, lannister or not. ]

[ he looks at her from his peripheral, his hair blown into his face. ] There is no place for a man like me in King's Landing. [ he looks away, admiring the handiwork of her three dragons; he recognises two names — rhaegal and viserion. even in death, does the mother of dragons continue to honour the memory of two men, one whom she never met but in tales, and one whom they called the beggar king. ] Not anymore.

[ but he continues to hold onto hope that cersei would look at him with no difference. they are two halves of the same coin; he can't be without her. ]

Would Casterly Rock hold the likes of me? [ he takes in a deep breath. and not even the ghost of his mother which lingers in the cracks and crevices and the beautiful gardens makes him think he'd be welcome there, too. ] A Lannister pays his debts. Lord Tywin will not welcome me after I've finished paying this one.

be careful, they're pouring like a fountain

[drogon]

[ though her gaze does not falter, as though the intensity of it could glean a fraction of his soul by a glance alone, his words are almost wounding to hear. she can sympathise to an extent; lord tywin will not welcome me, he says, and she cannot help but let her mind wander to his family, one she has taken him from. other than a sense of obligation and duty, she does not know why he lingers by her side and she does not question it, lest it drive him from her presence and back into the lion's den where little more than rejection awaits him if the words he speaks are true. she has no family, presumably the last of her kind, and that often stings more than the prospect of losing the throne to a spoiled boy who has unjustly deemed himself king.

she has lost a son, a brother, a mother, a father, her first supposed friend ( jorah, the betrayer ), a husband. she stands with her dragons and her army now, but if he leaves, she fears she will be all alone. a throne and a crown can hardly fill the large gaps that exist inside of her, holes where those she treasured most should be, but she has grown too accustomed to the kingslayer's presence to reflect on the thought of him leaving. perhaps that says more than she wishes it to, doesn't it? it's a silly little thought that makes the corners of her mouth curl upward in a way that can only be described as sad and wistful. ]

Not yet. [ it's a soft, tiny correction that speaks of her own determined nature; there might not be a place for him now, but her aspiration is still forever there, hanging over her head. the throne will be hers one day, she hopes, and she will not forget the men who have led her to her rightful place upon it, nor will she drive them away. ] You have a place by my side always, should you wish it.

[ it is where he belongs now, she thinks, though she knows that the chance he will not turn against his own kind is there. she would show them mercy, as she has others, but a woman on a quest is one that should not be crossed or toyed with. ]

i will be sure to treasure them well, like dragon eggs

[inviolable]

[ jaime has no home — or so, he presumes. cersei is his home, but sometimes he finds the foundations they're built upon to be rocky at best. he wonders what she would say, if she knew he had aided the woman who wished to toss her — their — son from the throne. jaime, personally, would prefer it; joffrey is nothing but a spoiled boy who rules by his temper and continues to thrive off of the power the throne gives him. it reminds him of aerys, of how he went mad, of how the fire had turned him charred and unlike the man jaime had thought he was serving. ]

[ daenaerys possesses the same fiery temper that he recognises to be that of aerys', but she reels it in and burns brightly with it. aerys had burned himself into a crisp. he has to wonder, as he glances back up into the sky, for he needs just a moment, because being accepted as the man he is, rather than the man that he makes himself out to be, is something that not even jaime lannister is accustomed to. he has to wonder if daenaerys targareyn truly is the blood of the dragon. weren't the targareyns rumoured to be able to walk through fire and remain completely unburnt? she has gone through so many trials, before his capture and even after, and he has not seen a lick of a flame touch her in the way it had touched aerys, in the way that grief had twisted robert. but he has to wonder if it'll get her if she takes the kingslayer in as one of her trusted knights. ]

[ rather kindly, he says it to rhaegal: ] The Queensguard is no place for a Kingslayer. [ though, he believes it is, sometimes. the kingsguard had been warped and twisted, soiled before he had joined their ranks. the kingsgaurd turns their gazes away from the monstrosities of those who it serves. the queensguard, he finds, does nothing of the sort. he looks to daenaerys with a smile pulling at the edge of his lips. ] I wear many things well, but the white cloak is not one of them.

i will treasure all of our threads like a golden crown

[drogon]

[ his words do not ring false. it should feel like a twisted betrayal to her own father, to rhaegar and the lost blood she had spent her nights grieving for. allowing the kingslayer a place by her side would be doing her father a disfavour and yet she cannot bring herself to regret her own decision and the men she has entrusted with her safety. aerys is a stain upon the targaryen name now, burning their house to the ground with the memory of his cruel tyranny; he is an example to learn from rather than a man to follow. where aerys had been rigid with an unrivaled temper, she is kind and just, hardened only when she needs to be. he had been a flame devouring what crossed his path; she likes to think of herself as a spark of hope. she can only hope the denizens of westeros can see her as such without her image being tainted by the ghost of a mad king, crazed and corrupted by a craving for power. ]

Perhaps not. [ he is not wrong. even so, her mind has been made and she has never been one to budge so easily. ] But you speak as though I should care where the people think a Kingslayer should belong. If such decisions were theirs to make, they would never see a woman seize their precious throne.

[ she pauses, her grasp on her shoulder tightening, free hand raising to brush the wisps of hair that blow into her face. where others have failed on her and broken their oaths, he has been loyal, a fixture in both her army and her life. she has no home just as he does, but she will do all she can within her power to find them both a place in a world where they both must face the harsh whispers attached to their name. ]

If you truly believe what you say, you would not stay by my side now — and yet here you stand.

not like a molten one, i hope!

[inviolable]

I have no honour. [ he says it with a smile. jaime lannister doesn't believe in honour. it's what had walked ned stark to his early grave. if he had simply stayed quiet and whispered, woven a web of intricate lies and plans, then he might still be alive today. jaime feels no guilt in causing the man pain; he had threatened cersei, had gone as far to try and push her out the moon door of the eyrie himself. he can't simply stand back and feel for a man who has a twisted form of honour himself. ]

[ but jaime has none. what keeps him by daenaerys' side is something not even he has quite pinpointed yet. ]

The Mother of Dragons has a right to the throne. [ he feels like a traitor just saying it. the lannisters own it now, but he sometimes wonders if the lion was ever meant to truly rule the kingdom. the iron throne, after all, is made up of swords. he doubts the sharp blades could penetrate the thick hide of a dragon. ]

[ he looks at her, rather than hiding, and what he says, he truly believes: ] When the people are asked which they prefer, a little shit of a stag or a lost dragon, they will choose for kindness, not for what's between your legs.

[ he has heard things, whispers, of king joffrey, of how he rules with a cruel hand. jaime had thought as much; no boy-king would sentence a man to be beheaded without so much thought as to how it would affect the seven kingdoms. even robb stark, the king of the north, under the guidance of his mother, the lovely lady catelyn, never would've made such a foolish mistake. ] The stories may not do you justice, but they are good stories.

like a crown made for a real king! not a loser beggar king

[drogon]

[ rhaegar fought valiantly, rhaegar fought nobly, rhaegar fought honourably, and rhaegar had died. jorah had reminded her as much, voicing it like an ominous warning that, should she cling to similar notions, she would be slain as rhaegar had been — but no harm can come to the dragon while surrounded by the lion and her own children. she is not honourable so much as she is compassionate and warm; honour means little to her enemies, after all, and the smoke that billows toward the sky overheard serves as proof as such. kindness does not necessarily imply weakness, nor does mercy. even with that thought in the forefront of her mind, she would not ravage any city in cold blood. a throne might exist to be taken by her right, but the support and adoration of the people is an asset to be earned rather than demanded. she is not the young and ignorant baratheon that she hears sits atop the throne, content to trample over his own people. he has seen little of war, of the hardships once must face outside the safety and security the red keep, stained with the blood of innocent men destroyed by her father and the baratheon usurpers, offers.

she does not ask for honour or nobility in those that follow her, only fealty. ]

If you were honourable, I would think the both of us would have been slain long ago.

[ her expression is one of quiet amusement as it mingles with a flash of fondness. his words are sincere. she can discern as much from the steady tone of his voice and the manner in which he finally holds her gaze. she does not turn away from it. instead she smiles, her hand reaching upward to stroke the skin of his cheek. ]

For now they are, but the tales men spin do not win hearts alone.

oh, good. i didn't want to behead you and spill traitor blood all over your tags ...

[inviolable]

[ king joffrey is a boy made of all the wrong stuff; the stories have twisted him, and so has the mistreatment done to him by his father. he is unkind and cruel and unjust. and jaime can't help but wonder how much of it is attributed to him, his uncle, not father, being too distant to teach him the ways in being good and a knight and someone worthy of sitting on a chair made of sharp blades. but joffrey is cersei's boy, and he is a product of too much coddling and of being too sheltered from the world. ]

[ but the woman before him who touches him as if he were not a part of the slaughter of her family has lived a thousand lives and a thousand losses. has cersei ever touched him like this? sometimes he feels as though his sister is trying to swallow him whole. he has heard the whispers, of how cersei longs to be like jaime — be jaime — when all he wants is simply her. he's heard stories, too; many of which he thinks are untrue, of how the queen regent is dead after the siege of stannous baratheon, of how the queen regent sits upon her throne and looks down her nose at those who oppose her beloved son. he never hears of stories of the queen being a sister and lover, sending messengers and spies to find her lost brother. he knows the story of the lion fighting for the dragon has long since reached king's landing. he wonders if cersei thinks of it as true. ]

[ but it is, for once, not cersei who sits at the forefront of his thoughts. he's not quite sure how to react. he blinks, a little rapidly, looking at her as if he has never seen her before. and perhaps he hasn't; he was not there to see her walk through the flames, unburnt. but he knows that someone else who was, who had spread the stories of his queen, the rightful heir to the iron throne, in hopes of winning her favour once again. ]

[ as he is unsure of how to react, he chooses to push something else. against something else, perhaps. well-spun stories may not capture hearts alone, but they are effective, are they not? he sees it. has seen it. can still see the aftermath of a story spun so well that when it had begun to unravel an entire world had almost been demolished. ]

And did your bear tell you that?

[ he does have to wonder how much of it is true, of the exiled bear being of assistance to the mother of dragons. the mormont name holds little strength to jaime lannister; it is a house of shame, of the head taking the black, the daughter taking a sword, and the son off running. ]

Did he ever tell you the key to understanding the way the minds of the people of Westeros work? That they would not react too kindly to a monarch with a slave trader by her side? [ a lannister was more influential than a mormont; the name carried weight, respect, and wealth that no house could ever reach. or, so, that was before the starks and the freys and the baratheons had chosen that once the lion knocked them down, they would stand up, and push back. ] The heart works in mysterious ways, Daenerys; some are very obvious to the eye.

[ jorah mormont was selfish. and jaime knows that any victory daenerys would have had over the other houses would've been for nought. ]

it is not a dothraki celebration without at least 3 pints of blood being spilled on my tags.

[drogon]

[ jorah had, at one time, been more than just a man with a blackened name and history to her. he had served as counsel, a confidante, as he watched her flourish and grow into the queen she was destined to become; it had been comforting, in its own way, that after the flames parted and the smoke cleared, jorah had still insisted upon instructing her. freeing him of the bonds of his service to her hadn't been a misstep on her part. the mangled love he held for her, stumbling along his weary path in the hopes of winning her affections, had not gone unnoticed. it had been apparent in his gaze — how he had measured the morals and calculated the intentions of every man suspiciously with his eyes and never once considered his judgment to be clouded as he spoke of the dangers associated with accepting the offers of strangers. she does not blame him entirely; she is certain her head is in high demand, a potential decoration for men who would continue to eagerly denounce her — and the men that would support her would find crafty methods of using her as a pawn and admiring her like a prize to be won.

but jorah had simply been one of them in the end. whatever love he held for her had been tainted by his intentions, driven by a selfish need and distasteful greed rather than any pure devotion to her. she would never love him. perhaps that knowledge alone had furthered his descent until she had no other choice but to exile him from her own presence. ]

He is not my anything.

[ jorah mormont is not her bear. he is not her counsel nor her lover, an enemy nor her friend. the words are marked by a certain bitterness for she had hardly hoped to be reminded of her own blunders and the man at the heart of them, a man ( less than a man ) she had not thought of for quite some time. she wonders now if he would have driven jaime from her side under the guise of chivalry and duty.

her gaze hardens at the thought of it but the sweeping gesture of her fingers along the planes of his face are soft in contrast. he does not gaze upon her like jorah had, hopeless and damaged and yearning but never quite seeing the woman in front of him. and yet it is jaime lannister who looks upon her as though he has, after all of this time, seen her for the first time — and though it does not show in her features, she is unsure what to make of it, but she does not turn away. ]

Jorah Mormont is a fool and a traitor. The people of Westeros know that as well as I. [ he had been more than that once in simpler terms when she had enjoyed his counsel, but any fonds memories they had shared departed with him. ] But it is not reputation I concern myself with. If I am to earn respect, it will be through love, not fear or false alliances. I choose the men around me wisely, Ser Jaime, for reasons that have little to do with how they look at my side.

[ though she does not directly say it, the implication that she has chosen him and kept him near to her for more reasons than even he could comprehend is apparent in her tone. ]

and the ripping out of my large, ginormous heart, which you are doing quite well with taking atm

[inviolable]

[ it's not fair of jaime to judge jorah mormont so harshly. can't the same be said for him? a traitor to westeros, to those he had sworn to keep safe; but jorah had sold slaves in order to satisfy his wife, while jaime had slain the king in order to protect a thousand lives. when one took apart the threads spun around those stories, one would see something so starkly different. but no one cares to do so; once a traitor, always a traitor. once a kingslayer, always a kingslayer. he wonders if he has acquainted the name queenslayer yet. ]

[ conversing with daenerys targeryn is akin to a sword fight; he thrusts his blade at her for her to simply knock it back. he used to do it on purpose, in an effort to goad her into dropping the pretense of being a just queen and simply slit his throat, thus awakening the rage of the lions who linger in the den of king's landing. but he has come realised that it's not an act at all. jaime has since learned that where he had once pushed cersei to see that fire light behind her eyes, daenerys does not respond as the queen regent once did. both queens see his words as a challenge, but one had acted out in spite while another used those words to grow and harden herself for war. daenaerys is always burning; cersei simmers until there is no ember left. ]

You sound like Ned Stark. [ so good, that man was. sometimes jaime had wondered if it was his own gold armour that shone so brightly or if it was ned stark himself. but jaime knows stark's desire to see the good in people — and only the good — took him to an early grave. he does not wish to see it happen to the woman standing before him. ] King Robert took his brother as his Hand. And how did that end? One torn in half by a boar while the other lost his head.

[ it's so strange to have this conversation now, at the end of a battle well-earned. daenaerys' men retreat all around them, unsullied walking in straight lines as if there is still a war to fight, even after they've already won one battle; there's no rest in this camp. there seems little time to spend celebrating the victories. the targareyn army continues to grow as the distance from king's landing shrinks. ] We still have far to go, but it would do you well to start considering the nature of those you keep by your side.

[ what he does not want is for the last targaryen to be destroyed by the large lannister army, commanded by his lord father. he knows that if he comes to king's landing as someone valued by the mother of dragons, rather than as a prisoner, that she will lose any sort of power she may have held over the lannisters. he is a bargaining chip; perhaps not the most influential, but he is something that the throne wants. twyin may look down upon him as a stranger, but he still is a lannister. ]

i'm not doing my job if i'm not ripping your heart out and eating it tbh.

[drogon]

[ simple words do not possess the power to set her ablaze but his words — you sound like ned stark — send a flame licking at her mind. if he wishes to witness her eyes as the smolder in the midst of their dispute, alight with a silent challenge and severity that betrays the softness of her looks, it is a smolder he receives. where most men would cower and bend to her will in order to conclude a dispute, jaime lannister does not flinch. he is steady where other men falter, confident and bullheaded to a fault; she thinks it will be his downfall some day. perhaps it will be his undoing now, so intent on counseling her in the hopes that she will seize the throne with what she only considers ploys and carefully spun falsehoods that he does not consider his own life. mayhaps he sees it as invaluable, but she does not ask nor presume to know. whatever the case, whatever his words, the lion is much more than an asset to her, a man more deserving of the treatment that would await him as a prisoner among his own flesh and blood if she were to discard him so coldly. ]

And you sound like Jorah. [ her words sound petulant even to her own ears. she tempers herself to restrain her tongue from lashing out further. while jorah had mistrusted the men she had chosen to surround herself with under the transparent guise of wishing to protect her, jaime's intentions are clear to her; their efforts are all for naught if she is to appear weak-willed in the presence of her foes, but perhaps it is a price she is willing to pay. ] A crown is not a prize worth having if the price is an eternity spent in the presence of those who would rather rip you to shreds than those you would trust with your life.

[ and trust him she does — and against her better judgment, some would say, but she is certain her intuition will not lead her astray. her hand stills upon his face, breathing in the crisp air to temper herself. another moment of silence on her part flickers by before she removes herself from him, turning her back to him. often times, her eyes speak more than she would like them to. ]

If you're to leave my service, I would suggest you do so now.

[ because, just as with the war, she will not yield. ]

i'll be sure to cook it well for you

[inviolable]

[ he's quite used to seeing the back of a woman he — admired, longed for, loved, respected? he's not quite sure which word best describes how he feels about daenaerys stormborn. all of them and more had fit cersei, though he's uncertain if they still apply. he stands, back still straight, waiting out this storm as he keeps his eyes on her back. he must push now in order to prepare her for playing on a board occupied with much nastier players. she's playing the game of thrones well, but jaime knows that burning a city to the ground and taking their men for soldiers isn't how to take king's landing. for one, the occupants are much smarter, more experienced players. some are in king's landing, others in dragonstone and highgarden and winterfell. wherever they may sit, they will underestimate her, as robert had, but they will see sense the moment she starts to sharpen her claws. ]

If I wanted to leave, don't you think I would've left the moment you gave me a horse? A sword? [ he leans forward, and to the side, as if he'll catch a glimpse of her face; he gets a sliver of her profile. ] If I were so desperate to leave, would I not have left the moment you turned your back, like now?

[ the thing is, jaime isn't a very good strategist. he lets his heart rule him more than his mind. if he wanted to leave daenaerys, he would've done so, foolishly and impulsively, the moment she had first shown signs of trust. but he hadn't. he's not sure why — if it's simply an act on his part to play this as smartly as possible, as one kingslayer against a thousand unsullied would've ended in his bloodied death (and even that doesn't feel like the truth) — but he does know he stays for his mother, for rhaella, for simply to do the right thing, even if it will end in his death. he has done many things, so selfishly and so impulsively, that jaime wonders if the gods have chosen this as his punishment: repenting for all his past transgressions by having this woman forgive him for slaying her father as if he were not the man he had sworn to protect. he feels as though that is much worse than death. ]

but will you feed it to me with a side of the blood of usurpers?

[drogon]

[ some days, it feels as though everyone ( everything ) she encounters is shattered by her touch. she is not unaccustomed to abandonment nor solitude; she had felt truly alone even with an unsullied army at her back, repeating praises intended to flatter and inspire the mother of dragons. from birth to khaleesi to queen, loneliness has play its role as her everlasting friend. she had never known the face of her father, the nurturing touch of a mother, or the protectiveness of an overbearing brother. viserys had been guilty of both oppressing and smothering her, certainly, but his attention was born from envy and his own selfish greed to take, take, and take what he felt was rightfully his. drogo had loved her in ways she had only read about in tales of princesses and their gallant lovers, but even her, fortuitous and loving and a force to be reckoned with, had been taken from her side. perhaps the last targaryen is fated to be alone no matter how fiercely she tries to dig her claws in, but the thought of jaime lannister banishes all thoughts of such.

if he is to leave, she will not allow it to break her — but she will not surrender without a fight. what a twist of fate, that the dragon should long to keep the murderer of her father close at hand — that she should fear him abandoning her when she had once felt little but a quiet rage in his presence. now, the emotions that swell within her chest are so far from wrathful the realisation nearly startles her. ]

If I were so desperate to have you leave, would I not have sent you away?

[ it would be less painful to banish him now rather than later, if only to prevent her attachment to the man at her side from flourishing further. she shifts to meet his gaze; the words she does not speak must be etched into each feature of her face, and yet she wills herself not to turn away. ]

Do you think I have forgotten the weight my actions will hold? The weight they hold now? [ she hasn't forgotten. how could she? she makes a brief sound akin to a combination of laughter and a scoff, but it isn't derived from mirth or annoyance, only exasperation. ] The company I choose to keep is just that, my choice.

of course! i am hosting feasts in order to lure them out and slaugther them for you!

[inviolable]

[ sometimes he wishes she had. he could be like the youngest stark girl, lost in the world of westeros, whether she be alive or dead, with whispers circulating around her stating she's alive and in the clutches of the lions. but he knows how well secrets begin to unravel with whispers. isn't that why he had pushed the young stark boy out the window? ]

[ they both know, whether or not it comes into play now, that the dragon holding the lion in her custody makes her a powerful opponent, one to be feared by even the great lion himself. tywin lannister will do anything to protect his house — even going as far as to save tyrion, if he were in jaime's position. he wonders what his brother would do, if he were in his position. he'd make quips and jokes, try and poke the mother of dragons in his cheeky way, but would he give her counsel? a way to thwart that of his own family? jaime thinks he would, for hatred is the only fire within the lion. it's the only thing that they can truly rule over. ]

[ daenarys targaryen is stubborn, as unmoving as that of the hide of a dragon. even though they are meant to be extinct, the beasts continue to thrive. jaime likes it. he knows that what she says, of how her choices are carefully made, will have a ripple effect that he believes should work in her favour. stannis baratheon is a cold and unlikeable man; renly baratheon had been a joke; robb stark is merely a boy playing at a man's war; and joffrey baratheon is merely a puppet for his father. the only opponent he thinks worthy of opposing daenaerys targaryen is perhaps robb stark, but he is as pure as a wolf can come — stupid and naive and at the mercy of his mother's coddling counsel. ]

[ jaime likes to push daenaerys to see the fire in her eyes. but he does so to see if she can weather his — this — brutal storm. when he pushes, she pushes back, and not once does she seem to crack. ]

We both know if you had sent me away it would've been a poor choice on your part. [ while he wants to tell her to simply discard herself of the lion once they are at the gates of king's landing, he doesn't. not yet, anyway. she will not listen. but he knows it's what she must do, if she is to play her moves right. the people of westeros would enjoy that — the dethroning of all lions. ]

Too many wish to see my head on a spike. Some would like to place it beside Stark. [ he says it so casually, like how he speaks of beheading men and them not having a last word. it's not a joke to him, but it has almost become the norm. first, tyrion in the custody of the lovely lady stark, now him. sometimes he wonders if the lannisters were born to be used as leverage. ] The Mother of Dragons, the only opponent worthy of taking on the Great Lion of the Rock.

[ not even stannis, with his strategic mind and knack for war, would be capable of such a thing without this little piece of leverage. ]

you are so good to me. number one soldier and chef tbqh

[drogon]

[ sometimes, she wishes she had, too — wishes she had acted upon the initial impulse to leave him to the wilderness. if she hadn't slain him in a rather pointless quest for revenge, the vast, empty expanses of sand surely would have lead to his undoing. other times, she thinks it is a cruel twist fate, the work of the gods, that has insisted upon intertwining their destinies in order to spin such a complex web with the strands binding them so tightly to one another. affection is a powerful motivator, as are the bonds shared between two individuals — husband and wife, father and son, monarch and subject — but love is, in itself, is as much a weakness as it is a strength. love can be so easily extorted when those a person treasures most or the object of your affections is dangled over one's head, so close but tortuously out of reach. what jaime suggests is evidence enough. outside of whispers and tales detailing his infamy, she does not claim to know a shred of what tywin lannister feels for his children, for jaime. she is certain she feels so much more for the man in question than even his own blood would claim to.

it leaves her vulnerable and powerful all at once. the game is one she most play with a calculating hand, but not so coldly that she loses sight of herself and what she holds close and dear to her heart. ]

Your head would have made a pleasant trophy. [ she responds to casualness with her own flippancy, corners of her mouth threatening to twitch upward in spite of the nature of their conversation and the twist she feels in her chest. her fingers skim his neck for emphasis, taking a brief moment to admire him, before it swiftly returns to her side. ] Worthy of conquering the Great Lion of the Rock.

[ it's a gentle yet stern correction; she has no intentions to emerge from battle without a promise to the throne and tywin lannister swearing fealty at her dainty feet. ]

cries and roasts you some usurpers and flayers

[inviolable]

[ he's not quite sure if his pulse quickens from her featherlight touch or her words. perhaps it's both. jaime has always anticipated the movements of those whom he is battling, but he finds himself taken by surprise when in the presence of daenaerys. ]

[ would have. so, she does not intend to turn his head into a trophy. she isn't one to trick with her words, or at least, not in his experience with her has he ever seen her play a game with them. she is direct and blunt, as hot and clear as the fire her sigil. where he seeks for a hidden meaning, he fins himself always coming up empty. ]

[ jaime frowns, curious. conquer is what they have done here, overwhelming a city and taking control over its people. would she not slay the great lion? would she not slay the great stag who sits on the throne, ignorant of his own parentage? would she slay the stag who sits at dragonstone? he doesn't doubt that she wouldn't, but to think that she would show mercy towards another lannister … he looks at her curiously, feeling as though, once again, he's seeing her for the first time. ] You would not shed the blood of those who have done nothing but treat your house as if it were a mere joke?

[ robert baratheon had thought her and her brother were mere jokes. spots on a map that could easily be wiped out. a young girl was not a threat. but how wrong the great usurper had been. he doesn't doubt his father does not think the same, but twyin lannister was the one who had gained the respect that was due to king aerys. ]

sheds tears befitting of jorah and edits this five times bc i'm queen of typos, please don't flay me

[drogon]

[ she does not regard herself as gentle. some would argue otherwise in spite of how quickly she had grown wings and learned to spit fire at her foes, but mercy does not require softness of the heart. though she has grown from a young girl recoiling in trepidation at the frenzied shouts and impossible demands of an older brother to a woman with a stature befitting that of a just queen, there are still shreds of the girl she once was, soft-spoken and tender, woven into the fabric of her soul. lesser men would have the heads of all those opposed them, honouring their pride and little else. she knows, in her position, they would not pay her the same kindness. her foes would rather take her head as their own trophy, successfully eliminating the threat her bloodline poses to the throne — or perhaps they would take her as a prisoner, wedding her to one of their own to parade her around and shame her for a lifetime with a reminder of an unloving boar of a husband at her side. it is hardly a thought she wishes to entertain for more than a mere moment.

too much blood will be spilled on the day she goes forth to finally conquer king's landing. there is little point in adding the skinned fur of lions to the count if it can be avoided. the kingslayer looks bemused by such a decision, but she finds she revels in surprising him. she smiles, brushing away a wisp of hair that has fallen into his eyes as a result of the breeze, but it is merely an excuse to touch him. ]

And let pride overthrow my head? [ what a dangerous thing that would be — more dangerous than allowing her heart to rule over her mind. ] I will show mercy to all who ask for it. Not all queens and kings rule by fear alone, Ser Jaime.

[ and when the city had been overthrown and taken as her own, regarding her house as something to be mocked would hardly be an issue any longer. wise men would not insult dragons so carelessly, after all. ]

flays your typoes and swoops in and saves you with starry eyes and a hair commercial

[inviolable]

[ the great lion of the rock is the least likely to ask or show mercy. but jaime wonders if daenaerys' kind heart would give him as such. and he wonders if it'll be for his benefit more than tywin's. ]

[ but he doesn't let the thought linger. daenaerys is tactile this evening, while he keeps himself at bay. jaime is used to physical confrontations, but mostly of the more violent sort. the playful touches were reserved for cersei and cersei only. he has been with no other than her, and he finds himself ill-practiced in returning such physical tenderness. ]

[ jaime has served under three kings: aerys, a mad man, who didn't trust his hand; robert, a fool, who disrespected his sister and allowed the kingdom to fall into a great debt; and joffrey, his son, who he didn't need to directly be involved with to know that the kingdom would soon be in great peril, the morale almost, if not completely, lost. he drops his gaze, seeing her feet planted firmly on the ground, and trail up her figure to note that she does not have wings that beat so steadily, like that of a heart, because, to him, she seems to be almost flying. jaime has a habit of placing some women on pedestals, thinking that they would never fall from their places above men like him. ]

You deserve a kingdom better than the Seven.

[ he thinks of saying something further, of how they're fit for stupid men, not women who will be kind to those who least deserve it. he doesn't doubt that daenaerys wouldn't shed the blood of such men, but he knows that it wouldn't be her first plan of action. all those things come to mind to say, and even begin to work their way from his throat, but he finds himself glancing up at the sky, at one of the dragons. he can't recall which one it is, for the sun is so bright, and the flames colour the sky an orange and pink. even though the sky is a symbol of the tragedy that has befallen this city, he can't help but think of it as beautiful. ]

my hero. loreal, because you're worth it

[drogon]

[ tywin lannister would sooner see his own blood, weak and mad for power, then submit to another. she knows as much; for some men, the shame it would bring to their house and name would be a sufficient punishment, as though their bloodline had been tainted by cowardice in one swift, single motion. she thinks of the boy-king, seemingly untouchable with a kingdom at his feet, and decides he is not so different from the brother lost to her. she wonders if this is the fate that would have awaited viserys as king — if he would have forced the kingdom into fearing him as she fiercely as he had, boasting of his authority and establishing his ability to subdue and massacre every foe that dared to step into his path. would the kingsguard have glimpsed upon the monster atop the throne and carried out his deeds without question, as they do the boy-king? would aerys have gotten his wish if his own blood had carried down the legacy, burning king's landing to the ground for but a mere thrill and a display of dominance? men like tywin lannister care little for the justness and fairness of a monarch, but daenerys has always striven to be more than just a man, driven by the warmth of her heart and righteousness rather than falling prey to rage and vanity with no intention of placing her own agenda far above the state of the kingdom as so many others before her have done, the boy-king and the father that pulls his strings included.

but tywin lannister would sooner see king's landing in shambles than surrender, she suspects. she wonders if the knowledge of her mercy appeals to jaime in some way, wonders if he were to return to his family if directly presented with them or if he would stand vigilant at her side as he does now, serving as a barrier to those that want little more than to see her head on a spike. even if he is to leave, his words now cause her to glow with a pleased mirth, one that is communicated through her eyes in lieu of her hands. she is giving with her affections, a tenderness reserved for him, but the emotions that stir within her chest now are so relentless and burn so bright that she does not know how to convey them. ]

I fear you do me too much justice. [ he is partial to her, after all, and what man would not herald his king or queen while in their service? perhaps his opinion of her is discoloured by his own knowledge rather than any objective standpoint, but her smile as she basks in his words does not wane and her tone is lightly teasing when she addresses him once again. ] I would tread carefully, Ser Jaime. Some women would mistake your words as fondness.

[ or weakness, for others, but she finds she does not mind the prospect of, perhaps, being his one vulnerability. ]

uwu oh stop it you or i'll shout dracarys!

[inviolable]

And the others?

[ jaime has only ever concerned himself with the opinion of cersei. and, even now, leagues away, he still continues to do so. but he finds himself confused, twisted up inside as if a cloth being squeezed of its water in a bid to dry. daenaerys has shown him kindness where many do not. she leads with a good head upon her shoulders, is unburnt by those who doubt her for simply being a woman, let alone the last targaeryn, for surely the last dragon must be leading herself to her own death. she takes his counsel without rebuff (or too much rebuff) and sees him as a man and not a kingslayer — or, even worse, a father slayer. ]

[ the thought of cersei's opinion meaning less to him now isn't something he entertains at all; cersei has given him nothing to make him question her affection. even the stories he hears of those wanting to bed his sister, of those who have, are nothing if not mere chirps of birds. even if there is some truth to it, jaime lannister has never truly been one to take the words of those who will be slain as easily as it is to breathe on the morrow. they are fools, useful for the short-term, but fools nonetheless. ]

[ he glances away briefly to only return his gaze to hers, a moth to the flame, even if it is ever so cliched. ] I often wonder what it is some mistake my words for. Is it truth? A bit of poetry? [ no. nothing that could surely pass the lips of the kingslayer would be anything but something slanderous and sharp as the blade that he drives into the flesh of his opponents. he is not a weaver of tales, like lord varys, nor is he someone who leaves what he means to say between the lines of what actually passes his lips, like littlefinger. he is true and honest, made of statements callous in nature and, at times, goodness of heart. ] Many think I spend my time weaving lies, but I'm afraid I am no spider.

[ he has claws, not pincers. and every time he weaves a web, it comes undone with a mere push. ]

i'll never stop so i guess you'll have to burn me!

[drogon]

Do you care for the opinion of others?

[ it is as presumptuous of an inquiry as it is genuine; for a man like jaime lannister, she cannot imagine he places the words of most individuals on a pedestal. with a reputation so intent on looming over him as a permanent reminder of his deeds, such a dismissive attitude toward the perspectives of most others is common place, something to be expected. she suspects he has heard it all, from praises of his prowess in battle to harsh whispers of the myth that surround the kingslayer with no regard for acknowledging or speaking of the man behind the title, and has simply become numb to their judgments. if he did not care for her opinion and wished to discard it as easily as one might overlook a poor beggar, would he bother to offer his counsel to her at all? would he offer to ride into battle for her and the throne she so adamantly seeks? she thinks not; even without his words to speak for him, his actions define him. ]

You are no spider. [ she repeats it readily. though capable of weaving magnificent strands to decorate their web and injecting venom into the veins of its enemies, a spider is a mere pest that can be trampled without much effort. jaime is much more than that. ] Your words ring truer than most I've known. [ and while some of them had been pretty, they had only been that — pretty. poetic speech is appealing to the eyes, but it holds little value.

she takes one of his hands between the both of her own, and while she does not smile, there is a certain warm, fond glint in her eyes. ]

You are a better man than most, Jaime Lannister. [ and she will argue such a point despite what he may believe about himself. ] You would do well to remember that.

i will do one better (and you shall see any moment now)

[inviolable]

I care very little. [ he cares very much. kingslayer at his back and ser jaime to his face. hadn't it all once been a big grievance? having most, if not all, of westeros despise him for an act that has been twisted and warped into such a disgusting and untrue tale? jaime coped the only way he could — he embraced it and snarked about it, taking pride in what he had done, while others looked upon him as though he was ignorantly arrogant of breaking his vow. ]

[ so many vows … there are only a few he's determined to not break. his vow to his sister, his vow to his brother, and his vow to see daenaerys strike king joffrey from the throne. and if his vow to his family has to be broken in order to bring peace among westeros — or something akin to it, as the self-proclaimed kings will never bend the knee to the lost targareyn happily, since there is so much bad blood that lingers in the cracks of their palms from the moment robert's rebellion and greyjoy's poor imitation of one began to rouse — to right the wrongs of those done by kings and queens and lords and ladies who now live in the carvings of stone, then so be it. he had vowed to protect the realm; he is not breaking a vow by placing a monarch worthy of protecting it on the iron throne. ]

I do care of what others think of you, Daenaerys Targareyn. [ and he finds that it is true. he wants the kings of westeros to hear of the dragon queen, of her men who rule the skies. he wants them to hear of a targareyn who is a true dragon. ] Sometimes, the tales spoken of you are enough to elicit the fear in the hearts of foolish men. [ of those self-proclaimed kings, from robb stark to stannis baratheon to joffrey. ] Even if they do contain a little web-spinning from spiders.

[ he is no spider; any word of his that is carried to westeros is to be of his and his alone. but he does wonder if the words she thinks ring true belong to men who have sworn loyalty to her face and broken that vow once her back has been turned. if she asked anyone outside of her close counsel, she would find that many do not share the same opinion as she when it comes to jaime lannister. ]

you heathen!!

[drogon]

[ she is not a fool. some might mistake her for one, for she dons dresses fit for a queen rather than armour crafted for a warrior driving his blade into the flesh of his foes. men that fear her authority spit the word woman at her as though it were a poison, mistaking soft curves and dainty features for fragility. what does a women know of ruling, they insist, sneering as they leer. inexperienced she may be, but no less than the boy-king that sits atop the throne, repaying the people's kindness and fealty with cruelty and childish ignorance. she does not turn her eyes from the truth, however. some would claim jaime lannister to be a disgrace, an oath-breaker, and yet the man in front of her is a far cry from the portraits they paint with their scowls and biting insults. while many rulers have appeal to the hearts of others with gold or incited their love by striking fear into their very soul, she favours compassion, empathy — and such traits are impossible without an eye for detail. moreover, an inability to read her allies could very well lead to her downfall; for all of the arrogance he might exude, he is still fairly transparent.

she narrows her eyes only slightly, as though it might help her to read him, and smiles knowingly to herself. ]

Do you? You must have told yourself as much so many times that you've begun to believe it.

[ it is not an unkind comment, more flippant and coy than she had intended, if only to avoid the distinct possibility of affronting him by challenging his words. she imagine it won't; conversations are often more akin to a duel than a dance. blades are precise, sharp — dancing is evasive, perhaps misleading. ]

They should. [ foolish men should fear her and what she truly stands for, but the more arrogant legions of men think of her as a minor pest than a true challenge. ] I fear I have little regard for what others must think of you. [ not because he isn't significant, but — ] Argue if you like, but they're wrong.