(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.

Comments

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.

you best watch out, i AM an oath-breaker after all ...

[inviolable]

[ he doesn't honour her with a response. he had told her he had very little honour, after all. he cares too much, she too little, of what those around him say to his back. perhaps it's out of fear that another will drive their sword into his as he had done so with aerys. he had suspected she had the desire to do so, back when he had been captured; he had expected to find a blade piercing his spine the moment he twisted in his cell to catch only a glimpse of sleep. but jaime lannister is known for his battle prowess. why kill the son of a powerful lord when he could be used as a bargaining chip? why kill a fighter who could win you many battles? jaime has fooled himself into thinking he has tough skin, almost that of a dragon's hide, when all he is made up of is the soft hide of a lion. ]

[ and here he stands, before the mother of dragons, watching her children burn a city to ash. she stands in the middle of the flame, unscathed. he wonders if wildfire could touch her. a dragon's flame is tamed by the creature's affection for its mother. wildfire is another beast entirely. perhaps he does care of what people think of him, but he knows he cares more greatly of what they think of her. the thoughts are ones to put the fright in naughty children, he suspects; a woman in possession of power not even the greatest man could even grasp. ]

[ but he thinks she is mistaken, not worrying of what those she would soon surround herself with think of him, of ser jorah mormont, of the company she keeps. they will look upon her and see a woman who frees slaves, but they will also look upon her and see a woman who trusts men who have broken too many vows to ever be trustworthy again. they are manipulators, after all, using the power of their station to act unjustly and dishonourably. ]

As stubborn as a dragon's hide. [ he says it fondly, even though, in any other time, it would be a barb, an attempt to disarm those who had stood before him. calling catelyn tully a true wolf rather than a fish had been said to get under her skin, rustle those scales — or fur, as it now was — to the point where she would break and strike at him. ] Sometimes you remind me of him, [ her father, the mad king, how he stubbornly stuck to his plan to burn the city into ash. he was a dragon; how could he not survive what could not kill a dragon? ] the good side. The Mad King may have been mad, but he wasn't always mad.

[ perhaps daenaerys would have a similar reign to aerys, if she were to find herself upon the throne. restore westeros, as he had; turn its tumultuous waters into something peaceful, calm enough that not even those who had come into conflict over the seven kingdoms felt the fire within them to fight any longer. treat her much more kindly so that her dragons flanked her sides rather than the skies above them, breathing the people into crisps. ]

but do you really want to wake the dragon?

[drogon]

[ as a girl privy to her brother's guidance, she had trusted too much — trusted the tales he had told her ( that those across the narrow sea were awaiting his glorious return ), trusted the vows he would never keep ( to return the both of them home ), trusted he would protect her ( when all she had known was abruptness of her brother's fiery temper and the harshness of his hand splayed across her face ). she had trusted her husband to reclaim the throne for their unborn son, a sworn conqueror before he had even witnessed the light of day. she had placed her faith in blood magic and the price to pay had been her sun and stars and the only reminder of him she would have had left, grieving for a son that would never be — that would have resembled his father, strong and powerful, but with his mother's grace and warmth. she had known little of trust and paid the price for wishing to believe good would prevail in everyone, but time had hardened her shell. there was no good to be found in slavers, as even ser jorah had revealed himself to be capable of betrayal. she had initially presumed there would be no light to be unearthed within the kingslayer, either, but she had been horrendously deceived. he had been a better men than most she had come to know, lacking a respect for honour but altruistic, wise, and concerned with the safety and happiness of the realm all the same.

she does not think herself unwise for placing her faith in him, regardless of what he says — regardless of what others may see, preferring to be blinded by exaggerated tales than open themselves to accept the truth.

his words are a compliment. they cause her to smile, though it's far more wistful, perhaps even sad, than what a smile should be. ]

Viserys was always mad. [ her smile dissolves into something straighter, almost a purse, as she moves her gaze from him to the dragons overheard as they decorate the sky with their flames and shining colours of their hides. ] I imagine he would have rather slain me himself than watch me reclaim the Iron Throne.

[ and that had contributed to his demise, allowing his envy of his sister and how easily she earned the respect and fondness of those around her to cloud his judgment as his impatient rage directed toward their gradual progress to travel to westerous had bubbled over. ]

if only i could have a pot of melted down gold!

[inviolable]

Viserys was a beggar, if I'm to believe the tales spun in his honour. [ and he does. like father, like son. daenaerys reminds him of queen rhaella, of her softness and kindness, of the woman who had befriended his mother and gossiped with her as if stations and their own futures hadn't promised to keep them apart. he remembers queen rhaella fondly, and had wished for her to have a better fate than the one the seven gods had handed her. ]

Not many would bend the knee to a sister-slayer. [ his lips quirk at that. if he threw his sword down to be king, he knows that no one would bend the knee to a man of his reputation. he belonged on the battlefield, serving and protecting, while his brother belonged at the counsel chambers, strategising and leading. the beggar king would do himself no good if he were to slay his sister out of vengeance. isn't it the exact same thing as joffrey had done to good old dead ned? ]

[ jaime doesn't follow daenaerys' gaze to her dragons. he keeps his eyes on her. ] If your brother were alive today, I'm afraid he would still find his fate sealed with a molten gold crown. Boisterous self-proclaimed kings are just that.

[ loud and obnoxious, they shout and scream and throw tantrums, but they do not win any respect. joffrey had done wrong, taking the power the iron throne had granted him and beginning a war he had no right to provoke. the boy thinks with lust, just as the tales had painted viserys. a monarch needs not be selfish. what is the point of the kingsguard, then? if to not to completely give away ones own identity to become a part of the machine? ]

Your brother would earn himself very little if he did.

i tried to resist tagging this immediately so i wouldn't have to cry about your absence this month.

[drogon]

[ viserys would not have won the respect or the heart of the people, so desperate to be ruled by a benevolent monarch. though she is admittedly unprepared to occupy the throne now, constantly flourishing as her experience with power and authority grows while she gathers her army and her wits, viserys had known little of love and mercy. birthright or otherwise, the people would not have taken kindly to a beggar king — a man so entitled, spoiled, and still but a boy crying for attention and respect he did not deserve. his goals and tyrannical ambition had blinded him to the world around him, expecting others to cow to his whims while he spat on them, his actions and words marked by ungratefulness and cruelty. the stories of the boy-king atop the throne suggest that he and viserys are merely two sides of the same coin; while she thinks the baratheon boy's subjects may be desperate to flee from his heavy handed ruling, there is little joy to be found in exchanging one oppressive king for another.

her abilities as a queen have not ripened yet, but the dragon queen knows of love, of benevolence, of kindness and of mercy when it is needed. she does not need to solely rely on fear to have those before her bowing to her, nor does she wish for her passionate drive to rule to cloud her senses and judgment. if she ever becomes so weak-willed that she will allow her thirst for power to corrupt her morals, she is no better than the would-be kings and the tales of their own exploits that cause her lips to purse in disdain. ]

And you would think many would bend the knee to the daughter of the Mad King?

[ her father's reputation looms over her like the shadows cast upon them by the dragons and their wings overheard, and though she will not be deterred by the dark memories of a man she had never known, she knows his acts are still a fresh wound for many. nevertheless, she will show them that she is good and true, noble, a woman worthy of a throne. she can feel the kingslayer's gaze lingering on her, and it is only after a moment of observing her dragons in flight that she turns him, features softening as they tend to do each time she looks upon him, a hint of fondness lurking in her gaze. ]

Perhaps your fondness blinds you.

[ the retort is a teasing one, tone faintly amused, but to insist she isn't searching his eyes for a reaction would be a lie. ]

you suck and you know exactly why.

[inviolable]

Perhaps.

[ it would be dishonourable of him if he were to deny it. the daughter of the mad king is a risk upon itself. will she burn the city alive with wildfire in vengeance for her lost kin? jaime knows better — has for some time now, but many outside of daenerys' circle don't. the stories speak kindly of her, but, like many, other tales counteract, telling of her cruelness and dragon's breath burning cities of men and women and children alive. (he hears more of joffrey's than that of daenerys' supposed cruelty.) ]

[ he doubts she keeps him close for his ass kissing. he can lay it on thick, and has had the practice of doing so — though, when it came to robert, it was mostly done with sarcasm laced beneath — but daenerys sees through it as if it were flame. kings and queens are meant to rule with a court comprised of truth-tellers. he does, sometimes, wonder if he was meant to serve under hers were no bullshit passes without a scolding and a narrow of her bright, blue eyes. he knows she prefers words sharper and hotter than those that contain much falsehoods. he does wonder if the beggar king would prefer a kiss to the ass cheek rather than words as sharp as knives — and which one he would request such an act for. ]

Many would prefer to bend the knee to the Mad King's equally mad daughter than to that of a cruel brat.

[ he does lean in, ever so slightly, as if sharing a funny little secret, for he accompanies what he says with a small smirk: ] Fondness doesn't blind me to my nephew. [ fondness does blind him to his sister, however. and he doesn't doubt that daenerys hasn't heard the rumours — the truth — of them being inspired by her family's old traditions. he's not ashamed; it's one thing they have in common, something he thinks upon with humour. he does wonder if viserys and daenerys felt as though they were one soul split between two bodies. does she feel his loss, his death, just as hard as he does of cersei's? ]

i am an innocent little flower.

[drogon]

[ she is not susceptible to believing the whispers of men as they conjure their stories, spinning their sordid webs; tales of warfare and famine are often overshadowed by an obsession with betrayal, secrets, and lust and, most importantly of all, the highborn players attached to such salacious legends. though she does not succumb to accepting all rumours as truth and does not wield them as she would a weapon, it is not entirely peculiar for the realm to indulge in idle gossip, she thinks. the most harboured secrets can tear a man kicking and screaming from his throne — a subtle tactic, far less brazen that a sword piercing one's heart, but just as effective (if not more so) at tarnishing one's title and status. the kingslayer has been shamed thrice over — as a traitor to her father, as a traitor to himself and his kin, and as a sister fucker, as the fables had so kindly worded it.

she does not think to ask if there is truth in those venomous words; perhaps some part of her wishes not to know while the other portion of herself insists her knowledge of his own affairs is irrelevant. a confirmation or denial would hardly skew the manner in which she and her unsullied regard (and admire) his prowess in battle, and her her family not practised the same traditions? if viserys had his way, she would be bound to him as his wife, and that inkling alone drives her to banish all thoughts of ever broaching the subject. there is only one truth: she has instilled her faith within him, and no knowledge of his own affairs will sway her trust or conviction. ]

I am not mad.

[ but she sounds faintly amused as she rebuffs his words, smile contorting her lips as a reflection of her own. in some ways, jaime lannister is dangerously contagious in terms of mood and spirit. ]

So you claim.

[ if he is standing here, at her side, how fond of his nephew can he truly be? ]

HAHAHAHA. never heard anything so hilarious in my life!

[inviolable]

[ he does think of her as mad. had thought her mad, a little girl taking on the giant men of westeros with nothing but a dothraki army as her shadow. children serve no part in war — and it's why he thinks joffrey as a little fool, not for his decisions (for he is surely a fool for those) but because he can't fathom the idea of it. he thinks of it as a game where if he says kneel, his enemies will bend the knee for him. he thinks his anger is greater than that of stannis baratheon and renly baratheon, even that of the wolf boy, robb stark. but joffrey is a little fool, for his anger is nothing but misplaced entitlement. he's seen anger in the steps danaerys has taken, from the way the dothraki (a herd of sheep who follow men with braids, not women with stark white hair and dragons curling around them in tales) flank her sides to the way the city before them now burns. ]

[ while children should serve no part in war, they do. and he thinks of how joffrey knows little of it, but has transformed himself into one of the biggest threats and targets out of all the men on the board. the tales of the dragon girl had been laughed at, mocked in front of others, but robert baratheon had feared her — the power of a girl, lost to westeros, the threat of her thought to be dead. isn't that why he had sent poison to ride on her tail? ]

[ he does smile, amused, and takes a step in. joffrey isn't a touchy subject for him, but it most certainly is an uncomfortable one. a boy king ruling westeros like a fool — and it being his blood. he thinks his father holds no pride for his grandchild. ] Do you think my claim as mad?

[ she clings to the memories of her family — false and true — as if they were palpable things; she places so much loyalty into what she knows of them — to never be like the mad king, to never fall voiceless and unprotected like her mother, and to never be as ignorant and thankless as her brother. jaime thinks himself differently, but he does the same thing: he thinks of his brother, he thinks of his sister, and he thinks of his father. he has tarnished his house name many years ago, but he still strives to live up to the jaime lannister his family wants him to be. ]

[ but a part of jaime wants to push. to push and ask the one question he has never quite given much light: does she think the moment she sees them, the petulant face of joffrey or the beautiful face of cersei, that he'll simply flock to their side? he doubts danaerys remembers viserys with pure fondness (for the beggar king can't be a man of kindness if he begs), but he doesn't doubt she feels a loyalty to his memory. (she would have to, would she not? they were the last, while the lannister pride flourished. he thinks it different, how little remain of the dragons and how many linger of the lions, of how lancel lannister's death would not affect him in any way possible if it were to, unfortunately, occur. but it's not any different. even now, when he thinks of defying his own house, he knows, on some level, that he would attempt to return to his family and it be the same, as if he had never left their side of the war.) ]

[ loyalty. such a confusing and complicated little thing. ]

I'M SHEDDING TEARS RN.

[drogon]

[ she seems to fear little. some would claim that itself to be the mark of a madwoman, for those whose hearts are free of trepidation, even in the most precarious of situations, are surely vicious and threatening in their own right. an individual with little left to lose will gladly gamble it all, and there is little else that perturbs even the most valiant of soldiers than that of a menacing beast, rash and violent to the point of insanity — but the targaryen woman is not mad in spite of the blood that flows throughout her veins. viserys had been seized by his own insanity, the lack of a crown atop his head his only fear. his envy of his sister and disquiet lurking within him had led him by the hand to a molten crown, but dany does not look upon tall, brash men and statuesque (and pompous) kings with her eyes lit by fear. it is a careful game she plays and a line she must toe, for one should never allow their emotions to be so openly displayed on their features.

( but she fears many things when cloaked in the darkness of her own tent — failure, where the kingslayer's true allegiance lies, for the safety of herself and her men — though she does not dare voice her own thoughts aloud. the possibility of being painted as a madwoman who is frightened by very little is preferable to the image of that of a scared and lost lamb. at times, she still feels that fragile and vulnerable girl stirring inside of her, crying out for all that she's lost, but more often than not, the dragon has forgotten how to shed a single tear. )

does she think his claim mad? perhaps, though she has to wonder if it is sincere curiosity that motivates his inquiry, or if it's mere wryness. she does not falter in the face of his amused smile, nor his advancement toward her; she tips her chin upward, as always, to regard him without flinching. it feels like a dance, at times — and one her body and mind has grown accustomed to, rehearsing the maneuvers with grace and poise rather than crumpling to the ground in a clumsy, shameful heap. she thinks it a challenge, almost, a test; it seems jaime lannister has been evaluating her since the moment he had been dragged into her camp, grinning in his shackled state.

he grins now, and she smiles back without much thought. where it had once infuriated her (and, in part, still frustrates her), it is a comfort in these strange lands they walk upon. ]

Do you care if I think you or your claim mad?

[ a question for a question. jaime lannister may strike as he pleases, but she has her own evasive maneuvers. ]

my poor little dragon :c my kelly c, i will buy you the best books in all the land to make up for it

[inviolable]

[ he thinks of answering her question with a question — simply to see her fume smoke. but he opts to go a different route. he wonders if anything surprises this dragon, and he supposes that this is a test to see if she thinks she has him pinned. but while he assumes she might think she has him all sorted out, he does believe he surprises her. (and if not her, those who know him — or of him — like ser barristan selmy). surely he must've, for a lion never turns his back on his own pride, but jaime has proven almost everyone wrong since his recruitment into the kingsguard. ]

[ or queensguard. the kingsguard had painted him as a traitor, a man who would slay those that he served. all they saw was the wolf's tale of a lion's betrayal, not the act of a knight honouring his vow of keeping the people of westeros safe. they refused to see what he had sacrificed to save thousands, if not millions, of lives — his own honour, his own beliefs, the safety of those within westeros. the mad king was surely mad, but even he could be prone to having sharp ideas. what if the wildfire had been already put into motion the moment his blade had cut into his flesh? but, luckily for him, the mad king was simply that: mad. he knew daenarys' own men used to watch him with sharp eyes — his reputation proceeds him, even to the lands outside of westeros. like he had done many years before, he proves them wrong, time and time again, by stabbing his blade into the backs of men who oppose the mother of dragons rather than her own pretty back. ]

If you think me mad … [ he smiles, glancing away, if only briefly. hadn't he once told his father he could care less of what anyone thought of him? he still maintains that he doesn't. he is a lannister — he cares not of how anyone could possibly perceive him. ]

[ but jaime lannister is mad. he's mad for reasons that he knows fully and truly — he stands here, in front of this dragon, not as an enemy, but as an ally. and, sometimes, when he chooses to be foolish, as kin. ] But I do wonder. It's my blood that sits on the throne, yet, I seem to care not of it. Wouldn't you question that?

[ he doesn't mean to step into the shoes of her advisors — surely she has had enough of ser jorah, questioning her every move — but jaime can't help but push. daenarys only has stories to form portraits of the men she now opposes. while his are nothing but fact, they are still that — stories. many would claim them to be fiction (and he is most positive that if the bear were here, he would be doing just that. jaime's not blind. he had seen a tenderness in his gaze that he often sees reflected back when he gazes in the mirror), for a lannister pays his debts — and while the debt he would owe daenaerys would be that of simply opposing his shit for a nephew, he doesn't collect. he finds that he never intends to. the myth of the lannister follows him wherever he goes, but he finds that people have it all wrong. lannisters can be loyal animals to those outside of their pride — from time to time. it honestly depends on the person in question. ]