Jon Snow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
king_inthenorth) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
heretherebemuses2019-12-01 08:07 pm
king_inthenorth) wrote in heretherebemuses2019-12-01 08:07 pm
Entry tags:
Open post | Jon Snow
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[Audio message meant only for Sansa Stark; misfire]
Why does everyone keep asking if they can touch my hair?
Why does everyone keep asking if they can touch my hair?
[That...is not Sansa.]
Jon Snow. Who is this?
Jon Snow. Who is this?
Steve Rogers. I’m guessing you didn’t mean to send this to the whole dome?
I was trying to send it to my sister. I haven't learned how it works yet.
[The voice that replies back is feminine and sweet but also confused. She doesn't think this message is meant for her but she'll feel rude if she doesn't reply.]
I don't know. Perhaps it's beautiful?
I don't know. Perhaps it's beautiful?
Women would kill over hair?
I will never understand women.
I will never understand women.
[Her voice lightens as if she's smiling.]
Anything can be beautiful, even 'just hair'
Anything can be beautiful, even 'just hair'
I don't think I will ever understand some things.
[She laughs and the sound is musical, as if it's come from an Angel.]
Well it is rather silly. I think it's alright if it doesn't make sense.
But I always thought that those things that didn't make sense were... Precious somehow.
Well it is rather silly. I think it's alright if it doesn't make sense.
But I always thought that those things that didn't make sense were... Precious somehow.
Edited 2019-12-02 20:33 (UTC)
I don't have a lot of experience with silly. I'm not sure how things that don't make sense can be precious.
It's a little hard to explain. There is a mystery to them, something we don't really understand, and they only last for a moment.
And, I think, the world needs more silly things.
And, I think, the world needs more silly things.
A storm had raged above Dragonstone the night before, one like the storm that gave Daenerys her name, and in the morning the men had found Rhaenys washed ashore, along with the wreckage of a small rowboat. She was dressed plainly, with no signs of her station or House; the only hint to her identity, apart from her predominantly Dornish features, was a dagger tucked into her belt, though who was to say she hadn't stolen it?
No one dared to approach her at first, fearing that she was some sort of bad omen. It wasn't the first time for strange things to happen on the isle of dragons, after all.
Then she regained consciousness, coughing out water and curling up into a ball on her side.
No one dared to approach her at first, fearing that she was some sort of bad omen. It wasn't the first time for strange things to happen on the isle of dragons, after all.
Then she regained consciousness, coughing out water and curling up into a ball on her side.
The others might be too superstitious to approach, but not Jon. He has no concern about bad omens; he's already been dead once, he doesn't know what omens can do to him. He was raised to provide assistance whenever necessary besides, which might have gotten him killed but he's not going to stop doing it now. He does the right thing, even when doing the right thing is hard, and providing shelter to a refugee is the right thing to do.
He pushes his way through the assembled crowd and approaches the newcomer. He doesn't have much experience with Dornishmen, having spent most of his life in the North and in the places he's been since, he's never been that far south, despite having been born there. But he has met a few men from Dorne, and he had received the same tutoring in the kingdoms and the characteristics of those who live there as Ned Stark's trueborn children had. So he can guess her origins. As for the dagger in her belt, it does make him a bit wary, knowing of the previous attempts on Daenerys' life and the fact that there are those who would still want her dead, but he knows how well-protected she is, and he himself wears a dagger in his belt, so he understands the instinct.
He comes to stand next to her, with his distinct Northern features and undeniable accent to confirm his origins, and holds out a hand to help her up. "Come. It's more comfortable inside."
He pushes his way through the assembled crowd and approaches the newcomer. He doesn't have much experience with Dornishmen, having spent most of his life in the North and in the places he's been since, he's never been that far south, despite having been born there. But he has met a few men from Dorne, and he had received the same tutoring in the kingdoms and the characteristics of those who live there as Ned Stark's trueborn children had. So he can guess her origins. As for the dagger in her belt, it does make him a bit wary, knowing of the previous attempts on Daenerys' life and the fact that there are those who would still want her dead, but he knows how well-protected she is, and he himself wears a dagger in his belt, so he understands the instinct.
He comes to stand next to her, with his distinct Northern features and undeniable accent to confirm his origins, and holds out a hand to help her up. "Come. It's more comfortable inside."
The spotlight was not something Rhaegar Targaryen really wanted, but he loved music and couldn't part from it no matter how hard he tried. He'd had quite the career, though unfortunately tainted by his failed marriage to Elia Martell; still, the man had talent, and he continued to make music and hold performances even after his contemporaries had faded into obscurity. The media, of course, had chalked it up to his father, who might not have approved of his career and life choices but had refused to let him sink and tarnish their family name all the same.
He'd been invited to play in an event up north by his best friend, army captain Arthur Dayne, and he's finishing up his second set of the evening, playing a song he'd sung more than a hundred times over. A song about winter and roses, one of his all-time hits, written a long time ago for a young lady he'd met and had a bittersweet summer fling with.
Then he salutes and slips off the stage to grab a drink from the bar.
He'd been invited to play in an event up north by his best friend, army captain Arthur Dayne, and he's finishing up his second set of the evening, playing a song he'd sung more than a hundred times over. A song about winter and roses, one of his all-time hits, written a long time ago for a young lady he'd met and had a bittersweet summer fling with.
Then he salutes and slips off the stage to grab a drink from the bar.
Jon had found a spot in the back from which to watch the performance. He'd come more because he wanted to get a glimpse of the man he now knows is his father than for any other reason. He hasn't even really decided if he wants to try and meet him. His identity had been kept secret for a reason, after all -- the Targaryens have powerful enemies -- but he is curious about him. He wonders if Rhaegar had known of his existence, but supposes that he hadn't, because why would he have been left up north after his mother died if his existence had been known?
It's the final song of the set that convinces him to try and meet Rhaegar. He's heard it many times, but it has more meaning now.
He makes his way through the crowd to the bar, finally squeezing his way close enough to be heard over the din of the other voices...only to realize that he doesn't know what to say. His features should do a good amount of talking for him, as obviously Stark as they are.
He has to say something, though. Even so, he stumbles over the words. "That song, you wrote that for Lyanna." He's sure of it, knowing what he does now.
It's the final song of the set that convinces him to try and meet Rhaegar. He's heard it many times, but it has more meaning now.
He makes his way through the crowd to the bar, finally squeezing his way close enough to be heard over the din of the other voices...only to realize that he doesn't know what to say. His features should do a good amount of talking for him, as obviously Stark as they are.
He has to say something, though. Even so, he stumbles over the words. "That song, you wrote that for Lyanna." He's sure of it, knowing what he does now.
That's quite a greeting.
He'd never spoken about Lyanna Stark, though there had been rumors about a dark-haired girl from the north he'd fallen in love with and written songs about. Not that she'd been the only one, as far as the rumors were concerned; it was easy for a singer-songwriter to get caught in romantic gossip, especially the likes of Rhaegar Targaryen.
Surprise flickers on his face and he opens his mouth to say something — to deny, to feign ignorance — but then he closes it again. Something about the young man looks familiar, but he can't put his finger to it.
"Where did you hear that?" is what he asks instead, but it's good-natured, with no malice or anger in his tone. He gestures to his bottle of beer as a way of asking Jon if he wants a drink, his lips pursed into a small smile.
He'd never spoken about Lyanna Stark, though there had been rumors about a dark-haired girl from the north he'd fallen in love with and written songs about. Not that she'd been the only one, as far as the rumors were concerned; it was easy for a singer-songwriter to get caught in romantic gossip, especially the likes of Rhaegar Targaryen.
Surprise flickers on his face and he opens his mouth to say something — to deny, to feign ignorance — but then he closes it again. Something about the young man looks familiar, but he can't put his finger to it.
"Where did you hear that?" is what he asks instead, but it's good-natured, with no malice or anger in his tone. He gestures to his bottle of beer as a way of asking Jon if he wants a drink, his lips pursed into a small smile.
Even as Rhaenys accepts the stranger's hand and lets him pull her up, her expression remains guarded. Her gaze slips to the dagger on his belt before returning to his face, acknowledging that he's armed as much as she is, though it moves even further up, past his head and to what looks like a looming fortress behind him. She knows where she is, s she'd seen the shadows of the island during their approach; then the storm had swept in and torn their ship apart.
She pulls her hand back slowly, looking back at Jon again. "What is a Northman doing so far south?" she asks, her own Dornish accent confirming her origins. The last she's heard, Dragonstone was unoccupied, abandoned by Stannis Baratheon when he'd decided to go and take the fight north.
She pulls her hand back slowly, looking back at Jon again. "What is a Northman doing so far south?" she asks, her own Dornish accent confirming her origins. The last she's heard, Dragonstone was unoccupied, abandoned by Stannis Baratheon when he'd decided to go and take the fight north.
From my father, is almost his immediate reply. While it's true that Ned Stark has been a father to him, and will always be like a father to him in many ways, the man in front of him now is also his father, the one responsible for his existence. Even if this is the only time they ever talk, he has to reconcile the fact that due to some twist of fate, he has two fathers.
He nods at the bartender and waits until he gets his drink and the man is no longer paying attention to them to answer. "From the man who raised me. Ned Stark." Now he's revealed not only that he knows Lyanna's full name but also how he knows it, and why he looks familiar, too. He's a Stark. "Lyanna Stark was my mother. She told him that before she died."
He nods at the bartender and waits until he gets his drink and the man is no longer paying attention to them to answer. "From the man who raised me. Ned Stark." Now he's revealed not only that he knows Lyanna's full name but also how he knows it, and why he looks familiar, too. He's a Stark. "Lyanna Stark was my mother. She told him that before she died."
What is he doing this far south? The full story is a long one, and most of it isn't necessary. The immediate reason that brought him here is enough, especially since there's not time for all of it right now anyway.
"There's a threat in the North, a threat to all of Westeros. I came here to ask Daenerys' assistance in fighting it." It's not something the men of the North can do alone, and his allies are few at the moment. Convincing even one person to provide assistance would be a start.
"What's a Dornishwoman doing so far north?"
"There's a threat in the North, a threat to all of Westeros. I came here to ask Daenerys' assistance in fighting it." It's not something the men of the North can do alone, and his allies are few at the moment. Convincing even one person to provide assistance would be a start.
"What's a Dornishwoman doing so far north?"
To take back what is mine, Rhaenys thinks, but she doesn't give voice to the words. Instead she frowns at Jon, mulling over what he's said for a moment. A threat to all of Westeros... and, more importantly: Daenerys. Her aunt.
Their aunt. Not that either of them, any of them, know.
"And she has agreed to fight the Lannister woman?" Because that's all she's aware of, that the threat is Cersei.
Their aunt. Not that either of them, any of them, know.
"And she has agreed to fight the Lannister woman?" Because that's all she's aware of, that the threat is Cersei.
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