[He hadn't thought about it before, but Sansa had to miss having someone around similar to her mother. For so long, she had suffered and struggled on her own, used as a tool for the men around her. Even with Arya, she didn't have someone that understood her and shared her interests. Claire was perhaps the first person since Margaery Tyrell that she could feel was like family.]
Aye, I imagine so. You can talk to Sansa about the things that are lost on me. [He really doesn't notice the details in her dresses or a new hairstyle.] Now that Robb is gone, I think she worries about what will happen if father or I disappear.
[There's a small nod of understanding from Claire. Of course. She wishes she could say they won't go back to stasis, but she can't with any certainty. She never thought Jamie would go, nor herself. But she can promise something.]
[He's grateful for that, but there was never any question in his mind. Claire was kind hearted in the same way Sansa was. Sansa had reached out and invited Claire to stay with them, if the worst should happen and Sansa was left alone, Claire would look after her.]
There's someone you should be on guard of. Has Sansa told you about Ramsay Bolton?
If his guard was lowered enough, he might have made a joke about his death, but that was a step too far. He'll smile and laugh, that's as extreme as it can get.]
Then what should we fight to? First one to be disarmed?
[ Better to not talk about their deaths at all, really. Loras would certainly lose his good mood quick enough, even despite all the influence in the air. ]
Those terms seem agreeable.
[ Though it would be an interesting fight. They've trained very differently, and they've experienced fighting very differently. ]
I thought that you world would be different than this.
[He had met a number of people that described a similar world. From the small mentions Emma had made of hers, it sounded like theirs. He couldn't imagine balls were a large part of it, but she seemed more at ease here than he was. Even if they weren't as common for her as they were for him, she still was managing better than him.]
The dancing was never my favorite part. [He had always been too stiff for that, too aware of others that stared at him because of his birth. He had never been comfortable dancing and it seemed only like an invitation for further ridicule. That had been when he was young, now...he just never saw an occasion for it.] Well, maybe we should put everything aside and dance together?
Fashionable sister. She enjoys all of this more than I do.
That might depend on which of my worlds you're talking about.
[ Storybrooke? The Enchanted Forest? They've lot all of them now, but she's seen the Enchanted Forest when they had cause to celebrate, before the curse turned it into a ghost town. Granted, it celebrated her father's engagement to a woman he didn't love, but it was still a formal event, a lot like this one.]
At least someone enjoys it. I think I'd enjoy it more if we weren't standing in the temporary peace of two warring parties.
[ there's the sense that most of the people here are simply tolerating each other, rather than wanting to engage in a genuine celebration. its played for laughs this time, they pick a side and play it all off as a game, but there's a real tension underneath it and its one Emma has a hard time ignoring.
then again, its easier to see if when she's hiding in the corner. maybe dancing isn't the worst idea; if nothing else, it gets her to crack a smile.]
I think I could manage to put everything aside long enough for a dance.
Again, you have my thanks. I can't say I knew what to expect. The... Orbiters weren't particularly forthcoming with information on what they expected, other than obedience and fitting in. It would be easier to do if new faces weren't outright called traitor.
[He fell in step with Jon, following him where he led and keeping an eye out for any more curious or questioning faces.]
A part of him wondered if Claire's husband was Fergus' father, but it wasn't his place to ask such questions and not all experiences were his own. However much he had come to terms with being a bastard, there was still a part of him that dreaded and feared hearing that his mother might have been some whore in a brothel. Whatever the truth was, he had tried to imagine her as a highborn lady, someone similar to Claire in appearance and manner. Though those images must have merged since meeting her and living under Claire's care.
"Did he marry well?" It was always touch and go for bastards. Some were acknowledged and allowed high born marriages, while others were a stain on their father's family and hurriedly sent away, left to make poor marriages or lives for themselves. And others, like Gendry, were forgotten or unknown.
It was surreal to hear someone say that about a bastard. It left him stupefied and uncertain how to respond. "You have a knack for caring for children that aren't your own." Meaning him and Sansa, a clumsy compliment.
Claire wouldn't mind. She's learned plenty of details about Jon's life that perhaps shouldn't be shared, but at this point, they're family. It's what has her giving his next question some more consideration than what might actually be necessary. Maybe it's good for him to know her family wasn't picturesque.
"He married the woman he loves, and she loves him, so I think so. She's actually my husband's step-daughter," she admits with a little huff of a laugh. Oh, she can see the humor in it now, but Claire was hardly the happiest woman to find out Jamie not only remarried, but now was step-father to two girls.
It wasn't so much the marrying, but who he married. Laoghaire nearly had her burned at the stake for being a witch. To think of that still makes Claire's blood boil, but Marsali was (thankfully) very different from her mother.
Jon's comment makes her smile, thoughts of Laoghaire brushed away as she looks over at him.
"I always wanted children. I thought for a very long time that I was unable." The problem wasn't with her, as she found out--but while Faith showed her she could conceive, her pregnancies were never easy. Even Brianna's would could have taken her life had she stayed in the 18th century. "We would joke about having a dozen of them. I think I would have liked that, if it were possible. Things didn't come to pass the way we hoped, but I've managed all right with what I've found."
"It wasn't always like this. When we first arrived, the people of Olympia welcomed us and treated us well. They offered us a great deal of kindness. It was easy to feel comfortable here. What's happening now is strange. Even those of us who have been here since the beginning of our arrival are being treated with suspicion." It was curious and off putting, especially after all the work they had done to be part of this city. But however frustrating it was for him, it had to be so much worse for her.
"Is your family still in stasis?" He knew how lucky he was and didn't take it for granted, but he also understood how others might feel in seeing him with his family. "For now, I will tell the guards you are my sister. That should at least keep them from being too suspicious."
"And no one wants a distraction?" It's hard to look at this world and not see previous patterns, hard to stifle the gut reaction of wondering who has something to gain by turning the natives - from both cities - and the refugees against each other. Wanda supposes she'll find out eventually. They are men, not machines, and they can't hide their true selves from her. "It sounds like something must have happened." Or someone made something happen.
Just like Sokovia. Strange, to have come all this way and still find herself confronting a variation on the same basic problem.
"I found my brother," she says as she starts trying to work the knots out of her hair. "And some other people from my world." Thank goodness she'd been able to get most of the mud off her clothes earlier. If she can get her hair looking a little more presentable, Wanda might just be able to pass as a traveler who had nothing whatsoever to do with the ships they shot down.
There's just the not-so-small problem of red and black being Wyver's colors, but it's too late to do anything about that now. "I hope this works. I can think of other ways to get in, but this is best. Less trouble."
"I don't know." It was hard to say and there was no indication from the Natha how long it had taken the majority of them to wake. He could only assume that he was among the first because he had been uninjured and had no need for healing or anything else. That seemed to be the reasoning, but still added no context to the amount of time that had passed since their world ended and he woke here.
It wasn't something he wanted to think of very much, the time that he spent without her and the time it took to accept everything that happened. All of it seemed like another life, in much the same way that his boyhood and the Wall were part of another life. He had never been forward thinking for the future, but that was what he tried to do here, focus on a singular goal, fulfilling his promise. As was always the case though, Daenerys managed to shake him from that and unknowingly managed to make him consider a life he might not otherwise have had. A life here.
Her touch is electric to him, a spark against the vast darkness. He can feel his heart ease and his face lighten as he turns to look at her. He didn't know how he would have faced this memorial without her. It's likely he would have felt as hollow as he did every day that came before.
"I'm not sure. I think they might? If not, maybe your dragons will find something they like better?"
A quiet hum is her response. That he doesn't expand on the thought is answer enough to leave the topic alone. Whatever the length of time was didn't matter. They were still here, in this world... and their world was gone.
Were all those from their world here? Every man, woman, and child? Or were there sacrifices, even in those who would be saved? Would she recognize any of the slaves from Essos, if she bothered to venture deeper into the stasis room? Would she find Pyat Pree, and even Mirri Maz Duur? ...Doreah? Those are things she wishes not to dwell on, so instead, Dany focuses on his comment about food.
"Better than sheep?" She lifts her brows, her tone taking on a more horrified hint to it, and shakes her head. Her gaze flicks back down to the lantern with his painting. It's likely best he is a warrior and not a painter... just like she's a queen and not a poet. "There's nothing better than sheep."
Her body is soft in all the ways he had needed and missed. While he had always noticed the heat that radiated from her and inside of her, it was her softness that made overwhelmed him. He still struggled for breath, choking on the emotion that had risen to the surface, replacing frenzy with awe and love. It had shaken him, how much he felt for her on that first night. It surpassed anything else he had felt before, a strong link that he couldn't explain or begin to understand. It was as if his blood cried out for her and his soul was bound to hers.
His hips moved on their own accord, having long ago lost the ability for stable rhythm and speed. Instead, he chased after that warm feeling, his body struggling to hold out with each push and pull. It was almost as though his climax were being dragged from him, all without his will and permission. It was embarrassing to know that he was failing to draw this out, but she had teased him so well and it had been so long since he was with her last. It was too much.
He gripped her tightly, his nails digging into her sides, his last semblance of control before his body gave way. He pressed her face into her neck, biting fiercely into her flesh in a desperate bid to mark her and push her over the edge as well. Or maybe he simply wanted to taste her? It was hard to tell in that fine line between pleasure and madness.
His body tightened within her, his hips managing to thrust once and twice more before his speed spilled. He groaned, his voice muffled by her skin. His eyes shut tightly, color blooming before his eyes, as though she had returned it to the world herself.
He would have to make this up to her. It wouldn't be the last.
The pace is frenzied and nothing at all like the boat, where things had been slow and measured. But had they truly been that way? It felt as if she could find nothing to grapple, as if the world threatened to slip out from beneath her feet and from her grasp with each of his thrusts. And with each of his thrusts, everything turned into a finely honed edge, her world narrowing to him. Jon Snow. Her love and lover.
Still, that had been dizzying in a different way. This time, she's dizzied by so many factors: the lack of inhibitions, the desperate need to claim, and, simply, him. Each of his thrusts are sharp, and though she cannot find a complimentary rhythm to roll her hips to, she still manages to angle herself--a tilt of the pelvis--so that her clit grinds against him with each rock.
Little starbursts of pleasure are the result. Nails dig into his shoulders, gripping, scraping, leaving bright red marks in relation to the intensity of his thrusts. It's not until nails dig into her flesh, sharp and sudden... and his teeth press down against her sharp enough to hurt--
--but also sharp enough for that pain to morph into blinding pleasure. The sort that has her moaning, her cunt contracting spasmodically around his cock. And it hits her so fast and suddenly: thrust--the pressure builds--thrust--molten heat--thrust--warmth filling her, briefly, as he spills his seed into her. She's mindless, sandwiched between he and the wall, tilting her head to the side so he can better reach her neck. Nails rake down his back. More, more, more. She needs so much more of him.
He's coming, however, and she's just on the cusp. So she reaches between them and toys with her clit, sure fingers and strokes that tease, tease, tease, has her head tilting back and her body arching sharply--and then the sensation reaches its peak and her orgasm hits her. Fast. Unrelenting. Inner muscles contracting around his quickly softening cock
"They only know that we can't return to our lands." They just didn't know exactly where those lands were or what happened to them. Somehow, the question never really came up or was addressed, much to Jon's relief. He wasn't even sure what he would say if they asked. He knew how to lie, and could do it if it was called for, but he couldn't really come up with an idea of what to say. There was no good story in his mind, silence was better.
"When men want a fight, there is no stopping it." He can't say whether or not Olympia is completely home yet. His family is here, his friends and his job are here. While there were similarities to Westeros, it wasn't exactly the same. But Wyver was even less familiar. It wasn't enough to make him want to join the war, but he would do what he needed to protect his family, whatever that called for.
"It's going to happen whether we want it or not. All we can do is wait and prepare for it."
"Do they match those with magical abilities against those who don't possess those powers?" It would at least give him a chance to learn how to dodge and what to expect, better than the training he had with the guard.
"I do. We worked on a few missions together." It was only then that he was struck with how much he was giving up. He'd be leaving people like Diana and Emma behind, those he trained with and patrolled with. It would be difficult to walk away from that.
"Um...in some rings, I think? I try not to use mine against people who don't have them so that it's a more fair fight. They probably have some extra paperwork that you have to sign to acknowledge that you're prepared for the extra risk."
Her strength itself is superhuman, as is the durability and other physical things, but that's common to her people rather than a learned ability like some of the other things she's mentioned. She can't really do anything about that beyond remember to pull her punches.
"I'd like that. I can help you with hand to hand in return."
[He couldn't exactly say why Theon betrayed Robb and took Winterfell. He could guess, but whether or not that was true, only Theon could know the truth. Predicting a man's heart was a dangerous and difficult thing.
But he imagined it related back to feeling like an outsider, something they shared. Only, for Jon, he had joined the Night's Watch. It was a decision he regretted as well, somewhat at least. He wouldn't have known about the Army of the Dead or met Sam and Edd. But he still had regrets, given how swept up in the idea he had been once.]
He didn't know how to respond in this moment. It was a tenderness he'd never really received in his life. There had been affection from Arya, but it was the sort from a younger sister, not a mother figure. All Jon could do was lower his eyes as he struggled to think of showing how he was grateful and touched.
"How?" He sometimes didn't know who he was. He had a crisis of faith after he had been brought back from the dead and had to find his way again, something that hadn't been easy. It was only after meeting Daenerys had things changed, but that had only been his outlook. Knowing who he was, he never really thought of it, only what he believed and what he would stand by.
She understands. She understands that having this sort of affection can be new and overwhelming, and she understands he's grateful, even if he doesn't know how to show it.
"I see it in the way you look after your sister, and the way you talk to others. I see it in the way you regard me, and Lady Stark." He could use much harsher words and be justified, at least in Claire's eyes, but he doesn't. He could be angry at his father, say some choice words about him, but he doesn't. "We've lived together for some months. Shared meals. Sat together in silence. Those are the moments when you truly see a person. Maybe not the whole, but I think I've seen all I need to see in order to know the man you are, and to feel glad that our paths crossed when we crashed onto this planet."
That seems like ages ago.
"I told you, you're my boy. It'd be a problem if I didn't know who you are."
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Claire Fraser | THE OLYMPIA-WYVER HOLIDAY BALL
[He hadn't thought about it before, but Sansa had to miss having someone around similar to her mother. For so long, she had suffered and struggled on her own, used as a tool for the men around her. Even with Arya, she didn't have someone that understood her and shared her interests. Claire was perhaps the first person since Margaery Tyrell that she could feel was like family.]
Aye, I imagine so. You can talk to Sansa about the things that are lost on me. [He really doesn't notice the details in her dresses or a new hairstyle.] Now that Robb is gone, I think she worries about what will happen if father or I disappear.
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Sansa won't be alone.
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There's someone you should be on guard of. Has Sansa told you about Ramsay Bolton?
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Loras Tyrell | THE OLYMPIA-WYVER HOLIDAY BALL
[That was easier said than done for him.
If his guard was lowered enough, he might have made a joke about his death, but that was a step too far. He'll smile and laugh, that's as extreme as it can get.]
Then what should we fight to? First one to be disarmed?
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Those terms seem agreeable.
[ Though it would be an interesting fight. They've trained very differently, and they've experienced fighting very differently. ]
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Emma Swan | THE OLYMPIA-WYVER HOLIDAY BALL
I thought that you world would be different than this.
[He had met a number of people that described a similar world. From the small mentions Emma had made of hers, it sounded like theirs. He couldn't imagine balls were a large part of it, but she seemed more at ease here than he was. Even if they weren't as common for her as they were for him, she still was managing better than him.]
The dancing was never my favorite part. [He had always been too stiff for that, too aware of others that stared at him because of his birth. He had never been comfortable dancing and it seemed only like an invitation for further ridicule. That had been when he was young, now...he just never saw an occasion for it.] Well, maybe we should put everything aside and dance together?
Fashionable sister. She enjoys all of this more than I do.
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[ Storybrooke? The Enchanted Forest? They've lot all of them now, but she's seen the Enchanted Forest when they had cause to celebrate, before the curse turned it into a ghost town. Granted, it celebrated her father's engagement to a woman he didn't love, but it was still a formal event, a lot like this one.]
At least someone enjoys it. I think I'd enjoy it more if we weren't standing in the temporary peace of two warring parties.
[ there's the sense that most of the people here are simply tolerating each other, rather than wanting to engage in a genuine celebration. its played for laughs this time, they pick a side and play it all off as a game, but there's a real tension underneath it and its one Emma has a hard time ignoring.
then again, its easier to see if when she's hiding in the corner. maybe dancing isn't the worst idea; if nothing else, it gets her to crack a smile.]
I think I could manage to put everything aside long enough for a dance.
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Clara Oswald | THE OLYMPIA-WYVER HOLIDAY BALL
No, no kiwis or pineapples. I have had oranges and lemons.
[Which was exotic to the North.]
Earth? That's where you are from? [But first:] Is there a drink I can get you instead?
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[Former planet, she thinks, unbidden.]
And no, thanks. Not feeling very thirsty tonight.
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laaaate feel free to ignore
No worries!
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Vlad | Intro Log #4
[He smiled, well familiar with the sentiment.]
This city hasn't done much to welcome you and I'm sorry for that. These were different people when I first arrived. Something has changed.
Once you are here for a few days, it might change.
[And if not, it meant that the days were drawing steadily closer to the war they could all sense was coming.]
The temporary housing isn't far from here.
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[He fell in step with Jon, following him where he led and keeping an eye out for any more curious or questioning faces.]
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Claire | Intro Log #4
A part of him wondered if Claire's husband was Fergus' father, but it wasn't his place to ask such questions and not all experiences were his own. However much he had come to terms with being a bastard, there was still a part of him that dreaded and feared hearing that his mother might have been some whore in a brothel. Whatever the truth was, he had tried to imagine her as a highborn lady, someone similar to Claire in appearance and manner. Though those images must have merged since meeting her and living under Claire's care.
"Did he marry well?" It was always touch and go for bastards. Some were acknowledged and allowed high born marriages, while others were a stain on their father's family and hurriedly sent away, left to make poor marriages or lives for themselves. And others, like Gendry, were forgotten or unknown.
It was surreal to hear someone say that about a bastard. It left him stupefied and uncertain how to respond. "You have a knack for caring for children that aren't your own." Meaning him and Sansa, a clumsy compliment.
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"He married the woman he loves, and she loves him, so I think so. She's actually my husband's step-daughter," she admits with a little huff of a laugh. Oh, she can see the humor in it now, but Claire was hardly the happiest woman to find out Jamie not only remarried, but now was step-father to two girls.
It wasn't so much the marrying, but who he married. Laoghaire nearly had her burned at the stake for being a witch. To think of that still makes Claire's blood boil, but Marsali was (thankfully) very different from her mother.
Jon's comment makes her smile, thoughts of Laoghaire brushed away as she looks over at him.
"I always wanted children. I thought for a very long time that I was unable." The problem wasn't with her, as she found out--but while Faith showed her she could conceive, her pregnancies were never easy. Even Brianna's would could have taken her life had she stayed in the 18th century. "We would joke about having a dozen of them. I think I would have liked that, if it were possible. Things didn't come to pass the way we hoped, but I've managed all right with what I've found."
Sansa and Jon being two of them.
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Wanda | Intro Log #4
"It wasn't always like this. When we first arrived, the people of Olympia welcomed us and treated us well. They offered us a great deal of kindness. It was easy to feel comfortable here. What's happening now is strange. Even those of us who have been here since the beginning of our arrival are being treated with suspicion." It was curious and off putting, especially after all the work they had done to be part of this city. But however frustrating it was for him, it had to be so much worse for her.
"Is your family still in stasis?" He knew how lucky he was and didn't take it for granted, but he also understood how others might feel in seeing him with his family. "For now, I will tell the guards you are my sister. That should at least keep them from being too suspicious."
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Just like Sokovia. Strange, to have come all this way and still find herself confronting a variation on the same basic problem.
"I found my brother," she says as she starts trying to work the knots out of her hair. "And some other people from my world." Thank goodness she'd been able to get most of the mud off her clothes earlier. If she can get her hair looking a little more presentable, Wanda might just be able to pass as a traveler who had nothing whatsoever to do with the ships they shot down.
There's just the not-so-small problem of red and black being Wyver's colors, but it's too late to do anything about that now. "I hope this works. I can think of other ways to get in, but this is best. Less trouble."
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Daenerys | Intro Log #4 | Memorial
"I don't know." It was hard to say and there was no indication from the Natha how long it had taken the majority of them to wake. He could only assume that he was among the first because he had been uninjured and had no need for healing or anything else. That seemed to be the reasoning, but still added no context to the amount of time that had passed since their world ended and he woke here.
It wasn't something he wanted to think of very much, the time that he spent without her and the time it took to accept everything that happened. All of it seemed like another life, in much the same way that his boyhood and the Wall were part of another life. He had never been forward thinking for the future, but that was what he tried to do here, focus on a singular goal, fulfilling his promise. As was always the case though, Daenerys managed to shake him from that and unknowingly managed to make him consider a life he might not otherwise have had. A life here.
Her touch is electric to him, a spark against the vast darkness. He can feel his heart ease and his face lighten as he turns to look at her. He didn't know how he would have faced this memorial without her. It's likely he would have felt as hollow as he did every day that came before.
"I'm not sure. I think they might? If not, maybe your dragons will find something they like better?"
OOF I missed this!
Were all those from their world here? Every man, woman, and child? Or were there sacrifices, even in those who would be saved? Would she recognize any of the slaves from Essos, if she bothered to venture deeper into the stasis room? Would she find Pyat Pree, and even Mirri Maz Duur? ...Doreah? Those are things she wishes not to dwell on, so instead, Dany focuses on his comment about food.
"Better than sheep?" She lifts her brows, her tone taking on a more horrified hint to it, and shakes her head. Her gaze flicks back down to the lantern with his painting. It's likely best he is a warrior and not a painter... just like she's a queen and not a poet. "There's nothing better than sheep."
R U D E
i am the worst
I may or may not forgive you
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Daenerys | Intro Log #4 | NSFW
Her body is soft in all the ways he had needed and missed. While he had always noticed the heat that radiated from her and inside of her, it was her softness that made overwhelmed him. He still struggled for breath, choking on the emotion that had risen to the surface, replacing frenzy with awe and love. It had shaken him, how much he felt for her on that first night. It surpassed anything else he had felt before, a strong link that he couldn't explain or begin to understand. It was as if his blood cried out for her and his soul was bound to hers.
His hips moved on their own accord, having long ago lost the ability for stable rhythm and speed. Instead, he chased after that warm feeling, his body struggling to hold out with each push and pull. It was almost as though his climax were being dragged from him, all without his will and permission. It was embarrassing to know that he was failing to draw this out, but she had teased him so well and it had been so long since he was with her last. It was too much.
He gripped her tightly, his nails digging into her sides, his last semblance of control before his body gave way. He pressed her face into her neck, biting fiercely into her flesh in a desperate bid to mark her and push her over the edge as well. Or maybe he simply wanted to taste her? It was hard to tell in that fine line between pleasure and madness.
His body tightened within her, his hips managing to thrust once and twice more before his speed spilled. He groaned, his voice muffled by her skin. His eyes shut tightly, color blooming before his eyes, as though she had returned it to the world herself.
He would have to make this up to her. It wouldn't be the last.
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Still, that had been dizzying in a different way. This time, she's dizzied by so many factors: the lack of inhibitions, the desperate need to claim, and, simply, him. Each of his thrusts are sharp, and though she cannot find a complimentary rhythm to roll her hips to, she still manages to angle herself--a tilt of the pelvis--so that her clit grinds against him with each rock.
Little starbursts of pleasure are the result. Nails dig into his shoulders, gripping, scraping, leaving bright red marks in relation to the intensity of his thrusts. It's not until nails dig into her flesh, sharp and sudden... and his teeth press down against her sharp enough to hurt--
--but also sharp enough for that pain to morph into blinding pleasure. The sort that has her moaning, her cunt contracting spasmodically around his cock. And it hits her so fast and suddenly: thrust--the pressure builds--thrust--molten heat--thrust--warmth filling her, briefly, as he spills his seed into her. She's mindless, sandwiched between he and the wall, tilting her head to the side so he can better reach her neck. Nails rake down his back. More, more, more. She needs so much more of him.
He's coming, however, and she's just on the cusp. So she reaches between them and toys with her clit, sure fingers and strokes that tease, tease, tease, has her head tilting back and her body arching sharply--and then the sensation reaches its peak and her orgasm hits her. Fast. Unrelenting. Inner muscles contracting around his quickly softening cock
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Emma | Intro Log #4
"They only know that we can't return to our lands." They just didn't know exactly where those lands were or what happened to them. Somehow, the question never really came up or was addressed, much to Jon's relief. He wasn't even sure what he would say if they asked. He knew how to lie, and could do it if it was called for, but he couldn't really come up with an idea of what to say. There was no good story in his mind, silence was better.
"When men want a fight, there is no stopping it." He can't say whether or not Olympia is completely home yet. His family is here, his friends and his job are here. While there were similarities to Westeros, it wasn't exactly the same. But Wyver was even less familiar. It wasn't enough to make him want to join the war, but he would do what he needed to protect his family, whatever that called for.
"It's going to happen whether we want it or not. All we can do is wait and prepare for it."
Kale | Intro Log #5
"Do they match those with magical abilities against those who don't possess those powers?" It would at least give him a chance to learn how to dodge and what to expect, better than the training he had with the guard.
"I do. We worked on a few missions together." It was only then that he was struck with how much he was giving up. He'd be leaving people like Diana and Emma behind, those he trained with and patrolled with. It would be difficult to walk away from that.
"I could help you as well?"
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Her strength itself is superhuman, as is the durability and other physical things, but that's common to her people rather than a learned ability like some of the other things she's mentioned. She can't really do anything about that beyond remember to pull her punches.
"I'd like that. I can help you with hand to hand in return."
Theon | Intro Log #5
What was the reason you remember?
[He couldn't exactly say why Theon betrayed Robb and took Winterfell. He could guess, but whether or not that was true, only Theon could know the truth. Predicting a man's heart was a dangerous and difficult thing.
But he imagined it related back to feeling like an outsider, something they shared. Only, for Jon, he had joined the Night's Watch. It was a decision he regretted as well, somewhat at least. He wouldn't have known about the Army of the Dead or met Sam and Edd. But he still had regrets, given how swept up in the idea he had been once.]
Do you know why you really did those things?
[Not only what he told himself.]
Claire | Intro Log #5
He didn't know how to respond in this moment. It was a tenderness he'd never really received in his life. There had been affection from Arya, but it was the sort from a younger sister, not a mother figure. All Jon could do was lower his eyes as he struggled to think of showing how he was grateful and touched.
"How?" He sometimes didn't know who he was. He had a crisis of faith after he had been brought back from the dead and had to find his way again, something that hadn't been easy. It was only after meeting Daenerys had things changed, but that had only been his outlook. Knowing who he was, he never really thought of it, only what he believed and what he would stand by.
Maybe that was enough?
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"I see it in the way you look after your sister, and the way you talk to others. I see it in the way you regard me, and Lady Stark." He could use much harsher words and be justified, at least in Claire's eyes, but he doesn't. He could be angry at his father, say some choice words about him, but he doesn't. "We've lived together for some months. Shared meals. Sat together in silence. Those are the moments when you truly see a person. Maybe not the whole, but I think I've seen all I need to see in order to know the man you are, and to feel glad that our paths crossed when we crashed onto this planet."
That seems like ages ago.
"I told you, you're my boy. It'd be a problem if I didn't know who you are."
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