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fandomweekly2026-09-27 01:21 pm
m_findlow) wrote in fandomweekly2026-09-27 01:21 pm
Entry tags:
[#315] BLOOD AGAINST BLOOD (GAME OF THRONES)
Theme Prompt: #315 - Last of their kind
Title: Blood against blood
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating/Warnings: PG. Spoilers for all seasons.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jon comes to a stunning realisation on his way back to Castle Black.
Jon knew his life was forfeit the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. Not that there was much greatness left; the Red Keep had been shattered and ruined by dragonfire.
All of King's Landing lay enveloped in smoke and a thick white ash that had carried on raining down over the remnants of the city like a long winter's snow. Just as his father had promised him, winter had come, though not in any fashion that might have been imagined. Instead a coldness of a different kind sat heavy over the broken stones, cruel and bitter; a winter that could only be ended by death, one way or another.
Jon had killed his queen, and in doing so, set the future of the Seven Kingdoms on a different course. He'd abated so hard to believe that Dany would be a good and just queen, taking the hurts and the scars she'd suffered as lessons, and setting the world right. Whilst y he didn't want to hear Tyrion's words, there was a kernel of truth to them. Dany alone would decide who was right and just, and who deserved death. There would be no mercy in the world until all the perceived enemies were destroyed, no matter how many lives it cost. Both he and Tyrion had loved her and yet both could see that love could only reach so far into a heart that had grown to love power more than people.
The armies of Unsullied and Dothraki had now left the city, swept away on their ships across the Narrow Sea, just as Jon was now on his own ship, taking him far away from King's Landing. There was no hero's welcome for him, only a life sentence to serve the Night's Watch until his eventual death. That was the price to be paid for restoring peace and ending the reign of yet another mad ruler.
The ship lurched on the waves just as Jon's own stomach lurched with it. He cast his gaze up to the sky, where a dark shroud of black was pockmarked with sparkles of white, like the snowflakes that came to rest upon his black cloak. Up there the sky barely moved, just a fixed blackness that stretched on forever. It made the movement of the ship disappear, just a speck in a vast ocean heading ever northward where the waters were so cold a man might die just from falling overboard. Jon's gloved hands instinctively gripped the railing more tightly as he continued to search the stars for answers to settle the feelings in his heart.
He had killed his own blood that day. Targaryens had wedded, and bedded, their own kin for generations. Brothers married sisters, cousins, occasionally even their own widowed mothers, furthering their line and keeping the bloodline of the dragon pure. Jon could not say he had chosen to love his own blood, because he had not known they were blood. All his life he had been a Snow, the bastard son of Ned Stark, and all his life all he had ever wanted was to be a true Stark. He had boyhood dreams of becoming a knight, fighting in glorious battles, and earning the praise of his King, who might one day restore to him the name of his father, making him a true Stark. In truth he had never been a Stark at all. His father's blood had been Targaryen blood, and whilst his mother had been a Stark, it was paternal blood that mattered. He was the blood of the dragon. It was fire that coursed through his veins, not ice.
What made his stomach turn was not the ocean beneath him, but the realisation that he was now the last of his line. He had killed his only living kin. The woman he'd loved had been his true father's sister. All his other Targaryen family – a family he himself had never known or loved – had been murdered long ago during the downfall of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen. Jon was the sole living heir on that line, and the true heir of the Iron Throne. Daenerys Targaryen had never been the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and knowing that fact, would always have eyed Jon with suspicion no matter how much he declared his love for her. His own lineage would forever have been a threat to her own reign. Much as he was loath to admit it, Dany would never have let him live and risk his secret coming out.
Only a handful of people knew that secret – the three Stark children he'd held close to his heart as siblings his whole life, his best friend Samwell Tarly, and Tyrion Lannister. To everyone else, Jon was simply the bastard Snow, killer of the Dragon Queen, and that would be how he would remain for the rest of his days. Not a Targaryen King, not a Stark, not the King of the North. Just a murderer who would be exiled to live with the other murderers and broken men up at the end of the world, where the eternal snowfall would remind him what his name would forever be.
Oi! Snow! Heavy boots crunched over the thin layer of ice slowly forming on the deck. Get that salt down before someone comes out here and breaks their neck.
Jon nodded silently, bending down to pick up the sack of salt, reaching in and wrapping his gloved fingers around the coarse grains before scattering them across the deck. He reminded himself that he was on duty, not to gaze at the stars but to do his job and maintain the deck as the cold ice of the North grew heavier with each day they sailed towards Castle Black to resume their sworn duties, taking no wife, and bearing no children.
Jon was just another brother of the Night's Watch, just another Snow bastard boy of the North, not the first and certainly not the last.
Title: Blood against blood
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Rating/Warnings: PG. Spoilers for all seasons.
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 1,000 words
Summary: Jon comes to a stunning realisation on his way back to Castle Black.
Jon knew his life was forfeit the moment he stepped into the Great Hall. Not that there was much greatness left; the Red Keep had been shattered and ruined by dragonfire.
All of King's Landing lay enveloped in smoke and a thick white ash that had carried on raining down over the remnants of the city like a long winter's snow. Just as his father had promised him, winter had come, though not in any fashion that might have been imagined. Instead a coldness of a different kind sat heavy over the broken stones, cruel and bitter; a winter that could only be ended by death, one way or another.
Jon had killed his queen, and in doing so, set the future of the Seven Kingdoms on a different course. He'd abated so hard to believe that Dany would be a good and just queen, taking the hurts and the scars she'd suffered as lessons, and setting the world right. Whilst y he didn't want to hear Tyrion's words, there was a kernel of truth to them. Dany alone would decide who was right and just, and who deserved death. There would be no mercy in the world until all the perceived enemies were destroyed, no matter how many lives it cost. Both he and Tyrion had loved her and yet both could see that love could only reach so far into a heart that had grown to love power more than people.
The armies of Unsullied and Dothraki had now left the city, swept away on their ships across the Narrow Sea, just as Jon was now on his own ship, taking him far away from King's Landing. There was no hero's welcome for him, only a life sentence to serve the Night's Watch until his eventual death. That was the price to be paid for restoring peace and ending the reign of yet another mad ruler.
The ship lurched on the waves just as Jon's own stomach lurched with it. He cast his gaze up to the sky, where a dark shroud of black was pockmarked with sparkles of white, like the snowflakes that came to rest upon his black cloak. Up there the sky barely moved, just a fixed blackness that stretched on forever. It made the movement of the ship disappear, just a speck in a vast ocean heading ever northward where the waters were so cold a man might die just from falling overboard. Jon's gloved hands instinctively gripped the railing more tightly as he continued to search the stars for answers to settle the feelings in his heart.
He had killed his own blood that day. Targaryens had wedded, and bedded, their own kin for generations. Brothers married sisters, cousins, occasionally even their own widowed mothers, furthering their line and keeping the bloodline of the dragon pure. Jon could not say he had chosen to love his own blood, because he had not known they were blood. All his life he had been a Snow, the bastard son of Ned Stark, and all his life all he had ever wanted was to be a true Stark. He had boyhood dreams of becoming a knight, fighting in glorious battles, and earning the praise of his King, who might one day restore to him the name of his father, making him a true Stark. In truth he had never been a Stark at all. His father's blood had been Targaryen blood, and whilst his mother had been a Stark, it was paternal blood that mattered. He was the blood of the dragon. It was fire that coursed through his veins, not ice.
What made his stomach turn was not the ocean beneath him, but the realisation that he was now the last of his line. He had killed his only living kin. The woman he'd loved had been his true father's sister. All his other Targaryen family – a family he himself had never known or loved – had been murdered long ago during the downfall of the Mad King, Aerys Targaryen. Jon was the sole living heir on that line, and the true heir of the Iron Throne. Daenerys Targaryen had never been the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, and knowing that fact, would always have eyed Jon with suspicion no matter how much he declared his love for her. His own lineage would forever have been a threat to her own reign. Much as he was loath to admit it, Dany would never have let him live and risk his secret coming out.
Only a handful of people knew that secret – the three Stark children he'd held close to his heart as siblings his whole life, his best friend Samwell Tarly, and Tyrion Lannister. To everyone else, Jon was simply the bastard Snow, killer of the Dragon Queen, and that would be how he would remain for the rest of his days. Not a Targaryen King, not a Stark, not the King of the North. Just a murderer who would be exiled to live with the other murderers and broken men up at the end of the world, where the eternal snowfall would remind him what his name would forever be.
Oi! Snow! Heavy boots crunched over the thin layer of ice slowly forming on the deck. Get that salt down before someone comes out here and breaks their neck.
Jon nodded silently, bending down to pick up the sack of salt, reaching in and wrapping his gloved fingers around the coarse grains before scattering them across the deck. He reminded himself that he was on duty, not to gaze at the stars but to do his job and maintain the deck as the cold ice of the North grew heavier with each day they sailed towards Castle Black to resume their sworn duties, taking no wife, and bearing no children.
Jon was just another brother of the Night's Watch, just another Snow bastard boy of the North, not the first and certainly not the last.