part xvii
295 AC
The tension between Elyanna and Joffrey eases with time, but it doesn't fully dissipate. Elyanna knows full-well that this is mostly her fault. She still hasn't apologized to Joffrey, hasn't reached out to him on her own.
[She's not ready to give up on her magic for good, give up on the life it reminds her of and everything she lost with it.]
Mother, of course, is aware of their fight, even if neither of them have told her the true cause of it. It's no coincidence that Myrcella and Gwyneth spend many an evening in Elyanna's private chambers — hours that previously were reserved for the two oldest siblings — sometimes in company of their minders, sometimes with Mother. Elyanna tells them stories, even though Gwyneth is too young yet, to truly appreciate or remember them. The same stories she used to tell Joffrey, years ago, under the cover of darkness in his own rooms.
Myrcella loves them, the adventures of the little Snaketongue and the Servant Girl with the Travelling Cupboard being her personal favorites. With the kind girl, Elyanna spends less time on weaving moral lessons and hints into her tales and more time covering wildly different, magical worlds, filled with dragons and hippogriffs and merpeople. Sometimes, on the rare evenings where they are completely alone, Elyanna will tell them stories of the far North. Of a wall taller than the human eye can perceive, built entirely out of ice and determination. Of the wolves that govern the wall to this day and the lost lands of shadows and frost that lie beyond it.
And sometimes, when she gets carried away, Elyanna will speak of a lost kingdom called Scotland, with its old castles and unforgiving winds. Of deep woods holding too many secrets and dangerous pathways that forever curve and change in unexpected direction. Those are the tales Gwyneth likes the most.
Unlike Mother and her younger siblings, her father is a rare visitor. Perhaps it was one of the few concessions Father had made to Mother in light of their deteriorating marriage: the children were predominately left to her. Even Joffrey, the direct heir to the Iron Throne, hadn't received much of Father's attention until he was twelve years old. It's a bit late to start his proper education as a king in Elyanna's opinion, but what does she know about raising kings?
As for Myrcella and Gwyneth, Elyanna honestly isn't sure her father even knows that her sisters exist. Or if he does, he doesn't seem to care about them one way or another. Maybe it's because they were girls, maybe because they are too young. Either way, Elyanna is not impressed with his conduct — and that's before you get to his actual behavior when he is in a room with his very impressionable children.
None of that means Elyanna doesn't care for her father — loves him, in fact. He is her father and he loves her and those facts make it hard to hate him even when his breath smells like alcohol and voice is more disparaging than it has any right to be.
That's why despite the harsh arguments between her parents and his rumored vile behavior, Elyanna doesn't hesitate to welcome him into her chambers when he decides to show up. Rare as it is, it does happen.
On this particular evening, Elyanna is especially thankful for the company. The Grand Maester has put her on bedrest again — a precaution, he insists, though she's not sure she can trust his words — even though Elyanna hasn't tried her hand at magic since her last fight with Joffrey. Not that she's told him that, she doesn't want him to get the wrong impression. Besides so far the result of her self-imposed magic ban doesn't strengthen Joffrey's position in the least. Elyanna has no more energy than she did before — as highlighted by the fact that Joffrey doesn't even suspect that she's stopped summoning ghosts — nor has her physical health improved in any way.
[She's getting worse, she knows that all too well. If things continue as they are right now, she may never see her fifteenth name day. There's an odd symmetry to that thought, although Elyanna can't put her finger on why that is.]
"Elyanna!" Father greets her, his usually bellowing voice soft in the way it only ever gets when he addresses her. "You look stunning as usual, dear child." His smile looks more convincing than Mother's does as well, despite Mother being usually a better liar.
Elyanna grins despite herself.
"Someone had to compensate for your looks, Father dearest."
Father laughs, delighted as always when she chooses to indulge in a sharp remark that could just as easily earn her a slap if she were anyone else. "Your mother would have my hide for that cheek of yours," he says and Elyanna doesn't think she imagines the satisfaction with which he says those words.
She ignores that. [It's not supposed to get easier, but you can grow used to anything — eventually.] Settles down in her bed, covered in more blankets than is probably practical because those layers are needed these days to keep the cold out of her bones, and asks the same thing she always does when Father stops by: "Will you tell me another story?"
Elyanna stares straight ahead into the darkness of the night. The lights of King's Landing have long been extinguished and thick clouds hide moon and stars alike. Like this, the world could go on forever or end just a few steps in front of her and Elyanna wouldn't know the difference.
That's what it feels like, Elyanna thinks with less bitterness than she expected. Being alive. It's like standing on the edge of an abyss, except you don't know where precisely the ground beneath your feet will disappear. You only know it will happen at some point and that you won't be fast enough to jump back and safe yourself.
It's stupid, this sense of melancholy that's clinging to her these days, as stubborn as Gwyneth at her worst. In all honesty, Elyanna is almost fifteen. That's— more than most people in this world have. Not to mention that she's spent those years in significantly better conditions than 99.9 percent of the population. Does she really get to complain about drawing a short stick when she's the daughter of a king? At a time were titles still mean everything and she'd probably have died shortly after her birth if royal resources hadn't been available to her?
And yet for all that Elyanna often feels older than her body would indicate — often feels lost and out-of-place and like there's so many things she's missing that she can't even figure out the questions she's supposed to ask — she can't help thinking it's not fair. Matter of fact, it's getting harder and harder to think much of anything else lately. Which, Elyanna is self-aware to realize, probably isn't a good thing.
Maybe if she was facing an unavoidable battle it would be different. Maybe it's not so much death itself but the way she's wasting away that's bothering her. Or maybe it's the knowledge that even with all she has been gifted with — Joffrey, her parents, her sisters — all Elyanna can focus on is what she's missing.
What are you?
Eon's innocuous question echoes in her head. Has been haunting her for months now, all the more so since she's figured out the correct answers. The answers he's asked her not to share unless she wants to. Because — as she's come to understand in the last days — this isn't a question meant to satisfy Eon's curiosity or challenge her to think in different ways. That would have been kind and Eon is many things, but kind is not among them.
What are you?
Elyanna Baratheon.
In the wake of her wordless response, inevitable the next question follows. Merciless. Relentless. And though it was Eon, who has first asked her, Elyanna doesn't hear him now. Hasn't for a while. Ever since their terrible argument, the only voice she hears in these moments is Joffrey's.
What do you want to be?
Truth is, the answer is simple, obvious, selfish, horrible. Is Harry Potter because Elyanna may aim for kindness, but most days she falls short in one way or another and she can never figure out if it's because something inside her is broken or because there's something inside her she doesn't want to fix.
Leave, Eon murmurs.
Where? Elyanna asks inwardly. She already knows, of course. The real question she wants to ask is Why? And with her time running out the way it is, she's getting tired of waiting for an answer.
It's been a while since Ella the servant girl last passed through the lower halls of the Red Keep. But the path's haven't changed in three hundred years and the lost baby fat that makes the little girl look gaunt — hollowed out almost — only makes the charade more believable.
Elyanna navigates through King's Landing's usual mid-afternoon crowd with practiced ease. She feels more energized than in weeks today. Which is fortunate because she honestly isn't sure she would have made the trip all the way to Eon's favorite place otherwise. And wouldn't that have been a hard thing to explain away to her parents — if the gold cloaks even found her, that is.
Perhaps being cooped up inside her room all the time is getting more to her than she's realized. Whatever the reason though, Elyanna isn't complaining. Not when it allows her to sink down on the sun-warmed stones besides Eon, out of breath but otherwise no worse for wear.
"It's been a while since you've graced me with your presence, m'lady." Eon, the bastard, doesn't sound even a little surprised to see her. One of these days, Elyanna really wants to catch him off his guard. For her personal satisfaction, if nothing else.
"Turns out dying keeps you a lot busier than a princess' regular duties." Elyanna smirks, the words sharper than her mother's court smile. It's a relief to make light of her health for once. To speak to perhaps the only friend she has in this city who won't take it the wrong way.
"I'll have to trust your judgement on the matter."
"I suppose you do."
"Why are you here?" Eon asks after a couple of minutes in which they both watch a merchant catch shout at a boy for attempting to steal while a little girl sneaks a couple of dried fish behind his back.
Perhaps the silent 'still' is just a result of her overactive imagination, but Elyanna tenses nonetheless. "Shouldn't I be?"
Eon snorts. "You only visit when you want something, m'lady."
Fair enough.
"Then why bother to ask? I want the same thing I always want."
Answers. Information. A breath of fresh air.
"And what do you plan to give in exchange?"
Elyanna's eyes follow the little thief who's carefully maneuvering through the crowd. "What do you ask for?" It seems like a more fitting response than I missed you, considering the context.
Eon is quiet for a moment. His fingers tap rhythmically against the stones. "Your question, if not your answer," is his eventual response and for the first time since they've started their odd, circular conversations Elyanna feels wrong-footed. Eon does not give anything for free. There is always a transaction, a system, no matter how nonsensical it may seem to an outsider. This is a breech of every rule they've built their interactions on and it doesn't sit well with her.
Nevertheless, Elyanna does as asked. "You told me to leave once. Why?"
Eon chuckles. It's a raspy sound and Elyanna wonders when he's last had something to drink. She should've brought something with her perhaps, but it had slipped her mind. She'd been to determined to use the first chance she had to give her guards the slip to spend much time on preparing the deed.
"Because only one can stay," he says as though the words themselves are a profound revelation. Or a warning. Or perhaps both.
"One of what?"
Eon tilts his head. The motion reminds Elyanna of a confused puppy — which is definitely an odd comparison to make. A puppy is about the last thing she'd usually associate with him.
"You've received your answer. It would be terribly callous to demand more than you've already been given, wouldn't it?"
Elyanna winces because those words — like everything Eon says — hit far too close to home. "Incredibly so," she agrees, forces her voice to remain light. Somehow she doesn't think she's fooling anyone, least of all Eon. Unwilling to give up when she's already caught him in an unexpectedly giving mood, Elyanna asks instead, "Will you give me another answer the next time I visit?"
Eon inclines his head. "But of course, m'lady."
It should feel mocking. That it doesn't inexplicably disturbs her more.
"And I can visit you as often as I'd like?" Elyanna checks because court has taught her a thing or two about word games and the trickery of carefully worded promises.
That seems to amuse Eon. Even the ratty cloth covering half of his face doesn't hide the extend of his grin.
"You were always able to visit whenever you want, m'lady." Though if Eon's aiming for a casual tone, he misses by a mile. "It's your city, after all."
"I don't know," Elyanna muses as she slowly rises. Her legs are a little shaky, but nothing that should keep her from making it home safely. She banishes that thought, lets her gaze glide over the organized chaos surrounding her instead. The dirty, haggard people, the constantly in-motion crowd, the city watch that turns too many blind eyes, the clever thieves and vicious souls carrying far too many blades in easy reach. "Is it?"
A sharp smile is her only answer.
Eon is glad to see Elyanna again and gladder still to see her leave. Figuratively speaking because Eon doesn't bother to track her progress through the streets. Doesn't risk a peak out from behind the thick fabric wrapped around his head. He doesn't think he would like what he'd see.
[No One has always had keen eyes, something most of his trainers remarked on at one point or another. The offer to enhance his natural gift had been a double-edged sword. It gave him an advantage few could claim to have even among his own kind — for you could only improve what was already there, not build a tower on a stones of nothing — but it also came at a cost.
You will see the truth, the master had warned him. There is a reason so few ever dare speak it, never mind seek it out willingly. You will not have that choice when everyone around you does.
Like most warnings, No One has only understood their full meaning after the choice had already been made. That is no cause for regret or reason to lament though. No One has accepted the consequences. It's all that's left to do.
And there are many consequences.]
Because Eon exists in broad daylight, smack in the sight of so many, many people and interacts regularly with most of them, his sight is a bit of a hindrance. Unlike No One, Eon isn't a Faceless. He cannot abscond emotions, cannot hide knowing as completely. Even if he does not act on what he sees, sometimes people can tell. They realize you've seen them because you're the only one who does.
No One cannot afford that sort of attention, so Eon hides sight and face alike. In some ways, he is as Faceless as No One. It used to bother Eon. Though he had been trained to not rely solely on one of his senses and compensating for his cloaked view had been a good reminder, the lack of seeing had thrown him more off-balance than expected.
He relied on that hint, that extra edge, to read and understand people's motivations more than he'd realized until he'd locked it away. And so, for all that it blurs the lines between No One and Eon more than is strictly speaking necessary, occasionally Eon cannot help but take a peak. Slip out of the blind cripple's body and into that of a formless, nameless entity instead.
And so, when Eon met Elyanna Baratheon — or rather, Elyanna Baratheon met Eon — he hadn't been able to resist. Even among the thick midday crowd on the lower level street market, Elyanna had stood out before Eon had even realized who he was dealing with. That had come later, when he'd noted the armed guards accompanying her, listened to her heated conversation with Ser Jaime Lannister.
In that first moment, she'd only been a small girl, perhaps a few years younger than Eon. Clearly of noble birth for she smelled too good and spoke to properly to be anything else and when she'd handed him the food, her hands had been soft and clean. So Eon had tilted his head forward just that slightest bit to allow him to peer over the edge of the bridge. Not enough to be noticed. Nothing more than a quick glance.
A quick glance at the truth Eon cannot unsee.
[Eon's glance lingers several fractions of a moment longer than he had intended it to. He needs that added time though, needs it desperately, for it takes him an unforgivable long time to process what it is his eyes are seeing.
What they see is this: A young child, five or six years old perhaps with wild, dark hair and startling green eyes. What they see is a face that should be pretty, where it not for its out-of-symmetry features and the jagged, bleeding wound that cuts it in half. On its left side, a bright eye is framed by thick, dark lashes that flutter against pale, unblemished skin, while the childish roundness of the flesh fails to fully hide the high cheek bone and slightly arched eyebrow. It's jaw leads to an almost pointed chin, the look of a young child that hasn't yet fully grown into its defining facial structure. The eyelashes of the right eye are thinner but longer and the brow sits a bit deeper, more furrowed than its companion. The right side's cheek bone is not as defined, whereas the jaw bone is wider, stronger than its mirror.
Though each side makes for an attractive picture on its own, put together on the same face the sight is disorienting. Which is why it takes Eon longer than it should to realize that what he's looking at is not a horribly disfigured child but something else entirely. The closest comparison he has is that of a very badly applied face that only covers half of a Faceless' face. It's not a complete fit because the part where the child's face tears is in the middle, as though it's being ripped apart from the inside out, but it's the best he's got for the moment. Eon can't explain what it is he sees, doesn't understand its cause or consequences, but he sees and he can't unsee and he's fascinated.]
As Elyanna grows, Eon keeps on catching glances of her face. Watches her grow into her features — both sets of them. It takes several years for him to realize that one half of her face is distinctly more feminine than the other — another question, another clue — and it takes much, much longer still to realize that he's become invested.
Even as Elyanna grows paler, thinner and weaker though, the wound tearing apart her entire face doesn't change, either to grow or to heal. Eon doesn't know what to make of that either.
Having never seen anything similar in another person — not the Red Priestesses who use all sorts of magic to alter their appearance, not in his fellow Faceless who use all sorts of disguises — Eon and No One have both worked to uncover the reason for Elyanna's, for lack of a better word, condition.
Among his first, vague guesses have been a magical experiment or curse gone wrong, a warging accident and some sort of soul merging — Eon has learned through some of the hushed gossip only spoken in the shadowiest corners of the Red Keep that Elyanna had a stillborn twin brother and has spent a considerable amount of researching whether she could have somehow absorbed part of his essence into herself.
It was that last line of thought that has led Eon onto a path he considers much more likely — soul circulation.
The Order of Black and White has had may a scholar dedicated to the mysteries of rebirth and reincarnation over the centuries. No One himself is fairly ambivalent towards the concepts, though in general he prefers to think of death as a final end — unless, of course, Death decides otherwise. As is his right.
He's been kept in touch with a priest willing to look further into the phenomenon over the years, though so far the results have been limited. Most documented cases concern reincarnation — as such documentation relies heavily on a person admitting to their former life and sharing their experiences, whereas rebirth is almost impossible to keep track of.
Even then, neither quite fits what Eon has been observing in Elyanna's development. Not until he's asked a question so absurd, he still can't really picture it — "Could someone be both?" — and the priest hasn't rejected the possibility on principle.
It's impossible to say for certain leaves many stones uncovered.
["If it was," the priest says after a long, careful consideration, "The souls would have to be extraordinarily compatible. And even then, I suspect they could not fully merge as wargs never truly become one with their companions, no matter how closely bound."
No One doesn't shift or purse his lips. He simply looks at the priest expectantly. "What do you mean to say?"
"While a scientific curiosity, I do not believe such a state of being would be capable of surviving. Not for long at least. Two minds cannot equally inhabit a body, and one cannot be in charge without the other ceding its power. I'd imagine it would be a constant state of war as the minds tear each other apart, fundamentally recognizing the other as foreign— not belonging and thus an enemy, if you will."
"Wargs can." It's not a disagreement so much as a prompt for further information.
"Wargs exercise control over their animal counterpart. Their success depends on their strength of will more even than on their relationship with the animal in question," the priest counters. "In theory, one mind should be able to suppress the other, weaker one. But such control cannot be held for prolonged time and neither is capable of fleeing the body when a true fight breaks out. No, though it is certainly interesting to contemplate, I do not believe any human could survive longterm under such control. It would either shatter, thus rendering its willpower moot, or perhaps even die, leaving the dominant mind in charge entirely."]
Eon doesn't agree with the priest's conclusion. More precisely, he doesn't agree with the statement that a state of two minds within the same body over prolonged periods of time is impossible. That it comes with side effects on the other hand? Well, wouldn't that explain a lot about a certain beloved princesses' continuously failing health?
No One doesn't care one way or another, but Eon wants to help. More than that, if what he suspects is true — and it is the best explanation he has found for the oddness he has observed in Elyanna — something needs to be done and soon.
Delivering Elyanna's name had been a first — if not terribly well-thought out — attempt. Nothing and nobody understood the art of killing like a Faceless. If anyone has a chance of giving the gift to one soul in a two-souled body while sparing the other, Eon would bet on them. And if it failed, well. At least it would be quick and painless.
But Death has different plans — has declared Elyanna Baratheon untouchable for all those who understand the implications. All the implications.
One of which Eon has been pretending not to contemplate since the Face first shared the verdict with him.
He simply hasn't made his choice yet — whether to watch or to engage.
[Elyanna of House Baratheon, after all, is one name and one name only. That still leaves an entire soul of loopholes uncovered. And it isn't Elyanna whom Eon wants gone.]
Being bedridden for the better part of a week — not to mention grounded because while nobody knows she went out into the city, Elyanna's absence has been discovered before she made it back into her chambers — after her little excursion gives Elyanna ample time to contemplate Eon's words.
Because only one can stay.
She's already bitten her lips bloody trice because she can't seem to figure out what her friend is trying to tell her. What exactly is he referring to? And more importantly whom?
Her frustration is hardly helped by the fact that not only does Joffrey categorically refuse to visit her because of her stupid inability to take care of herself but there's another riddle whose answer has been eluding Elyanna for a while now.
It's Grand Maester Pycelle and everything that's wrong with him. Granted, that makes for a long list, but the point aren't his personal vices or the way his gaze sends shudders down Elyanna's spine. There's something else that's bothering her about the man. Something Elyanna struggles to put her finger on — which is exactly why it's driving her completely crazy.
Perhaps it's time to revisit his chambers the next time an opportunity offers itself up. Or, should that fail to happen sufficiently quickly, make an opportunity.
In the end, that's why Elyanna decides to summon Lyanna Stark once again. For the very simple reason that plotting against sleazy maesters is so much more fun when you're not doing it alone.
[And if she's tired of trying to please Joffrey — not that she's stopped the summonings because of him or even told him that she'd stopped the summonings for her own damn reasons but that's not the point — who can't even bother to stop by and scream at her in person anymore. So what if she replaces her favorite scheming partner with the one she knows would Joffrey hate being replaced by the most, should he ever learn of it?
Maybe if he bothered to show his face once in a while, she wouldn't have to.]
So she calls and — unlike Brandon Stark and other assorted summoning attempts she's made over the last months — Lyanna answers immediately, completely at ease with spending the better part of the afternoon on Elyanna's bed, braiding her hair and coming up with a decent plan to push Pycelle into revealing a secret Elyanna just can't seem to guess at.
Not that she probably has anything better to do — though for all Elyanna knows, being dead could be a wild ride.
All in all, the entire thing is going pretty well. Right up until the doors are pushed open and her mother strides in, at least an hour ahead of her usual schedule, only to freeze at the sight of the young woman kneeling next to Elyanna.
Elyanna's never seen her mother lose all color like that, not even when she and Father have been throwing the worst kind of accusations at each other. She sways on her feet and Elyanna has pushed herself half-way off the bed to steady her before Mother regains her balance, one hand pressed against the stone wall as though it is the only thing keeping her upright.
"Lyanna Stark." Mother chokes on the words as though— well, as though she's seeing a ghost.
"Cersei Baratheon." Lyanna's voice isn't any more pleasant than Mother's, if decidedly less shocked.
Elyanna sits there, frozen in an upright position and completely unable to tear her eyes of the train wreck happening in front of her. She should probably say something — wants to say something —
but when she opens her mouth to explain why her father's dead love of his life is in her room, no explanation comes to mind.
"What in the Seven Hells are you doing with my daughter?" Mother growls the words like a lioness preparing to defend her young. Knowing her mother, Elyanna really isn't surprised that the woman jumps straight over the existence of a very real ghost to the potential threat it could pose to her child.
"I'm braiding her hair," Lyanna says in an impressively arrogant duh tone of voice that sits about as well with Elyanna's mother as throwing gasoline onto a fire might muffle the flames. "Which you would undoubtedly know about if you spent more time in your precious child's company."
Wonderful. Lyanna on a warpath, purposefully enraging her mother. Just what Elyanna needs to make this situation any more complicated.
"Step away from my daughter."
Elyanna has never before heard her mother speak in such a cold, threatening tone of voice. Usually, she's say that Mother is at her most dangerous when she speaks sweetly and smiles in kind assurance but right now she isn't so sure. She definitely doesn't want to stand in her way at the moment.
Lyanna doesn't appear to feel the same way — or maybe self-preservation instincts become irrelevant once you die.
"Or what?" she sneers, the expression on her face uglier than anything Elyanna has ever seen on her. It's more than obvious that there's bad blood between the two of them. Elyanna just wishes she wouldn't have had to find that tidbit out like this. "What are you gonna do? Kill me?"
As always, Mother rises to the challenge. Her eyes glint like broken glass in the sunlight and her smile is all teeth. "Don't tell me you think yourself untouchable because you're dead. That would be terribly short-sighted of you — not that you've ever been known for your foresight."
The amount of contempt Mother manages to convey in such simple sentence is awe-inspiring — or would be if Elyanna could see any way to save herself and possibly the rest of the Red Keep from the inevitable explosion.
"Excuse me?" Lyanna tilts her head in a childlike fashion, but her eyes are ice cold. "Don't waste your pretty speech on me, Lannister. Say what you really want to say or have you forgotten how to speak the truth after all this time trapped in this poisonous city?"
"You may be dead, but your loved ones are still very much alive." Mother smiles coquettishly. "Are you really so naive as to think I have to touch you to threaten you?"
Whatever mask of calm Lyanna has been holding on until now vanishes so suddenly, the change gives Elyanna whiplash. Rage contorts Lyanna's pretty features, so unexpected, so ferocious, Elyanna flinches at the sight of it.
"You. Will. Not. Touch. My. Son."
It should have been an echo of Mother's on statement just a few moments before, but as terrifying as her mother can be, this is something else. There is something inhumane about Lyanna's fury, that transcends the bounds of life and death.
It's only because Elyanna is looking directly at her mother as Lyanna speaks that she sees the shock flash over her features, immediately hidden behind cool indifference.
"Your son?"
"YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM!" Lyanna screams. There's no sign of the rationality her ghost usually displays.
"He is Rhaegar's blood," Mother says, quick and clever and unforgiving. She has come to the same conclusion Elyanna has reached but sworn to herself never to contemplate, and in only a fraction of the time at as she speaks, the doors to Elyanna's room are thrown open once again, this time by Ser Jaime. Really, it's a miracle no one has heard the loud argument until now. And just like Mother, her uncle freezes at the sight of Lyanna Stark.
Unlike Mother, he doesn't look like he's going to pass out. He looks like he's going to throw up.
Mother doesn't so much as spare him a glance. Her gaze is fixed on Lyanna and her words when she continues are as much of a death sentence as the executioner bringing his sword down.
"He's a threat to the King's reign," she says, matter of fact.
Something ugly transforms Lyanna's furious sneer then, a sort of hateful glee that finally jerks Elyanna into scrambling off the bed and towards Ser Jaime, who looks like he could use any moral support she can offer him. Until Lyanna's response registers, that is.
"My son is no more of a threat than that incestuous little bastard you brother-fucking whore call a son ever was!" Lyanna snarls, low and vicious, an enraged wolf aiming for the throat. "And he has a better claim to the throne besides!"
Mother, Ser Jaime, Elyanna, time, everything just— freezes.
end of part xvii
It took a bit longer than I thought, but hey, all in all this chapter isn't as late as I feared it would be. I hope you're as delightfully surprised by this update as I was! I honestly thought it would take me another couple of days to complete it. After I finished my essays, I took about a week and a half off of writing completely and just, you know, remembered what it's like to have a life. And to read. That I never seem to have as much time for as I want.
Anyways, now I'm back. And Elyanna really is tired of the lack of action, so here we are, heading straight towards the inevitable explosion. Or is it implosion?
There's a couple of things about this chapter I'd like to briefly explain, however they do contain certain spoilers/meta information, so don't feel obligated to read on. You should be able to read the story just fine without my ramblings. That said:
- This last scene is pretty much the entire reason I included Lyanna's spirit in the first place *whistles innocently*. What you should keep in mind is that, in this AU at least, ghosts are not the complete person but rather a spectre, something "left over" with the sense of that person. Lyanna as we see her here is not a fully conscious human and her actions and reactions reflect that. For example, the most important driving force is her desire to protect her son, as this is what was driving her when she died. That's why it doesn't occur to her that Cersei could be threatening anyone but him and she's irrationally lashing out when it would've probably been smarter to keep quiet about Jon's existence in the first place. If we ever see other spirits as well, their actions will hopefully help give you a better feeling for what's left of a person when Elyanna summons them.- Also please let me know whether Eon's POV made sense to you or not. It's not supposed to clear everything up, as there are things at work that Eon doesn't know about or may simply be wrong about, but overall it's supposed to better explain his motivation in naming Elyanna - and his view on their interactions overall. Moreover his conversation with Elyanna in this chapter is a great example for the miscommunication between them. For all that Eon's intended meaning is probably fairly clear by his POV, Elyanna reads something completely different in his words that will have a strong impact on her actions in the next to chapters. So again, just reminding you that the characters are limited in their knowledge and understanding of the world. And let's face it, their communication skills suck.
Okay, I think that's enough rambling from my side, so. Please let me know what you think of this chapter and share your thoughts in a comment, I'd love to chat with you there!