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starrysummer I told you I'd do it
Aug. 8th, 2006 12:13 pmlodessaFandom: Song of Ice and Fire
Title: Wind and Snow
Characters/Parings: Jon/Robb
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 950
Warnings: incestuous boy kissing
Spoilers: For GoT and SoS
Up on the wall it is impossible to be warm and the wind blows through your furs, regardless of their quality. The skies are grey and most of the black brothers are huddled within the relative shelter of stone walls, but Jon sits alone in the wind’s path, feeling it run through him. He does not drift off to sleep, though it’s unusually peaceful. He stays awake not out of fear of what might happen in the outside world but because he knows that if he closes his eyes he will see Robb, and Robb is dead and butchered and Jon is a man of the Night’s Watch and could not think of Robb even if he hadn’t been murdered. So he resists the urge to shut his eyes as Ghost curls reassuringly against him, but cannot help recalling what he’d heard, about how they sowed Grey Wind’s head to Robb’s body, and made the corpses into a perverted union of direwolf and man. There are other unions, ones that people would frown upon for more than one reason, which would have been more apt. The last time that Jon saw his half brother they were both boys, playing at swords not killing and dying upon them. Jon remembers the way that Robb’s hair glinted in the dappled sun as they ran through the trees and collapsed in a tangled heap at the foot of the greatest of them.
“You’re more a Stark than I am.” Robb told him. Jon laughed. “No, honestly,” he insisted, “It unnerves me you know.” He was gesturing to the great eye of the tree, “And I know it doesn’t bother you.”
Jon was leaning against the tree face carelessly. He smirked, as if this was a joke, although they both knew it was not, “I’m a Snow, Robb; I just blend in.”
“The snow was here long before the Starks, and I wager it’ll be here long after we’ve died out.”
Robb laughed, lying across Jon’s lap, and Jon looked down into his face and saw not a trace of mockery. Robb reached up, smiling and pulled Jon down into a kiss.
Jon can’t think about that though. He isn’t even a Snow anymore; he’s a member of the Night Watch. He does anyway, recalling the last time he saw Robb alive. They’d been in the wierwood again, just before Jon’s departure.
“Maybe when Sansa is queen, they’ll ask you to be Hand, and you can go south away from all this Snow” he had told Robb, coming upon him staring at the tree again.
Robb looked at him sadly, “What is Winterfell to do if Stark and Snow forsake it?”
“You’re still here, Robb.”
“I’m not fit for this. I’ve told you before: you belong here and not I.”
“There’s no time left for us to be children. The winter is coming and the North needs us,” Jon had told Robb; sounding braver than he really felt.
“But what about what we need?” Robb asked, brushing his fingertips against the side of Jon’s face.
“Bastards” Robb cringed as if he was about to object to the delineation “learn at an early age that whatever you might feel, the needs of others must come first. It’s a lesson that father has always shown us Lords must learn too.”
“But what if…” Robb’s voice was shaky, and Jon held his half brother tightly, a confident press of lips before he replied.
“You’ll be a fine Lord, Robb. And the snow… will always be here, even in the middle of summer.”
Another fury of hands and mouth and then they stood for a moment, silent. Finally Jon turned away to go.
“Jon…” Robb called after him softly and Jon turned, “The wind always blows north right?”
Jon couldn’t help smiling, “I’ll remember.”
There’s little point in staying awake if he’s just going to remember, so Jon changes his mind and burrows under his bed furs, the wind seeping through the cracks in the masonry. He closes his eyes and Robb is smiling at him, his head still on his shoulders, and his heart still heating in his chest. He’s older than Jon’s memory of him, Jon supposes it's the way he would look now if he were alive. Part of Jon knows that it's a dream, remembers that Robb is dead and gone. He looks so real though, and Jon gives up fighting his eyes and mind. He smiles back at Robb.
Robb beckons for Jon to follow him and he follows. They set out through a forest. Robb darts ahead, running playfully like they did as children. Jon feels the tension lifting from his shoulders as he hurries after him. At first the surroundings remind him of the woods of Winterfell, but soon the snow is becoming patchy and the sun has come out. It's getting warme, warmer than anywhere Jon has ever been. Robb removes his fur coat and throws it at Jon, laughing. That sparks a game. Jon and Robb discard clothing as they go, careless of its loss, until, naked, they finally reach a sparkling pool, surrounded in lush green vegetation.
“The snow and the north are gone,” Robb tells him. Small freckles dot his pale shoulders, and he dives into the water.
“What does that make us?” Jon asks as Robb resurfaces.
Robb is grinning ear to ear. He kicks his legs in the water, pushing back to the edge where Jon stands and reaches out to pull Jon in with him. The water is cool against Jon's skin, pleasant and somehow soft. Jon and Robb face each other, arms interlaced as Robb replies, “Free,” he murmurs, "It makes us free."
Title: Wind and Snow
Characters/Parings: Jon/Robb
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 950
Warnings: incestuous boy kissing
Spoilers: For GoT and SoS
Up on the wall it is impossible to be warm and the wind blows through your furs, regardless of their quality. The skies are grey and most of the black brothers are huddled within the relative shelter of stone walls, but Jon sits alone in the wind’s path, feeling it run through him. He does not drift off to sleep, though it’s unusually peaceful. He stays awake not out of fear of what might happen in the outside world but because he knows that if he closes his eyes he will see Robb, and Robb is dead and butchered and Jon is a man of the Night’s Watch and could not think of Robb even if he hadn’t been murdered. So he resists the urge to shut his eyes as Ghost curls reassuringly against him, but cannot help recalling what he’d heard, about how they sowed Grey Wind’s head to Robb’s body, and made the corpses into a perverted union of direwolf and man. There are other unions, ones that people would frown upon for more than one reason, which would have been more apt. The last time that Jon saw his half brother they were both boys, playing at swords not killing and dying upon them. Jon remembers the way that Robb’s hair glinted in the dappled sun as they ran through the trees and collapsed in a tangled heap at the foot of the greatest of them.
“You’re more a Stark than I am.” Robb told him. Jon laughed. “No, honestly,” he insisted, “It unnerves me you know.” He was gesturing to the great eye of the tree, “And I know it doesn’t bother you.”
Jon was leaning against the tree face carelessly. He smirked, as if this was a joke, although they both knew it was not, “I’m a Snow, Robb; I just blend in.”
“The snow was here long before the Starks, and I wager it’ll be here long after we’ve died out.”
Robb laughed, lying across Jon’s lap, and Jon looked down into his face and saw not a trace of mockery. Robb reached up, smiling and pulled Jon down into a kiss.
Jon can’t think about that though. He isn’t even a Snow anymore; he’s a member of the Night Watch. He does anyway, recalling the last time he saw Robb alive. They’d been in the wierwood again, just before Jon’s departure.
“Maybe when Sansa is queen, they’ll ask you to be Hand, and you can go south away from all this Snow” he had told Robb, coming upon him staring at the tree again.
Robb looked at him sadly, “What is Winterfell to do if Stark and Snow forsake it?”
“You’re still here, Robb.”
“I’m not fit for this. I’ve told you before: you belong here and not I.”
“There’s no time left for us to be children. The winter is coming and the North needs us,” Jon had told Robb; sounding braver than he really felt.
“But what about what we need?” Robb asked, brushing his fingertips against the side of Jon’s face.
“Bastards” Robb cringed as if he was about to object to the delineation “learn at an early age that whatever you might feel, the needs of others must come first. It’s a lesson that father has always shown us Lords must learn too.”
“But what if…” Robb’s voice was shaky, and Jon held his half brother tightly, a confident press of lips before he replied.
“You’ll be a fine Lord, Robb. And the snow… will always be here, even in the middle of summer.”
Another fury of hands and mouth and then they stood for a moment, silent. Finally Jon turned away to go.
“Jon…” Robb called after him softly and Jon turned, “The wind always blows north right?”
Jon couldn’t help smiling, “I’ll remember.”
There’s little point in staying awake if he’s just going to remember, so Jon changes his mind and burrows under his bed furs, the wind seeping through the cracks in the masonry. He closes his eyes and Robb is smiling at him, his head still on his shoulders, and his heart still heating in his chest. He’s older than Jon’s memory of him, Jon supposes it's the way he would look now if he were alive. Part of Jon knows that it's a dream, remembers that Robb is dead and gone. He looks so real though, and Jon gives up fighting his eyes and mind. He smiles back at Robb.
Robb beckons for Jon to follow him and he follows. They set out through a forest. Robb darts ahead, running playfully like they did as children. Jon feels the tension lifting from his shoulders as he hurries after him. At first the surroundings remind him of the woods of Winterfell, but soon the snow is becoming patchy and the sun has come out. It's getting warme, warmer than anywhere Jon has ever been. Robb removes his fur coat and throws it at Jon, laughing. That sparks a game. Jon and Robb discard clothing as they go, careless of its loss, until, naked, they finally reach a sparkling pool, surrounded in lush green vegetation.
“The snow and the north are gone,” Robb tells him. Small freckles dot his pale shoulders, and he dives into the water.
“What does that make us?” Jon asks as Robb resurfaces.
Robb is grinning ear to ear. He kicks his legs in the water, pushing back to the edge where Jon stands and reaches out to pull Jon in with him. The water is cool against Jon's skin, pleasant and somehow soft. Jon and Robb face each other, arms interlaced as Robb replies, “Free,” he murmurs, "It makes us free."
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Date: 2006-08-09 08:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 08:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 09:02 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-09 09:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 02:53 am (UTC)I really love this line. Not only as the snow itself, but the idea that bastards and just people in general endure regardless of the lords and ladies and the game.
I love the end as well. It's eerily peaceful.
I do think there's some points here where you rush forward towards the end, when you could stay and split up sentences, let the images and the story linger. It feels like you're rushing forwards at points when it'd resonate more if you hung back.
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Date: 2006-08-11 02:54 am (UTC)pps- yaye starkcest. ♥
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Date: 2006-08-11 03:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-11 09:35 pm (UTC)I'm a big horror person, so maybe this one's just me, but I'd love to actually see him fall asleep and dream of Robb, of his face in death, of the horror of the Red Wedding as Jon, up on the wall, imagines it. THEN have him sit alone on the wall afraid to go to sleep again, afraid to take comfort in the warmth of ghost and sleep, because he'll dream the same dream again.
Also, it'd work a lot better to split the last part, about how the last time Jon saw Robb, into a new paragraph. It feels really abrupt, as opposed to a bridge into the flashback.
The first flashback seems a bit joltingly short. I want to know why that particular moment occurs to Jon. I get that as the writer, you're showing us what's a fairly typical interaction between them, but from Jon's POV, I can't see why that is the one that's occuring to him. Where are they? What are they doing before they say this? I want some sort of specific trigger, in Jon's mind. Which has the benefit of making the scene longer and feeling less jarring.
Jon can’t think about that though. He isn’t even a Snow anymore; he’s a member of the Night Watch. He does anyway, recalling the last time he saw Robb alive. They’d been in the wierwood again, just before Jon’s departure.
This is a really quick transition. I'm thinking maybe you should slip back to the present for another sentence or two... something to make it clear that this isn't one long flashback. Maybe instead of just him thinking that he can't think about it, have the kiss of the cold distranct him from the memory?
New Beginning. What do you think?
Date: 2006-08-11 10:54 pm (UTC)Jon wakes up with sweat freezing to his brow. In his mind he can still see his half brother’s battered form, and he hurries to get up and outside, where the harshness of reality should hopefully wake him. His blood is pumping quickly, like he’s been in battle and not in bed. Ghost watches him from a slight distance, like he can tell the Jon needs space to think. Jon shivers as he sits down, out in the open where there’s nothing to lean against.
Up on the wall it is impossible to be warm and the wind blows through your furs, regardless of their quality. The skies are grey and most of the black brothers are huddled within the relative shelter of stone walls, but Jon sits alone in the wind’s path, feeling it run through him. He does not drift off to sleep, though it’s unusually peaceful. He stays awake not out of fear of what might happen in the outside world but because he knows that if he closes his eyes he will see Robb, and Robb is dead and butchered and Jon is a man of the Night’s Watch and could not think of Robb even if he hadn’t been murdered. So he resists the urge to shut his eyes as Ghost curls reassuringly against him, but cannot help recalling what he’d heard, about how they sowed Grey Wind’s head to Robb’s body, and made the corpses into a perverted union of direwolf and man. There are other unions, ones that people would frown upon for more than one reason, which would have been more apt.
Robb’s demise still feels unnatural and unreal to Jon, like it could turn out to be a big joke. Perhaps it’s because there is nothing tangible to attach it to. The last time that Jon saw his half brother they were both boys, playing at swords not killing and dying upon them. His mind keeps trying to create what must have happened, forcing the images on him in his sleep, but all Jon can think of is the way they played together in and around Winterfell and the joyous sound of Robb’s laughter. Jon remembers the way that Robb’s hair glinted in the dappled sun as they ran through the trees and collapsed in a tangled heap at the foot of the greatest of them.
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Date: 2006-08-11 03:52 pm (UTC)I love that concept too. Because political systems come and go but people have to keep on living basically all the same (although not if they've been torched by wildfire or dragons I suppose).
Also I just love that fact that the bastards are identified by the premodinant trait of surroundings... like they belong more in the land than anyone else. It also is interesting with the fact that they are also reffered to as "natural born".
This fic suprised be because even though it's mournful it's sort of soft and strangely warm at the same time (at least to me). It made me want to write more of this pairing.