#thedolorous

          apparently, the duties of a lord commander’s steward include not only fetching said lord commander from the ground and half-drag him away when he’s still trying to go back for a bag of dragonglass, but also help him to patch up after. and, apparently... a lord commander’s duties include slaying Others; Sam isn’t the only one anymore, and for this much Jon is GRATEFUL --- if he and Longclaw can ever spare such horror to any of his friends, it is one he’ll do more than gladly on his own.

          which doesn’t make him any more or less than human, as testified by the long gash left open and bleeding on the right side of his face, that Edd himself finished cleaning a few minutes ago --- as much as by the cracked ribs that resulted from being knocked off from atop a second floor, and that he is still finishing to bandage; only to not bother yet with getting fully dressed and, simply, tossing his black cloak over his shoulders. all of this pales in comparison to what they left behind... five thousands of men and women and children crumpled up at Hardhome, and they are returning with scarce a fifth of the number. and, for this, Jon’s mouth tastes of nothing if not bitter failure and regret.

          suddenly, however... there is literally a very different taste, and it honestly takes him a full moment to process what is happening; what just happened, as it seems to come and go as fleeting as a falling star. did Edd just...? left wide eyed and looking like a child who just saw a wolf for the first time, then, all he can do is to act on INSTINCT of his own --- reaching to grab with his burned hand for one of his friend’s, as to not let him move away.

       ‘     wasn’t much o’ a choice.    not when the gold cloaks came attackin’ us and held us prisoners ‘ver since.      ’       gendry’s never spoken much o’ his days in the riverrun,    let alone at harenhaal.    a wretched destination t’ be in,   no doubt,    and ain’t a pleasant story t’ ever be recalled     -     not even right now,   as gendry’s tryin’ his best t’ unfasten the man’s armour.     damn.   the metal’s there are all screwed up.     ‘      aye,   s’gendry,   sir.    hold on—     ’     he bites out,   and,    a strength o’ his fist alone,     the smith wretches the damn steel apart.     the injuries under,   as he suspects,   aren’t pretty.       ‘       right.   not turnin’ ye’ into one o’ these deads just yet,    lord commander.     help !    injured !     ’     and help does come,    another man,   limping,   but bringin’ clothes that could be used t’ wrap.     ‘     m’strong,    m’lord.   i can carry ye’ to where it’s nearest for water.    help clean yer’ wounds up.     ’    /   from gendry for @thedolorous !

@thedolorous | positivity 

            a storm brews behind the king’s eyes, gaze settled upon eddison tollett as he mumbles utter n o n s e n s e . a laugh escapes through jon’s lips, otherwise lost amongst the silence of the king’s quarters. dolorous edd would forever be his black brother—-the man had jon’s back since his time in the night’s watch. now that it was no more, edd kept l o y a l to his dear friend, aiding him in the south. even without a fancy title, the man remained at his king’s side, prepared to lay down his life for him. jon, however, would not have that. being a king was lonely—-he needed all the friends he could get, and they would not serve him well were they all placed on the battlefield.

The voice rang out near his ear as Podrick dodged another blow from the wight before him. A slash on his cheek that he’d only just barely avoided being a lethal wound stung dully, but he didn’t mind. He clung to the feeling, attempting to avoid other conscious thought as he simply fought to survive. He dodged, slashing just as Brienne had practiced with him. Can’t THINK, can’t LOOK. She’d be fine on her own. She was SER Brienne now. She’d taught him not to get distracted, hadn’t she?

The man’s yell drew his gaze, however briefly, and as he thrust his weapon forward into another of the undead - or not-dead? - he saw as Edd reached down to save another member of the night’s watch, visible only by the dragon fire as it lit the sky overhead. 

It’s so dark. So cold. No one could have expected this MANY...

Podrick steeled his grip on his weapon, letting out something of a growl as he plunged it into another enemy that had begun to approach Edd from behind, it’s weapon drawn up and forward, seemingly a millisecond from striking. “MOVE,” he simply yelled in their general direction as the other two men regained their bearings BOTH SEEMINGLY UNSCATHED FOR NOW. Then, pushing the corpse out of his way and moving to block another as it lunged at him with its deafening cry ringing in his ears, Podrick continued forward.

cute fluffy things || @thedolorous

DYING HURT. Who knew? Daniel had just been attempting to hug his son Edd - attempting to APOLOGIZE for what they had done to him. It had been a very necessary, warranted death, he had thought. One that certainly could not have been avoided without changing the entire course of the plot of the show. At least, that’s what David and Daniel had PLANNED on telling the poor wight. After the hug. 

The meat bag sighed, or perhaps all the AIR was simply pushed out of his lungs as the blade ripped upward through flesh and membranes, cracking bones as it passed through him. He lay on the ground for a moment, shocked at his son’s actions, before the flesh and sinew began to again pull together, the intricate inner workings fixing themselves neatly. Like a zipper closing a bag, his body began to slowly piece itself together. 

He was a showrunner. His own SHOW would not be his downfall - only the ratings later on. 

Straightening up, he offered his wight son a smile, holding out an arm for another hug. “Sorry, Edd! Misunderstanding, I’m sure... I was just trying to say ‘HEY’!”