#;handmaiden {shae}

[quccninchains]

| @twogoldenchains sent: ❛ i don’t think i’ve ever seen you smile. ❜

{☾} Her eyes glance up from the embroidery in her lap, the small smile on her face dying. A warmth spreads along her cheeks, nose wrinkling softly--almost embarrassed that she had been caught daydreaming. "I haven't had much to smile about in the past few days, I'm afraid, Shae," she hums softly, brown eyes flickering over her maid, back to the work at hand.

Darning her husband's shirts while the fire snapped and crackled. Tyrion would be in the council for hours, she assumed--they had all heard how RAUCOUS and obnoxious King Joffrey seemed. It made her stomach turn--the cruelty of the King and his mother. And they had her cousin in their grasps.

She lets the silence hang between them for a few moments before she gestures for her lady to join her in the chair across from her. Shae was perfectly cordial, kind--and yet, the woman had featured in more of her anxious nightmares than she would like to admit. Any fool would have had to be blind not to notice the almost...TERRITORIAL way Shae was around her husband. It had made Alicent uncomfortable. Like she was a ghost. A consolation prize.

It had bothered her so much that she had approached Tyrion the night before and asked him: what was Shae to him? What was her place now?

...did he prefer her to his wife?

She had been pleased by his honesty--even if he had seemed just as uncomfortable as she was. Even more so, she was pleased that he loved her. Just as she had grown to love him.

Alicent returned her eyes back to her work, humming softly. "...Is it hard? Pining for a lost love?" She asks thoughtfully, sincerely. If Shae wanted an excuse to leave, an excuse to free herself from serving the woman who supplanted her...she would offer it. "I've never been in love before now. My father...well, Lady Olenna, arranged this marriage for me. I...the closest thing I had known was the love from my books."

[cdragons]

No Hope - Robb Stark x Lady-in-Waiting!Reader

Summary: You ended it. It killed you to do so, but you had to do it. Soon, it won't matter anyway - you were set to travel with Lord Stark and Lady Sansa as her lady-in-waiting to King's Landing. It's not as if you two will ever meet again. How wrong you were...

Warning(s): Hard Dom Robb, OC is cold, Robb is dark AND delulu, Canon divergence, hard smut, slight BDSM, KIng's Landing criminal justice system, etc.

Note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY DIPPY!!! I know I'm three days late, and I swear I meant to finish this on your actual birthday, but I ended up overwriting, and then I had to be at the DMV for about 7 hours and then had to pack up my house yesterday 🫠. ANYWAY, thank you so much for being such an amazing friend! It really has been such an honor to see how much you, your writing, and your blog have grown! Here's to another year of friendship and great writing!

The siege against King’s Landing was a success, resulting in an overwhelming victory for Stannis’ campaign as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms.

House Lannister, despite the arrival of reinforcements from House Tyrell, led by Ser Loras, was no more. While it was a clever ruse on House Tyrell’s part, neither house would have expected men from the Riverlands to join Stannis in his fight, resulting in an overwhelming victory. As a result, the futures of two of the ancient Seven Great Houses of Westeros now rest in the hands of a new ruler—King Stannis of House Baratheon, a figure whose emergence will undoubtedly shape the course of Westeros.

Despite being a wheelhouse dozens of miles away from King’s Landing at this point, the shouts and cheers of Stannis’ men rang clear in your ears. Inside were three young women transported to the Westerlands—to Robb Stark, the Young Wolf and King of the newly independent North.

The thought of seeing him again after the way the two of you left things off made the ride all the more unpleasant.

You remained silent and softly stroked your lady’s head as she rested her head on your lap. Tried as she could to stay lucid and awake, but it seemed that the stress and terror from being trapped as King Joffery’s former betrothed before being sold to his dwarf of an uncle had taken its toll. As she slept, you took in her features and noted the changes from the child you knew in Winterfell to the young woman trapped in King’s Landing. Her gorgeous red Tully hair lost some of its splendorous luster, appearing more matted and unkempt than you had ever seen it after years of being in Lady Sansa’s lady-in-waiting. Despite being in the South for over a year, her ivory skin seemed to pale until it was translucent. While the court believed her pale fairness to result from her Northern birth, only you and Shay knew that it was from Sansa’s inability to stomach more than a few meager bites off her plate during her mealtimes.

“The circles under her eyes have darkened further,” you thought as Sansa gripped your skirt – tightly clenching her fist as if she were a small child still terrified of the dark. “She’s grown too thin – she’s barely improved since I’ve returned by her side.”

It terrified you when Shae, who took your place as her handmaiden, informed you that her mood had improved tremendously since Lord Tyrion’s success in releasing you as a wedding gift to his new wife. Knowing that Sansa, to which your previous liege lord entrusted her care to you, was in such a state for months broke your heart. The bright and cheerful smiles you adored had become so rare since you returned to her side. But you hoped that due to recent events, your red-haired wolf would soon smile as brightly with all the more radiance as she did as a child.

“Do you think Lord Tyrion will be alright?”

You looked up to see Shae sitting across from you on the other side of the carriage. Her expression, while usually impassive and unreadable, was fraught with unease about the uncertainty of the future—hers and her lover’s.

“Stannis Baratheon is not one who shows mercy,” you answered truthfully. “It is likely that he will face the same fate as his nephew, as well as his sister and father.”

Perhaps your tone was too blunt, judging by the slight flinch Shay gave when you referred to Joffery Lannister. But, it would not help anyone, much less her, if you spoke anything less than the truth – that was what Ned Stark taught you since you were a child, and it was by that faith you would remain steadfast no matter what. She deserved nothing less than the truth; it was what you owed her. After all, from what Sansa spoke to you, she helped protect her however she could when you were not by her side.

And for that, you were most grateful.

“However,” you continued, “perhaps Lord Varys will vouch for him. The Master of Whispers holds Lord Tyrion in high regard, and out of all his family, your lover is admittedly the best of them. If nothing else, maybe he’ll pledge loyalty to Stannis and convince Tommen to do the same.”

 She grew flustered, “He is not…we are not–”

“You will not find judgment from me,” you assured her with a bitter chuckle. You looked down at Sansa, her sleeping figure sparking a twinge of guilt in your heart. “Believe me, I am the last one to preach about the sins of an affair between a lord and his servant.”

It was a joyful reunion between mother and child. Before the wheelhouse fully stopped, Sansa flung open the doors and leaped out, racing into her mother's arms. Lady Stark was just as eager to hold her daughter – forgetting all forms of propriety and etiquette when she picked up her skirts to run. Both were a mess of wide smiles and joyful tears, and you don’t believe you’ve ever seen Lady Stark act so young. Seeing the two embrace – one who lost a husband and two sons and the other who lost a father and two brothers –made for such a beautiful scene that it made you weep in relief.

“I did it, my lord,” you silently prayed out, “I’ve kept my promise.”

You swore you felt your liege's gratitude by the gentle breeze that blew through the field. But unfortunately, the joy you felt would only further load the weight of the shackles of your guilt and self-loathing that refused to release you. Even if someone as good and honorable as Ned Stark could find it in his heart to forgive you – you couldn’t help but feel you don’t deserve his forgiveness.

…No…you knew you didn’t deserve it, and knowing that made the shackles heavier than you’ve ever felt.

Sansa was absent since Lady Catelyn insisted that her daughter remain by her side for the night. Shae accompanied her, and you remained alone as you lay on the cot set for you. A squire announced himself before entering the tent the men had set up for you and Shae. He called out your name and informed you that you were expected to wait in His Grace’s tent.

“His Grace requested a moment with you,” he explained, “he wishes to thank you for your service and loyalty to Princess Sansa.”

“Well, you can tell ‘His Grace’ that he can thank me here,” you scoffed. “Because I’m not fucking moving.”

You dismissed the young man without a second thought. Seriously? Did he genuinely expect you to come so quickly to him? Honestly, the nerve of that man.

It was not long before the squire returned.

“H-his Grace insists that you meet him,” he stammered.

The poor boy looked terrified, like a little puppy caught by its master for doing something it wasn’t supposed to. Seeing his discomfort was almost adorable – it nearly made you smile.

“And I insist that he let me rest,” you raised your brow and cocked your head to the side. “Or is he, in fact, ordering me to meet him? Ahh, and after such a long journey – honestly, he acts so spoiled sometimes, such a typical highborn born with everything.”

“Please, my lady,” he pleaded.

You impassively stared at the poor fellow briefly. His cheeks were flushed bright red underneath the dirt and grime, and his eyes looked close to crying. Gods, Robb – what in the Seven Hells kind of tongue lashing did you give the poor boy? Surely, he wasn’t so desperate to see you, especially considering how the two of you left things off.

“Fine,” you sighed, “I suppose I could spare him a moment. But it won’t be before I’ve had a bath – I’ve already called for hot water; it won’t be long.”

“Oh, thank you, my lady,” he sighed in relief. “His Grace will be most grateful to see you once he is finished speaking with his council in the war tent.”

Fuckin’ son of a–

You swore you felt a vein on your forehead pop. Did that idiot really summon you to his tent while he was in a council meeting?

The walk from your tent to Robb’s was a battle in itself - your mind dreaded what your heart longed for.

You had just finished your bath and changed into a simple linen dress (plain but clean) when you decided you kept His Majesty waiting long enough (two hours, give or take). You were just about to enter when a particularly irritatingly slow clap stopped you in your tracks. There was only one person who could bring out your ire in such a short amount of time. You turned around to see Theon Greyjoy – standing and smirking like the arrogant bitch you fought and played with since you were just a girl.

“Well, aren’t you a vision?” he smirked. “Makes you wonder how the men of King’s Landing kept their hands to themselves when they saw you.”

“Wouldn’t know,” you wryly replied, “after all, I spent most of my time there in a dark, damp cell. I barely had enough food and water to survive, let alone to be a vision.”

Although Theon still joked and teased like he always had, you could see the war had taken its toll on him. He grew thinner. His body had lost weight, and his muscles appeared leaner and more taut. His shaggy curls were more closely trimmed and no longer tickled his shoulders. But his eyes—how they looked so haunted and tired—made your heartbreak.

“He’s missed you,” he whispered. There was no need to state a name – you both knew who he was referring to.

“He got married,” you replied while looking away. To a Frey, no less.

“She's dead, and he never loved her.”

“That makes it better?”

“It does when you were the one who broke his heart,” he retorted.

You sharply turned back, “That is not–”

Light poured out of the tent behind you as the front flap opened. You heard your name being called out in that tone that always made your knees buckle—revering and filled with longing with an undertone of authority. It beckoned you to look at him, and when you did, you swore you felt your heart leap into your throat by him.

“You’re late,” he grunted.

Robb Stark, with his crystalline blue eyes not once looking away from you, shifted to the side and let you in. His gaze moved to Theon and narrowed when he noticed the lack of distance between the two of you. Saying nothing, you silently bowed your head before heading inside the warm tent. However, you remained close enough to hear the brief exchange between the Greyjoy and Stark. But after being away from Robb for so long, you couldn’t focus on any words between the two men.

Taking a deep breath, your body tingled as you took the familiar notes of fine leather and freshly burned smoke. You glanced at his bed and longed to lie in its furs without the hindrance of clothes. Your mouth watered at the idea of wrapping yourself in them. The idea of pressing your nose against the furs made your center throb and grow wet, as the idea of the scent of his hot sweat mixed with his musk trapped in those hides was almost too much to bear.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you nearly missed Robb calling out your name. You responded by regaining your composure as quickly as possible so as not to betray any lustful thoughts swimming in your mind.

“What did you and Theon talk about?” he bluntly asked, standing impassively as you remained silent.

“Was the journey smooth?” he tried again. Nothing.

“I hope my men–”

“Idle prattle doesn’t suit you,” you tiredly sighed. “Just tell me whatever you waited so long for, and then I can return to my tent and finally rest.”

Robb clenched his fists and stared at the ground. How cruel, how unfair – one word from you, just hearing your voice, struck every word on his tongue dead. War made him lax. He, of all people, should know how you could drive good men to insanity.

Yes – it felt like he was going mad.

He looked up from the ground and wanted to weep. There you stood – looking as beautiful as a fresh layer of snow and just as cold. It took everything in him not to reach out and pull you close. He wanted to feel your body close to his, to revel in the softness of your hidden warmth. He wanted to go back to Winterfell – to simpler times with his father and brothers alive and laughing, to when Jon was by his side and his brother and best friend, and to when you would look at him like he was your world.

How you used to look at him – how he still looked at you.

Robb tried to start a conversation to loosen the tense atmosphere, but it was clear you weren’t having it. You even cut him off on his third attempt. Your voice was so cold that it burned him like ice. He wasn’t even sure if you were looking at him or just at a corner of the tent so you could maintain that cold, domineering façade you had perfected since childhood. It was obvious to him that you were trying to goad him into losing his temper – giving you the perfect excuse to leave and ignore him again.

Why else had you sent his squire back to him after he requested your presence to wait for him at his tent? Furthermore, why else did you make him wait two hours for your bath?

“I wish to thank you for your loyalty towards my sister during her time as the Lannisters’ hostage,” Robb calmly said, keeping his voice steady but firm. “You acted bravely.”

“No,” you shook your head. “I acted as anyone else would have in my position. My loyalty to your sister and family is not something to be admired or coveted.”

“That’s not true,” Robb argued. “Your loyalty to my family is nothing short of admirable. It’s only right that–”

“Robb.”

It was infuriating how regal you looked, carrying the air of a queen.

“My loyalty will always belong to House Stark, that’s true – but,” you stared deep into his gaze, “all I cared about in that damp, rotting cell, where I was given barely enough water and food to survive, was whether my lady was well.”

Please stop it.

“I didn’t endure because my lady was a Stark,” you continued, “I endured because it was Sansa.”

He couldn’t bear it any longer.

“Is it only for Sansa that you’ve suffered?” he rasped in anger.

This wasn’t good; he just got you back. If he doesn’t properly utilize this chance, you’ll be gone from him forever. He knew you’d never leave Sansa’s side. Your loyalty to her, even when she still acted like the spoiled little princess of the North, drew him to you. As the eldest daughter, Sansa was the one closest to their mother. However, as the second eldest child, it also meant that she had to understand she could not always have their parents’ attention. Before Jeyne Poole, before Septa Mordane – you were Sansa’s first and constant companion. You were someone whose loyalty ran deep and remained unwavering in the worst times.

He collected himself enough to apologize for his outburst when your voice returned – regal and imposing, cold and distant.

“Not just Sansa,” you stated. “…I also made a promise to Lord Stark.”

Something in him snapped. Robb considered himself a good man, an honorable man. One whose father instilled lessons of honor and duty in him since he was old enough to walk. A father who he missed, whose absence was painful. But hearing you speak of him, of his father, it was like a bucket of ice water was poured over him, and it awoke a bitter memory he had long forgotten.

“Is it true?” Robb demanded unannounced after storming into his father’s private study. His father sat at his desk, appearing as tired and weary as the day of his departure from home to the vicious South treads closer with each passing day. Ned set down his quill and sighed deeply. He knew it would not be long before Robb would come in to demand an explanation. He supposed that, as his boy’s father, he owed his eldest son that much… if for not his own sake, then for the sake of closure. “…What may you be referring to, Robb?” he asked, despite already knowing what this was about. Robb furiously shook his head, “Do not pretend with me, Father. Did you or did you not plant the idea of a future engagement between her and me as treason against you?” “…Before I answer that,” Ned began carefully, not wanting to upset his son further, “am I to understand that when you mean ‘her,’ you are referring to a particular lady-in-waiting favored by your sister?” It frightened Ned how quickly Robb’s anger was snuffed out. He whispered your name with reverence and veneration fit for the Maiden. But just as soon as his heir’s fury went away, it came back at a speed and quantity tenfold. Ned could see it in his eyes. Robb may have inherited his Tully mother’s eyes, but the cold storm raging in them could only belong to one whose blood belongs to the Old Gods of the North. “Sansa requested her to accompany us while she learns to be Prince Joffrey's future queen,” Ned explained. “Robb… your sisters need people they can trust – now more than ever with Bran’s accident.” “And she’s agreed to this?” Robb interrogated. “You expect me to believe that?” “Yes,” Ned solemnly nodded, “because it was brought up to me by her…”

Robb didn’t believe it then, and he still didn’t believe it now. He refused to entertain the idea of you, of all people, who would propose to his father that you leave him. You, who Robb loved with a love more fervent and true than any fanciful tale sung by the bards in Southern courts. You, who listened to all of Robb’s deepest fears and worries since you and him were still small children. You, who whispered promises of love and devotion to Robb night after night since he first warmed your bed.

You, who cried tears of joy when he secretly proposed to you underneath the blood-red leaves and snow-painted branches of the weirwood tree, swearing his love to you before the Old Gods and New.

…No…no, no, no—it wasn’t true. It couldn’t be…but what other explanation was left?

“Robb…?” your voice gently called out to him. “If that’s all you wish to say to me… then I must be heading back to my–”

He walked forward and tightly grasped your arms, making you unable to escape. Robb felt your feeble attempts to pry his fingers off with your delicate hands. But it was to no avail.

“Why…?” Robb rasped, letting out all the pain and longing he had been keeping locked inside since you dissolved you and his affair. “Why did you leave? …Why did you leave me?”

“Damn you,” you thought. “Damn you, Robb Stark.”

It was pathetic… how easily this man broke down your walls. One word… one word from him was enough to make you want to surrender everything.  

“I…I-I… only did what I thought was best,” you stammered. “For us…and for you…”

Robb scoffed because why wouldn’t he?

“For me…?” he rhetorically repeated. “Leaving me – no, abandoning me… that was for my benefit? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

You shook your head, “Belief is secondary to truth,” you explained. “And I am telling you the truth. I’ve never lied to you.”

“Right, of course – that’s why you ran off to King’s Landing with my sister,” Robb raged. “Yes, certainly that for my well-being. You, being paraded and courted by knights and nobles with their pretty words and fine silks – what a relief to know that you endured all that for me…”

Oh, this son of a – gods, how could one man be so beautiful, yet so infuriating?!

“Did you ever love me?” he asked, his voice a little rough from choking back tears. “Was it ever real? Any of it? Or was it all a lie?”

“I believe I told you I was expected to wake your sister for her early celebration…” you looked out the window, “…right now…? It would seem…?” It was the morning of Sansa’s eleventh birthday. Lady Stark planned to surprise her daughter with a splendid spread of leek pottage, freshly baked bread, slices of smoked meat, and a cup of sweet Dornish wine. She entrusted the duty of waking the little princess of the day to you, Sansa’s most entrusted companion. It was expected that you would take the role. After all, everyone in the castle knew what an absolute nightmare Lord Stark’s eldest daughter was in the early mornings. …But…it would seem that Lord Stark’s eldest son and heir did not understand the gravity of your role today…considering he remained insistent that you spend your morning with him… in his bed… without any clothes on your person. While usually, you’d be much more cross at his insistence… you couldn’t deny how delicious it felt waking up in his arms after a night of gloriously intense lovemaking. And the way he further convinced you by tracing feather-light kisses down your neck and collarbone was downright sinful. “I believe…” he momentarily nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, causing you to softly shriek and giggle. “…I told you never to speak of my sister or any member of my family while in bed with me.” His lips trailed further down to the valley of your breasts. “Stay here…with me…and let’s forget the world this morning.” Gods, it’d be so easy to give in …to remain hidden from the world within the arms of your beloved…but life was hardly so easy. “You know I – can’t…!” you sharply gasped at the feel of his lips around your teat. You pitifully whined his name. “Robb, please…” “Shhh—careful, my love,” he huskily whispered, “unless you want all of Winterfell to know how even one of its coldest women is powerless against her wolf…” You held his chin to press a soft kiss against his lips. Gazing into his deep pools of sapphire, you knew this was the only man you could ever give your heart to. “My wolf…” you corrected, “and only mine…” “Yours…” Robb agreed as the two of you got lost in each other all over again.

Instinct and fury blinded rationality and composure as a sharp crack rang within the tent as your palm made contact with Robb’s cheek. Hot tears spilled from your eyes as the wet trails streamed down your cheeks.

“Fuck you, Robb…” you grit out.

Did he not think you haven’t craved him and his love as much, if not more, since your separation? Was he so obtusely… thick in the skull to think that you hadn’t cursed yourself for plunging you both into the cruel depths of a life without the other? Had he not realized that what saved you from falling into despair… from the moment you were thrown into the Red Keep’s dungeons… was your sweet memories of him?

You angrily swiped away your tears on the back of your hand before shoving him aside so you could make your way out of the tent. You couldn’t stand to be so close to him, not anymore, not when it cut you so deeply.

What was the point? Of being so close to one when they cannot have the other?

But it seemed your king did not agree with your sentiments as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you back toward him. Your chest collided against his, and you felt the hard planes of his muscles and wanted to sink to your knees while stripping him of all barriers that blocked his glorious body.

Robb growled as he felt the tremulous rhythm of your beating heart, effectively giving away all your true feelings and desires toward him – the same he felt to you.

“You’re a cruel woman…” he growled as he forced you to look into his deep, blue eyes by holding your chin, “but you’re my woman.”

Without another word, he seized you by the arm and threw you onto his bed. He tore off his tunic before gripping your ankles with both hands and forcing them wide open before he forcefully pulled your body to the end of the bed. Not wasting another moment, he clutched the neckline of your nightdress and tore it open, leaving you exposed and defenseless against him. You felt the peaks of your breasts harden against the cold air and tried to cover them with your arms, but Robb slapped your hands away and pinned your hands above your head.

“And I’ll make sure you learn your place by the time I’m done with you…”

Time meant nothing inside that tent. The only things that mattered were Robb Stark, young King of the North and recently widowed, and you, his precious whore he loved so dearly. It could have been an hour, it could have been five –you couldn’t tell. All you knew was that your former lover was currently cementing his claim on you as his bitch-in-heat by making you cum twice with his fingers and thrice more from his cock.

“You *huff* …really…expe- fuck…!” The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, interrupted by the squelch of your juices mixed with his as he moved in and out of you. He loudly groaned when he felt your walls clamp down on his still-hard shaft. “Fuck – how are you still so fucking tight…?”

You didn’t answer him; you couldn’t – at least not with words. Each of Robb’s thrusts hit that spot inside you that made you lose all sense of logic and rational thought. All you could offer was broken garbles and moans of your ecstasy as your insatiable wolf continued to feast on your pleasure. And this only seemed to further incense Robb into driving himself deeper inside you, as if he had not already caused you to peak three times since he first pushed into you. Your vision became blurry as your eyes crossed, but he brought you back by delivering a hard slap against your bottom, the stinging pain quickly shifting to ebbing pleasure.

“Well?” he tauntingly jeered, thoroughly enjoying your sharp tongue could only be quieted by him fucking you dumb. “I expect an answer…!”

“Ah-ah-ah – FUCK…!” you cried out after he delivered another harsh slap on your bottom’s other cheek, making you sharply gasp and continue to slather your drool and tears into his bed’s furs. “I don’t know…!”

Robb cruelly smirked, “Don’t know…?” He grabbed the front of your neck and pulled you until your sensitive back was pressed flush against his hard chest. “Don’t lie to me… you know… don’t pretend that you don’t – but do you want me to tell anyway?”

Fervently nodding, you felt him grin as his hot breath panted against your neck, causing goosebumps to prick across your skin covered in bite marks.

“It’s because…” Robb quickened his pace from rough to erratic as your mind nearly blanks from feeling more and more of him hitting the entrance to your womb, “we both know that cunt belonging to such a cold whore like yourself…could only be thawed with cock like mine and only mine.”

The war changed him. The Robb you knew and loved would never dream of speaking to you in such a filthy and vulgar manner. Before, your Robb always made love to you sweetly with the gentlest touches, and as far as you could tell and feel, he was gone. In his place was a wolf with a voracious appetite who could only seem satisfied with your humiliation from his rough squeezes and unforgiving pace. The evidence was plain to see by how he littered your body with purple love bites down your neck, red bite marks over your breasts and inner thighs, and deep indents of his nails from gripping your hips too hard and too long.

And the worst part of it? You loved it. Every bit of his ministrations was a piece of heaven. If this were torture, then you would only crave pain for the rest of your existence. Everything hurts so good, from the way his thick, throbbing cock stretches your walls to the way his rough, calloused hands manhandle your body with his bruising grip. You weren’t sure if there was anything left of you that Robb didn’t already possess. Your eyes glazed over the veins in his arms bulge as you barely register the rasped grunts and growls leaving his lips. If you looked down, you were sure to see the outline of his cock bulging from inside you as he continued to split you open.

He stilled for a moment and whispered in your ear as you cried out your frustration and begged him not to stop.

“I’m going to cum in you,” he rasped with perverse glee, “and afterward, I’m going to make sure my seed takes root in your womb.” He pushed your face down to the furs and forced your hips to meet his thrusts without mercy. “You tried to… escape your fate by leaving. Well, *huff* let me tell you right now… that’s never going to happen – I’ll lock you… in the tallest tower in Winterfell and chain you to the bed if I have to…”

One of his hands left your hips and went below you as his fingers deftly sought out the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs that was your clit. You tried to protest, not sure if your body could take even more pleasure, but all that came out was a warbled cry as he pressed down and circled your bud. The overstimulation was proving to be too much as your body started shaking. You felt a cord tightening more and more until it just *snapped*, and you screamed out your release as your entire body trembled.

Robb refused to let up his pace, and he continued to thrust in and out of you as you felt him stiffen and – gods, how did he get even bigger? Before he released his seed inside you, he bottomed out – making sure that there was nothing of him that was not inside your sopping cunt. Your vision went white as he let out a loud and powerful groan from his release, and you could feel his hot seed painting your inner walls with his essence.

His peak seemed to drain him of all his energy as he gathered you in his arms without pulling out and resolved himself to finally rest. His sweaty forehead rested against your shoulder as he panted. Between each labored breath, he planted a kiss across your shoulders – your body still twitching from the intensity it endured as you, too, tried to catch your breath.

All was silent until you found yourself speaking, “…There was no hope, was there…?”

Robb lifted his upper body on one arm to hover over you. You repeated your question, to which he gave you a relaxed smile and tucked a stray piece of hair stuck to your temple behind your ear.

“No, love…” he confirmed. “But you must have known that from the beginning…I would have never let you go.”

…How does one respond to that?

You tried to search for the answer in his eyes, but all you saw was love… love, and madness. It was always there inside him; you’ve known that from the beginning… only you were blinded by his beauty and your love for him. But your lord knew the truth; he saw that obsessive love from the start; after all, Robb was his son. He warned you, but you didn’t listen. It wasn’t until you saw him beat a poor knight bloody and broken on the ice-covered ground – all because you made the mistake of smiling at him.

That’s why you ended your secret engagement. You had hoped that time and distance would ebb away the insanity flowing in his blood, or perhaps he would find someone else and eventually forget you – whichever came first.

But that was a fool’s dream; you knew that now.

Wordlessly, you nodded, to which Robb gently pressed his lips to yours, just as he had back in Winterfell. With each second, you began to respond more and more to the kiss. You wrapped your arms over his neck as his lips trailed down your next again, and you felt your sore body humming for more despite its sensitivity. Your fingers gripped his unruly, dark auburn curls as a tear trailed your cheek.

Forgive me, my lord…I’ve failed.

But you know you were secretly glad of it. After all, how could you not be? Life was growing inside you at that very moment.

Tagging: @dipperscavern, @ethereal-athalia, @axelsagewrites, @rise-my-angel, @anewpersonthatexists, @sublimepenguinpeach-blog, @lenasdmns, @justmymindandstuff, @aoi-targaryen, @vyctorya, @metalblindbitch, @h34rts-4uu, @aphroditesmoon, @dreaming-for-an-escape, @sylasthegrim

[sailorshadzter]

recently this post circled back into my notifications

& it struck me with some inspiration. so i present to you... part 1 of what will likely have additional parts at some point! shout out to that original anon for asking the question & to whoever liked/reblogged and brought it back to my attention~!

The day he swears his oath to Sansa, their father pulls him aside.

From the side of the glittering room they watch the handsome knights and beautiful ladies mingle among one another in the Red Keep, celebrating the betrothal of their golden-haired prince and the beautiful Northern born girl, one of the happiest days King’s Landing has seen in the months of their king’s rule. “That is what you must protect,” Ned Stark says softly, gesturing towards the young redheaded girl, her golden gown swinging as Joffrey elegantly twirls her out and back in once more. She’s smiling, she’s radiant, she’s beautiful. “That smile, that happiness, that girl.” Ned forces his eyes from the sight that is his daughter, grown far too old to be that little girl that used to sit upon his knees. “Promise me, Jon, promise me that you will protect her with your life.” He cannot explain it, but there is a chill to his heart, a concern that far surpasses that of a father leaving his daughter for the first time. “Protect her, Jon… Promise me.” Somehow, in the depths of his mind, he hears Lyanna whispering the very same thing.

Jon turns back, just so he might spare his half sister one last glance… His heart fills with warmth, threatening to overflow. When he looks back to his father, twin gray eyes meet, and Jon nods, his single, solemn oath.

His vow he would never forget.

[ x x x ]

Six weeks later, their father is dead. 

Jon wakes each and every morning with a heaviness in his heart- the anguish of this loss met with the blow of facing her at every turn. He knows it to be wrong, horrible even, but he cannot help but to blame Sansa for what’s happened. He cannot forget the sight of her over the last few weeks, with her hair twisted in braids to match the queen’s. Why even the very day of their father’s execution she had stood up there in her lovely silk gown, auburn hair braided back with gold thread, her hair an exact copy of Cersei’s. Even her dress, which once had reflected her Northern heritage, became more and more Southern with each passing day. 

And so he cannot help to feel bitter, for while she’s become part of the royal family like she was born to it, he is an outsider. While he mourns deeply for the father they’ve lost, she smiles and waves from the balcony on Joffrey’s arm, as if it does not affect her in the slightest. 

Worse yet…

There’s that rumor that it was her testimony, her words, that sent their father to the headsman. 

And Jon truly cannot fathom forgiveness, no matter how loudly his father’s words echo in his mind… Protect her, Jon… Promise me… How could he protect her when she was a traitor? When she had sacrificed their beloved father for her own benefit… To integrate herself with the family she was to become a part of, as if they mattered at all, as if her own Stark name meant so very little to her. 

His mind ceases it’s whirling as he approaches her door, coming as he does every morning, to fetch her down for the morning meal. When he knocks, it takes a moment longer than usual for her handmaiden to appear, opening the door with her usual curtsy. This time however, Sansa does not appear at her back, ready to go; instead, the handmaiden, Shae was her name, beckons for him to step inside, so he does, crossing the threshold and allowing the door to swing closed behind him. “My lady will be just a moment,” Shae says in her accented voice, dark eyes meeting Jon’s- for a moment it feels as if she wishes to say something more, but she turns and disappears through the door to Sansa’s bed chamber. 

It takes but a few minutes before the door swings open and Sansa steps out, Shae on her heels. “Good morning,” she greets as he turns to face her, offering her usual smile, hands clasped before her. Jon notices at once there’s a paleness to her face that’s not been there before, her blue eyes tired in their gaze. She looks unwell, in truth, now that he looks a bit closer. The rose gown, the same once she wore the day of their father’s execution, hangs from her frame in places it once did not.

Gods, how had he missed it?

Shame floods him, hot and steady, his father’s voice ringing in his ears… Protect her… 

He was not fit to be her guard, not fit to be her brother; in the weeks it’s been since they had lost their father, had lost Arya, he had forgotten what it had felt like to want to keep her safe. In his own grief, his own need to put things to understanding, he’s perhaps unfairly accused her of doing things she’s not even done. Not once has he stopped to think of how she felt in the aftermath of their father’s death. Not once has he stopped to think of what the world around them would say if she didn’t side with her husband to be in this situation. Not once has he stopped to think about what would happen to her if she didn’t go along with every single thing the Lannister’s did or said… He’s met Joffrey, after all, there was no disagreeing with him. 

“Jon…” Her voice draws him back and he swallows, holding his head a little higher. “Are you alright?” She questions and he nods, offering her his arm as he always does, not inwardly flinching when she places her hand to his elbow. Her skin, which was once soft and warm, is now cold to the touch. 

Another dagger to his aching heart. 

They walk down to the main floor of the palace, to the great hall where they will dine with the rest of the court- there Joffrey waits for her, his knights hovering at his either side. “My lady,” he greets with a sickly sweet smile, his green eyes flashing dangerously in the torchlight. “You look beautiful this morning,” he continues, offering her his arm instead of Jon’s. She spares Jon just one last glance before she steps forward, taking Joffrey’s arm so they might walk through the double doors, leaving Jon there to hear his last words: “... A walk after the meal, my lady, it will do you good to have some fresh air…” 

[ x x x ]

That night, he stands at the door to her room, concern flowing through his veins. 

She had not attended the evening meal nor could he find her in any of her usual places, forcing him to check this one final place. He raises his hand to knock and after what feels like an eternity, the door creaks open just enough for him to see the brown eye peering through the crack. “My lady is indisposed,” Shae says without preamble, making way to close the door, but Jon slips his foot through the crack before she can. “My lady is abed,” she says, sharper now, in a tone which dares him to argue.

But before he can open his mouth to do so, he hears Sansa’s soft voice calling from within… “It’s alright Shae, let him in.” And though she looks as if she would rather do anything else, Shae sighs and steps back, pulling the door open and allowing Jon to step through. 

He does not see her at first, but then catches sight of her, curled up into the window seat on the eastern wall. She wears her dressing robe, her long red hair falling down her back in soft waves, her feet tucked up beneath her. “Sansa…” He speaks her name the first time in what feels like an eternity- the title she holds no longer anything but family. She stiffens, but slowly does she turn to face him, her feet making their way back to the floor as she comes to fully face him.

And just like that, his world stops spinning.

The lips that curve around the syllable of his name are broken and bruised, proof of a fist that has connected with it. He’s rushing forward then, just as she’s rising up to her full height, his heart frenzied and his eyes widening. “Seven hells Sansa, what happened to you?” He nearly shouts and she flinches, the gesture filling him with even more rage. “Sansa, tell me what happened…” He encourages, softer now, watching as her battered lip quivers with her fight to keep from crying. 

Instead of answering, she pushes past him, shaking her head. From where she stands across the room, Shae swallows against her own emotions; she alone knew what this girl suffered through and though she often begged her to tell someone, anyone else, her lady was unwilling, though it was fear that prevented her. But perhaps now, for the first time since her father’s death, she might open up to the one person who could protect her from the abuse. And so she ducks out of the room, quietly closing the door to her bedchamber behind her, giving them just a few minutes of privacy.

“Sansa…” He’s coaxing her quietly, his hand slowly reaching out as to not startle her. He turns her back around, that same hand moving upwards, cupping her chin so he might get a better look at the injury she’s suffered. Gently he swipes his thumb across it, across her plump lower lip, his chest tight and his heart skipping a beat. “Did Joffrey…”

At once she’s taking a step back, out of his grasp, shaking his head. “Not him,” she says softly, hauntingly, making him realize at once what she means. Not Joffrey, but rather one of his so-called knights- men twice her size, twice her strength. To think a man of any kind would put his hands upon a woman, let alone the woman he would someday call his queen. 

Anger surges through him, white hot and rampant, unlike any feeling he’s ever felt before. It doesn’t matter if this was the first time, or even if it would be the only time. They would pay for putting their hands upon her in such a violent way. “I won’t let them get away with this,” he snarls, turning on his heel as if he means to storm from her room, as if he means to rush into these knights chambers and beat them relentlessly for what they’ve done. He would, for the first time in his life, allow his anger to get the best of him and he would do as he likely should have done weeks ago.

He would fight for her.

“Jon, stop!

Her cry forces him to hesitate, his back to her, his eyes on the door. “Please, don’t go,” she says, reaching for his hand in a way she’s never done before, turning him back to face her. Her blue eyes, tired as they are, are haunting in their gaze. Those were eyes that have seen far more than anyone ever should have- he wonders what else she’s not telling him. What else has those eyes seen that his have not? “Please, you mustn’t feud with them.” She speaks quickly, quietly, her hands still holding fast to his. “I know you don’t care for me…” Her words are softer now and a single tear streaks her ivory cheek. “But you are my brother and I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.” 

I know you don’t care for me… Her words hit him harder than perhaps even the sight of her injury did. Once more, like earlier in the day, he’s filled with shame. With regret. “I care for you a great deal, Sansa,” he says without hesitation, speaking the truth that sits deep within his heart. “Losing father… It’s changed me…” She bows her head and at once he sees the guilt that fills her eyes- she blamed herself, just as he had blamed her too. “I haven’t been there for you as I should have been…” He goes on, his words forcing her gaze back up to meet his. “And I’m sorry for that. I should have been there… I should have been there to protect you from this.”

Whatever words she thinks she might say disappear there on the tip of her tongue as the tears overflow and trail the curve of her cheeks. Jon is there then, catching each one with his fingertips, leaning in, the closest he’s ever been before, pulling her into an embrace as they’ve never shared before. 

And a short while later, when Shae dips her head out of the bedchamber, to ensure her lady is well, she finds her smiling as she’s not done in several weeks, settled into place beside her brother, seemingly happy.

It was all she could ask for, at least for now.

[agentrouka-blog]

Why are Doreah, Irri, & Jhiqui labeled as Dany’s handmaidens if they were her slaves?

What’s the difference between a slave and a handmaiden?

And are slave owners only those who actually bought them, or does the term include anyone who’s able to have authority over them?

They are definitely slaves:

Her brother Viserys gifted her with three handmaids. Dany knew they had cost him nothing; Illyrio no doubt had provided the girls. Irri and Jhiqui were copper-skinned Dothraki with black hair and almond-shaped eyes, Doreah a fair-haired, blue-eyed Lysene girl. (AGOT, Daenerys II)

"A trader from Qarth once told me that dragons came from the moon," blond Doreah said as she warmed a towel over the fire. Jhiqui and Irri were of an age with Dany, Dothraki girls taken as slaves when Drogo destroyed their father's khalasar. Doreah was older, almost twenty. Magister Illyrio had found her in a pleasure house in Lys. (AGOT, Daenerys II)

Since they were gifted to Dany, she is officially their owner. She becomes the official owner of many further female slaves captured at the Lhazareen city." "Slave owner" is pretty self-explanatory as a term.

"Handmaid" or "maidservant" is an official job description back in Westeros, a fairly low-status female personal servant to a high-ranking female person, such as Dorcas to Cersei or Shae to Lollys and Sansa. The Westerosi handmaids are legally free, within the feudal system. Enslaved handmaids are not free.

Dany verbally distinguishes between her handmaids and the other slaves that do not fulfill the specific function of being her handmaid, same as she refers to Mirri almost exclusively as "godswife" even though she is her slave, as well.

Possibly for convenience and clarity, possibly to comfort herself with the obfuscation, not so differently from this principle:

They were slaves, a gift from one of the magister's many Dothraki friends. There was no slavery in the free city of Pentos. Nonetheless, they were slaves.  (AGOT, Daenerys I)

[eamesandbellamyaremyheaven]

Oaths we made, secrets we keep Ch3 || Arthur x Sansa Stark (GOT AU)

Begining || Chapter Two

Game of Thrones EP 2x06 AU (there’s no such thing as canon)

Warnings: It is GOT, so what do you think? Smut, swear, blood and violence. I'll put a warning in the beginning of the chapter with the trigger.

Summary: Arthur begins his new duties.

A.N.//- Thank you for the warm reaction to the first chapter! Any questions you have, feel free to ask! Taglist is open!

Chapter Three

Sansa III

Darkness pressed in around her, the roar of the mob echoing in her ears. Sansa was back in the riot, their filthy hands grabbing at her, their jeers mingling with her desperate cries. One man shoved her against the floor, his breath rancid as he sneered, “Pretty little bird…”

“No, no!” she screamed, thrashing as she tried to break free.

Sansa woke with a start, her chest heaving and her body drenched in sweat. The faint morning light seeped through her window, but it did nothing to banish the terror clinging to her. She sat up, trying to calm her racing heart, only to feel a dampness beneath her.

She flung back the covers and froze. A dark, spreading stain of blood marked the pale fabric of her mattress. Her breath hitched as realization dawned.

“No. Oh, no…” she whispered, panic rising.

Desperately, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, snatching up a knife that sat at a fruit tray. She pressed the blade to the bloodstain, scraping at it, as though she could erase the evidence of her womanhood.

The door creaked open as Shae entered, balancing a tray of breakfast. She froze at the sight before her, then set the tray down and hurried to Sansa’s side.

“It’s all right” Shae said gently, prying the knife from Sansa’s trembling hands. “Give me that before you hurt yourself.”

Sansa looked at her with wide, tearful eyes. “If the Queen sees…” Her voice broke. “I can have Joffrey’s children now.”

Shae’s expression hardened, but her hands remained steady as she reached for the mattress. “Help me flip it over” she said briskly.

Sansa nodded, and together they struggled with the weight of the mattress, their movements hurried and clumsy. As they lifted one corner, the door opened again, and a second handmaiden entered, carrying linens. She stopped abruptly, her eyes darting between the two of them, before realization set in.

The handmaiden turned on her heel and fled without a word.

Sansa’s face paled “She’ll tell the Queen” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Shae dropped the mattress and straightened, her jaw tight “Stay here” she ordered, before rushing after the handmaiden.

Sansa sat on the edge of the bed, her hands gripping her nightdress. Her thoughts raced, filled with images of Joffrey’s smirk and the Queen’s calculating gaze. The room felt colder, heavier, as though the weight of her fear were pulling it down around her.

The door creaked again, and this time, the Hound entered. His hulking frame filled the doorway, his face as unreadable as ever. He didn’t speak, his dark eyes taking in the bloodstained sheets, the flipped mattress, and Sansa’s tear-streaked face.

Sansa lowered her gaze, unable to meet his stare. She waited for him to speak, to sneer or mock her. But he said nothing. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive.

Shae came back in a hurry, only to stop in her tracks at the doorframe. There was nothing they could do now. The Hound gave a low grunt and turned, leaving the room without a word.

Sansa sat there, motionless, the sound of his retreating footsteps echoing faintly down the hall. The morning sunlight slanted across her lap, but it offered no warmth. Shae rushed towards her and pulled her to an embrace, one she accepted willingly. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly forlorn.

Arthur III

Arthur strode through the narrow stone corridors of the Red Keep, his boots echoing faintly against the cold floor. The weight of his new duties hung on his shoulders like a mantle he wasn’t sure he wanted. The Red Keep was vast, a labyrinth of intrigue, secrets, and danger. But the dangers of King’s Landing were nothing new to him.

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with a figure in a flowing gown of pale blue. Sansa Stark. She stopped abruptly, her head bowing slightly and her gaze darting to the floor as if afraid to meet his eyes, her auburn hair falling like a curtain over her face.

“I beg pardon, ser” she said softly, her voice skittish yet melodic “I should have come to you after… to thank you for saving me. You were so brave.”

Arthur paused, momentarily caught off guard. Her words were studied and calculated, her whole stance perfected to mask herself “I’m no ser, my lady” he replied honestly, but at the same time with an unkindness she had not earned. “I just did what any man ought to do”

Her head tilted slightly, and her clear blue eyes locked onto his. They were wide and filled with acknowledgment, and something about their intensity made him feel uncomfortably exposed. “But no one else did” she said softly, her lips curving into a faint, cautious small smile.

Arthur shifted awkwardly “Then not everyone deserves to be called a man.”

The candour of his words seemed to take her aback, but she didn’t look away. Instead, her lips parted in surprise, but then her smile grew a little, warmer, more genuine. “You’re very honest.”

He inclined his head and shrugged, unsure how to respond, “I try to be.”

There was a brief silence, charged but not unpleasant, before Arthur gave her a short bow. “If you’ll excuse me, my lady. I’m expected elsewhere.”

“Of course.” She stepped aside, her hands clasped neatly before her. “Thank you again.”

Arthur gave her a short bow before continuing down the corridor. Her voice, delicate yet practiced, lingered in his mind, as did those striking blue eyes that seemed to hide as much as they revealed. She had spoken with polite gratitude, but Arthur could sense the mask she wore - poise and civility carefully crafted to conceal the fear and turmoil she felt. The thought stayed with him, unsettling and oddly compelling, as he made his way to meet Lord Tyrion.

※※※※

The chamber door was ajar when Arthur arrived, and he paused for a moment, hearing voices within.

“An History of the Great Sieges of Westeros” Tyrion Lannister’s distinctive voice drawled. “By Archmaester Shevelathin… Shevelatesh?”

Arthur stepped inside and glanced at the book in Lord Tyrion’s hands. “Ch’Vyalthan,” he corrected, his tone even, as he sat down in front of the acting Hand.

Tyrion arched a brow, surprised. “Do you know how to read?”

Arthur smirked faintly as he raised a brow “Do you?”

Bronn barked out a laugh, clapping a hand to his shoulder “I like him,” he said, grinning at the Lannister.

Tyrion sighed dramatically. “It seems I’m surrounded by sharp tongues. Wonderful.”

Before the banter could continue, the door opened, and Varys entered, gliding into the room like a shadow. His keen eyes immediately settled on Arthur, studying him with open curiosity.

Bronn, still pacing, continued his earlier thread of thought. “Aye, we talked about it. Have you ever been in a city under siege? Maybe this part’s not in your books. See, it’s not the fighting that kills most people.”

Arthur interrupted, his voice calm but firm. “It’s the starving. Food’s worth more than gold. If things get bad enough, the people start eating each other.”

“Ah, a new face,” Varys said smoothly. “How intriguing. And who might this be? There’s very little in this city I don’t know, yet I can’t seem to place you.”

Tyrion gestured lazily toward Arthur. “This is the man who rescued Lady Sansa from the mob. He’ll be working for me, as her personal guard” he added, with a knowing look

Varys’s gaze lingered, intrigued. “Interesting choice”

Arthur didn’t flinch under the scrutiny but instead turned to Tyrion. “If that’s all, my lord, I should get to my duties.”

Tyrion waved a hand. “By all means. Don’t let us keep you.”

Arthur gave a curt nod and stepped out, his presence leaving a noticeable absence behind.

Something about the way they’d all watched him left him feeling like a pawn in a game he had no interest in playing.

Sansa IV

Sansa sat beneath the heart tree in the godswood, the gentle rustle of leaves around her offering a rare moment of peace. Her embroidery rested lightly in her hands, the delicate stitchwork of a direwolf almost finished. Shae stood quietly nearby, watching her, though Sansa knew she was never truly alone with the woman there.

Footsteps approached, soft against the mossy ground, and she didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Arthur. He always seemed so quiet, moving like a shadow through the halls. His voice broke the stillness. “You’re not praying.”

Sansa glanced up at him, surprised, her fingers pausing mid-stitch. She gave him a small smile, though it felt more like a mask than anything else. “I am always left alone to pray,” she replied, glancing briefly to her work, her voice light but carrying an undercurrent of something deeper. “So I tend to pray a lot… for the longest times.”

Arthur’s expression softened, and he nodded, leaning against a nearby tree. “What are you making?” His tone was casual, yet there was something in his gaze that made her feel as if he were truly interested.

“A wolf” she said, holding up the cloth. She looked at the embroidery for a moment, as if she could find some hidden meaning in the stitches. “For my brothers. Or… for myself. I’m not sure.”

Arthur studied the intricate pattern, his eyes focused on the details. “You’re good at that.”

Sansa gave a small laugh, but it held a hint of melancholy. “It’s expected of me. A proper lady should know her stitches.”

Arthur’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile crossing his face, his voice low and teasing “Doesn’t mean you have to like it.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow at him, surprised by the honesty in his voice – and mischievous undertone. It was a refreshing change. “No, I suppose not,” she said, turning the cloth in her hands. She could feel his eyes still on her, though she didn’t meet his gaze again. Instead, she absently continued with her stitching.

She glanced up at him again, her curiosity piqued. “And you, do you enjoy your duty? Guarding ladies?”

Arthur hesitated for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve done it all my life, in one way or another” he replied, his voice low but calm. “Protecting ladies, I mean.”

Sansa nodded, her gaze dropping back to her embroidery. The quiet hum of the godswood seemed to amplify in the space between them, and she found herself thinking about how strange it was to be having such a conversation. Since her father’s death and Robb’s war, Sansa had become both a prisoner and a pawn. The court showed her false kindness, but no one really spoke to her. Joffrey taunted, Cersei belittled, and the rest avoided her like she had greyscale. The handmaidens kept themselves at a measured distance. Guards weren’t supposed to be so open. Or maybe it was just him.

She thought for a moment before asking, almost absently, “What house did you used to work for? Before?”

Arthur let out a soft chuckle, his eyes twinkling with some private amusement. “The Dragon’s Nest”

Sansa frowned, confused. “The… what?”

Shae, who had been standing by quietly, spoke up with a calm, amused tone “It’s a whorehouse, my lady.”

Sansa blinked, her face flushing with surprise. She hadn’t expected that answer. Her mouth went dry, and for a moment, she couldn’t think of anything to say. She looked from Shae to Arthur, unsure how to respond. Arthur seemed unbothered, his face relaxed, though his lips curled in an almost mischievous grin.

“I grew up there,” Arthur added casually. “My mother’s the house governess. My sister and I were raised in the back rooms, learning all sorts of useful things.”

Sansa’s breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out. She could feel her cheeks burning.

Arthur chuckled lightly, almost to himself. “It wasn’t as glamorous as it sounds, my lady. But it kept us fed.”

Sansa didn’t know what to say to that. She looked down to her stitching, not even sure where she had stopped. She forced a small laugh. “I suppose that explains… a lot.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Does it now?”

Sansa tilted her head, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips despite herself. “Why you ought to do what other men won’t.”

Arthur’s lips twitched, his smile widening. “We all have our stories.”

Sansa let out a soft laugh, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. For a moment, they both seemed to share some unspoken understanding.

But the moment was brief. Sansa returned to her work, the needle moving through the fabric with a quiet rhythm. The quiet settled between them once more, only the sound of her stitching and Shae nibbling on a handful of berries breaking the peace.

Arthur shifted slightly, his gaze lingering on Sansa for a moment longer. He leaned back against the tree again, his eyes distant. Something in him seemed lost in thought, but Sansa didn’t interrupt. There was a stillness in the air, and for a brief moment, she let herself enjoy it.

The silence stretched on, comfortable in its quiet, until it was time to leave the godswood. The three of them walked back to the Keep, Sansa listening quietly as Shae spoke about lunch, with Arthur a few steps behind them. He left them without a word just as they approached the chambers, and Sansa found her thoughts lingering on the exchange.

[themotherofblood]

Hey could you write for Tywin lannister and reader anything basically that relates to aayat song please 🥺♥️

omg that song is so fucking angsty, I hate myself for writing this but this might prepare my tears of gold babies for the forth coming future.

tw: angst! angst!

Masterlist

Tywin Lannister x Reader

You were a child at prayer, falling in love with man much older and yet a man who protected you like no other.

Much had happened in the past fortnight and yet here you sat on your dressing table, unable to move. Your sons well asleep, unaware of what had just taken place.

Just a fortnight ago you had skipped into your husband’s offices, bringing him the designs of the newest roads when you stopped dead in your tracks and then swiftly hid behind a wall. A woman stood at the head of his council to her waist, just at a glance anyone could tell she had been deprived of her small clothes, and by the black of her hair and the distinct pink of her gown, you knew it was Shae.

You couldn’t bare it, you simply couldn’t as you ran as fast as your feet would allow you to go, cradling your bump as heaved the contents of your stomach into your private garden.

Why…? Why now?

Now when you had nearly lost everything. You knew the whore falsely testified against Tyrion and here she was seducing your husband and he did nothing. You felt as though you would break, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“My lady,” Your handmaiden spoke up breaking you out of your trance “They are ready for you.”

There was nothing behind you eyes, you glanced at your sons once more before letting the handmaiden lead you out. Jamie stood by the chamber doors, awaiting to receive you. There were only two people he were a consistent visit for the past four days, you didn’t want to eat but you had to for the babe within you, you couldn’t sleep on the bed your husband shared with another.

The man you devoted your life to, ripped everything from your hands and then abandoned you too, taking the satisfaction of you leaving him away from you.

“Your hate for Tyrion is far greater than you’d ever love me!” You bellowed, “For petty revenge, you ruined us.”

Tywin sat at his desk unmoving, there was subtle tinge of guilt on his face “I have not taken an liberties.” He confessed.

“I am not a fool! I saw it, with my own eyes.” You screamed,

This time your husband raised for his chair, concerned over your state.

“Then why is she still here?” You pushed away from his arms

“She is to be sent away.” Tywin proclaimed, trying to coax you into your bed chambers

You kept your arms hugged around yourself as the procession began to form in the throne room. You couldn’t keep up the formalities, and perhaps for once Cersei took pity on you; she made the rounds of receiving condolences. The spoke of you like you weren’t there, they spoke of your sons like they were theirs. You couldn’t register most of it in your head.

You rushed out the room, slamming your back onto the first empty corridor you found, trying to take in loud gasps of deep breaths, you couldn’t breathe.

“Y/N, breathe; you must breathe.” It was Jamie’s voice yet it sounded muffled.

You hadn’t cried, not once since that night. You hadn’t given a thought to the fact that he was dead and put a strong fight as the silent sisters came to receive you to glance at his body. Jamie was your saviour as he shrugged them away, pulling the dagger out of your hands as the silent sisters departed your chamber.

You had been in deep slumber, from crying yourself to sleep and yet it happened to be so fleeting that the sound of breaking glass jolted you awake. You had been asleep in your own solar, refusing to share bed with your husband and he respected your wishes. There was something in your gut that told your to grab your bow.

So you did, knocking just one arrow as you padded your feet to your husband’s chambers hoping to shoot a whore in the heart. She was already dead in his bed when you arrived, nothing else moved other than the gold chain wrapped around her neck. It was yours.

You stealthily moved to your husband’s study where you found Tyrion, a crossbow in his hand, pointed at Tywin who seems to have just arrived from council.

“You saw her? Didn’t you?” Tyrion looked to you, “I loved her.”

Tywin eyes widened at your figure stood by the door, “Y/N go inside, please.” You grimaced at your husband and yet couldn’t take your eyes off the crossbow pointed at your husband.

“I would have hoped your hatred for me would have spared your sweet wife.” Tyrion scoffed, pulling the lever on the crossbow. You raised your own bow in haste, pointing it at Tyrion.

“He is an infidel, you want to defend him?” Tyrion breathed out

“He is my husband.” You body coursed in agony, in having to choose between which man to kill, “He is my husband and I love him.”

“Tyrion, that whore had played you all along.” Tywin reasoned

“Say that word again.” Tyrion threatened.

“Tyrion look at me, I won’t let him hurt you, please leave. No one will come after you.” You tried reasoning with him.

“You are a moron if you believe that.” Tyrion scoffed.

Tywin grew perturbed, taking his insults at you with great offence.

“You are a moron if you believed that whore ever loved you” Tywin spat back “You are my son! You should have known better.” Tyrion charged forward with cross bow.

“Tyrion I will kill you! Just put the bow down, leave.”

There was a moment of silence before the arrow released itself, lodging it straight under Tywin’s heart.

Tyrion waited, waited for you to shoot him and yet nothing “Go!” You screamed at him, throwing the bow down to hesitantly crouch down next to Tywin.

His green eyes held panic, choking in his blood. You could do nothing, you just held him sobbed. Sobbed for this broken marriage, and the child he would never get to meet. His hands pointed towards the pillow dropped on the chaise.

You knew what he was asking for, it would taken hours before he would succumb to his injuries. Out of love once more you obliged, crying out as you put the pillow over his face. His body barely held any fight as you suffocated him with your bare hands, killing your own husband in the process.

You’d sat with him for hours, stroking his hair until the cell guards realized Tyrion had fled and combed through the Red Keep, only to find your in your bloodied night gown, and the Hand of the King’s body rested on your lap.

The streets were dead quite as they realized this funeral was meant for Tywin Lannister, even worse that his wife had been left widowed, a woman loved by many in the small folk.

You’d sat in the carriage with Jamie, still unable to cry. There wasn’t a single sensation in your body other than the fact that your were breathing, you were breathing and he was gone.

The carriage door opened to the bottom of the stairs at the Sept of Baelor, not a single person moved as you came into view of the small folk and nobles alike. There was a dreaded silence as you walked up those steps, refusing to look at anyone, refusing to acknowledge anyone. Only once you were within the sort you could breathe again.

Finally you laid your eyes at your husband, dressed to nines as he departed this word. Stones painted by Cersei were placed upon his eyes, you walked up to the podium, looking down on his body. You touched his forehead, body cold to your touch and it was only then you broke down.

Lip quivering before you anguish gave way, you kneeled by his body. Sobbing, beggging for this to be false. The three glorious years of your marriage destroyed in the matter of three weeks. You couldn’t bare it and yet you knew there was nothing your could do about it.

“I shall return his body to Castley Rock myself.” You said in between sobs as Jamie consoled you.

[spicywarl0ck]

Wip Whenever

I had a productive day with fandom prompts and wanted to show parts of the original work I am working on in between whenever the creativity hits me. I have no one to tag, so feel free to feel tagged by me <3

Shae Bradburry was many things, but she certainly wasn’t ordinary.

She had outsmarted one of her teachers at the age of seven, learned how to ride a horse at the age of ten and escaped her handmaiden successfully since she was eleven years old. Her hobbies contained the theatre, literature, painting and tending to the gardens, the latter one very much to the disliking of her father.

Not, because she wasn’t allowed to view the flowers per se, but because she made a habit out of getting covered in mud and dirt which wasn’t as ladylike as her father wished her to be sometimes.

But, it wasn’t as if she couldn’t behave like a lady whenever she wished.

In fact, Shae had a hand when it came to conversations while being invited over to tea with the other ladies. She was just as polite as taught, listening to gossip without ever letting something slip of her own household and always shifting around the delicate topics of course.

Yes, she was certain her mother would be proud of her if she could still witness her growing up. 

Her steps stopped when she halted at the grave of her mother, the crypt cold and looming above her lifelessly. She held a bundle of red roses in her arms, the colour a stark contrast to her black dress, gloves and hat as the shadows of the night almost consumed her.

A torch was the only source she had, when she stepped through the iron-bared doors, a rush of cool air brushed against her face as the crypt welcomed her.

She placed the torch into a small holder, closing the doors behind her softly and allowing herself a moment of solitude before she faced the big stone coffin standing, her mother's name engraved in fine letters. 

“Good evening, Mother.” her voice was soft as it left her parted lips, her shoulders shaking. “It’s me,” she added as she placed the roses atop the stone coffin, a gloved hand gently stretching over the cold surface.

“I know I haven’t visited in a while, and I am sorry.” Shae halted for a moment, searching her mind for the right words. “But, I am here now. And there is so much I have to tell you, but not nearly enough time.” Her eyes strayed to the barred doors, a breath leaving her lips as she inhaled.

“You know, it all began with a visit of father's acquaintance…”

[venusintheblindspots-blog]

I must add Shae to this.

Because yes she was a bit cruel for mocking Tyrion during the trial, but I don’t blame her. Tyrion wasn’t paying her, he hits her, and basically leaves her to work in the Red Keep as a handmaiden.

Tyrion deluded himself into thinking they had a true relationship, despite Shae making it clear that what they had was transactional.

And then to make matters worst, he murders her because HE’S embarrassed, and then her body is fed to the dogs.

Shae’s character is one that highlights how much cruelty the nobility in Westeros can get away with, because no one is going to defend Shae. No one is going to seek justice for her, because her life has no value for the people of Kingslanding.

It’s always strange how the fandom paints characters like Shae, Mirri and Tysha as simple 1 dimensional villains, when they are actually some of the biggest tragedies in ASOIF.

Tysha and Mirri Maz Duur are two characters I feel like the fandom tends to erase the pain of in favor of the POV character (Tyrion and Dany).

Their not really viewed as people but an arc/character development for Dany and Tyrion and the more I think about it the more I hate it.

Tysha was raped and abuse by Tywin, she got no justice, but that's all glossed over in favor of highlighting how unfairly Tywin treats Tyrion and his hatred for his son, and Tyrion's trauma. No doubt the event was traumatic for Tyrion but the way people choose to only focus on Tyrion's trauma while ignoring Tysha is disturbing and disappointing. I have also seen people shipping them and wanting a reunion and for them to marry again but let's not forget Tyrion abused her. He raped her. Yes, Tywin forced him but it still happened and Tysha doesn't deserve to relive that trauma so Tyrion can find peace and redemption.

Mirri was raped, abused and witness the murder and rape of her people but that's all glossed over as well in favor of highlighting Dany coming into power. Beating her first 'Villian' and dealing with her first 'Betrayal'. Mirri did not owe Dany any loyalty because Dany saved her by making Mirri her slave. At the end of the day a slave is still a slave, even if their master is kind. The fact that people villianize Mirri for something they would praise Dany for is telling enough. And the fact that they think Mirri should be ever grateful Dany 'saved' her is disturbing. Also Mirri was still abused even after Dany 'saved' her. The idea that Mirri did something villainous by rebelling( killing Drogo. Still have no proof she actually did it) against her master is the idea that slaves have no right to rebell/desire freedom. The fandom perception around Mirri Maz Duur is disappointing . (Maybe it's the way GRRM wrote it or maybe it's because the fandom is mostly white.)

Justice for Tysha and Mirri Maz Duur.

I rambled alot in this one.

[starwarsgirl198]

The Vernius: The Faberian Imperial Family

So this is them, if you notice a lot of twins, triplets and quads: The Vernius were well known of having either of those sets, either identical or fraternal.

I also put the kids with their parents in an attempt to make it easier to know which kid belongs to which sibling xD

The Faberian Empire belongs to me

Kilara Vernius, first Empress Regnant. Born 4400 BBY.

Kiara Vernius, Empress Regnant. Born 3994 BBY. She had a daughter with Sith Pureblood Lord Scourge.

Karitas Vernius, (Kiara's and Scourge's daughter) Empress Regnant. Born 3954 BBY. Married a Chiss male named Shev'eldare'lith or Veldarel.

Nyma Vernius, Empress Regnant. Mother of Marrika and Namari but she had tried killing her daughters in an attempt to keep her throne. She was married to Ehsan Xans.

Marrika Vernius (younger twin), Empress Regnant while Namari became the founder of the Verd Clan. Born 3,699 BBY (Marrika ruled before the sacking of Coruscant happened, same age as Satele Shan, I hope that's how you spell her name xD). Was the lover of Darth Marr.

Namari Verd (nee Vernius), married a human Mandalorian man named Rav Verd at the end of the Faberian Civil War and had a daughter with him that she named Shae Verd. She took the name Ne'tra Verd 'Black Warrior' in Mando'a. The Verd clan are distant relatives to the Vernius family.

Natasi and Nevaeh Vernius (Marrika's daughter), Empress Regnant Natasi. Born 3,665 BBY. Natasi is married to Arcann. Nevaeh is married to Theron Shan.

Kyra and Khadija Vernius (Natasi's daughters), Empress Regnant Kyra. Born ??

Akilah and Kamaria Vernius (Nevaeh's daughters). Born ??

Kallista and Iesha Vernius, Empress Regnant Kallista. She ruled Faber during Darth Bane's time. Born 1026 BBY. Kallista had twin daughters with Darth Bane.

Kateri and Karyme Vernius (Katianna's and Darth Bane's daughters, twins). Empress Regnant Kateri. Born 1000 BBY.

Malika and Nabila Vernius (Iesha's daughters). Born 1000 BBY.

Desideria Vernius, Empress Regnant and Dark Lord of the Sith. She was also the only Faberian that became a Sith, she took the name of Darth Ria. Her master was a Lethan Twi'lek who was ignoring the Rule of Two, Desideria murdered her Master in order to save the legacy of her ancestor, Darth Bane. Born ??

Kasen Vernius (Keshara's  and Nasir's mother), Empress Regnant. Born ?? She was married to a Saberian [Saberians are owned by angelgirl121 ] male named Bajani Naude.

Keshara Vernius (the mother of Tendra, Neha, Jira, Rana, Qatai, Keris, Kirren, Kizira and Kalene), Empress Regnant. Born ?? She was married to Kaden Vali.

Nasir Vernius (Keshara's brother). Born ?? He was married to Asma Xans.

Amir Vernius (Nasir's eldest son). He was married to Noya.

Amira and Yara Vernius (fraternal twins, Amir's and Noya's daughters).

Risha Vernius (Nasir's daughter). She was married to Khalil.

Samara and Zaina Vernius (identical twins, Risha's and Khalil's daughters).

Tendra Vernius (eldest daughter of Keshara) Supreme Commander of the Faberian Military. Alexion Erixour is her husband and her General in her army, one of the rare male high ranking officers in the Faberian Army.

Talar, Dasia and Azia Vernius (Triplets)

Zac and Ushara Vernius (Twins)

Neha Vernius (second eldest daughter, twin sister of Tendra) High Priestess of the Cloaked One. She is married to Tahsin Abaza.

Ruhena, Kasra and Nisa Vernius (Triplets)

Jira Vernius (second eldest daughter) Grand Master of the Prophets. She is married to Jaret Xans, who is the Captain of the Royal Guard.

Saricia, Liria Vernius and Aria Vernius, Saricia is the Head of Kalene's Handmaidens.

Rana Vernius (Jira's younger twin sister) Sky Marshal of the Faberian Air Force. She is married to Hondo Ohnaka.

Nadia, Laila and Karima Vernius (Triplets)

Qatai Vernius (first middle daughter, younger twin sister of Keris) Grand Admiral of the Faberian Navy. She is married to Aeron Trajen, who is her second in command.

Zarda and Aisha Vernius (twins) Zarda is the bodyguard to the Empress Regnant, Kalene Vernius.

Rael and Namor Vernius (twins)

Keris Vernius (only son, Qatai's older twin brother) the first male Senator of the Faberian Empire. He is married to two lovely women, Xhosa Tavali and a Lonagh-whanian [this race is owned by @rayn44] female named Siri-ka.  

Alile, Dalila and Barika Vernius (Keris' triplets with Xhosa)

Lyla-ka, Aara-ka and Nayara-ka Vernius (Keris' triplets with Siri-ka)

Kirren Vernius (Kizira's twin sister, eldest), head of the Verd Clan. She was married to Jango Fett.

Livia, Claria, Naria and Tessiara Vernius (Kirren's quads).

Boba Fett (youngest son.)

Kizira Vernius (Kirren's twin sister, youngest), a Jedi Master. She was married to Qui-Gon Jinn and Count Dooku.

Driana, Zara and Tahira Vernius (triplets, Qui-Gon's).

Sanae, Asha and Kalea Vernius (youngest triplets, Dooku's).

Kalene Vernius (youngest daughter) Empress Regnant. Born 41.9 BBY. She is married to Kano Kerrigan.

Kestra and Kaden Vernius (twins). Born 19 BBY.

Marika Vernius (Kestra's daughter), Empress Regnant. Born 26.5 ABY.

Zarina Vernius, Empress Regnant. Marika's daughter, Kestra's granddaughter.

Kerensa Vernius, Empress Regnant. Zarina's daughter.

Zakira Vernius, Empress Regnant.Kerensa's daughter.

Katra Vernius, Empress Regnant. Zakira's daughter.

[sailorshadzter]

i am a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm.

chapter 2.

When they arrive in King’s Landing, they are greeted at the Red Keep by a man so tall, Sansa thinks he cannot be real. A mountain of a man, she’s immediately overwhelmed with fear, icy cold it settles into the pit of her stomach as Jon helps her to slide down from her mare, his hands warm on her hips. “Do not fear,” he murmurs to her before he turns to face the man that stands at the top of the stone steps, staring down at them from behind his helmet. The eyes are cold and even Jon cannot help but to feel a twinge of fear. “I am Jon Snow, I have brought your King’s bride,” he calls out, his voice even and strong. 

Before the man can open his mouth, the double doors swing open, and to his surprise it is a well dressed dwarf in Lannister green. This was the Lannister imp, that much Jon was certain of. He’d heard of him, as had the rest of the world. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Lady Stark.” The man says with a voice deeper than either Stark expects, though it is a voice far warmer than the gaze of the soldier that still yet stands at the top of the stairs. “I am Tyrion Lannister, Hand to the King,” he continues on as he comes down the steps, stopping only at the final one, so his height is just a bit taller than it truly was. “The King is eagerly awaiting your arrival.” 

From where he stands, Tyrion can more closely inspect the young woman that’s come to become their Queen and wife to his nephew. Though travel worn, she is beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful of women that he’s had the pleasure to lay eyes upon- and there've been many, that’s for certain. “Thank you for the warm welcome,” she speaks for the first time, in a notably Northern accent, but her smile is engaging and her blue eyes seem to sparkle in the sunlight. “I look forward to meeting the King.” Tyrion is quite sure that she will be wishing herself home after a few weeks here with Joffrey, but he smiles all the same, knowing that a bright future rests upon this marriage. It mattered not if either the bride nor husband were truly happy. 

“I imagine you would like to rest before meeting him, come, I will show you to your chambers,” Tyrion gestures for them to follow after him and the doors open again, this time a few lads dressed in Lannister livery descending so they might take care of the horses and begin to unpack her belongings from the carriage. “Your chambers are just this way,” he says as they step inside, the main corridor empty aside from a pretty woman who waits for them, dressed in pink. “This is Shae, she is to be your handmaiden,” Tyrion nods her way and she curtsies, falling into step behind them. 

Sansa is barely listening to him speak as she takes in all of the sights around her; the corridor is ornately decorated, lavish as the throne room itself might be. Tyrion leads them up a single flight of stairs and down a long hallway, to which they come to a stop before a set of doors. “Your rooms, my lady,” he opens the door and steps aside, allowing for her to step inside first.

They are spacious rooms, starting with the antechamber; a hearth sits on the westernmost wall, though cold and empty it is now in the dead of summer. A small table sits on the other side, two chairs tucked neatly beneath, an empty jug atop its surface that would perhaps hold wine or ale, should she request it. The next room is of course her bed chamber, which the bed within is large and comfortable looking. A small table sits beside it, with a porcelain pitcher and bowl atop, which she will use to wash each morning. There is a vanity to the left, with a small looking glass upon its top, and another longer one against the wall, which she might use to look at the full length of herself in. She’s never had one so large before. 

“I hope they will suffice, until the queen’s rooms can be yours,” Tyrion says, bringing her back, and she turns to face him with a smile. 

“They are wonderful, thank you,” she replies with a nod. 

“I will leave you with Shae, so  you might rest until your belongings are brought to you.” Tyrion gestures towards Jon. “Come, I will show you to your rooms, as well.” Though he hesitates to leave her side, Sansa shoots him a smile and he nods, following after the imp, back out into the hall. “You’re just in these rooms here,” they are but two doors down from Sansa’s, and for that he is thankful. “Your brother wanted to ensure you were close to her and the king graciously gave you these,” he says as they step inside rooms far nicer than even his ones in Winterfell. “I am told you are to be head of her queensguard,” Tyrion says a moment later, when the door has fallen closed and they are truly alone.

“Aye,” Jon replies, turning to face the imp with those Stark gray eyes. “I am here to keep her safe from harm.” 

Tyrion opens his mouth but thinks better of it, deciding perhaps the words there on the tip of his tongue were not worth saying. Not yet, at least. “It won’t be long until you are to meet the King, rest while you can,” is what he says instead, leaving Jon there to wonder if perhaps there was something he’s not been told. 

[ x x x ]

Her heart is racing. 

She stands before the double doors that will lead her into the throne room, into the room where her future husband sits waiting for her arrival. It’s been a few hours since their arrival, giving her time to both rest and bathe. Already she’s found a friend in her handmaiden, who washed her hair as tenderly as her own mother had once done, who laced her into her gown and told her all would be well. Sansa can’t help but to think there is something she does not know, something those around her know but cannot tell her, though she does her best to squash those thoughts and feelings. “Go on,” Jon whispers to her, standing just behind her, dressed in his new clothes, a gray cloak settled over his shoulders. “They’ll be waiting.” 

So she takes a deep breath and pushes open the doors. 

The throne room is empty, aside from the golden haired foursome that are just up ahead, faces eerily similar when she glances from left to right. Joffrey, the King, sits upon his throne, well dressed in emerald green, the crown sitting slightly lopsided atop his golden hair. He’s handsome, she must admit, but there was something about him that seemed… Unsettling. Behind him stand the two eldest Lannister siblings, his mother Cersei, and his uncle Jaime, while Tyrion stands to his right. 

Sansa makes her way down the long path from door to throne, stopping just at the bottom of the dais, where she sinks into a curtsy that even impresses the Lannister’s standing behind him. “Welcome, Lady Stark.” Joffrey speaks in tenor vocals, smiling upon her when she glances up from beneath her lashes. “Rise, so we might speak.” He continues on and so she does as she’s been bid, rising up so she might look him in his face. “I trust you find your rooms accommodating.” 

Joffrey is pleased with the sight of his bride.

She’s as lovely as they told him she was, perhaps moreso, a sight unlike the picture his mother had painted for him. “Yes, your grace, thank you,” she smiles as she tilts her head, staring up at him with wide eyes, as if she’s never been more in awe of someone in all of her life. 

“I trust we will become fast friends, my lady,” Joffrey says, rising up from his throne then, coming down the steps of the dais just to stand before her. “Our wedding fast approaches,” he reminds her and it feels more like a warning than it does anything else, though she smiles all the same. He takes hold of her hand, as if a mere courtier, bringing it to his lips for a kiss. 

“I cannot wait for the day, your grace,” she says softly and Joffrey is grinning, as if he were a man overcome with joy- but again, she’s struck with a thought that this was not all that it seemed to be. She glances upward, to where his mother, Cersei still stands, a lovely woman, but her eyes are full of darkness, a sight which sends cold chills down her spine. 

She can only hope that her instinct is wrong. 

[ x x x ] 

For the first week of her stay, a gift arrives each morning.

First comes a bolt of beautiful white and gold fabric, with a note saying the best dressmaker in all the kingdoms would be there to make a gown fit for a queen. Then comes a necklace of gold and jewels, day three matching hairpins. Day four she finds the dressmaker at her door. The next day comes a lovely coronet that she might wear on a daily basis, unlike a heavy state crown. Day six is several more bolts of fabric, because he’s learned by now that she enjoys sewing, and day seven is a pup of the softest brown, who barks happily at the sight of her. 

Perhaps, she thinks, all will not be so bad.

And the best gift of all, she thinks, is the one she’s found in Shae, her handmaiden.

Though they’ve only been together this short time, it feels as if she’s known her all of her life, and Sansa is loath to be without her. “Your grace,” Shae greets her upon this very morning, addressing her as all have come to do, for the official betrothal ceremony had already come to pass. It is a title she’s not certain she will ever come to adjust to. “Something to break your fast,” she offers a plate of fresh fruit and bread, which Sansa readily accepts. If there’s one thing she truly loves about living in King’s Landing, it was the fruit she could have at any time, any place. “Let me do your hair while you eat,” Shae continues on and Sansa sinks into the chair, sighing softly as her handmaiden begins to brush out her long red hair. 

When her hair is done and she’s finished eating, Shae strips her from her robes and nightgown, instead dressing her in a new gown of pale green, one which she had sewn herself just before her arrival South. It was cut in the Northern fashion, but in a lightweight material, far better suited for King’s Landing than any of her old gowns were. Shae clasps the pendant from Joffrey around her neck and it sits perfectly against her collarbone. “Am I ready?” She asks as Shae places the last hairpin, securing the last piece of hair into place. Her handmaiden takes in the sight of her and then, slowly, she nods. 

Tonight she would dine for the first time privately with the King and she can only hope it will ease all of her fears about him. 

[ x x x ]

When dinner has finished, she finds herself standing there in his room, alone. 

She’s never been alone with a man that was not her brother or father before, and she supposes she might as well get used to it, considering this was to be her husband. “You look beautiful,” Joffrey says from his place at the table, drunk off the six or seven goblets of wine he’s drunk over dinner. “Come here…” He gestures for her to approach where he sits, so she does, coming to stand just within arms reach. “Sit,” he commands, his voice sharper now, and so she does, sinking down onto his open lap. “Have you ever kissed a man, my lady?” He asks, to which she shakes her head. Joffrey chuckles, reaching a hand out to put behind her hand, drawing her closer to him than she’s ever been before. “You are a lucky woman, your first is with a King,” he kisses her then, sloppy but strong, and she knows better than to draw away. 

When he’s finished, he pulls back, grinning, though his hand remains at the back of her head, knocking pins loose as his fingers thread through her soft, red locks. “Your grace, please, I…” She murmurs, shifting on his lap, fearful of where this might head. Suddenly, those fingers are grasping tightly, pulling her hair in such a way that it makes her yelp, the pain sharp and strong. 

“Be quiet,” he commands, loosening his grasp only so he might put his hands not at her head, but at her chest, palms gently cupping her breasts beneath the gown she wears. “You must dress as the other woman do,” he snarls as those same hands rip the material of her bodice, exposing to him the soft curve of her breasts. “That's better,” he mutters as he runs his hands along the soft expanse of her skin, relishing in the feel of it beneath his touch. “I will have new gowns made for you,” he says as he kisses her again, longer this time, his once wandering hands remaining where they were at her chest. Beneath his touch, she shudders, not from delight, but from fear. There was no telling where this would go… No way for her to escape, no way for this to end… Except…

The knock comes a moment later, forcing Joffrey to release her as the door swings open, revealing his usual servants come to ready him for bed. They pay her little mind as she finally frees herself from her place on his lap, cheeks stained crimson, eyes threatening to overflow. “My lady…” Joffrey’s voice tugs her back and so she turns to face him as he rises up from his chair, grinning wildly. “Sleep well.” She sweeps him a curtsy and he waves her away, so she escapes out into the hall, pausing only when she hears the door close behind her. 

Shet lets out the breath she’s been holding, leaning against the wall, doing her best to calm her racing heart. “Your grace?” She turns at the sound of the voice and it’s Shae that stands there, her brown eyes wide and full of pity. “Come…” She murmurs, drawing her lady down the hall, away from the King’s rooms and back towards her own. 

When she has settled her into a chair and pressed a goblet of spiced ale into her hands, Shae slips from the room, calling upon the nearest maid to bring the copper tub, so their lady might bathe. If nothing else, the warm water might soothe her nerves.

From his own rooms, Jon hears the footsteps out in the hall, and knows she must have returned to her own, so he makes his way there. Raising his hand, he knocks, but there comes no response, so concern takes over and he opens the door without a second thought. There she sits in her torn green gown, with her once pinned up hair falling wildly around her face, tear tracks carved into her ivory skin. “Sansa…” He speaks her name, the only one who still yet does, his heart sinking into his stomach at the sight of her. White hot rage rushes through him and he thinks he might turn to find the monster that has dared to put his hands upon her in such a way, but then she’s calling out his name, soft as summer rain, forcing him back around. She’s standing up now, blue eyes full of unshed tears, just an arm’s length distance between them. “I’ll kill him for this…” He whispers and she laughs, though it sounds more like a sob than anything else. 

“You can’t,” she reminds him as he opens his arms and she falls into place, eager for the warmth his embrace will provide. This was her life now, for in just a few days time, she would marry this man. There was no escaping what was to come. “Just stay with me now…” She whispers as her own arms loop around his waist, her face buried into the crook of his shoulder. Jon swallows against whatever else he’s thinking, feeling, knowing that he could never deny her request.

And so, when Shae returns a few moments later, she quietly returns to the antechamber, telling the maids that have come along after her that their lady is already asleep. She will give her this time with the man that loves her like no one else could.

It was the least she could do.

[tibby]

got was already shaky in s4 but it fell off when d&d decided to twist character motivations and forgo any internal logic so sansa could be raped by ramsay

yeah i was just thinking about how like. a lot of people were shocked that it turned out got was anti feminist bc of what happened to dany as if it hadn't aggressively hated women for years. like this was a show that looked at its source material (which already had. countless acts of sexual assault within it) and decided that. hm. women aren't being violently assaulted or being murdered enough. better completely change this character's storyline so now she can be raped because her actress turned eighteen. let's have one of the few male characters is the show who abhors violence towards women rape his sister. oh this actress no longer wants to do nude scenes? time to have her character tied to a bed and violently killed.

[theirmadness]

sansa grabbed hold of the arm he offered her, keeping a steady pace next to the commander of the kingsguard as they returned to the red keep. or, as sansa saw it: her prison. she was little more than a pretty bird, kept in a gilded cage. the hound was right when he had given her that petname. she was a little bird, one who couldn't even sing...

she tried to hold back her laughter when he said that, however. they both knew it had nothing to do with bravery. but, she knew what he really meant by that. marrying a lannister, after everything that they had done and taken from her family... would the north ever forgive her? would they ever see her as one of their own, again? sansa was of the mind that it mattered very little what the north thought. she was the only stark left alive. she had to do what was necessary to survive. ❝ a very smart man told me that one must fight with whatever means one has to survive, ❞ that smart man being his little brother. that was just the sort of thing that tyrion would say. she maintained a pleasant conversation with him as they walked. sansa found that it was easy to talk to ser jaime. he was pleasant, charming, and witty. he had a very nice smile, and he looked so dashing when the sun hit his golden hair.

when they reached her chambers, sansa let go of his arm so she could turn to him, a smile on her lips. ❝ thank you, ser jaime. i look forward to seeing you again. ❞ she thought about it for a moment, chewing on her lower lip before she, once again, tiptoed slightly so she could press a kiss to his cheek. she entered her chambers with a smile on her lips, and immediately, shae looked very suspicious.

❝ what are you smirking about, hmm? ❞ sansa actually giggled.

their marriage must happen before the king's...

so, everything moved quite fast. at least, it felt that way to sansa.

shae had been happy when she told her the news. but then, she had brought up a problem sansa had not thought of: the queen. as much as she hated gossip, sansa was aware of the rumours in court. and the rumour that had gotten her father beheaded and named a traitor, in the first place. sansa didn't have any thoughts on the matter. it did not matter to her. not until now. and, of course, the nature of cersei's relationship to jaime would be an issue now. she was terrified of that.

anything that put her in cersei's sight terrified her. but what choice did she have? she wouldn't go back now, simply out of fear of cersei.

shae and the other handmaidens were fussing over her dress behind her back. she has her hair styled as most ladies in court do. the dress itself is beautiful. when sansa looks at herself in the mirror, she does smile. she looks beautiful. but she is terrified. she keeps fussing with her hands, her nails biting into the palm of her hands. she had spent quite a bit of time with jaime since the announcement of their union.

the more time she spent in his presence, the more besotted she became with him. ser jaime was an easy man to like. was he putting on the charms to get her to feel at ease with him? maybe. shae told her not to trust him fully. you can never trust a man fully. but sansa... likes jaime lannister. it's a thought that fills her with excitement and dread. is she a traitor? is she betraying the memory of her family?

they're not here any more. you are. sansa lifts her chin up, and she nods at shae when she asks her if she's ready. she's not. but the sooner that she is jaime's wife, the sooner she can breathe again. soon, they could leave for casterly rock. she could build a home and a life there, away from joffrey, away from the queen. away from all of it.

but of course, her torment was not yet over...

sansa felt bile in her throat when she stepped outside her room and joffrey was waiting for her, right there. he'd come to escort her to the sept. to walk her down the aisle. because, of course he had. she had to smile and pretend as if she was honoured. holding his arm as she walked down the aisle made her feel as if she was going to vomit...

she didn't. all she focused on was how handsome ser jaime looked, standing there, in his golden clothes, his golden hand glimmering in the sunlight that came in through the windows. she smiled when they locked eyes, and when she was handed over to the elder lannister, she didn't even hear whatever snide comment joffrey made. he did not matter in that moment. all that did matter, was her golden lion.

❝ you look breathtaking, ser jaime. ❞

they were all there. all her tomenters. the queen. all of joffrey's little minions. but none of them really mattered. she took jaime's arm and stood at the altar, nervous, excited, happy. when he placed his cloak around her, she was embraced by his scent, and she felt, for the first time since she had left winterfell... safe. truly, safe. it felt as if nothing could touch her as long as she had jaime lannister. she looked at him, and she felt as if the world stopped on its axis. she knew the words.

knew what she said, knew what she was doing... but it wasn't until ser jaime wrapped his arms around her and kissed her on the lips for the very first time, that she felt like she was really present. sansa melts into him, her hands cupping his cheeks, as she kissed him back.

sansa stark is now sansa lannister.

and when she breaks the kiss to gaze upon her husband, her icy blue eyes are full of nothing but genuine affection and adoration.

The fact she reaches for his golden hand with zero hesitation, touches it as if it would be his normal one. It means more to him than he likes to admit. It's what he wished Cersei would've done when he had returned, but he had only been met with rejection. Rejection and she had even blamed him. Told him he had been to late. As if it had been his choice to get captured, to loose his hand. As if he hadn't done everything to get back to her, even strangling his very own cousin.

He rises again with her help and this time he gives her a genuine smile. Glad to see her somewhat happy. And to think it was because of him. How long had it been since someone had been happy to see him?

"I do." And it was as much of a promise to her, as it was to himself. Those vows he would keep. No matter what. The vows that would allow him to keep a slight sliver of honor and give him a peace of his mind.

"Of course my lady." He could hardly refuse anyway. And he hoped that the presence at her side would deter anyone who wished any ill on her. He offered his good arm to her, waiting for her to take it before he started to escort her back into the Red Keep, towards her chambers.

"You're very brave, Lady Sansa. To suggest such a union in the first place." Not because she would need to fear him, but because he knew how it probably hurt her. After everything his family had done to her, himself included even if he hadn't mistreated her personally, and she would still marry a Lannister. A cripple no less, given his missing hand.

And while his father would be more than pleased about this whole ordeal, he had a feeling that Cersei would be furious. Even when she had rejected him, she would not be happy to hear about him marrying. A marriage that would also have him leave Kings Landing for good, for he would be the new Lord of Casterly Rock.

[hknightdai]

REQUEST - Noble Relief - Game of Thrones

Shae x Male Reader

Tags: Non-Con, Anal Sex, Vaginal Sex

Request: How about some smut where the reader is one of the higher ranking lords in kings landing, and after a long day spots shae-who’s posing as one of sansas handmaidens to keep her relationship with tyrion a secret-and commands her to follow him to his chambers where he furiously fucks both her holes to relieve some of the stress of the day?

XXX

You are tired. All day you had to entertain the next mad king in the making, Joffrey. That boy's "fun" has exhausted all your patients. Oh the woes of having power.

"I need some "fun" of my own," You mutter.

Luckily, you don't have to look for long. Your predatory gaze catches Lady Sansa. You're not stupid enough to try something against her. Stupid Lannisters would do something, you're sure. No. You latch onto her handmaiden.

A foreign woman. Not bad in looks, long grippable hair, and a desirable body. Her lady leaving her alone to go with the Tyrell Lady certainly helps too.

You follow the handmaiden as she goes off to wherever. Once she reaches a lonesome area, you speak.

"Handmaiden." She jumps, turning to you. "Follow me, I have a mess for you to clean."

"My lord, I have errands for my lady I must finish." 

She follows courtesy well, as she gives her excuses before trying to leave. But you don't care for courtesy right now, you need some relief.

As she passes by, you grab her arm. Gripping it, you hiss, "You will come with me right now."

You don't wait for a response before dragging her through the Red Keep's halls to your room.

Throwing the door open, you toss the handmaiden in. Slamming the door closed, you lock it, and begin removing your clothes.

"Name?"

"I thought you had a mess for me to clean, My Lord?" She says, eyes flicking about for an exit.

"Oh, I will. But, don't worry, you can get to it later." Your eyes latch onto her breasts, heaving with her quick breaths.

"Name, handmaiden?"

"Shae," She lets out.

"Undress, Shae." The Handmaiden doesn’t move. "Your Lord commands you."

Shae makes an excellent show of it, however reluctantly.

'She must've done this before,' You think, your cock already hard.

Her show entices you, but she's slow. You are impatient, so when she lets slip a breast, you grab her. Grabbing the front of her clothing, you force the cloth together, exposing her tits. Your mouth latches onto one, sucking and biting. In a hand, you maul the other tit.

Shae's quick breaths force her tits against you.

You feel her grab your hair and you expected it. She tries to throw you off, but your hand moves from her tit to the clothing between her breasts and you yank her about.

The clothing rips and tears, luckily throwing her to your bed.

Shae lands on her stomach. The moment she goes to get up, you land on top of her, smushing her against the bed. You saw your cock between her clothed ass cheeks.

You grab her hair and yank her head back, "You can't go anywhere Handmaiden. You have to clean up my mess."

You bunch up her dress, forcing it over her ass. You spit in your hand and jerk your cock with it. Slamming into her cunt, Shae lets out a strangled sound. Your lips twitch and you spank her. Your spit covered hand leaves a red print.

The feeling of her hot cunt around your cock brings you the most pleasure you've had in a while.

Your hand snakes between her and the bed to grab at her tits.

"Fuck! I wanna hear you enjoying herself, Shae," You growl against her ear.

Shae grits her teeth, refusing. You slam down deep into her, making it harder for her. She continues to try and get free, throwing her arms about. Pissed, you brutally pinch her nipples.

She lets out a low groan and you laugh.

Her juices splash onto your thighs. Your thrusts quicken, slapping against her ass with wet claps.

Slamming deep into her, you fill her cunt with your cum.

Letting go of her hair, you throw her head forward, letting it hit the bed. You get up, your cock slipping from her used cunt and a stream of white leaks out.

Shae thinks it's over, but she's wrong.

You grab her waist and pull her ass up.

"Wha-? NO!" Shae screams, looking back at you.

She tries to kick at you, but you push her head down. Grabbing your cock, you line up before forcing your way into her tightest hole.

"AAAAHHmmff!"

Shae screams as you hilt into her asshole. You turn her head and the bed muffles her incessant screaming.

"Aaahh, fuck," You moan, ignoring her flailing.

Her cunt was pleasurable, but her ass is divine. Shae's juices helped with her puckered hole, but her tunnel needs some help. Taking aim, you try spitting on your cock and her stretched hole. After a few tries, covering the whorish handmaiden in your spit, her tunnel is wet enough for you.

"You feel so good, Shae. So. Fucking. Good."

Shae shakes beneath your touch and you can still hear her cries. Yanking back, you slap her ass red, forcing sobbing moans from her.

You see her clawing at the bed sheets as she tries, and fails, to grit through the pain and moans. All she succeeds at is whining and drooling as her asshole is wrecked.

"You like this whore?! Huh?!" You yell at her, pounding into her.

Each time you hit her ass, your balls slap against her leaking cunt.

Shae cries, sobbing as she is wracked with an intense orgasm. She squirts against your balls, staining your bed.

Her asshole has a vice grip on you. Letting out a roar, you force her head into the bed and jackhammer down into her.

"F-fucking whore, ah! Fuck. Fuck!"

Slaps rain down on her ass. You grit your teeth, feeling your cum already leaking into her. With a difficult move, you Shae's head so you can hear her, and replace your hand with your foot.

Stepping on the moaning whore's head, you plow her backdoor until you erupt, filling her insides with your hot spunk.

Shae drenches your leg in her cum.

With a few tired thrusts, you grind into her before stepping back. Breathing hard, you watch as your cum slowly drips from her gaping hole.

You chuckle and slowly devolve into laughter. Stepping up to her, you slap her upturned ass, some of you cum flies out and onto your floor.

Pulling her up by her hair, you drag her tired body to the pool of her cum and force her face up to it.

"Here's the mess. Clean it, Servant."

[anxiousnerdwritings]

About Joanna! Lookalike! Reader with yandad tyrion where he sent her off to the martell I don't think it's a good idea since by law reader was seen as a bastard The martell think it'll be an insult to their family also when tyrion have shae as his mistress will it's gonna be awkward since shae only 18 and reader age probably not that far off

I could see the bastard thing not being acceptable or insulting to any other House or region among the Seven Kingdoms, excluding Dorne. I think remember seeing something that said that the Dornish believe that bastards are born from passion and love when compared to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms who consider bastards being born of lies and deceit, so the Dornish wouldn’t hold any disdain towards a bastard. But someone of Lannister blood on the other hand would earn a different reaction. Especially with House Martell.

I could see the Martells having ulterior motives in the beginning, their betrothal or makeshift alliance is only to garner them a hostage from House Lannister, similar to how Elia and her children were hostages. Only for whoever is betrothed to Joanna!lookalike!Reader to grow closer to and actually fall for them. I think especially if the Joanna!lookalike!Reader is nothing like Cersei, Tywin, and or Joffrey, I think the Martells would be more likely to warm up to and grow attached to them.

As for Shae, it would depend on whether we’re talking book!Shae or show!Shae. Book!Shae would be pretty jealous of the attention Tyrion would give to Joann!lookalike!Reader. It doesn’t matter that they’re his own flesh and blood, Shae would be envious of not only the attention they get but also how Tyrion spoils them. It’s not that she really cares about Tyrion but she certainly cares about what he can give her and to see the Reader get all of it unwarranted just annoys her to no end.

Now, I see show!Shae being more accepting and warm to Joanna!lookalike!Reader, similar to how she was with Sansa in the beginning. I could see Tyrion having Shae become the Reader’s handmaiden so he can keep her close but also so that his child could have a friend possibly. I could even see Tyrion asking Shae to be his child’s friend or just company for them. I could see show!Shae growing protective of Joanna!lookalike!Reader as time goes on but who knows how she’ll be towards them after she betrays Tyrion in the aftermath of Joffrey’s death.

[fuckallthegood0nesweretaken]

Sandor x Reader - Sellsword

Title: Sellsword

Words: 3208

Warnings: Strong language, allusions to sex, arguing, reader almost sleeps with a (female) prostitute

A/N: I tried writing this as a smut piece, but I couldn’t do it. Maybe in the future if people want it, I’ll make a small part two with smut.

Sandor Masterlist

Game of Thrones Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

When Sandor first saw you, he had to contain his shock. He hadn’t seen a female sellsword in years and you showed up at the Red Keep escorting Tyrion Lannister, a horde of Hill tribesmen behind you. You looked confident, a slight smirk on your face and your hand on the hilt of your sword. Sandor fought not to look at you for too long, but you had no qualms about looking at him.

 You knew exactly who he was without hearing his name. When you saw him look at you from the corner of your eye, you winked at him. His eyes widened slightly and you bit back a laugh as he looked away from you.

 “I wish I could stay and celebrate with you, but I have work to do,” Tyrion said. You took that as your cue to follow Tyrion and you deliberately brushed up against the Hound as you left. He let out a sharp breath and you sent him another wink as you walked away.

 Tyrion led you, Bronn, and the Hill tribes deeper into the Red Keep. He dropped off the tribesmen off in what would be their living quarters for the time being before stopping at the door to the small council.

 “You two stay out here. If it goes the way I’m thinking it will, I’ll be out of that room in a few minutes.”

 “We’ll be here, my lord,” you said. You leaned against the wall and took out your knife, starting to clean under your nails. Tyrion gave you a look and walked into the room.

 “Could you be any more obvious?” Bronn said to you.

 “Whatever could you mean?”

 Bronn snorted out a laugh and your face split into a grin.

 “He doesn’t seem your type,” Bronn said.

 “Tall, dark, and silent? No. Definitely not.”

 The two of you laughed as silently as you could and you sighed.

 “I could use a good fuck, though,” you said.

 “I think the king would be more than welcome to the idea of you warming his bed.”

 “No thanks,” you said with a shudder. “He’s a boy and I’ve heard he’s a bit of a cunt too.”

 “A cunt that’s a king. And a king gets what a king wants.”

 ---

 The next few days were full of some changes. Bronn was appointed as the new Commander of the City Watch, Shae was Sansa Stark’s new handmaiden, and you were Sansa’s own personal guard. One that wasn’t under Cersei’s thumb. You still served Tyrion as he was supplying your paycheck, but it was a welcome change of pace.

 Tyrion had decided that you would be Sansa’s protector when you had walked into the throne room and Joffrey was ordering Ser Meryn to beat the girl. It made your blood boil and it took every ounce of your strength to not beat the so called knight’s head in.

 That night, Sansa found you outside her bedroom door.

 “What are you doing here?” She asked you.

 “Lord Tyrion has appointed me as your guard. Go on and go to sleep, my lady.”

 You could tell that Sansa was apprehensive about your presence so you gave her a smile.

 “I promise no harm will come to you if I can help it, love. Now go to bed,” you said. Sansa nodded and went inside.

 ---

 A few months had passed and it felt like a blur to you. You had learned your way around the Red Keep and King’s Landing pretty quickly, gotten the approval of Sansa, and found yourself getting closer to the Hound. The two of you often sat together to eat and you soon managed to convince him to go out with you for a drink.

 After one of those nights was when you slept together for the first time. It happened more and more, but one day, Sandor stopped talking to you altogether.

 It was a couple weeks before the Battle of the Blackwater when Sandor disappeared while you were sleeping. When you woke up, you thought nothing of it and assumed that his duties had pulled him away from you. But then he didn’t appear for lunch and when you tried to talk to him, Sandor brushed you off and continued on like you weren’t even there. You couldn’t lie, it hurt to have him treat you like that, but you took it in stride. Two could play at that game.

 ---

 “Good afternoon, your grace,” Sansa said to Joffrey.

 “My lady. Walk with me.” Joffrey looked at you, a sneer on his face. “You walk with my Hound.”

 “As you wish, your grace.” You gave him a short bow and the four of you started walking.

 You and Sandor were walking a few paces behind the two of them and you could feel the tenseness radiating off of Sandor. Your hands were behind your back and you ignored him as he tried to form words.

 “[Y/n]—“

 “Save it,” you said. “Whatever bullshit is about to come out of your mouth, I don’t want to hear it.”

 “What?” You could hear the anger start to creep into Sandor’s voice but you just turned around.

 “[Y/n], let us go,” Sansa said.

 “Of course, my lady.” Sansa walked past you and you bowed to Joffrey again. “My king.”

 Joffrey didn’t say anything back but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked away. When you were far enough away from them, you turned to look at Sansa.

 “Is everything alright, my lady?” You asked her.

 “Everything’s fine.”

 The two of you walked into the Red Keep where you stayed by Sansa’s side, keeping a watchful eye on her. It was only when night fell did you leave her in Shae’s care. You went down to the brothels with Bronn and some Lannister soldiers. After about an hour, you had a whore on your lap and ale in your hand. Bronn and the soldiers were singing a Lannister song while you lazily touched the woman before you.

 You ignored what Bronn was saying, focusing only on your lover for the night. You only looked up when you heard everyone go silent. Your eyes met Sandor’s and you looked at him as he stared at you. You could see some anger in his eyes but it didn’t faze you. You just kissed the woman and patted her thigh so she’d get up.

 “First round’s on me,” Bronn said.

 “Don’t spend all of your gold tonight,” you said to him.

 “It’s just the one round, love.” Bronn winked at you and tilted his head. “Get a room.”

 “Alright, alright.”

 The whore tugged your arm and giggled as you pulled her close. The two of you walked into the brothel, the whore leading you to her room.

 “I don’t think I ever got your name, sweetheart,” you said to her.

 “My name’s Alya, my lady.”

 “I’m no lady, love. Just a sellsword.”

 “A woman sellsword? How did you manage that?” Alya asked you, eyes wide.

 “Well, when you grow up in the slums of Myr, there’s three things you can be. A slave, a Master, or a street rat. I was never a slave and I’ve never been rich,” you said. “So I think you can guess which one I was.”

 While you were talking, you were disrobing Alya. The dress she was wearing had just fallen to the floor when the bells started tolling. Groaning, you tilted her head up and landed a kiss on her lips.

 “After the battle is over, we will finish what we started here,” you said.

 You put some coins down on her dresser and winked at her before walking out of the room. You were making sure your sword was fastened to your hip properly as you walked into the courtyard and you saw Bronn and Sandor facing each other. Both their hands were on their weapons and you rolled your eyes at them.

 “Let’s go, girls. We have a battle to win,” you said. Grabbing a tankard full of ale, you downed it in one go and started to leave.

 “Get fucked, [y/n],” Bronn said, mirth in his voice.

 “If Stannis fucking Baratheon had decided to wait I would’ve been getting fucked right now!” You yelled. Bronn laughed and you flipped him off as you walked away.

 “She’s full of fire, isn’t she?” Bronn said to Sandor. Sandor’s eyes hardened and Bronn motioned to some cups full of ale. “One more drink before the war?”

 ---

 The battle was over sooner than you thought it would be. Tywin Lannister had shown up at the last moment and annihilated Stannis’ army. A lot happened in a short period of time after that.

 Bronn was demoted from his position on the City Watch, Tyrion was no longer the acting Hand of the King, and you were almost booted from your position as Sansa’s guard. That didn’t happen though. Tywin knew you could fight well and he didn’t really care for Sansa anyways. But the thing that hurt you the most was finding out Sandor had left.

 You had gone to your room after the Battle to clean up and fall asleep when you found a note from Sandor. It explained why he had left and to your shock, it said that he thought he loves you. That was why he pulled himself away. Shaking your head, you went to sleep.

 ---

 Even more happened later.

 Joffrey died by poisoning, Sansa disappeared, and Tyrion was arrested for killing the king. Some suspicion was put on you for the King’s death, but they were soon washed away because of Tyrion. Then Tyrion’s trial by combat happened.

 Oberyn Martell bravely and proudly fought the Mountain in that trial to no avail. He died and Tyrion was proven guilty of killing Joffrey. Lord Varys came to you soon after with a plan to free Tyrion and you quickly agreed to help, but only help. You would not be going with him to Pentos. Varys knew he wouldn’t be able to change your mind so he agreed and the two of you set up a safe place for Tyrion to stay in Essos.

 A few days before the ship was set to sail, you left the capital. You were planning on going up North to see if Sansa would take you back as a guard, but that never happened. You had run into a small group of people who were trying to make better lives for themselves and you decided to help protect them.

 You had been with them for about a week when some of the men came running up. You heard one of them yelling for the healer and your concern grew. Walking up to the cart your horse was pulling, you stumbled back.

 “[Y/n]?” Ray said. “Is everything alright?”

 “I know this man,” You said, never taking your eyes off of him.

 “Who is it?”

 “The Hound.”

 ---

 A few months had passed and Sandor was fully healed. He was very wary around you, never talking to you more than he had to and never being with you alone. It made you a little angry to see him acting like this but you knew from the past that nothing would change.

 So once Sandor was able to protect the village, you left. You only told Brother Ray your plans and he understood why even if he didn’t want you to leave. In the middle of the night, you got ready to leave.

 “Where are you going?” Sandor said. You stiffened before turning to face him.

 “North,” was your reply.

 “Why?”

 “Because you can protect this village by yourself and I don’t need to be here anymore.” You continued stuffing clothes into your pack before saddling your horse.

 “[Y/n]—“

 “My mind’s made up,” you said, cutting Sandor off. “I’m leaving, you’re staying. I won’t be in your way anymore.”

 Getting up onto your horse, you gave her a pat before glancing at Sandor.

 “Goodbye.”

 ---

 It took you a while to get up north and when you did, you were lucky to see Sansa after only a couple of days. She was with Brienne and Podrick and you were happy to see her safe.

 “[Y/n]?” She said, voice full of disbelief. You gave her a smile and she tackled you in a hug.

 “It’s good to see you, love,” you said, kissing her cheek.

 “Why are you here?”

 “I wanted to get here sooner, but things got in the way. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”

 “I survived,” Sansa said with a shake of her head.

 “We’re going to the Wall. To get Sansa to her brother Jon,” Brienne said.

 “Do you want to come with us?” Sansa sounded hopeful and you nodded.

 “Of course I’ll go with you.”

 ---

 A lot happened after that. You went to the Wall and reunited Sansa with her brother. After that, you all came back down to Winterfell and took it back from Ramsay Bolton in the Battle of the Bastards. That battle was a sight to be seen and you were glad that you survived. You had stayed with Sansa while Jon went to meet with Daenerys Targaryen, not wanting to risk leaving Sansa again. You also stayed with Sansa when she sent Brienne down to King’s Landing for the meeting.

 Jon Snow came back with the Dragon Queen and others after the meeting was over with Cersei down south. You could see them marching in and when the dragons flew over you ducked out of instinct. They were incredible and you shared a glance with Sansa.

 “I know that you’re apprehensive about meeting Daenerys, but the dragons are amazing,” you said.

 “So there is something you’ve never seen before,” Sansa teased. You snorted and shook your head.

 “There are many things I’ve never seen, Lady Stark. Now, come on. We should get to the courtyard.”

 ---

 When everyone came marching into Winterfell, you were standing slightly behind Sansa and Bran. Jon came up first and you watched as he was reunited with Bran and Sansa. He gave you a nod of respect and you returned it. Jon then introduced Daenerys and you could cut the tension with a knife. It took everything in you to not laugh, your back straightening.

 After all of that happened, you joined everyone in the main hall. This was where you learned that Cersei was sending her armies to help fight the dead. You didn’t believe it for a second, knowing that she had to have something up her sleeve. There was a lot of arguing at this meeting between the Lords and you tuned it out. None of that was important to you. All you needed to know was when to fight and when to stop.

 When the meeting was over, Sansa relieved you of your duties for the day. You thanked her before going to your room, wanting a hot bath. Ever since you had gotten to the north, you had learned that you were not a fan of the cold. Sansa had teased you for it but always made sure that you were warm enough. You were thankful and knew that there was going to be a bath waiting for you in your room.

 What you weren’t expecting, however, was Sandor to come up to you as you were stepping into your room.

 “[Y/n],” he said, walking towards you.

 “Sandor? What are you doing here?” You asked, confused to see him. He stopped a couple feet away from you, an unrecognizable look on his face.

 “I was with the Brotherhood. We went with Jon north of the Wall and down to King’s Landing for the meeting with Cersei.”

 “The Brotherhood? What happened with Ray? I thought that you were going to live a life of peace.” Sandor shook his head.

 “Something happened a couple months after you left. Some people came by and slaughtered everyone. I was too far away to save them.” You could hear the sadness in his voice mixed with some anger.

 “What?” You stood straighter. “They’re all dead? But they did nothing to deserve that!”

 “The men were killed, but I wasn’t allowed to butcher them. Beric wouldn’t fucking let me.”

 “Good. I’m glad they’re dead.” You were seething, anger coursing through your veins.

 “[Y/n], did you get my letter?” Sandor asked you. His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and you practically did a double take.

 “Wait, this is what you’re focused on?” You laughed before looking at him and seeing he wasn’t kidding. “You’re serious.”

 “I am.”

 “If you must know, I did. But I don’t see why this is relevant right now.” You averted your eyes and shuffled back a bit, a little afraid of here this conversation was ending.

 “Fuck’s sake, woman! It’s relevant because I still fucking love you. Seven Hells!”

 “Sandor, you left me. More than once, too!” Sandor telling you that he still loved you made you angry. Pointing you finger in his face, you took a step forward. “You don’t do that to the people you love!”

 “You left too, or did you forget?” Sandor also took a step forward and you glared up at him.

 “I left because having both of us in the village at the same time would only bring bad things.”

 “No, I think you left because you couldn’t handle it,” Sandor sneered.

 “Handle it? You think I left because I couldn’t fucking handle it? You’re one to fucking talk! You left me alone in our bed because you couldn’t handle it. You left me in King’s Landing with only a note telling me that you fucking loved me, instead of telling it to my face! You’re the one who couldn’t handle it!” You jabbed him in the chest and Sandor swatted your hand away.

 “Don’t fucking touch me,” Sandor growled. You laughed and did it again.

 “What’re you going to do, huh? Run away again?”

 You did it one last time and Sandor grabbed your hand, pulling you close. He kissed you fiercely, not giving you time to breathe. You wanted to pull away, you really did, but it felt good being this close to him after all this time. Soon, the kiss softened slightly and the two of you broke apart. Neither of you said anything for a minute, both of you basking in the closeness you felt to the other.

 “I do still love you,” Sandor muttered. “And I’m sorry for leaving. It was a cowardly thing for me to do.”

 “It was,” you said, looking up at him. You put your hand on his chin and made him look at you. “Do it again and I’ll cut your dick off, yeah?”

 “Does that mean I’m forgiven?” Sandor said after he chuckled. You raised an eyebrow and pulled him closer, cupping the tent in his pants.

 “I think there’s still one way you can make it up to me,” you said, a smirk on your face.

 “I can work with that.”

 Sandor picked you up easily, and walked straight into your room, kicking the door shut behind him. You were in for a long night, but you didn’t mind at all.

[imaginarianisms]

Silence was the only language in the room that was here for an hour later broken by soft, muffled sobs, the sharp sting of ropeburn across her neck being the only thing keeping the girl present. Sansa hadn't remained here for long, having applied layer after layer of concealer over her neck so no one would suspect a thing. Lady Stark had been in her chambers, standing as stoic and quiet as a winter soldier all day with the grim news of her king brother and lady mother's deaths burning in her brain until evening fell and she ran into the godswood scampering, stumbling, falling and sobbing uncontrollably so hard she could scarcely breathe from crying her heart out, letting out the most gutwrenching bloodcurdling scream that Sansa ever heard. Only the old gods listened, she was surprised that no one hadn't approached, but to both her relief and her despair, for most of the evening Sansa remained all alone. Maddened by grief, that night she'd thrown the necklace of rope she'd prepared should the anguish ever be too great and hidden within one of her cloaks over the heart tree to hang herself, to escape the loveless marriage she was bound to, to deny House Lannister the claim to Winterfell and the North, and to join her family now that seemingly every other Stark was dead save for her, Sansa Stark's final act of defiance.

Sansa had previously trashed everything in her chambers, her wrath so black that not even her handmaidens nor Shae with her insolent looks would not dare interrupt her.

All her tears and all her rage could load a Celtigar matchlock.

She was about to do it when Aurane Waters, her brave captain, had stepped in just in time, rushing forward to hold her in his arms as she cried and collapsed on the earth. When she finally rose to her feet, she'd stared at the heart tree and her blood boiled. All her grief turned to wrath, and she crawled over to it, grasping onto the bark's face. Her nails sank into the tree as if they were cheekbones, fingertips tainted with bloodred weirwood sap and as if she were born to it, she began her prayer.

❝𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑, 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐃 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑! 𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐓 𝐑𝐀𝐖 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐒! 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐄, 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐃𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄! 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃! 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐁𝐄 𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐃! 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐕𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒!❞ Her heart bumped with adrenaline as she began breathing heavily, feeling the grief and rage of herself and her ancestors, the Great Kings of Winter, consume her whole.

It was the prayer she'd been too afraid to say out loud in the Great Sept of Baelor. If the old gods and the new were truly just, they would prove it to her soon, she'd hope. May the tyrant King die at his own wedding and the Queenmother watch him die.

When she'd felt the rage fade from her bones only to be replaced with the feeling of her ancestors embracing her and holding her as Aurane gently wrapped his arms around her as she looked at herself in the reflection of the pool in the godswood, Sansa realized it had grown too dark out and her husband may have been seeking her out by now, she'd thanked her lover and kissed him hard before she left for the castle.

Luckily, no one mostly save for her ever came near the godswood, so no little birds nor the Queen's spies could use her prayer against her, for the old gods detested lies. So when she'd entered her chambers to find no one there, she'd been taken aback and so she let the rest of her emotions out as she hid her bruise with concealer and tucked herself into bed with one of her stuffed animals she'd brought with her here to the capital from Winterfell years ago - a stuffed direwolf - and held it close to her.

Tyrion's sudden arrival through the door had her lightly jolt, a soft gasp leaving her.

Sansa knew even more now that there would be no sleeping at all for her tonight. He was no Joffrey to be sure, but drunken men were a force to be reckoned with if Sandor Clegane was any indicator. She'd heard so many stories of drunken men taking their wives if not beating them whenever he wished. At any moment, Sansa knew all too well that if Tyrion ever were to change his mind, there was nothing she could do but do her duty. She shuddered at the thought of ever sharing his bed let alone bearing his children and leaving the Lannisters with her claim on Winterfell and the North; her ancestors would roll in their crypts. However, to her relief, he seemed to favor the chaise tonight instead of their bed. She sits up and turns her head back to look at her husband from behind her shoulder, moonlight cascading in her hair. Looking upon her lord husband reeking to death of alcohol, though, she felt a sea of salty bitterness.

I, your lawfully wedded wife, lie awake, almost hang myself to join my father, mother and all my siblings and you, Lord Lannister, sit here drinking deep in your winecups.

There came a point in every girl's life where she just wanted to go fucking feral, take a man between her hands and rip that motherfucker limb from limb. That was today. Sansa thought about how easy it would be to take his life away from him, especially in such a vulnerable, drunken state, which she'd never do, unless he forced her to. Lately it felt like one of these days she was going to crack and cut someone up in the godswood, scatter the pieces all round the Red Keep and bury the pieces out back.

As the Hound says, if you fuck me over, I'll make sure you can't do it again.

Rising to her feet, her indigo dress trailed across the floor as she approached him.

❝I've been told drunk men tell truths, so tell me, my lord, were you involved?❞

@imaginarianisms // sc

The halls of the Red Keep were empty, save for the poor serving boy tasked with marking the hour, a small wooden mallet striking a small metal bell, the soft sound repeating three times. He had hoped that at this late hour, his wife would be asleep and he wouldn't have to deal with the terrible ordeal of speaking with her.

He often found himself staying out late into the night, hanging onto Bronn like a small, avoidant shadow. He had even started taking an interest in the habits and hobbies of his squire, Podrick. Anything to keep himself away from his chambers, away from the terrible look in Sansa's eyes on the few times they were forced to interact.

The room was dark when he entered, and he was hopeful that perhaps she was indeed asleep. It would be easier for him to climb upon the chaise and pass out, especially in his drunken state.