#Bran the Builder x Reader

[lchufflepuffcorn]

A Crown of Roots and Ice

Epilogue

Warning: Death, mention of grief, flashforward, descriptive anxiety-inducing moments, mention of wounds.

Words: 1, 867k

Author's note: The gif is not mine, as usual, it belongs to its owner/creator. This is my brainchild, the very first series I was able to finish writing IN MY LIFE. It took me three years, blood, sweat and tears, the love of all of my readers and the release of House of The Dragon for it to happen. I'm very proud of it, but that doesn't mean I won't change it someday ( by change it I mean rewrite some parts or add some things...) So thank you all for your support and your patience, I love you all very much.

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Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four, Part five, Epilogue.

Extra : Before Brin’s birth

Taglist: @aegonslover, @aemondsluvr, @yash98.

For love never falters when memories fade

It was a dark, cold night when the lady of the castle awakened, drenched as if she had run for miles. Something deep in her bones ached in panic. The lady couldn't fathom the reason for such a fright.

Her breath came in short, laboriously working its way from her lungs to the cold chamber, leaving her in clouds.

Heart beating erratically in her throat and the feeling of an imminent danger lurking still vivid in her mind, the lady of the castle choose to rise from the warmth of her furs to take a short walk. Hopefully, checking on her sons would calm her nerves if she saw they were alright.

For they were to be safe and sound, of course.

It had been many moons since her nightmares plagued her sleeping moments every so often. Shadows slithering in the dead of night, bringing cold and ice in their tracks. A muted grey light flashed before a freezing feeling in her bones. Red wine splattering in the snow. For months, she'd been woken up with cold sweat ruining the furs for the night, short and panicked breaths waking Bran in turn.

There was nothing he could do to ease her fright on those nights.

For weeks Lady (Y/N) had made her sons sleep between her lord husband and herself. It took a long time for Bran to convince her that their guards were adequate to protect them from anything. Even then, he offered her a long knife for her name day.

"You won't need it." He'd whisper on her neck one night, fingers sliding up and down her naked arm, in his best effort to reconcile her with the night.

"Hmm…" (Y/N) had humoured Bran but never took the knife from under the pillows. He never asked for her to either.

It was silly that the thing made her feel at ease when she slept alone in their room. For Bran was gone. Back to his duties once more. (Y/N) made her way silently in the castle's halls toward her son's shared room. Bran's knife swiftly concealed in her sleeping gown and furs still failed to ease her mood. The two guards were posted at the entrance, and a simple nod was given to her when she entered.

Her free hand had slithered its way to her belly, where a soft bump was starting to show.

Brin and Aeron were sleeping like she knew they would. Brin had his father's features, even at six years of age. Aeron held more of you, from your complexion to his mannerism. Nagga and Aeron's pup, Leviathan, named after one of their mother's many stories, curled at the feet of the boy's respective beds.

Nagga was the only one to open an eye when (Y/N) sat in the rocking chair near the door. She shushed him passing by, holding one of his ears gently between her fingers before settling. Covering herself with the embroidered duvet Meira had gifted her at Aeron's birth, the lady of the castle let her anxiety diminish at the sight of her sleeping sons.

Breaths evening to a slow, repeating rhythm, eyes growing heavy with the lack of stimulation, (Y/N) let herself get caught in the room's darkness and the duvet's warmth, finding herself floating in comfort for the first time in too many nights.

It was a bit later that the lady's eyes opened once more. Now in the shadowed room of her children. Her heart was racing, sweat rolling down in beads from the nape of her neck to her spine, yet an aching cold held the room captive. Her breath once more elevated before her eyes, paler in the room's darkness than the rest.

Lady (Y/N)'s eyes travelled from her eldest son's bed -closer to the door- then to her secondborn, farther away, scanning for anything moving that shouldn't be there. Nothing. She tried to bring warmth back to her nose. The room was colder than when she'd entered it.

A light 'thud' from outside made her heart in a tormenting frenzy, faster than it had already been. Instinctively, her hand clenched around the knife's handle and tossed the duvet aside as she rose from her seat. Her furs followed next. Arms free to move as she pleased, only encombered by the nightdress she wore. Moving from the rocking chair to stand closer to her eldest son's bed, she took the stance Bran showed her when she'd asked.

(Y/N) made sure, however, not to stand in front of the door, so she could keep the element of surprise like Walton had taught her long ago. Nagga and Leviathan stood right in front of the door, the fur around their neck raised and low growls escaping their throat.

Nagga moved first, jumping on the door (Y/N) hadn't known being opened. The dog must have surprised whoever had been on the other side, for a yelp echoed on the stone walls as the creature lashed at them.

A clatter soon followed the chaos, and a shadow slithered its way inside the room, slashing Leviathan's neck as it pounced toward it. Cutting its roar short, leaving only the wet choking sound of air and blood mixing.

Lady (Y/N) didn't need more time to think when she jumped forward, slashing with all her might at the grayish shadow before her. It tried to attack her too, but (Y/N) jumped back just like her older brother had once shown her. It stopped for a second, and the lady took action once more. Dark glare met icy cold emptiness for the first time before combat was launched.

Grabbing a limb and twisting to turn it towards her. She'd managed to pierce the skin, she thought, when a heavy hand threw her aside.

Cold consumed her ribs like a lake suddenly becoming ice, and the shock of her back meeting the stone cut her exhale short, and a cry escaped the woman's lips before she could stop it, but she made no movement to feel the injury. 'Must not show weakness.' Walton had once said. She hadn't had the chance to take a new breath or regain her sense of orientation when something heavy sat on her chest.

Lady (Y/N)'s hands rose instinctively toward those of her attacker. She caught them before the blade could break the skin of her neck, yet she could still feel the coldness of it too close to her throat for her comfort. Unable to release one hand to grab her knife, she tried using her legs to destabilize the thing on her.

"Mother!"

Nagga's growls and sharp calls must have woken the boys, (Y/N) knew it. The sobs she could hear were those of Aeron.

With a new desperation, she pushed the hands farther up and grabbed her knife, knocking the blade with her arm as she struck. Icy cold with yet a fiery warmth following it flowed in the armed she used as a shield, the weapon stuck in her shoulder, and a grunt left the lady. She didn't try to cower, instead trying to strike once more.

Aiming to hurt or destabilizing over killing just yet. It managed to push its damned blade deeper inside her shoulder despite the lady's trashing around.

Pushing what was over her to the side, she struck it again in the head. Then, again and again, she made sure it stayed down before turning to her sons.

"Stay here." Her breath was coming in short, and she must have twisted her ankle while falling, for pain shot through it as she walked.

The lady exited the room to join a whining yet still growling Nagga on the other side. It was slowly losing its battle against the assassin, blood wetting its fur as it had Leviathans.

Making the best of the crouched position her assailant was in, Lady (Y/N) lunged toward it and struck again, aiming for the face.

Once again, cold erupted in her, the lungs incapable of drawing breath for a short time. The assassin had lodged its blade under her breast. (Y/N) moved before it could remove the weapon and kicked at the creature to keep it away.

The commotion had risen the guards toward the boy's room, and soon, the second assassin was eliminated. All happened in a blur, and the lady was removed before it could resolve itself completely. With the danger now taken care of, she could barely stand alone and was forcefully escorted back to her room. Standing between two tall guards making her feel like she was a little girl again. They could not contain her before getting the maids to bring her sons and Nagga.

Apparently, they removed the bodies of the intruders and burned them. The two guards and Leviathan were brought out of the room to be given proper funerals. When mother and sons were finally bunched together, safe, warm and loved, the lady kissed both her boy to sleep.

While being fussed over by maesters, Lady (Y/N) asked for a crow to be sent to her husband. "So he'd be informed of the situation."

She also asked for her brother Urion to be sent a messenger informing him of the situation. Breathing was becoming laborious, and her cough sounded wetter by the minute.

In the letter addressed to her brother, the maester wrote that lady (Y/N) had not been conscious when her death occurred. Sleeping with her children, exhausted from the battle and the blood loss. It was also written to the man that Bran was yet to know about his wife's death, as his crow left four hours before Urion's.

Brin and Aeron cried their little heart out when a maid ushered them out of their mother's cold embrace once the sun came out. Maester somberly nodded their heads as they covered the lady of the castle's face.

Bran could remember the funerals held for her. The crown of roots placed on her hair, a dress in the Stark's colours and a blanket of her family's crest placed as if she was resting beneath it. He could remember the cold in his chest as he watched the fire take her form.

The empty hole it left in his heart as he clenched his son's shoulders.

He could feel the brief warmth of tears rolling on his face before the wind turned them into ice droplets.

Bran could also remember -being shaken as he was sitting in the chariot trailing him to King's Landing- the imagery of a Lady carved in the rocks. He could still see the stone sepulture, both as it was first and as he saw it when he was a boy. The eroded face was once detailed as his aunt was. The sculpture's hands crumpled from the touch of those her loss had hurt the most.

Bran could remember all those things of the ghost he saw that night when winter had lost. But he hadn't found anything relating her story in the archives of the Starks. Brandon's wife had never been mentioned. Only his firstborn Brin, well, Brandon, was named.

Bran could remember that her statue was the only one made with a crown.

And it made his heart soar.

[bookofbonbon]

for you and for me - cregan stark.

Pairings/Characters: Cregan Stark x Reader; Alysanne Blackwood.

Warnings: OOC. No thought put into this. Zero thought, head empty. Just wrote it 4 fun. Spoilers. Bad grammar, punctuation and tense use.

Summary: Cregan returns to Winterfell at the end of the war with a new bride.

Word Count: 1.1k

Snow fell gently around Winterfell for a sixth consecutive day. The calm weather a more than welcome change from the otherwise blizzardous days that had been wreaking havoc upon the Northern country prior.

Given the sudden change, you couldn’t help but wonder if the North was somehow connected to its Lord- if it had sensed when he returned to his country some six days ago. The Stark’s were, after all, an ancient house and like most Northerners, you had also heard the tales of how ancient sorcery and spells had been woven into The Wall when Bran the Builder raised it. Perhaps…

You screw your nose up.

You didn’t have time to dwell on magical midwives tales. If there was however, one thing you were certain of, it was that Winter had come for Winterfell during its Lord Stark’s absence and you were sure it would return with a vengeance once he was secured in his seat.

-

Excitement buzzes in the still icy Northern air of Winterfell. Household staff rushing through the courtyard to finish laying the final preparations for the Welcome Home Grand Feast which awaited Lord Stark and the Northmen who marched South to war some 1-2 years ago. 

In the courtyard, the Northmen who remained during the war began falling into line, Stark banners ready to be raised at a moment’s notice in anticipation for the long-awaited arrival of their Liege Lord and fellow countrymen and, just as you were nowhere to be found on Lord Stark’s  departure, you were once again nowhere to be found amongst the masses as they gathered below for his return. 

Despite your absence below however, nothing went unnoticed by you from where you stood hidden in the tallest spire of Winterfell,  overlooking the castle’s ground and the vast North. 

The once green hills had become a permanent snow white for as far as your eyes could see, save for the downtrodden road that cut through it- an army of Northern men led by Stark banners and other Northern household banners alike traveling down it.

They would arrive in little time and as expected, a surge of frantic energy seemed to sweep through Winterfell as a lone rider came galloping through the castle’s gates to announce their near arrival.

-

There’s an ache in your chest as you watch the scene below you unfold, hand rubbing at your chest in an attempt to soothe it. Winter’s men greeted with tears of both sorrow and joy as the men, women and children who remained in the North came to learn who of their loved ones had returned and who had not. 

You wrinkle your nose as a cold wind blows. Breath coming out in a white puff for the first time in six days. You had noticed the sudden change in the weather as soon as it happened; the way the snow fell harder and the winds began to pick up, carrying with them a familiar scent.

It’s then that you find your gaze drawn to the castle’s gates as a thin woman with a mass of curly black hair sitting atop a large stead arrives, sticking sorely out like a prey amongst wolves as she gazes anxiously around her.

Leaning slightly forward, you pull your cloak tighter around your shoulders. The woman is flanked by two men with Blackwood banners.

So, this was her.

You watch keenly as she dismounts gracefully, immediately noting her tall height and though she was thin, you could tell she was strong by the way she carried herself as she placed a comforting hand on her horse; her sharp gaze taking note of everyone around her before, looking for the someone you knew was not there. 

Your lips pull in a small grin. 

“Tis’ not particularly welcoming of you to abandon your newly betrothed when she has just arrived in your country,” you drawl, watching the woman stalk through the crowd with her men.

This woman was no prey but, you currently were as the floorboards creaked beneath the heavy footsteps of the Wolf of the North.

His scent surrounds you, overwhelming you as firm arms wrap themselves around you- the Wolf of the North burrowing his nose in the crook of your neck, hair scratching at your skin as he inhales your scent deeply. You relax against his hold, leaning against him as you place a cold hand atop his own which Cregan takes as his cue to intertwine your fingers with his as he presses a kiss to your temple. 

“So, you did receive my ravens then?” he asks, voice gruffer than you remembered. “You just chose not to write me back.”

You hum your confirmation, still watching her as she broke free from the crowd that had left much of her appearance obscured from your vision. Her riding clothes were fitted well and just as Cregan described, you took notice of her long legs and strong arms as she adjusted the red cloak around her shoulders.

“There was much to do around here,” you shrugged. “You made me your Regent, I could not shirk the duties you bestowed upon me.”

Cregan sighs, forehead pressed against the back of your head. You weren’t mad, he would’ve known if you were mad but, you weren’t particularly happy with him either.

He had gone to war a widow and come back with a bride.

“If you do not approve, I will see it all undone,” he reassures you with a squeeze of your hand. 

You inhale deeply, head shaking as you an utter a firm, “no.”

If his letters were anything to go by then Alysanne Blackwood would make for the perfect bride and not even your own stubbornness would allow you to pass up a woman like her for him.

“She is… as you described? Yes?” 

“She is,” he hums happily, sensing your turn in mood as he presses a kiss to the column of your neck. “Fierce, bawdy, an excellent hunter and just as you and I do, she has also taste for…roast duck and goose.” 

You breathe a laugh through your nose, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you consider your next words.

“And she knows about what she’s to be wed into.”

“She does and she was most delighted,” Cregan recalls with a chuckle. 

Turning in his hold, you inhale sharply at the sight of him. He looked different and still the same. Bigger and stronger. He had grown out his beard as you suspected and his hair was longer with a singular braid tucked amongst his dark locks but, none of that was what held you in your place. No. Despite his sternness, Cregan had left Winterfell with soft eyes and softer cheeks. The Cregan who stood before you now… he cut the very image of a man capable of doing the things you had heard he had done in the South; ready to rip out the traitors of the Great Houses, root and stem- eyes cold and face hardened by war, he hardly looked the person you watched leave through the gates of Winterfell some year and a bit ago but, as he smiled his toothy grin, you knew beneath it all that it was still him all the same.

“Then she’s perfect,” you tell him with a mischievous smile while rubbing your hands along his firm chest. 

Delighted with your words, Cregan’s rough hands cup your face gently as he hums his agreeance, his lips brushing against your own.

“The perfect bride for you and for me,” he murmurs before, pressing his lips firmly against yours.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

AGOT: Catelyn IV (Chapter 18)

So close, she thought. Beneath the linen bandages, her fingers still throbbed where the dagger had bitten. The pain was her scourge, Catelyn felt, lest she forget. She could not bend the last two fingers on her left hand, and the others would never again be dexterous.

I guarantee I’ll find a similar description of Jon’s hand in an upcoming chapter.

+.+

His father had died several years before, so he was Lord Baelish now, yet still they called him Littlefinger. Her brother Edmure had given him that name, long ago at Riverrun.

How much do I love that Edmure gave him the name he hates?

+.+

Ser Rodrik cleared his throat. "Lord Baelish once, ah …" His thought trailed off uncertainly in search of the polite word.

Can you imagine the horror of people believing you gave your virginity to Littlefinger? This might be the most devastating thing Catelyn has ever had to endure.

+.+

He was always clever, even as a boy, but it is one thing to be clever and another to be wise.

There’s the set-up.

+.+

Bran’s father sat solemnly on his horse, long brown hair stirring in the wind. His closely trimmed beard was shot with white, making him look older than his thirty-five years. - Bran I, AGOT

x

When it was announced that I was to wed Brandon Stark, Petyr challenged for the right to my hand. It was madness. Brandon was twenty, Petyr scarcely fifteen.

x

He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in his dark hair, though he was still shy of thirty.

+.+

Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.    

Jesus. Can we keep Targaryen history and lore out of the good chapters please? It’s ruining my vibes. 

+.+

The man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as hairless as an egg.

Perfumed seneschal!

+.+

She trusted Littlefinger only a little, and Varys not at all.

Catelyn, why did you ignore your instincts? :(

+.+

"Yours?" It made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell.         

"Until the tourney on Prince Joffrey's name day," he said, crossing the room to wrench the dagger from the wood. "I backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the court." Petyr's sheepish grin made him look half a boy again. "When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest."                 

"Who?" Catelyn demanded, her mouth dry with fear. Her fingers ached with remembered pain.

"The Imp," said Littlefinger as Lord Varys watched her face. "Tyrion Lannister."    

Nice, George. I love that he’s already provided enough information to the reader to question this story.

During all the terrible long years of his childhood, only Jaime had ever shown him the smallest measure of affection or respect - Tyrion I, AGOT

Tyrion would never bet against his brother.

"I used to start fires in the bowels of Casterly Rock and stare at the flames for hours, pretending they were dragonfire. Sometimes I'd imagine my father burning. At other times, my sister." - Tyrion II, AGOT

Tyrion hates Cersei.

By now Stark was no doubt regretting his chivalrous impulse. Perhaps he had learned a lesson. The Lannisters never declined, graciously or otherwise. The Lannisters took what was offered. - Tyrion II, AGOT

The Lannisters take. Cersei, of all people, would never get that emerald back.

Littlefinger you are very sloppy, and the only reason you got away with it is because Varys let you.

Final thoughts:

It’s not especially noteworthy, because all POVs do it, but I’m always fascinated by Catelyn and Sansa switching back and forth between calling him Littlefinger and Petyr in their internal monologue.

-> return to menu <-

[fandom-puff]

Exhaustion

Pairing: Jon Snow x reader

Requested by: anon

Summary: you’ve been up for well over a day, helping Queen Sansa with returning winterfell to its former glory. Jon, back from the Wall now that Greyworm has ventured to Naath grows increasingly concerned for your health as you wear yourself to the bone

AN: so yeah this is totally a season 8 fix it bc we all got incredibly screwed over :) can you tell I’m not too fond of Danaerys after about... season 1? Anyways I love writing for game of thrones lol! Gif creds, as always, to the owner <3 ALSO: YNN= your nickname

Warnings: sleep exhaustion, season 8 spoilers

“There is damage to the wall, my queen, the entrance to the castle as well. The stables were burnt by dragon fire, the armoury... well, most of it is gone. The statues of the direwolves are also destroyed, more so than when the Bolton’s were here,”

Sansa nodded slowly, her hands grasping the ornate wood carvings of the arms of her throne. She looked sideways to you, her closest friend and most loyal advisor, a lady from a lesser house in the north. You turned to the fellow Northman in front of you and surveyed him for a moment.

“For now, we have little need of an armoury. For any horses who survived the dragon fire, we will source wood to build a temporary stable so they may sleep out of the cold,” you said.

“Lord Bronson, please see that the horses are kept sheltered and that any builders hired are paid adequately for their time,” the queen addressed her newly appointed master of coin. “As for the damage to the wall of the castle, we need stone and men to rebuild it. Scope around for volunteers in the keep, they too will be paid for their extra work,” the man nodded and bowed to his queen. “As for the statues... have the Smithy melt down any damaged weapons and use the steel to remodel the Direwolves,” the master of coin scribbled down the funds and nodded.

“That is all, my queen,” the man said.

“And what of the Northmen? Those nearer the wall will have been hit hard by winter and the night king. The harvests were poor, the livestock is weak. We have an excess in our own kitchens. I want hearty food and good ingredients delivered to the villagers to ensure they survive until a more permanent solution is found,”

“Your highness, perhaps we should send a raven to your brother in the south? Out of loyalty to you and his ally, the North, arrangements can be made between the Crownlands and their ports and the fertile grounds of the Reach? Just because the North is now independent does not mean we ought to sever trade links entirely,” you said slowly, your hands clasped in your lap.

Sansa was quiet for a moment. You could see the internal struggle between wanting to do everything herself without help from the south, and wanting to keep the people fed and strong. She turned to you slowly. “Have a message sent to Bran,” she said firmly, nodding slowly to show she trusted you. “Surely there are resources we can trade with Kings Landing. Have another sent to Highgarden, I believe the Reach was relatively unscathed by the Mad Queen,” you bit back a smirk at that nickname. “They have always been fond of our embroidery,” you nodded. “Thank you for your report,” Sansa turned again to the man in front of her. “We will set to work as soon as possible. You are dismissed. Go and see to your wife, my Lord, I believe she is reaching the end of her pregnancy,” she smiled kindly, and with a low bow, the man left the hall.

With no one in the room but herself, you and the master of coin, Sansa sagged into her throne.

“You’re doing wonderfully, your highness,” you said gently, smiling softly at her. “Winterfell is almost restored and I have never seen a ruler show such compassion and sensibility to her subjects. The King of the South will help us- he probably knows already. And if need be, I will tell my brother that I’m staying at winterfell a while longer, should you need me. I trust him not to run my House’s keep to the ground while I’m gone,”

Sansa smiled at you with appreciation, and she soon gave you leave while she went to visit her Maester. As you were reaching the door, she called out. “YN! I’ve had word from Castle Black. Jon is returning to Winterfell. He should be here tonight,” you tried to hide your excited smile, and couldve sworn you saw a sly smirk tugging at Sansa’s lips as you bowed slightly and hurried off to your chamber.

Jon was coming back! You had been furious when the unsullied had him banished to the wall for killing the Mad Dragon Queen. From the moment you saw Danaerys, you did not trust her in the slightest, having heard the stories from across the Narrow Sea. In your eyes she was a glorified tyrant, as mad as her father and as deceptive as Queen Cersei. You knew she was almost nothing without her dragons, which caused more harm than good. Breaker of chains, she had called herself, when in reality she forged chains of her own- bend the knee or die was not a free choice, it was a threat, and had Danaerys Targaryen taken the throne as she was adamant she deserved it, you would’ve been slaughtered for your loyalty to the North, to the Old Gods, to your family, your friends, and not to a glamorous tyrant who would surely burn Westeros to the ground just as her father had planned.

Once returned to the north, you and Sansa had spoken of Jon a few times, and Sansa always got a mischievous glint in her eyes when you did. She must have planned his return, as he had no real need to stay beyond the wall after the Unsullied left for Naath. Smiling to yourself, you set to preparing yourself for dinner, asking a few passing maids to help you draw a bath. Unlike most nobles, you helped the maids, rather than watch them, and spoke kindly as you heated the water for your bath. Once there was enough water, you thanked them and allowed them to leave as you bathed, washing your hair and scrubbing your skin. Once towelled dry, you rubbed sweet smelling oils into your skin, before slipping into your smallclothes and a simple, yet beautiful, dark green gown, discretely embroidered with your house’s sigil at the trim of the neckline and up from the wrists of your long sleeves. Lacing the dress up at the side, you sat in front of your mirror and set about sorting out your hair, towelling it dry and braiding it around your head. Finally, you fastened a simple silver chain around your neck, your sigil hanging over your heart.

Smiling to yourself, you stood, leaving your chamber and walking to the Great Hall where dinner was normally held. When you slipped through the door, however, the room was empty, only a few candles lit. Frowning, you turned, hearing the sound of two sets of footsteps as Sansa and Jon rounded the corner. Sansa trailed off from what she had been saying and smirked slightly as she pushed Jon towards you.

“Er... Lady YLN,” he spoke in his thick, northern burr. You repressed a shiver and have him a bright smile.

“Jon! Just YN, remember?” You said, slowly walking towards him. Gladly, he accepted your embrace, and you buried your face into the thick furs at his shoulder, not caring about the flecks of snow. You pulled away and beamed at eachother, before Sansa cleared her throat.

“I thought we’d take dinner in my chambers,” she said. “The three of us reunited,” you both nodded and followed your queen. “Jon, I’ve had a room prepared for you, there should be a fire to warm you and new clothes there too,”

“But, your majesty, I... I took the black. I’m in exile,” he said lowly, frowning.

Sansa merely smiled and carried on walking. “No. You were in exile, therefore unable to take an oath of any sort. That, however, was when the unsullied insisted on ‘justice’. The unsullied are settled in Naath, and furthermore, you are a Northman. The north is an independent kingdom. Therefore, you are released from your exile,”

You shook your head fondly at your friend as you entered her chambers, were a maid was laying out the table. She turned when she heard the door and sunk into a low curtsey. “Thank you Amya,” Sansa said. “This looks wonderful,”

“Yes m’lady,” the young girl said, smiling proudly as she was dismissed.

Once fed and watered, the three of you retired to Sansa’s personal chamber, drinking wine and sharing anecdotes. Already smiling serenely from the wine at dinner, having more was making you feel a little floaty. You stifled a yawn as you fiddled with your necklace as you listened to Jon. “YN... you look exhausted,” he said softly, tipping your chin up to face him properly. The flickering light of the hearth highlighted the growing bags under your eyes and how glazed over your eyes were.

“‘M alright,” you mumbled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Can stay up a bit longer. Finish your story,” you insisted, but your eyes were already fluttering shut.

Sansa pursed her lips. “YN... after last night’s small council meeting, did you even go to sleep?” She asked gently. “And today... we’ve had about 15 lords and 12 smallfolk coming in for audiences, all of which you attended...”

You smiled slightly. “Was in the library last night, Sansa...” you mumbled. “Needed to look up the logistics and the finances,”

“Oh, YNN, we have a Maester and master of coin to do that,” she said gently, reaching over to place her hand over yours. “What about when the maester called for a break?”

“I went to start on the letters to my brother and the King in the South,” you mumbled. “And Highgarden...” you let Sansa hold your hand and give it a firm squeeze, still nuzzling you’re face into Jon’s furs as the last two days finally caught up with you. “Nodded off at my desk, though, so I’ll have to start the letter to King Bran again,”

Sansa frowned. “YNN, you’re working too hard. I appreciate it immensely, but I cannot expect you to help me if you aren’t taking care of yourself. Tonight you will rest, and when morning comes you may rest some more. You are allowed to care for yourself, alright? You must. Because without you by my side, I question everything I do. I need you by my side. The north needs you in excellent condition. And so does Jon,” you nodded slowly in understanding, but her soothing words and gentle tone were lulling you to sleep. “I want to make you my hand, YN. But first, you need to sleep,” you nodded again and let out a mumbled ‘yes, my queen’ as you finally turned your head fully into Jon’s furs and let exhaustion take you.

What felt like an eternity later, you were jostled awake. You let out a small noise of complaint and nuzzled you’re face further into the soft thick furs in front of you, your fingertips brushing a lock of curled hair...

“Jon?” You whispered, barely audible.

“Shhh, I’m here. Gotta get you to bed, YN. no arguing, now. Queen’s orders,” you nodded, and mumbled ‘alright’ as he carried you to your chamber. He found your bed already turned down, and gently lowered you into it, letting you wriggle out of your dress. He averted his eyes as you tugged the covers over yourself, despite it being dark. You settled into the pillows, already drifting deeper into your slumber, when you heard the door creak open.

“Jon?” You murmured, reaching an arm out for him.

“Yeah?”

“Stay?”

Your eyes were shut and you were practically asleep, but you heard the door shut and lock and the sound of heavy leathers and cloaks hit the ground. Best of all, you soon felt the safe warmth of Jon pressed against your side.

Tag List: @diksy1112 @zodiyack @soleil-dor @sleepylunarwolf

[brrahbrrahcharacterimagines]

My Exception (Brandon/Bran Stark x Reader)

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Bran Stark x Reader

Word Count: 2155

Warnings: Self-doubt, mild angst, spoilers for seasons 1-8, pretty OOC Bran despite my best efforts

Request: If you do write for him, could I request a smut and/or fluff fic for Bran Stark? Maybe about marrying him? -(Anon) 

A/N: I do write for him! I don’t have a whole lot of feelings for him myself so I don’t know how good this will turn out, but I promise to do my best!

You pushed Bran around in the gardens of the Red Keep, relishing in the warm sunlight. You may have been a girl from the North, but that doesn’t mean that you had to love the cold.

“The lilies are beginning to bloom,” you said with a gesture to the pink blossoms. “They look so beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you, my dear,” replied your fiance Bran. As Queen-To-Be you took it upon yourself to brighten up the Red Keep yourself. While the builders worked on restoring the inside of the building, you got your hands dirty in the garden. You may have earned yourself a sunburn or two, but you didn’t mind so long as something beautiful could grow again in King’s Landing. After the battle most of the plants were destroyed, either burned or covered in ash and debris. Finally, the new seeds were blooming vibrantly.

As you came to the end of the garden path you saw a short figure making his way towards the two of you.

“Lord Tyrion, how lovely to see you on this fine morning.” You say with a smile. Tyrion smiles a small smile in return.

“It is lovely to see you as well, Lady Y/N. I would like to congratulate you on how the garden is coming, I must admit that the lavender blooms are my favorite.” You beamed at the compliment. “I’m not just here to admire your handiwork though, I have come to remind your fiance about the small council meeting that started nearly twenty minutes ago.” He shot a sharp look at Bran.

“Oh my goodness!” You exclaimed as you flushed. “That was all my fault! I lost track of time showing Bran around the gardens, I am so sorry Tyrion.”

“It’s alright Darling, I forgot as well.” Said Bran comfortingly, looking up at you with those deep eyes you loved yo much. He reached back to grab your hand in his. Tyrion looked at Bran knowingly; Bran does not forget.

Podrick came up to assist Bran to the small council chamber, and you began making your way through the castle. While your future husband worked on fixing the political climate of the six kingdoms, you took it upon yourself to renew the beauty of the Red Keep and King’s Landing. You made many trips around the halls, looking for projects to be done. Just last week you had commissioned a series of paintings to hang in the new throne room when it was finished. You wanted scenes of the war to be depicted, both good and bad. This way future generations would have a reminder of the horror right in the room in which they ruled.

As you meandered down the corridors for a considerable amount of time until you began to hear a small commotion coming from one of the rooms. The closer you got to the room, the more apparent it became that it was full of ladies from the court, chattering and occasionally roaring with laughter. You had never really fit in with the rest of the ladies, but you figured it was worth a shot to try. After all, as Queen you would have to interact with these ladies much more frequently. You began to enter the room, but stopped dead in your tracks as their words found their way to your ears.

“I bet he doesn’t really even like her,” said one of the ladies as the rest had giggled. They could be talking about anyone, you reminded yourself from your place in the doorway. However, you had a knowing, sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. You decided to listen in but not move, as they had not noticed you quite yet. 

“Of course he doesn’t!” Yelled one women as they all erupted into chuckles. “He doesn’t like anyone! He’s the ‘three-eyed-raven’ who doesn’t want!” The woman did a horrendous impression of Bran at the end, making tears spring to your eyes. Not only were they mocking Bran, but also speaking of his false love for you.

“If he doesn’t want, how could he want her? If he is just choosing at random, he could have at least chosen somebody beautiful.” The tears threatened to slip.

“It’s as if she is so stupid that she is unaware of how insincere his affection towards her.”

“And it is as if you are all so stupid that you are unaware of your surroundings,” you said, mustering all your courage so that it did not sound as if you were on the verge of tears. It worked, making all the ladies turn towards you with a gasp. Their reaction spurred you on, taking on a cold demeanor. “You speak of the future Queen behind her back as if she is not there. Though, of course, you had assumed that I was not. Perhaps you should have taken notice of who was entering the room instead of carrying on like children.”

Despite gossiping about you mere seconds ago, this shift in your personality left them speechless and wide-eyed. You held the power, and they all knew it.

“Do not talk about me and my husband-to-be like this again, or there will be consequences.” Your delivery rivaled even Cersei’s, surprising you with just how cold and calculated the words sounded coming from your lips. The ladies nodded, hurrying to leave the room. 

As they left, you too began the walk back to your chambers. It was getting rather late anyway, and the sun was beginning its descent through the sky as the moon began to appear. You slowly made your way back down the corridor to your bedroom. With every step you took, the bravado began to fade and the doubt began to surge through your mind again. The ladies were right. As the Three-Eyed-Raven, Bran was free from earthly wants and desires. It is what made him a good King; he is not selfish or greedy.  But you had not thought about what that meant for the two of you.

You had met as children, running around and getting into loads of trouble when your father would make his monthly visits to Winterfell. House (L/N) may be a small house, but it is a house of proud Northerners who used their closeness to the Lord and Lady Stark to their advantage. You looked back on those memories fondly. Bran and you would always climb anything you could get your hands and feet on, and you would always have to endure a scolding from your father afterwards. You never minded the trouble, so long as you got to hang out with your best friend. 

When you heard of Bran’s fall, you fell to your knees and cried. You thought that your friend would die. By some miracle of the Gods he did not, and you went to visit him as he lie in bed. You were told he would never walk again, and you knew that your climbing days were over. You didn’t mind. All you wanted was to spend time with him, whatever way you could.

The visits to the Starks became less frequent after Ned left for King’s Landing. After his execution, your father raced to Winterfell to help Robb and his army in any way that he could. You got to accompany him, but after Theon returned to take Winterfell you were whisked away to the Riverlands. You were informed of Bran and Rickard’s passing weeks later, falling into a deep lull for many months.

As Sansa and the other Starks returned to Winterfell years later, you returned as well. You reunited with Bran, feeling something special spark as your eyes landed on him for the first time in years. It was more than just seeing an old friend. In fact, it was even more than just seeing your best childhood friend who you had believed was dead for years It was as if you were seeing your soulmate.

Now looking back on that memory, the way you felt, you realized that it may have been one-sided. You knew that he did not desire as he had before disappearing behind the wall, but you thought that you were different. You thought that he had loved you. Maybe instead he was able to read you like a book, realizing that you would be the easiest to have by his side because you would be there out of devotion instead of greed. Perhaps you were merely the most convenient.

Tears made their way from your eyes and down your cheeks as you finally reached the door, closing it behind you. To your surprise, Bran was already inside. You must have wandered the castle halls for longer than you thought. He turned his chair from where he had been sitting at the window so that he could face you.

“What is wrong, my dear?” He asked, using his arms to wheel his way over to you. Despite your obvious unhappiness, you did not want to admit to him your weakness.

“Nothing, Bran,’ you replied. He cocked his head.

“You never call me that.”

“Well it is your name.”

You began to get ready for bed, feeling Bran’s eyes on you as you did so.

“My love, I cannot help you unless you tell me what is wrong.” He said. You could hear the pain in his voice.

“As if you couldn’t just read my mind,” you retort hotly. Bran let out a sigh.

“You know that I promised never to do that to you, Y/N. You know that I love you and I respect your privacy. I would never use my greensight against you to see what has happened to make you so upset. I want you to tell me yourself if you decide to of your own accord.”

You took a deep, shaky breath.

“But do you?” You asked. Bran furrowed his brows.

“Do I what, Y/N?”

“You said you love me. Do you?” The tears began again, leaving hot trails on your face. His face fell. He reached out to you, pulling you to him so that you sat sideways across his lap. He held you with one arm as he wiped the tears as they fell from your eyes.

“Of course I do, my dear. You are so special to me. You are a light shining in my life every day and I am lucky to be able to call you my own. What would make you think that I may feel any other way about you?” Bran stared into your eyes and you knew he was telling the truth. His eyes were full of love and devotion, and you knew it. You leaned against his chest.

“You’re the Three-Eyed-Raven,” you say.

“Does that make me any less your fiance as well?”

“No, but it means that you do not have wants as normal people do.”

Realizing what you thought, Bran pulling you into a tight hug, caressing your hair. 

“You are right Y/N, I do not desire things as I did before I was pushed from that tower. But that does not mean that I do not desire you.”

You pulled back from him, looking into his eyes.

“I may not want land, or wealth, or power, and I may not desire in the same way. But you, my darling,” said Bran, looking at you with admiration, “are my exception. I want you more than anyone could ever want anything. The first time I saw you again after the start of the war I felt something change in me. You sparked desire that I thought I could never feel. I have full faith that fate brought us together, whether because I am the Three-Eyed-Raven or in spite of that. I do love you Y/N, with all of my heart.”

You crashed your lips to Bran’s, his moving in sync with yours as you moved your body to straddle him instead of sitting sideways. 

“I love you too Bran,” you said between kisses as you pulled back for air. He wheeled the two of you towards the bed that you shared, making you squeal and wrap your arms around his neck so that you wouldn’t fall.

“Come love, let’s get into bed so that I may lay with the woman I love. My fiancee.”

“Bran, that was rather cheesy. Especially for you.” He smiled up at you as you helped him into bed, sliding in beside him and letting his arms wrap around you.

“But you loved it, didn’t you?”

“My love, if you don’t hush up I won’t help you get up in the morning and you’ll be stuck here all day.” You retort with a blush.

“You’re a cruel woman,” he teased. “But I love you anyway.”

You turned to face him and see his smiling face. You snuggled closer to his chest.

“And I love you too, my dear.”

[itstheendofthegoddamnworld]

The Dragon and His Third Wife - Aegon I x Reader

PART 2     PART 3 (NSFW)     PART 4 {FINALE}

Summary: Reader is the daughter of Torrhen Stark (The King Who Knelt) and becomes the third wife and Queen to Aegon the Conqueror. Her first visit down south to meet the Targaryen King is one that leaves the young wolf to question everything. She comes to realise only one thing: Starks don’ t cope well down south.

The Pact of Ice and Fire

She was the daughter of The Last Northern King to ever exist: a house who’s history went back thousand of years. Her ancestors were Kings of Winter, old Kings who were forged from ice and cold as stone; they wouldn’t allow those to destroy them. She was a descendant of the great Bran the Builder, who helped during the aftermath of the Long Night.

When she had heard of conquerors who had came across the land: foreign invaders who had no ties to this land and were going through their way to unite 7 kingdoms under one rule, she and many of northern men were quick to show hatred towards this Targaryen King.

Her father however was someone who was built with honour, and when the day arose when the three Targaryen dragon riders came up to their own homeland, her father that day knelt to the so-called First Dragon. 

That day when her father knelt down to Aegon the Conqueror, he had been a King, but when he rose, he was merely just a Lord.

There was no doubting that these three invaders could annihilate an entire house out of existence: she had heard stories of how fewer houses who had failed to keep out the dragons and their fire, but she had always hoped that her father would’ve been more strong in keeping them away from his land.

Starks were made of ice, and they wouldn’t melt even from candles, let alone from dragons flying high above in the clouds.

It was rather fitting how her father dealt with keeping the Targaryen’s side, and one she would never think could be possible. She was at the age for marriage, and although her other siblings had found suitable suitors, she had been left for many years.

It was only when her father suggested her to the most suitable and most powerful man in all of the kingdoms, the one who had come through and forged an entire country into one rule.

Y/N Stark had stayed level headed and calm, but she had lost most of her temper that night when she had been told the news by her father. Torrhen had said that his kin had wolves’ blood in them, but it was the youngest who had been touched with it the most. 

Y/N was regarded by some as the fiercest of the children, and the one who needed to be trained into obedience. Some suggested the prospect of marriage would calm and control her more into a lady rather than beast, but Y/N knew that no man would be able to control the wilderness in her veins.

She was uncertain of her husband-to-be. Aegon was now a King, living and ruling under six kingdoms instead of seven, but he had built himself from nothing into being the first ever King to rule one country.

Although he had two sisters who he made his wives, the suggestion for a third was one that he didn’t disagree on, writing in a letter that ‘an alliance of the south and north would strength its ties in a longer time of peace.’

The morning after the news, Y/N had already begun saying her goodbyes, and before long, was being swept from part of the country down to the south, where she knew that her Stark and wolf ways, would ultimately bring her into tougher submission.

When she, her father and his bannerman had made it down south, she had never believed she would ever come down to see a capital being built. The Aegon Fort as it was being called for now, was still in works, but was far more grand and mesmerising than what she knew of Winterfell.

The journey down south was tiresome, long, perilous and boring, but with the sight of a magnificent fort being built, she found a part of herself being more nervous than ever before.

She had caught glimpse of dragons the first time she saw them that day in Winterfell, but she now saw how monstrous these creatures were when she saw them loom and circle around in the sky above.

Three of them, and yet the black one was the biggest. Black it’s scales were the colour of molten and it’s flames were apparently as dark as ash and smoke. It’s voice was thunderous and it made sure all could hear. Whenever this big beast flew over above, an entire city grew dark below.

Dragons and wolves do not mix and they never shall. Y/N had come to think as she had glanced to her father cautiously, but was greeting his men and himself to Orys Baratheon - Aegon’ s supposed bastard half brother.

Inside of the fort was just as marvellous and lavish as its outside appearance, and it did make her feel more nervous to see such a high seat, forged, melted and twisted from the blades of Aegon’s enemies.

Her meeting with the dragons were just as daunting as meeting those who rode them. Visenya was the eldest of the three: she had a harsh beauty to her and a serious side, she was just as much of a warrior as Aegon was. 

Rhaenys, the youngest was playful, beautiful and impulsive, a more wild and lively side to her compared to her sister. Both women were taken as Aegon’s wives, as tradition in their culture of wedding inside their family, but more strange as the new King had taken up polygamy.

Whatever it was, Y/N felt merely disgusted: something she didn’t show when she stood beneath them and wasn’t deemed as ‘godly’ in their eyes.

“Lady Y/N, it is our great welcome to have you here.” it had been Rhaenys who had greeted her, gladded in black and red armour, she stood closest to her brother on the steps of the throne.

“Your journey must’ve been tiresome from what I can tell. But nevertheless, you look…. well. Orys was correct when they said Northern women had a certain beauty to them.” Her tone may of been playful, but there was so much more to it, and even her smile seemed false. 

Y/N was quick to spot that it was all fake.

Although equipped with shyness and nerves, Y/N was quick to answer. “Am I too savage for your southern ways? I do apologise if my looks do look too monstrous Lady Rhaenys. I’m sure you can already agree for instance.”

She was a monster: they all were, monsters for coming over and tearing apart their lands and killing innocents for their own amusement, all for the realm.

Like their dragons, Rhaenys’ eyes flashed with flames, and as she took ferocious steps down towards her, her brother was quick to stop her advancements.

“I would watch your tone, Lady Y/N and remember where you are.”

Y/N had finally laid eyes upon her betrothed, a tall man that had finally stood from the throne of iron and swords. He was cladded too in black and red, a golden crown on his hair that matched his short-cut-silver-gold hair. The man held a well-known presence in the court and he was certainly the man Y/N had imagined.

Remembering her duties and courtesies, Y/N played by the rules, ignoring the glare of her father not too far behind her watching. Bowing her head and curtseying, she faked her smile.

“My apologies, my Lord. And I apologise to Lady Rhaenys-

“Your Grace.” Visenya was quick to correct, blunt and cruel her words were as sharp as a sword, similar to the one attached to her hip.

Y/N’s eyes glanced back and forth before she continued. “For my crude words. My journey here has been tiresome and long. I very much feel welcomed here in the presence of a mighty room.”

Aegon shifted, walking past his sisters as he came to stand metres above Y/N. “We feel most welcomed to have you here Lady Y/N. I do hope the fort will make you feel at home. Winterfell is in many ways, is more built grander in the eyes of all men.”

His eyes were a dark indigo, but compared to the sternness of Visenya and the rude japes from Rhaenys, there was enough genuine warmth coming from his eyes as he smiled down to her.

The man in front of me is more of an enigma than what these men think of him on the battlefield. Y/N thought, keeping her smile as warm as his. “I’m sure keeping warm down south will be easier say than in the north. It will be a lot to get used to. The Aegon Fort is as magnificent as I imagined it to be.”

“Well, you would be surprised I wasn’t the one who came up with the name.” His smile lit up across his handsome face, and Y/N’s own eyes lit up with the surprise that he could actually manage to joke even with more charisma than his youngest sibling.

Y/N smiled back, words rooted on her tongue but quick to please with the right things to say. “I’m sure you’ll be the one to come up with a better name, suited for this castle.”

Aegon nodded and laughed deeply, a fluttery feeling came from her chest as she couldn’t help but feel oddly weak at the knees. The Valyrian King looked more like a God than any man she had laid eyes on before. Handsome, he seems to hold more humour than these southerners. 

Looking back towards Torrhen then back to her, Aegon continued with his humble voice. “Your father has reminded you of the day of our wedding?”

The wedding, she almost forgot about it in that second. She had thought of this as some meet-and-greet with a new celebrity and now, she remembered she would be spending the rest of her life here in this strange land, with a man she didn’t know, two sisters who hated each other and would hate her even more, and three dragons bigger than mountains.

She caught her breath, but Rhaenys’ giggle caught her off guard. “You northerners have different customs to those here in the new capital? Like the Night’s Watch, you say your vows to an old tree.”

I would oddly prefer to be swearing my vows for celibacy than for marriage. Y/N japed.

Visenya added. “Within a fortnight Lady Y/N, had you forgotten? That I believe will give you time to climatize to the south. Wolves prefer the cold than to the heat, not like dragons.”

“Wolves prefer the company of packs and their family,” Y/N spoke calmly to the oldest, “dragons don’t.”

“A union between a wolf and dragon. Seems almost poetic.” Orys joked, laughing as some of the Stark and Baratheon bannermen laughed together.

“Yes,” Aegon hummed in appreciation, shaking his head as if he had more to say. “A fortnight it is. We shall prepare when the time comes, for now… Lady Y/N, would you allow me to show you to your room?”

Y/N nodded, taking one last glance to her father for a while as Aegon led her down the unfamiliar and long corridors, darkly-lit with one or two candles. She watched his silhouette glow from the flames, and like the fire, she couldn’t help but stare at the back of him in wonder.

“I know you’re nervous, angry even.” His voice caught her off guard. “Leaving your home and family to marry some man you don’t know and travelling down south to spend the rest of your life here as Queen.”

“It was a bit of a surprise.” Y/N started slowly, shrugging her shoulders when he slowed to walk beside her. She could feel him staring at her. “But it was the duty to keep the peace between the north and south. An alliance that would help benefit us all.”

Aegon nodded, agreeing. “I hope you’re not afraid of me. I know my sisters are not the best people, nor can I say myself either, but I will try my best in making you feel welcomed, safe. That is all I ask my Lady.”

“Your Grace-”

“Aegon, when we’re alone. I’m not as cruel as Visenya.” He joked once again, and they shared a short laugh and smile between each other.

Since being so afraid of them all, Y/N felt her nerves fade, an appreciation for Aegon grow; she appreciated that he was putting in effort to make her feel more comfortable.

“This is yours, a bit small, but it will have everything you need.” Aegon said as they came to her room, the door even had the sigil of the two familiar houses joined together: the dire-wolf and three-headed dragon on a wooden field in the middle of the door.

“Thank you, it has everything I need and much more.” Y/N smiled, staring up slowly into the Targaryen’s eyes once again, and in that moment, she felt serene, calm to be there as she looked at him with such curiosity of what he was going to do next.

“For now, if you need anything, ask away.” He gulped, and for a second, she saw that his eyes looked quickly to her lips in that second.

Slowly, like a dream, Aegon bent forward, leaning down towards her a brought a soft but quick kiss to her lips. Warm like dragon’s flame, she felt her own body light up, lightning ignite her bones and core.

He pulled away, looking her way as he begun to walk back towards the throne room. Y/N smiled to herself, a hand to her lips where once the feverish feeling of his soft lips once pressed to hers.

And in that moment she begun to believe this union of fire and ice would definitely be poetic.

[njawaidofficial]

'Game of Thrones' Season 7: Stark theories

http://styleveryday.com/2017/07/05/game-of-thrones-season-7-stark-theories-2/

'Game of Thrones' Season 7: Stark theories

The King in the North is dead. Long live the King in the North!

Jon Snow (Kit Harington) has had a hard time over the course of Game of Thrones, and things are only going to get worse as the show enters its endgame. With that said, the Charlie Brown of Westeros finally kicked the football at the end of season six, defeating Ramsay Bolton (Iwan Rheon), winning back Winterfell, and even becoming the proud new owner of his late half-brother Robb Stark’s (Richard Madden) crown and title.

But how long will he hold that crown and title? A possible insurgency notwithstanding, there’s the question of Jon’s other family obligations. As Bran (Isaac Hempstead Wright) learned through a trip back to the past, Jon is secretly the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, not Eddard Stark’s bastard son as he’s always believed. If and when Jon learns this news, how will that impact his desire to rule over the North? Will he have aspirations for sitting upon another throne — an Iron one, perhaps?

Then again, maybe Jon won’t find out that he’s a Targaryen at all. Wouldn’t that be a twist?

Readers of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series have waited more than a decade to learn the truth about Jon’s parentage. Game of Thrones viewers have been speculating about it for years as well. It would be all too cruel to finally drop that information on the show, only for it to take another season before the news reaches Jon’s ears, if it ever reaches him at all. Of course, the Starks are no strangers to cruelty, nor are they strangers to surprises — but we’re betting this is one surprise that will hit Jon’s world sooner than later.

With that in mind, here are a few other Stark surprises that would genuinely blow our minds in season seven — some of them likelier than others.

1. Cancel The Reunion

Is there any chance that the surviving Stark siblings aren’t getting the band back together in season seven? Sure, there’s always a chance, but it would be a genuinely stunning development, given all of the pieces on the board. Jon and Sansa (Sophie Turner) are already back in each other’s lives. Bran is currently heading toward the Wall, and trailers for season seven suggest he’s going to make it through to Winterfell. Arya Stark (Maisie Williams) was last seen butchering Freys at the Twins, and one imagines word of Jon’s victory against House Bolton will reach her before long. Bad things happen to the Starks all of the time, and there’s no reason to assume bad things won’t continue in the episodes ahead — but if a full-scale Stark reunion is taken off the table after being so blatantly teased, that would be a sucker punch for the ages. 

2. A Time for Wolves

One of the only groups that’s had it worse than the Starks is the cluster of direwolf pups the Starks adopted back in the series premiere. Only two of those wolves remain: Ghost, who keeps a low profile on Thrones these days (after what happened to his siblings, can you blame him?); and Nymeria, Arya’s pup who was last seen in the second episode of the series. If the Starks are about to have a family reunion, it only makes sense for the full clan to get back together — and that includes Arya’s long-lost friend. Nymeria’s return has been rumored and speculated for years now, with much of that speculation rooted in activity from the books. Fingers crossed that season seven turns those rumors into reality.

3. The Dark Phoenix

Sophie Turner is already preparing for a villainous transformation for her next X-Men performance as Jean Grey. Is she eyeing a similar about face on Game of Thrones as Sansa? When Jon was anointed the new King in the North, Sansa and Littlefinger (Aidan Gillen) exchanged a tense stare. For seasons now, Petyr Baelish has been grooming Sansa as his ride-or-die on his chaotic climb toward power. Where do her loyalties and ambitions truly lie? It’s difficult to imagine Sansa turning against her own family, Littlefinger’s persuasive suggestions be damned … difficult, but not impossible.

4. Brandon the Builder

Season six featured one of the show’s biggest twists to date, when it was revealed that Bran has the ability to not just visit the past, but interact with it as well. If you need to rehash how all of that works, look no further. In short, Game of Thrones seems to be using the same “whatever happened, happened” time travel rules from Lost, in that Bran’s trips through time always happened, meaning he can’t change the past; he can only participate in inevitability. With that said, one of the popular theories is that Bran will somehow transfer his consciousness thousands of years ago to Westeros’ earliest days, and become the legendary Bran the Builder, the mythical hero who built the Wall. Talk about a dream come true for a boy who used to love nothing more than the climb.

5. Enter the Dragon

There’s another possible use of Bran’s powers on the table: the fulfillment of the Three-Eyed Raven’s (Max von Sydow) promise that while Bran will never walk again, he will one day fly. We know Bran can warg into animals as well as people. We know he will warg into a flock of ravens this season, if the trailer is any indication. But how about a dragon? After all, Daenerys (Emilia Clarke) and her fire-breathing children are on their way to Westeros this year. Maybe it’s season seven material, but if the whole show ends without Bran warging into one of the dragons, I’ll eat my Valyrian foil hat.

6. Snowfall: Reloaded

Game of Thrones loves few things more than killing off the Starks, even when those deaths aren’t exactly permanent. Look no further than Jon Snow as an example. In fact, is it out of the realm of possibility that Jon will die again? Planting the flag and calling the shot now: Jon will once again meet his maker, and will once again rise from the ashes. We already know Jon and several other soldiers will be engaged in a big battle in the thick of winter, based on the newest season seven trailer. One of those fellow warriors is Beric Dondarrion (Richard Dormer), a man who has come back from death multiple times himself. In the books, Beric sacrifices his final life so another person can live. (More on that in a moment.) So, picture this: Jon dies on the battlefield, only to return moments (or an episode) later thanks to Beric’s sacrifice. It’s said that Beric lost pieces of his soul the more and more he returned from the dead. What would two deaths do to Jon’s psyche? Who knows … but we’ll find out this season, if this admittedly out there prediction pans out.

7. Lady Stoneheart

It’s never going to happen. Let’s get that squared away right off the bat. Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley) is dead and gone, at least as far as the show’s concerned. Of course, it’s another story in the books, where she’s only dead-ish, and decidedly not gone, as the zombified Lady Stoneheart — a vengeful creature brought to existence thanks to Beric’s last act. Fans have waited for Stoneheart’s arrival on Thrones for years and years now, and it’s never happened. The story was likely abandoned so that Jon’s resurrection would have more impact, with Stoneheart’s future involvement in the books relegated to other characters on the show. At this point, most folks have sworn off the Catelyn comeback … which is why it would be among the show’s single biggest surprises if she suddenly returned from the cold.

Keep it locked into THR.com/GameOfThrones for more predictions, news, interviews and analysis in the weeks ahead. Season seven premieres on July 16.

Game of Thrones

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#Game #Season #Stark #Theories #Thrones

[lchufflepuffcorn]

A Crown of Roots and Ice Masterlist

A Brandon (The Builder) Stark x Saltcliffe!Reader mini-series.

Status: Finished.

Warning: Elusive mention of rape and underage sex, all in a medieval context. Nothing explicit. Mention of pregnancy and motherhood, female align reader, minimal description to fit the description of GoT. Mention of depression, child loss, childbirth. Mention of religion and religious belief (GoT centred). Angst, longing romance. Death.

Reading time: 36 minutes and 50 seconds

Words: 9, 209k

Masterlist OGW Masterlist

Spotify link

In the dark of night, overlooking the destruction of his childhood house, Bran meets the eyes of a ghost that once called Winterfell her home. Something of hers made him think about memories long forgotten and intertwined with his blood past himself to his namesake.

For she of Saltcliffe remained strong even in death, and her smile warmed his cold heart, making it beat to the rhythm of a long-forgotten longing, unknown by history itself.

Part one - A Crown of Roots and Ice

Part two - Her of Saltcliffe isle

Part three - From Girl to Woman

Part four - A Mother's Prayer

Part five - What is Dead may never Die

Epilogue - For love never falters when memories fade

Extra’s:

1- Before Brin’s birth.

Things you need to know before reading:

This is a Bran the Builder x Reader series. The reader is described as having relatively paler skin than brown (reddish) hair when in the light, somewhat long, to go with the location and era of the world. The reader is from Saltcliffe Isle and has a big (medieval-type) family.

Taglist: @aegonslover, @aemondsluvr

[lchufflepuffcorn]

A Crown of Roots and Ice Pt. 5

(Bran x Reader)

What is dead may never die

Warning: Mention of sex (past, non-graphic), depression, child loss, childbirth, motherhood.

Words: 1, 372 k

Author's note: I had fun writing this !! The gif is not mine, as usual, it belongs to its owner/creator.

Masterlist OGW Masterlist

Serie Masterlist Playlist

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four, Part five, Epilogue.

Taglist: @aegonslover

Bran was gone, once more to oversee the finishing of the farther North Wall, leaving (Y\N) with his heir, Brandon -or Brin, as his mother preferred it- and another fast-growing in her belly. Much to the lady’s disappointment. But the wall, Bran had said, ‘the wall needed to be finished so peace would reign and winter perish.’ 

Whatever that meant. 

Lady (Y\N) was sitting outside in the gardens, near the Godswood, with heavy furs on her shoulders and a worried smirk on her face. She was currently mildly listening to Lady Webber while watching her two years old wobble his way toward the whitebarked tree.  At nearly seven and ten years of age and still, the faces carved into the trees were still making her nervous. She knew that her friends would never hurt her child, but she didn’t trust her lord husband's gods to be as protecting. She knew full well that her own God was not the paternal type. 

Swaying gently under the winds, eyes carefully following Brin as he wandered around and ears somewhat listening to her lady friend and her troubles of the week, (Y/N) rests a hand on her forever-growing belly, where a healthy babe is making trouble. Fighting whatever internal adversary it imagines it has. The woman hoped for a girl this time, even if she knew Bran demanded another son. 

So to secure his legacy. 

So the Stark family name doesn’t perish if Brin dies too young. The North is not merciful to anyone, her husband once told her. It had been a terrible night when he’d told her, she’d just lost her second babe, it was too early to tell if it had been a little boy or if it’d been a girl, the maester had said. And even if (Y/N) had cried her loss, she was glad -she’d confess to it later, in the cover of her tower’s shadow- Brin was only six months old, and she wasn’t ready for another one yet. Brandon had promised her they’d try to have another one as soon as she felt better. Even now she didn’t know if she felt better. After all, she’d lost a part of herself to that day. 

Her husband had grown even more tender than he’d already been after this event, as if she was made of glass, of something other, precious and breakable. (Y/N) wasn't all too sure she liked it. She was a Saltcliffe’s daughter, far from being easily breakable and fragile. It was still nicer to feel soft touches over rough caress in the nights that followed the incident and survived even after the joyous moment her pregnancy gave. 

“Sit, Nagga!” 

Watching Brin trying to teach the puppy his father had gifted him ‘to protect the castle and your mother’, he’d told him, was a refreshing sight, while in front of the blood-coloured leaves of God’s wood. To his father's distress, the boy named his direwolf like the sea monster from (Y/N)’s stories. 

“What will you name it, My Lady?” Asked Lady Webber suddenly, pulling (Y/N) from her thoughts. She rubbed her belly through her heavy dress, thoughtful for a moment before responding. 

“I like Aeron or Walton, for a little boy, and Mirria, for a girl.” She said finally. If Bran allowed it, that thought she didn’t say to lady Webber. 

(Y/N) still hadn’t talked names to her husband, the last time she had, her baby -not much bigger than a shrimp- had died. She couldn’t bare to give her future infant the name of a dead babe, and so, the name of her mother’s father, Mors, she would not use. The lady felt that if she named them, they’d die. And if this was their fate, it was better for Bran to name them. 

She was nearly ready to give birth when Bran came back from the Wall. Since Brin, he didn’t miss any birth, especially not the second one, when it wasn’t even a babe yet. He’d said that a child old of a month without a name was a disgrace on his part. An unnamed child buried would bring infinite bad luck to his family name. Thus, they’d named the shrimp before tossing it into the cave. 

(Y/N)’s Lord Husband would mostly care for her like he would a glass sculpture, making sure no stairs were laborious, of treacherously tripping her (??) or that she had more than enough furs to cover her at any time during any hour of the day. Soft hands graze her figure as Bran walks passed her in the cold halls, sweet kisses on the crown of her head and more food appearing on her plate. All things (Y/N) had to learn to appreciate since she’d given birth. 

Marriage wasn’t so bad after all. 

But the pleasure of marriage didn’t end in subtle gestures and fleeting kisses. Bran seemed to think that while (Y/N) was full of his child was the most attractive she’d ever been. Or so his lower half would tell her in the dark of night whilst he shared her bed. Pressing closer simulating a fright of her catching cold to feel her body against his. 

He was softer in his action than before, and the soreness was not afflicting her in the following moringa. For that she was grateful. Still, (Y/N) didn’t know how looking like a whale made him think of her as a work of art, as he so eloquently put it once. 

It was a hot night when Bran went himself in search of the maester. And against every recommendation, Bran was in the room during the birth of his second child. He was the one to place the wet rag over his wife’s forehead and held her hand as she pushed. Kissed her and mumbled encouraging words in her hair when she cried her exhaustion and pleaded for everything to stop. 

It lasted hours. Longer even than it did for Brin. And Bran even probed his wife against his chest, to provide as much help as possible. Murmurs of praise and kind words, comforting hands rubbing her arms at best he could lure her into continuing. 

(Y/N)’s head was hidden in her husband’s neck, whining, empty of any energy she’d had when finally a cry echoed in the room, and she too started crying again. She didn’t even have the strength to raise her arms to take her babe when the maester offered. 

“It’s a boy, my lord,” He said, giving the child to Bran, who took the bundle of furs and soft linen in his free arm, to bring him closer to his wife’s chest. A servant had taken it upon herself to disrobe her, helping to put the child on her chest so he could latch on her breast at last.

“Jeor.” Was all Bran said in her ear. 

“Aeron,” counter-offered (Y/N) in a breathless whisper, nuzzling against his cheek while watching her son with tired eyes.  

A sigh left her husband, but the soft touch of his hand removing her hair from her sweat-drenched neck showed he wasn’t annoyed with her stubbornness. “You will call him what you like, but I, and all of this kingdom, will know him as Jeor Stark.” 

‘Very well, my lord.” Was the lady’s answer. 

“Very well, my love.” called the lord back. 

He’d rarely used those terms before, especially not with witnesses around them either. A shiver, having nothing to do with the chill breeze that slipped into the room from the window, took the lady. Making its way through her spine until it reached her neck, but she managed to restrain it with what little strength she had. Her husband bent to kiss her exposed shoulder, a hand wrapped around her waist, the other helping her to hold their son. 

‘Aeron, for you’ll be a strong man.’ Thought (Y/N) while running a finger over the red forehead of the babe. ‘Whatever your father calls you for the sake of legacy.’ 

Once more, she let her head fall on Bran’s shoulder, nuzzling his neck while he shooed the helping hands away. The unnecessary ones, anyways…

[lchufflepuffcorn]

A crown of roots and ice pt.5 A Bran Stark x Reader imagine

Warning: This gif is not mine, it belongs to its owner/creator. Possible triggers: Pregnancy, loss of a child, depression (light mention) angst, motherhood, dark-haired/dark-eyed reader (otherwise not discussed) Female oriented reader (heavily), mention of medieval rape (prior chapters). Birth (not graphic but heavily discussed).

Word count: 1109

Author's note: This fanfiction about Bran the Builder started from an obscure theory that he was also a green seer or linked with whatever Bran Stark we know is...

Masterlist OG Writing Masterlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue.

What is dead may never die

Bran was gone, once more to oversee the finishing of the farther North Wall, leaving (Y\N) with his heir, Brandon -or Brin, as his mother preferred it- and another fast-growing in her belly. Much to the lady’s disappointment. But the wall, Bran had said, ‘the wall needed to be finished so peace would reign and winter perish.’ 

Whatever that meant. 

Lady (Y\N) was sitting outside in the gardens, near the Godswood, with heavy furs on her shoulders and a worried smirk on her face. She was currently mildly listening to Lady Webber while watching her two years old wobble his way toward the whitebarked tree.  At nearly seven and ten years of age and still, the faces carved into the trees were still making her nervous. She knew that her friends would never hurt her child, but she didn’t trust her lord husband's gods to be as protecting. She knew full well that her own God was not the paternal type. 

Swaying gently under the winds, eyes carefully following Brin as he wandered around and ears somewhat listening to her lady friend and her troubles of the week, (Y/N) rests a hand on her forever-growing belly, where a healthy babe is making trouble. Fighting whatever internal adversary it imagines it has. The woman hopes for a girl this time, even if she knows Bran demands another son. 

So to secure his legacy. 

So the Stark family name doesn’t perish if Brin dies too young. The North is not merciful to anyone, her husband once told her. It had been a terrible night when he’d told her, she’d just lost her second babe, it was too early to tell if it had been a little boy or if it’d been a girl, the maester had said. And even if (Y/N) had cried her loss, she was glad -she’d confess to it later, in the cover of her tower’s shadow- Brin was only six months old, and she wasn’t ready for another one yet. Brandon had promised her they’d try to have another one as soon as she felt better. Even now she didn’t know if she felt better. After all, she’d lost a part of herself to that day. 

Her husband had grown even more tender than he’d already been after this event, as if she was made of glass, of something other, precious and breakable. (Y/N) wasn't all too sure she liked it. She was a Saltcliffe’s daughter, far from being easily breakable and fragile. It was still nicer to feel soft touches over rough caress in the nights that followed the incident and survived even after the joyous moment her pregnancy gave. 

“Sit, Nagga!” 

Watching Brin trying to teach the puppy his father had gifted him ‘to protect the castle and your mother’, he’d told him, was a refreshing sight, while in front of the blood-coloured leaves of God’s wood. The boy, to his father's distress, had named his direwolf like the sea monster from (Y/N)’s stories. 

“What will you name it, My Lady?” Asked Lady Webber suddenly, pulling (Y/N) from her thoughts. She rubbed her belly through her heavy dress, thoughtful for a moment before responding. 

“I like Aeron or Walton, for a little boy, and Mirria, for a girl.” She said finally. If Bran allowed it, that thought she didn’t say to lady Webber. 

(Y/N) still hadn’t talked names to her husband, the last time she had, her baby -not much bigger than a shrimp- had died. She couldn’t bare to give her future infant the name of a dead babe, and so, the name of her mother’s father, Mors, she would not use. The lady felt that if she named them, they’d die. And if this was their fate, it was better for Bran to name them. 

She was nearly ready to give birth when Bran came back from the Wall. Since Brin, he didn’t miss any birth, especially not the second one, when it wasn’t even a babe yet. He’d said that a child old of a month without a name was a disgrace on his part. An unnamed child buried would bring infinite bad luck to his family name. Thus, they’d named the shrimp before tossing it into the cave. 

(Y/N)’s Lord Husband would mostly care for her like he would a glass sculpture, making sure no stairs were laborious, of treacherously tripping her (??) or that she had more than enough furs to cover her at any time during any hour of the day. Soft hands graze her figure as Bran walks passed her in the cold halls, sweet kisses on the crown of her head and more food appearing on her plate. All things (Y/N) had to learn to appreciate since she’d given birth. Marriage was so bad after all. 

It was a hot night when Bran when himself in search of the maester. And against every recommendation, Bran was in the room during the birth of his second child. He was the one to place the wet rag over his wife’s forehead and held her hand as she pushed. Kissed her and mumbled encouraging words in her hair when she cried her exhaustion and pleaded for everything to stop. 

It lasted hours. Longer even than it did for Brin. And Bran even probed his wife against his chest, to provide as much help as he could. Murmurs of praise and kind words, comforting hands rubbing her arms at best he could lure her into continuing. 

(Y/N)’s head was hidden in her husband’s neck, whining, empty of any energy she’d had when finally a cry echoed in the room, and she too started crying again. She didn’t even have the strength to raise her arms to take her babe when the maester offered. 

“It’s a boy, my lord,” He said, giving the child to Bran, who took the bundle of furs and soft linen in his free arm, to bring him closer to his wife’s chest. A servant had taken it upon herself to disrobe her, helping to put the child on her chest so he could latch on her breast at last. 

“Jeor” Was all Bran said in her ear. 

“Aeron” counter-offered (Y/N) in a breathless whisper, nuzzling against his cheek while watching her son with tired eyes.  

A sigh left her husband, but the soft touch of his hand removing her hair from her sweat-drenched neck showed he wasn’t annoyed with her stubbornness. “You will call him what you like, but I, and all of this kingdom, will know him as Jeor Stark.” 

‘Very well, my lord.” Was the lady’s answer. 

“Very well, my love.” called the lord back. 

Taglist: @aegonslover

[lchufflepuffcorn]

A crown of roots and ice Pt.2 (Bran Stark x Reader)

Requested on fanficion.net by ThestralBalerion

I do not own the gif, it belongs to its owner/creator. 

It changes a little from what the first part was, as it centers more on the reader, but I hope you’ll like it all the same. 

Words: 1, 870 k

Warning: May contain slight mention of medievally legal rape, abuse of minors and mention of underage sex in futures parts. But nothing explicit, though you are being warned.  

Updated : 28/11/2022

Masterlist    Original work Masterlist

Serie Masterlist Playlist

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Epilogue.

Her of the Saltcliffe isle

She was a small girl living in a big man's world. With carefully braided hair slowly unravelling with her every -wild- moves as she ran behind her older brother Urion. The sun made her dark hair bleed toward her mother’s red, covering her skin with brownish spots. She would hide from her nan, to avoid the nagging for her dirty dresses. She’d learn to ride horses like a boy with her other older brother Walton instead of embroidery she disliked so. 

(Y/N) was a small, naïve child living in a war-rigged, dirty and malicious world. And she didn’t even know it. 

While she was excited to travel North, enjoying the change of scenery, it seemed that her father didn’t experience the same joy as she did from the change. His usually easy smile in her sense where nowhere to be seen these days, and he’d often give her to one of her brothers, stating that he was busy. He didn’t care much that she was bored. 

He didn’t care much that she was nine, either. 

(Y/N) had more liberties now that she was under the good care of her nan. Her mother had stayed in the castle of her brother, in the Vale. Father had stated that she was too sick to go north, and someone had to stay with the younger children. (Y/N) wondered why it was that Osric, her third older brother, had gotten to stay on the Island, but she had to follow her father. She could have been playing with her sister Meira instead, but no. Now she was to follow her nan and keep her nagging about the dirty hem of her dress and her posture and the bad embroidery she’d made instead. 

(Y/N) didn’t think much about the reasons her mother allowed her father to take her up north. They hadn’t talked about it to her either. But there had been a night when (Y/N)’s mother had crept into her bed-chamber and held her close as she wept in her hair. Before leaving the Vale, her mother had made her promise to be good, and listen to her father, her brother and her nan, before murmuring in her ear that if anyone tried to hurt her, she’d better bite something off of them. After that, her mother gestured for her to keep quiet and then they left. 

Truly, (Y/N) he didn’t care about how much farther North she was going to end up, she only wanted to be free. Their lord told her about how much land there was up North and how freely she would be riding if she wanted to join them. She was still too young to understand why they were riding North in the first place. 

Her father told her that they were returning home, but home for her was South and near the water. She long preferred to walk in the sand, her toes in the cold water looking at the baptism going, carefully praying with the men of the castle too. She didn’t really like the look of the white tree bark and red leaves of the Heart trees the Northmen liked so much. They were scary. Even if her friends with the green and grayish skin she had made in the forest told her stories about gods and ghosts living inside and granting wishes if she prayed hard enough. They tried to sound reassuring, but sometimes, when the night was dark and cold and that animals were walking near the tents, they would come back into her head and haunt her for the night. But when it was Bran, the one her father, her brothers and the other soldiers with them called The Builder, that was narrating the stories she liked them better than the ones about her God. 

Brandon was truly a builder, for he was making plans to raise a big castle and a wall to stop intruders and Icemen from entering their lands. Her father had shown her where the castle Bran would build was to be on the lowland they were camping on. It was near a forest going from dark brown and green to red and white.

“Here,” had said her father, “even summer is cold.”

(Y/N) thought that if even summer was cold then it could definitely not be home. Maybe her father had fallen on his head before they’d left the island. Maybe it was the reason why they’d even left. When she asked about it to her brother, Urion only stared at her as if she’d said something atrocious and Walton had laughed, telling her that she was still too young to understand. 

(Y/N) was one and ten when her father finally told her why she couldn’t return to her mother in the Vale or even her brothers and sisters on the Island. 

“You’re to marry, girl. Why d’you think I brought y’a?” She hadn’t really thought about it before. All the years she’d spent with the women and children on the road, hearing them hope for a place to live now made sense. She was the only outsider girl. 

It was in the same forest where the snow and the trees were only making one that she found her friends. They would play and run and jump and climb and dance with her when her brothers were too busy for her or when her nan wasn’t paying close attention to her. (Y/N) would tell them everything. From the banality of her day to her deepest fears and secrets, they’d always listen carefully and try to help her. They were the first to know her thoughts about her future wedding, once the girl learnt to whom she had been promised. She owed that information to Walton, from now on, she swore that he’d be her favourite brother. 

“Don’t be silly, sister.” He’d told her when she’d once again tried to lure out the secrecy of her future husband, she spilled a few names, all more ridiculous and old than the others. “You’re to marry Lord Stark, otherwise Father wouldn’t have had you running around the countryside like that.” 

The horror that overtook her was enough to make her brother laugh and ruffle her hair. Something she hated even more than her prospect. 

‘’Because he’s all ol’ an’ grey, an’ I have yet to bleed see…’’ She told her friends of the forest. Brandon wasn’t all that grey, nor all that old, being around the same age as her brother Urion, but it was still older than her. They didn’t seem to understand why she had to be bleeding to get married, for they had all seen her blood when she would scrap her knees falling. She didn’t know either, to be honest, nobody wanted to tell her why. Her mother had told her that it was because she would be ready to be married and bear children to life. But she didn’t want to bear children to life. She wanted to run and jump and dance and climb all she wanted. 

She’s one and ten years old, and her father had already promised her hand to Brandon “The Builder” of the Stark family. He was much older than her, with seven and ten names days more than she had. He wasn’t playing with wood swords and riding poneys anymore like the younger boys would do all day long. He was standing tall, just like her lord father and brothers, with his dark brown hair slowly turning grey with the years and the cold. He didn’t run much and preferred to talk low with the others when she would come near. 

He was kind, as kind as a near stranger could be to a child anyway. He’d often give her food to try and furs to wear when he’d see her about a fire, with the sun withdrawing behind her. He even wore the small ribbon she’d practiced (or was for to by her nan) embroidery, it held his cape now, and it changed him from the scary-looking man he was when (Y/N) was nine. 

She too, slowly, was starting to change, with all the food and the harsh weather, the girl was certain her mother would not recognize her. Her body was forming, her breast was enlarging, and so were her hips. But she didn’t bleed. Her father refused her to run and jump and climb and dance where he or her nan could not see her anymore. All the friends she had in the encampment were starting to learn about motherhood and embroidery. She wants to ride and walk through the woods and be good to her green and grayish friends in the forest. She knows that she’ll have to stop playing soon and that terrifies her. She doesn’t want to grow up and start acting like a lady if it’s to be married to Brandon the Builder, who does have a small reputation for violence and women, though she’s not sure if they go together or not. 

He’s not like that with her. And her nan says that it’s what is important. To(Y/N), what’s more, important is to know if she too can have a puppy or even one of those big horses she sees in the stable, but her father told her not to ask. 

On her two and tenth names day, she starts to pray. ‘’My father and brothers are righteous, they go on your calls, Oh Drowned One. Never they asked for something in return or to be graced by something after their actions. I ask for their protection tonight and I dare be selfish and ask for more time. Give me the possibility to live on my own before I start living for another.’’ She spends hours at night talking to the Drowned God, and the Old Gods of the Forest, asking them to be kind and listen to what she asking. 

There’s talk of battles farther north than they are, where all the men have gathered to build a wall even bigger than the castle they just finished. Every woman (Y/N) has talked to asked her who she prayed for. She told them the truth, her father and brothers. The other women pray for Bran, but she doesn’t, she never pray for him. She’s angry with him, for having to wed him so her father can be at peace. Creating an alliance with the newly found Stark family is the job that her lord father gave her, and she hates it. 

The week following her name days celebration, a letter comes from the Vales announcing the death of her mother. Her father closed himself even more after that and her brother Walton sits her down to talk about the matter. She cries and cries but nothing works. She asks the Drowned God one last time why he would take her so suddenly, while she hasn’t seen her mother in months. 

It’s the following month that she starts bleeding. Her nan tries to reassure her, but it only gives her more things to panic over. She was frantic about her father knowing her new state.  Scared of her father’s reaction. She was scared he would want to marry her off in the next weeks. 

[njawaidofficial]

'Game of Thrones' Season 7: Stark theories

http://styleveryday.com/2017/07/05/game-of-thrones-season-7-stark-theories/

'Game of Thrones' Season 7: Stark theories

The King in the North is dead. Long live the King in the North!

Jon Snow (Kit Harington) has had a hard time over the course of Game of Thrones, and things are only going to get worse as the show enters its endgame. With that said, the Charlie Brown of Westeros finally kicked the football at the end of season six, defeating Ramsay Bolton (Iwan Rheon), winning back Winterfell, and even becoming the proud new owner of his late half-brother Robb Stark’s (Richard Madden) crown and title.

But how long will he hold that crown and title? A possible insurgency notwithstanding, there’s the question of Jon’s other family obligations. As Bran (Isaac Hempstead Wright) learned through a trip back to the past, Jon is secretly the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen, not Eddard Stark’s bastard son as he’s always believed. If and when Jon learns this news, how will that impact his desire to rule over the North? Will he have aspirations for sitting upon another throne — an Iron one, perhaps?

Then again, maybe Jon won’t find out that he’s a Targaryen at all. Wouldn’t that be a twist?

Readers of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire series have waited more than a decade to learn the truth about Jon’s parentage. Game of Thrones viewers have been speculating about it for years as well. It would be all too cruel to finally drop that information on the show, only for it to take another season before the news reaches Jon’s ears, if it ever reaches him at all. Of course, the Starks are no strangers to cruelty, nor are they strangers to surprises — but we’re betting this is one surprise that will hit Jon’s world sooner than later.

With that in mind, here are a few other Stark surprises that would genuinely blow our minds in season seven — some of them likelier than others.

1. Cancel The Reunion

Is there any chance that the surviving Stark siblings aren’t getting the band back together in season seven? Sure, there’s always a chance, but it would be a genuinely stunning development, given all of the pieces on the board. Jon and Sansa (Sophie Turner) are already back in each other’s lives. Bran is currently heading toward the Wall, and trailers for season seven suggest he’s going to make it through to Winterfell. Arya Stark (Maisie Williams) was last seen butchering Freys at the Twins, and one imagines word of Jon’s victory against House Bolton will reach her before long. Bad things happen to the Starks all of the time, and there’s no reason to assume bad things won’t continue in the episodes ahead — but if a full-scale Stark reunion is taken off the table after being so blatantly teased, that would be a sucker punch for the ages. 

2. A Time for Wolves

One of the only groups that’s had it worse than the Starks is the cluster of direwolf pups the Starks adopted back in the series premiere. Only two of those wolves remain: Ghost, who keeps a low profile on Thrones these days (after what happened to his siblings, can you blame him?); and Nymeria, Arya’s pup who was last seen in the second episode of the series. If the Starks are about to have a family reunion, it only makes sense for the full clan to get back together — and that includes Arya’s long lost friend. Nymeria’s return has been rumored and speculated for years now, with much of that speculation rooted in activity from the books. Fingers crossed that season seven turns those rumors into reality.

3. The Dark Phoenix

Sophie Turner is already preparing for a villainous transformation for her next X-Men performance as Jean Grey. Is she eyeing a similar about face on Game of Thrones as Sansa? When Jon was anointed the new King in the North, Sansa and Littlefinger (Aidan Gillen) exchanged a tense stare. For seasons now, Petyr Baelish has been grooming Sansa as his ride-or-die on his chaotic climb toward power. Where do her loyalties and ambitions truly lie? It’s difficult to imagine Sansa turning against her own family, Littlefinger’s persuasive suggestions be damned… difficult, but not impossible.

4. Brandon the Builder

Season six featured one of the show’s biggest twists to date, when it was revealed that Bran has the ability to not just visit the past, but interact with it as well. If you need to rehash how all of that works, look no further. In short, Game of Thrones seems to be using the same “whatever happened, happened” time travel rules from Lost, in that Bran’s trips through time always happened, meaning he can’t change the past; he can only participate in inevitability. With that said, one of the popular theories is that Bran will somehow transfer his consciousness thousands of years ago to Westeros’ earliest days, and become the legendary Bran the Builder, the mythical hero who built the Wall. Talk about a dream come true for a boy who used to love nothing more than the climb.

5. Enter the Dragon

There’s another possible use of Bran’s powers on the table: the fulfillment of the Three-Eyed Raven’s (Max von Sydow) promise that while Bran will never walk again, he will one day fly. We know Bran can warg, into animals as well as people. We know he will warg into a flock of ravens this season, if the trailer is any indication. But how about a dragon? After all, Daenerys (Emilia Clarke) and her fire-breathing children are on their way to Westeros this year. Maybe it’s season seven material, but if the whole show ends without Bran warging into one of the dragons, I’ll eat my Valyrian foil hat.

6. Snowfall: Reloaded

Game of Thrones loves few things more than killing off the Starks, even when those deaths aren’t exactly permanent. Look no further than Jon Snow as an example. In fact, is it out of the realm of possibility that Jon will die again? Planting the flag and calling the shot now: Jon will once again meet his maker, and will once again rise from the ashes. We already know Jon and several other soldiers will be engaged in a big battle in the thick of winter, based on the newest season seven trailer. One of those fellow warriors is Beric Dondarrion (Richard Dormer), a man who has come back from death multiple times himself. In the books, Beric sacrifices his final life so another person can live. (More on that in a moment.) So, picture this: Jon dies on the battlefield, only to return moments (or an episode) later thanks to Beric’s sacrifice. It’s said that Beric lost pieces of his soul the more and more he returned from the dead. What would two deaths do to Jon’s psyche? Who knows… but we’ll find out this season, if this admittedly out there prediction pans out.

7. Lady Stoneheart

It’s never going to happen. Let’s get that squared away right off the bat. Catelyn Stark (Michelle Fairley) is dead and gone, at least as far as the show’s concerned. Of course, it’s another story in the books, where she’s only dead-ish, and decidedly not gone, as the zombified Lady Stoneheart — a vengeful creature brought to existence thanks to Beric’s last act. Fans have waited for Stoneheart’s arrival on Thrones for years and years now, and it’s never happened. The story was likely abandoned so that Jon’s resurrection would have more impact, with Stoneheart’s future involvement in the books relegated to other characters on the show. At this point, most folks have sworn off the Catelyn comeback… which is why it would be among the show’s single biggest surprises if she suddenly returned from the cold.

Keep it locked into THR.com/GameOfThrones for more predictions, news, interviews and analysis in the weeks ahead. Season seven premieres on July 16.

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