#Camp Wildling

[toadtusks]

Also, I find it very funny that Sam is once again making his character into basically a camp counselor.

Somewhere Veth just got that same intense sense of murderous rivalry she got with Otis but doesn’t know where it’s coming from

[sluttysnowangel666]

The Woman Beyond the Wall

Cregan Stark x Wilding!Fem reader

Summary: Cregan must go beyond the wall to aid Castle Black after a large group of Nights Watch men are killed under strange circumstances, only for him to discover the “strange circumstance” is a beautiful and mysterious wilding woman that will make him forget everything he thought he knew.

not proof read yet!!

cw: angst, smut, dom fem reader, dom cregan, freaky cregan, reader is kind of odd 😭

word count: long af

part 2 , masterlist

⛫ ⛫ ⛫

Cregan sat, contemplating the decision before him.

“Forgive me, sirs. The kingdom greatly appreciates the sacrifice you men have made to serve the Nights Watch, but I cannot abandon my duties as a lord to go beyond the wall for Gods knows how long.” He tells them, hoping they won’t take offense to his declination to participate.

“We wouldn’t ask if we were not desperate, my lord.” The maester says, “But 15 men have disappeared just in this past exhibition. The Nights Watch grows scarce of fighters the more men beyond the wall continue to disappear.”

Cregan sighs, not wanting to go beyond the wall and leave his kingdom without a lord, but also not wanting to leave the Watch vulnerable.

“Alright, Maester Devron.” Cregan sighs, “We owe you men a great debt… I need to know what are these strange circumstances you speak of?”

“Men have reported finding the abandoned bodies with arrows in both their eyes, perfectly positioned every time. It’s rather… unusual how perfectly calculated the shot is. It never changes. Then, the bodies are positioned in circles, with no footsteps left behind. We fear it to be witching.”

A shiver ran up Cregan’s spine, but he hid it well. Witches were almost always stories told by Septs to children in an attempt to get them to behave, so to hear a maester say it was unnerving.

“Don’t be ridiculous, maester.”

“I am not jesting, my lord. When you find the group of men who disappeared only a fortnight ago, you’ll see.”

“When? Not if? How can you be so sure I’ll find them?” Cregan asks.

“She leaves them in the same place every time. About 20 miles beyond the wall, facing north.” The maester says.

Cregan sighs, already frustrated with the venture, and eager to kill a wildling.

———

3 days later, 15 miles beyond the wall, and alone in the blistering cold, Cregan couldn’t help but contemplate his decision. Although he was miserable, he knew it was the honorable thing to do. He wouldn’t have done it, if otherwise.

His horse stopped suddenly, its hair raising and body becoming stiff.

“Dusk.” He said her name. “Move.”

His horse ignored him, standing her ground. “Dusk!” He yelled at her.

She sensed something, but he didn’t know what.

They sat there for what felt like hours, but what was merely seconds.

Finally, the horse began to tredge forward… very, very, slowly. Cregan groaned in frustration, his hands gripping the reins.

They walked like that for miles. No matter how much Cregan tugged the reins, Dusk maintained her slow pace, as if anticipating something was nearby, ready to pounce on them at any given moment.

Night eventually came, and Cregan was forced to set up camp.

“Bloody horse.” He mumbled to himself as he tied her to a nearby tree.

He set up a fire nearby Dusk, then leaned against the tree she was tied to. He fidgeted with the dagger he kept in his armor, carving little dire wolves in the bark. He spoke to Dusk, hoping the already timid horse would comfort his feeling of isolation in the barren icy landscape. It didn’t help.

He eventually fell asleep standing up, leaning his weight against the tree, too on edge to leave himself vulnerable on the ground.

The fire near him had gone out, leaving nothing but the red glowing embers.

The wildling who had been following them for miles used this to her advantage.

She stalked quietly, her boots making no noise or crunch as if she weren’t even there, floating like a ghost.

She made no attempt to immediately kill him, but kept her bow poised, ready to grab an arrow and fly it into his eye if he woke. Normally, any crow out here would’ve been dead miles ago, but this man wasn’t a crow.

She believed him to be a lord, and when her fingers grazed the dire wolf on his chest she knew him to be a Stark. Excitement fueled the fire burning in her veins. She had never seen a lord, especially one so handsome.

Her fingers twirled one of his brown locks, but when he shuffled in his sleep she quickly backed away like a scared bunny.

She decided she would let the cold kill the handsome man, but not before taking a souvenir to remember him.

Her slim, dainty fingers wove into his furs, silently snagging the dagger strapped to his chest. She twirled it in her fingers, admiring the craftsmanship. No smith she had ever met was as talented as the one who made this dagger. She traced the wolf sigil on the handle, then ran the sharp tip of the blade along her finger. A drop of blood hit the snow in front of their feet, and then she ran, snow immediately falling to cover her tracks.

When Cregan awoke, he immediately knew someone had been in the camp. But, how? How could someone have even passed through without him waking?

He looked down, and picked up the snow with the drop of blood on it. His blood immediately ran cold, colder than it already was. There were no footprints. Where could this have even come from?

He checked himself, but was free of any cuts. It was here he noticed… his dagger.

“What in Gods…” He mumbled, feeling all around his body to make sure he hadn’t misplaced it.

He angrily yells into the trees, cursing and violently threatening the woman who stole his dagger, hoping she heard him.

And she does. She quietly giggles in a nearby tree at his brutish behavior. He kicks the burnt wood from the fire, startling his horse.

He mounts the horse, slowly trekking onward to find the bodies of the missing men.

Within the hour, he finds himself at the base of the men’s camp, their bodies positioned like how the maester said they would be.

Cregan sighs, dismounting his horse and staring at the corpses, their bodies frozen and not yet decomposed from the harsh cold.

He was, for the first time in his life, unsure of what to do. He knew the woman had already found him, but how was he to find her? He assumed she left him alive out of mercy, but he knew there was no chance of finding her unless she wanted him to.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, slightly embarrassed at his desperation. “Alright, witch! I know you’re out there!” He yelled into the trees, not actually knowing if she was out there.

She was, and she paid attention as he continued.

“I don’t know your goal, if you even have one!” He paused, not even knowing what else to say. “Stop killing these men!” He said, lacking in confidence. She giggled again. Quite an entertaining man he was.

He gave up, tired of feeling foolish. He began dragging the bodies into a pile, preparing to burn them. It took nearly half of his day, and when he was done he finally sat, sweating, despite the cold.

After his brief rest, he burnt them, saying the custom words, “And now their watch is ended.”

He watched, silently mourning the fallen men who gave their life.

Afterwards, he mounted his horse and started his journey back to the wall. There would be no finding the woman. She was rogue, didn’t run in a pack. He’d be searching for the rest of his life if he stayed.

He didn’t make it far, only a few miles before night fell upon him and his horse. He didn’t want to rest, but he had no choice. The day had worn him, and traveling at night was unwise when he couldn’t see his surroundings.

He set a fire again, and sat down, forcing himself to stay awake.

Suddenly, his horse whined. He whipped his head around, standing to his feet quickly.

“Whoa, whoa. Calm down.” He said, trying to shush the mare. The horse bucked, breaking its reins from the tree before scurrying off.

“Fuck!” Cregan cursed, angrily. What in Gods names was he to do now?

A voice rang out behind him.

“Pretty little beast you’ve got there.”

He whipped around again, unsheathing his sword.

A woman knelt across the fire, her bow and arrow already drawn. She wore gray, thick pelts and gloves, and a pair of fur clad boots. No wonder she was so silent. She pulled her thick hood off, revealing the most beautiful set of eyes Cregan had ever seen. The woman was gorgeous, ethereal. She literally took his breath away.

“Suppose I should say had there.” She teases.

“It’s you.” He finally says, after a moment of silence.

“Mm.” She hums in response. “And who might you be?”

“I think you already know, given you raided my camp last night.”

She laughs. “Raided? You southerners.”

“You’d do well to mind your tongue, witch.” Cregan spits at her, tightening his grip on his sword.

She notices and stands, raising her bow, “And you’d do well to mind yours, crow.”

“I’m not a crow.”

“And I’m not a witch.” She pauses, tilting her head. “Sharp little tongue on you. Ain’t you lords supposed to treat ladies with respect?”

“What kind of lady are you? Killing good men and desecrating their bodies?”

“I never desecrated them. In fact, I left them better than I found them.”

“Those were noble men.”

“Please.” She laughs. “Those crows were rapists and thieves. The north is better without them coming into our land.”

Cregan says nothing, so she continues. “I suggest you watch how you speak to me, Lord Stark. I could shoot this arrow right through those pretty gray eyes before you’d even realize what happened.”

“Try it, witch.”

“I already told you. I’m no witch!” She lets the arrow fly, only intending to let it kiss his ear and hit the tree behind him, but he raises his sword, and the arrow shatters against the Valyrian steel.

She lowers her bow, shocked, before her features return to their stoic form.

“It appears I’ve met my match.” She smirks, impressed.

“Perhaps you have. For that reason, I’d suggest returning my dagger.”

She pulls it out. “Oh, this pretty thing? I think I’ll keep it… Unless you’re brave enough to come take it from me.”

Heat flushed through his stomach. For the first time in his life, a woman repeatedly left him at a loss for words. He did not know how to approach her, or how to respond.

“You obviously walk these woods often. How do I get back to the wall?”

“Simple.” She smiles, “South.”

Cregan stomps towards her. She nervously laughs, backing into a tree as he presses himself against her, his height towering above her own.

“Show me the way or I’ll put your pretty little head above my mantel.”

She breathlessly chuckles, “All you have to do is ask nicely, Stark.” She places her hand on his broad chest, giving it a light push yet keeping her hands entangled in his armor straps. He grabs her wrist, pulling it from him. He removes her quiver from her back, tossing it on the ground. He takes her bow from her other hand, going to give it the same treatment before she stops him.

“No, wait, please don’t leave my bow.” She asks, genuineness in her voice for the first time. He searches her eyes, but finds no answer there.

“You won’t need it where you’re going.” He responds.

“Leave my bow and you’ll die in these woods. And trust me, southerner, you’ll die long before I do.” He looks at the darkness that clouds her eyes, then grunts and puts the large bow around his body.

She smirks as he ties her wrists together, dragging her along behind him. “We’re going now? These woods aren’t safe at night.”

“The sooner you’re no longer my problem, the better.”

She stops in her place, but he gives her a yank that pulls her to the ground, dragging her body behind him. “I’m serious! We need to stay at your sad little camp.”

“One more word out of you and I’ll cut out your tongue.” He says. He takes a few more steps, still dragging her, before stopping. He knows she’s right, but refuses to admit it. He growls in frustration, turning back towards the camp.

She laughs, still being dragged on the ground. What a strange woman. He thinks to himself.

He sits back in front of the fire, still holding the rope attached to her wrist as she crawls towards him.

“Do you have any food?” She asks. He sighs, taking out a little sack of dried meat. He holds a piece out to her, and not moving from her knees, takes it from his hand with her mouth.

“You’re bloody off.” He mumbles to himself. She laughs, a strange and wicked laugh in an attempt to scare him, as well as mock him for thinking she was a witch.

It works, as it startles him into giving her a confused look. He picks up a big pile of snow, throwing it into the fire to put it out.

He lays down on the snow, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. She crawls towards him, opening his arms and lying against his chest.

“Get off me, woman.” He says, pushing her.

“I’m cold! You’re telling me an honorable Stark is going to let a woman freeze to death?”

“Witches don’t get cold. Your blood runs with fire.”

“You southerners and your silly little-“ He pulls her into him, wrapping his big arms around her. He hates to admit it, but her warmth comforted him from the cold.

“I’ll keep you warm if you shut up.”

She listens for once, saying nothing and nuzzling her head into his chest. He sighs, not having the strength to push her away… but not really wanting to either.

Her knee forces his legs apart to push her leg between his, slowly lifting it towards his crotch. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing?” She says, playing dumb. He doesn’t respond. She wiggles her knee more, rubbing her thigh against the leather covering his manhood.

“Stop. Moving.” He says.

“Was I? Sorry, didn’t notice.”

He shifts, trying to keep her from noticing the bulge growing in his leathers.

———

Cregan awakes before her. He stares down at the woman against his chest, her cheeks are tinted from the cold, and her lips are parted slightly. He admires her for a long time before she stirs. He pushes her away, thinking she’s awake.

“Ow.” She grumbles, sleepily. “Why’d you do that?”

“We need to get moving.” He stands, brushing the snow off him.

“Can’t we just lay a bit longer? I didn’t sleep well with you poking me with that thing all night.” She says, running her hand up his knee.

“I wasn’t.” He responds quickly, pushing her hand down. She stands, stretching as best as she can with her hands tied.

They begin walking for a few miles, with her trying to make conversation with him.

“You’re a rather quiet man.” She says, when her previous questions get no response.

“I just don’t have many words for a woman like you.”

“I leave you speechless?” She says, with a smirk.

“Try annoyed.” He responds flatly.

She steps close to him, pressing her chest into his back.

“What are you-“ Before he can realize what she’s doing, she cuts the rope on her wrists on his sword.

He whips around, prepared to knock her unconscious, but she’s too quick. She ducks, kicking his ankle and sweeping him down.

He hits the ground hard, but is back on his feet almost instantly. She runs, fast, beyond him.

He chases after her.

“Witch!” He yells, turning to look for her in every direction after she seemingly vanished.

“I told you I’m not a witch.” She says, stepping from behind a tree.

He stomps towards her, grabbing her by both of her arms, itching to give her a good smack across the face.

He looks down at her, that sly little smirk on her face, her cheeks red and flush, staring back up at him through her wet eyelashes.

She moves her arms from his grip, tracing her skinny fingers up his armor.

“You’re…” He whispers, starting to lose his strength. “Unlike any woman I’ve ever met.”

She grabs him by his neck, and he gasps in shock, but it’s quickly cut off as she pulls him down to meet her lips. Her kiss is harsh and fierce. Cregan had known women, but never one so blatantly unapologetic to be herself. She growls like an animal, ripping to get off his furs and leathers.

He matches her intensity, kissing her with the same energy. He lets the anger she ignited in him release itself unto her by biting and kissing her neck. She tugs at his hair, grinding her hips into his.

“Are you a virgin?” He asks.

“Don’t be stupid.” She responds, taking a step back to remove her own furs. He steps back towards her, pulling them off her himself.

“I only ask for your comfort.” He growls, frustrated with her attitude.

“Comfort? This isn’t the south.” She pushes him back, standing before him naked and unashamed. He breathes in the sight before him, his length growing at her beauty.

She practically pounces on him, pushing him to the snow before he’s even fully undressed.

“You are a fucking witch.” He moans, as she crawls her way up his body to rest her wetness above his face.

“Are you hungry, wolf?” She asks him.

“Starving.” He whines, wanting to taste her.

Her grip on his hair pulls him towards her, finally bringing his mouth to taste her sweet cunt. He can’t help but look at her as he eats her. Her nose and cheeks are so red from the cold, all he wants to do is warm her up. His large arms have a hold on her thighs, his fingers resting between them. She pulls off his gloves, letting his fingers grip into her warm legs.

She moans and whines in ecstasy. The sound turns him into a wreck, clawing and gripping at her thighs to the point he draws blood. She doesn’t even care, relishing the sweet pain.

She pulls and tugs on his hair so harshly, forcing his face so deep into her cunt. If he even thought of stopping, she’d kill him herself. She grinds her hips into his tongue, crying and whining into the cold air. It seems as if everything has gone silent, even the winds, the world around them stopping to hear her sweet ecstasy. He moans her name into her cunt every time she pulls his hair, wanting to be her release. He’s desperate to taste her release, she’s desperate to give it to him.

Cregan, the man he was, never having been with a woman so lust driven, couldn’t help but urge his own desires to see her writhe in his arms. One of his hands left her bloody thigh, grabbing a cold chunk of snow to rub against her warm cunt. She gasped at the feeling, whining from the cold. He rubbed his fingers against her sweet spot. Her nails dug into the arm still on her leg, moaning his name as she finally let herself go onto his tongue.

He swallowed every drop, only wanting to taste her sweetness for the rest of his life.

When she came down, he shoved her off him, mounting her and positioning himself between her legs.

Her body was growing red from touching the bitter snow, but it seems like she hadn’t even noticed.

Cregan wrapped his hands around her throat, leaning in and giving her a deep kiss. “I could kill you right now if I wanted, get this whole mess you’ve caused for me over with.” He whispered into her lips.

“You won’t.” She whispered back. “Not before you get to even fuck my sweet cunt.” She reaches her cold hand down, snaking it into his breeches and rubbing his length.

“You’re right.” He kisses her again. “I want all of you.” She unlaces his breeches, pushing it down along with his soft clothes.

She glides him along her wet entrance, and Cregan groans. He pushes himself into her, eliciting a sweet gasp from her lips. He gives her no time to adjust, immediately thrusting his hips back and forth.

She moans, tears brimming her eyes, having never been fucked by a man so large as Cregan.

“What? Why are you crying? Never been fucked like how you deserve?” He growls. She does nothing but nod.

“Nothing?” He asks. “Have I finally shut you up?” He fucks her harder, and she pulls on his brown curls, using her other hand to scratch all along his back. Cregan loved the thought of it, coming home with battle scars from her. He kisses her jaw, licking her salty tears.

He stands and picks her up, worried about the cold getting to her skin. He pins her to a tree, her back scraping against the bark. It hurts in such a sweet way, better than the cold snow. She cries out his name so loud as he fucks her against it. His hands roam her body, wanting to feel all of her but also wanting to warm her up.

“Tell me it true, Cregan.” She moans, her naughty attitude returning with a smirk. “Are you going to kill me?”

She knows his answer before he even does. He growls as a response, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of knowing that sweet cunt bested the Lord of Winterfell.

“I hate you.” He growls, fucking her even harder so she shuts up. “You killed innocent men.”

She laughs and moans at the same time, “I killed crows, My Lord.” He moans at ‘My Lord’ “I’d never… fuck… harm an innocent man. That’s why you’re here now, fucking my dripping cunt.”

He wraps one of his hands around her throat, the other holding her up, his thrusts growing sloppy as he nears his peak. “Fucking witch.”

To his surprise, her hand finds his throat too, but he loves it. He loves her aggressiveness. She matches him, she’s practically a savage wolf herself.

He wants to pull out, knows he should pull out, but he can’t find the strength. All he can focus on is the wetness surrounding his length. His hands grip her waist in such a harsh way it’s bound to bruise, and he relishes in the thought of marking her so those other wildlings knew she was his now. He had claimed her, and any other man who dared try to touch her would meet the Gods.

He grabs her and pushes her back into the snow, falling on her hands and knees. His hand takes a grip in her hair, pulling her head back toward him and forcing her to arch her back. He fucks her in such a shameful way. If any lady in Winterfell were fucked like this, she’d nearly be a whore. But she was not a lady, so he felt no guilt fucking her how she deserved, and how she eagerly wanted. Her hips bucked into him, matching his rhythm.

She cried such sweet moans at the pleasure, finding her peak so close. Her fingers spread into the snow, shaking, and she released onto him again, and he growled, fucking into her until he found his own peak.

His spilled into her so deep it touched her womb. She rested her face in the snow, panting. He pushed her off of his length, her body falling into the cold. Cregan stood, out of breath, staring down at the woman in the snow, her body curled into a fetal position as she laid there catching her breath. He was hooked. Obsessed with her beauty and madness, even as she laid there sweaty and cold.

He grabbed his furs and sat beside her, pulling her into his lap and wrapping the warm furs around her.

“You might catch a chill.” He whispered, slightly worried now that their lust had subsided.

“I’m a witch, right? My blood runs with fire.” She breathed. He laughed softly.

“I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you smile, Lord Stark.” She smiled, a soft and sweet smile. His heart nearly melted.

After dressing, they began walking again.

“Can we make a quick stop?” She asked, not letting him answer before she ran towards a cave in the not far off distance.

He sighs, not making an effort to chase her.

He walks into the dimly lit cave. It appeared lived in. He eyed the area, while pulling at his collar, due to the heat in the cave.

“Is this where you live?” He asked, his voice echoed back to him, making him feel alone.

She nodded, undressing herself again. “It’s a hot spring.”

She jumped into the water, moaning at the warmth. He twitched.

“You gonna just stand there lookin’ pretty?” She asked, her thick northern accent appearing. He sighed, slowly taking off his furs and armor before stepping into the hot water. She spit some of the water at him with a little smirk. He tried to hide his smile, but couldn’t. He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him and into his lap. She curled her legs up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Let’s stay here.” She said, voice unsure. “You’re a wolf. You belong out here, not in the south.”

He took her hand in his. “My place is in Winterfell.”

“Then stay with me just for tonight.” She said. He sighed, pressing a soft kiss to her hand and nodding. She rested her wet head against his chest.

“I won’t cause any more trouble for you, Lord Stark.”

He sighed, knowing what it meant.

He yearned to bring her back to Winterfell, to give her a place in the castle, and to take her in his bed at night, but she was too wild. She would cause too much trouble for the servants and handmaidens. She would never be happy either.

He made it count, fucking her over and over again in that cave. When they slept, he held her close to him, refusing to even let her roll over. Her head fit perfectly against his neck. It felt like a crime to let her go.

———

They had been walking for three days to return to the wall, only growing closer and closer with each moment they spent together.

“I thought you said it was a day’s journey.” Cregan said.

“On horse.” He shot her a look, frustrated with the forgotten mention. She only smirked. He didn’t want to part from her just yet anyway.

“Lord Stark!” A voice yelled. He quickly pushed her behind him, unsheathing his sword and searching for where the voice came from. He was terrified for her, but she showed no fear. He knew if they seen her, they would kill her immediately.

4 men in black, all on horses trotted up besides them, encircling them.

“Gods, I can’t believe it.” The Lord Commander said, “You Starks, damn it. You put the rest of the North to shame. I can’t believe you found the witch.”

“I’m not a witch.” She said, but Cregan only grabbed her and wrapped his hand around her mouth, preventing her from starting a fight. She kicked and growled into his hand, but eventually submitted.

“Why is she still alive, m’lord? You should have taken her head the moment you found her.” A boy said.

“It’s not that easy. She’s strong, more useful alive.” Cregan said.

She kicked her foot back into his shin, stealing his sword from his hand. Cregan yelled and grabbed his leg. He grabbed her arm with his other hand with a harsh grip. Her elbow met his face, knocking him on the ground as blood pooled from his nose.

“Took you long enough to find your own way back here, crow.” She said, looking at the Lord Commander specifically, the heavy valyrian steel sword dragging from her hands onto the ground.

He only snickered at her.

“Don’t hurt yourself trying to lift that sword. I’d rather watch Stark behead you himself.”

“Can’t do your own dirty work?” She sneers.

Cregan sensed the tension but said nothing. He stood and grabbed her by the back of her neck, pulling her back and taking his sword from her. He stared her down, breathing angrily, his eyes fuming with rage. He wanted to take her on the snow again as revenge for breaking his nose, but restrained himself.

She looked back up at him, anger in her own eyes, his hand lingered on the back of her neck.

Cregan turned back around to face the Lord Commander. “I will not behead her. She is a prisoner of Winterfell.”

The Lord Commander fumed. “She’s killed half our men-“

“You killed half your men when you sent them searching for me.” She spits.

“Enough!” Cregan yelled, but she ignored him. She broke from his grip and ran at the Lord Commander. The horses spooked, bucking the other men off them and scattering.

She jumped, using the stirs of the saddle of his horse to mount it. She pulled out the dagger she stole from Cregan earlier, and slit the Lord Commander’s neck.

Hot blood spewed onto her face as he weakly grabbed at her throat. She smiled, that wicked smile again, licking the blood that spat across her face, her eyes wide with madness.

“Goodnight, crow.” She whispered.

Cregan ripped her off the horse, throwing her onto the ground.

“Do you understand what you have just done?!” He screamed at her. She smiled up at him, blood staining her teeth. She kissed him, the blood on their faces smearing. He briefly matched her love with the kiss, before pulling away.

He tried snatching the dagger back from her, “No, it’s mine!” She yelled.

He pulled her by her collar close to his face, “You have to go now… or I’ll kill you.”

Sadness swept across her face, her lip trembling like a scorned child.

“Keep your fucking dagger, then!” She yelled, stabbing it into his shoulder.

Cregan cried out, letting her go, and falling to the ground. He ripped the dagger from his shoulder. She used this as an opportunity to take her bow back from his body.

She reached into her boot, pulling out an arrow. She knocked it and drew it back. Cregan weakly jumped on the Lord Commander’s horse. The other Night’s Watch men were returning on their horses, having calmed and gathered them.

“Back to the wall!” Cregan commanded them. He didn’t turn to look at her. He knew if he had, she would’ve shot the arrow right through his eye. Instead, she hit him in his rib, perfectly hitting where it would hurt, but wouldn’t kill him. Cregan yelled in pain again.

The men rode off, not stopping until they made it to the wall. Cregan passed out multiple times on the way, visions of her flooding his thoughts as the men had to drag him to the maester.

She stayed in the same place for hours, sobbing and sobbing, as the icy cold froze her tears. Only when night fell then did she turn and leave, knowing she would never see the Lord again.

[revvethasmythh]

Sam DM's a game for his kids and their friends where they're campers and Wildemount Wildlings summer camp 🥹🥹🥹🥹

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire—all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

 “Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[justpoliteconversations]

Morning Grind [Chain + Reader]

Adventuring is difficult. Mornings are worse.

Another one for the pile, surprisingly enough!

Masterlist

TW: None.

Disclaimer: Don't own The Legend of Zelda franchise. Linked Universe is the fan creation of jojo56830.

---

There's hair piled up in a tangled heap across your face and neck, sticky and damp where it pressed against the flushed heat of your sleep-warmed forehead and cheeks. Oily slick and grimy to the touch. Stale sweat and musk emitting an unpleasantly bitter scent right into your face (sweet too, like overly ripe apples. but unpleasant nonetheless).

The mass of bed head shifted, dragging across your drool sodden face in slow, halting jerks. A groan rasped from the lump the hair begun bundling around, and your eyes opened (sticky and crusted and deeply unhappy) to the sight of Wild turning in his sleep.

Still groggy from interrupted slumber, you stared listlessly at the man's face. Dazed and half conscious. Eyes stinging against the wet press of your (irritating) eyelids and (even more irritating) lashes.

Wild was handsome for sure. Delicate, noble-borne features crafted tenderly around a fine, bold facial structure. Plush lips, high cheekbones and a narrow chin that belied the strong jaw supporting it. And lashes for days. Perhaps the most striking of the Chain, beaten out only by Twilight (who didn't count in your opinion, because the man was a walking fur coat even when Wolfie wasn't present) and Sky (who had the pretty boy role down to an art form and managed to woo over a Goddess' incarnate with it. so he didn't count either).

None of these things caught your attention though.

No. What caught your eye (out of everything. out of all the features a man such as a Link could offer to the world) was the little red bumps lining the underside of his jaw and across one sleep flushed cheek. The ruffled little turf of brow hair twisted in the wrong direction on one side. The uneven stubble shadowing his upper lip and chin and crawling a fine line below his ears.

Your eyes lingered mindlessly on the crack (healed now, but you vaguely remembered how it'd bled and bled when it first happened) on his dry lips, and the white, flaky corners of his mouth.

His breath reeked of onion and vinegar when he breathed (open mouthed and snorting) into your squinty-eyed face. Pulling a frown to your lips as you hazily wondered why it smelt different from dinner the night before.

Wild snorted again. More vinegar and onion (and now garlic too. the garlic was what was different), and your blurry, sleep-deprived eyes narrowed in sudden realization.

You reached out (fighting the cold sting of early morning to do so. the heavy drag of fatigue), put a firm hand on Wild's shoulder and pushed him with all your might (just managing to roll him out of his bedroll).

"You sneaky little bastard! You said there wasn't any more garlic!" You huffed grumpily in betrayal, feeling naught an ounce (well, maybe just a tiny smidge) of pity as Wild whined pathetically and reached tiredly for the warmth of his covers.

Which you pulled away (spitefully). Eyes brimmed with hellfire. "Freeze to death and die, betrayer!"

A groggy groan from Wars, who was unfortunate enough to have been sleeping closest to you both last night (Wind having kept him up late the night prior as well. fitful and energetic, even in his dreams). His hands and pillow sadly unable to block the (rather heartrending) pleas for forgiveness (and his bedroll) from Wild.

At least Wind slept like the dead through it. (Ornery little sea mutt.)

Across the camp, a wild fluff of unruly blonde and pink had bolted upright at the exact same time as your indignant accusion. Wide-(and far too awake to have been sleeping)-eyed and crazed in the steep angle of his brow.

Legend pulled Hyrule upright by the front of his vest (because of course the little wildling slept fully dressed). "Rulie! I fucking knew it!"

Hyrule whined, eyes glued shut with eye gunk and nose stuffy from sleep. Weakly pulling at Legend's clutched hands. "Le~gs~. I'm ti~r~ed~."

If possible, Legend's brows took an even deeper dive. But before he could open his mouth a truly activate rant mode, he was interrupted by a very, very unhappy Sky.

"Stop yelling or I'll give you a reason to be screaming this early."

Dead quiet. The crickets begun their song once more. A bat swooped over head, just skimming the firelight's reach. The camp now a moth less than before.

A sigh of contentment, and Sky eventually drifted back to slumber (no doubt he'd forget all this next he woke).

"Goodness," Red hummed softly, just above a whisper as he chewed on his coffee (if the black, pulpy sludge could be called that). "I thought Blue woke up grumpy."

Across the fire Time chuckled, half-lidded eye watching with fond amusement as Wild finally managed to kiss ass back into your good graces (and his bedroll). And Hyrule managed to get back into Legend's by nuzzling his side and whimpering pathetically until he was forgiven and petted back into light slumber. "When we visit my Hyrule next, I'll let you meet the Beast of Lon Lon Ranch."

Red stopped chewing his coffee and blinked owlishly up at the older man (question clear in his eyes). And Time just smiled, taking a mouth full of coffee and chewing past the bitter grit and sting. Smiling mysteriously into the fire.

Only to choke a few moments later.

"It gets worse the longer you chew." Time whispered in something like horror, staring at the coffee(?) with morbid curiosity.

Red just smiled. "When Vio comes back, I'll have him brew you 'Shadow's Spite'."

Time blinked at him in disbelief, and Red just smiled (mysteriously).

And so begins another morning.

---

I retreat back to the shadows.

[axelsagewrites]

Jon Snow x Wildling!reader; were she doesn't trust him at all and she's always going against him, bickering all the time...and it has smut maybe a more bottom!Jon who's at that point still not so experienced??? Lots of teasing on her side during the smut... :)

Jon Snow*MiLady

Pairing: Jon x F!Wilding!Reader

Platonic: reader x Ygritte, daughter!reader x Mance

Summary: Jon Snow found himself sharing a tent with a wilding girl who loved to rile him up

Warnings: swearing, smut, loss of virginity, praise kink, f receiving oral, piv sex think thats it?

Word count: 4800

Masterlist Here

Requests Open

If anyone but Ygritte had brought a crow into your camp, you would’ve been right beside your fellow free folk demanding he either be thrown out or killed. However lucky for her Ygritte she was your closest friend and the reason you were still alive. Something she reminded you of as people voted on how to handle the crow.

You found it amusing how he was so quick to bend the knee to a king he never met, especially one who wasn’t even the king. Tormund apparently looked more the king than Mance, something you knew he would brag about for weeks. The crow told Mance he wanted to be free, but you knew it was a lie and so did Mance. Your interest was peaked from the corner of the room as he began to describe Craster leaving his new-born son in the woods and what came for it.

This time when Mance asked him why he was really here Jon, you had learned his name, answer seemed to be sincere. “I want to fight for the side who fights for the living." He spoke.

Murmurs fell over the crowd as your fellow free folk debated whether he could be trusted. The better question was if he was worth the risk. You still didn’t move from your spot in the back corner, but you did look up, meeting Ygritte’s eyes. Her gaze was strong, and you could feel the threat behind it.

Mance debated Jon’s words in a few moments of silence before turning his head to face you, “And what say you (Y/N)?” Mance asked. This time the crows’ eyes fell on you.

They were soft behind the harden gaze. He had obviously seen so much already but you had seen more. You pushed yourself off the wall and walked closer to where the crow stood, his eyes not leaving you, but you now refused to meet his, instead keeping yours on Ygritte. “You brought me a crow?” you asked her.

Ygritte smirked, “I brought you Jon Snow,”

“I already have plenty of snow,” you said causing Tormund and others to snicker, “Do you talk to all the crows to decide if you should shoot them?”

Ygritte glared at you. You glanced at Jon who was now wrapped in even more confusion. Why was the king asking someone else’s opinion? Clearly, he was not a wildling. “You owe me,” Ygritte reminded you, ignoring your question.

Your eyes fell back on Jon Snow who stood up straighter under your gaze. You internally smirked at his actions. There was silence in the room as your eyes roamed the crow. Finally, you glanced at Ygritte one last time before walking back to your corner, “I say he can stay,” you said and Jon nodded at your words, attempting to speak but you cut him off, “For now,” you added.

Mance nodded at your words and turned to his lieutenant, “Get the boy a new cloak,”

The new cloak didn’t help much as no one could forget a face like Jon Snow’s. everywhere he walked in the camp the children would pelt him with snow. You laughed at the irony. Ygritte kept trying to stop them to little avail. She tried to scatter the children as they pelted him again when she spotted you laughing across the camp. Ygritte stalked over to you. “Can’t you help me get them to knock it off?”  

“Why would I do that?” you snorted at her question. You rolled your eyes as Jon rushed to catch up with his protecter. “He’s kind of like a dog,” you mused to her, but she just rolled her eyes.

“If you told them to stop, they’d have to,” she said ignoring your insult.

Jon had been in camp for only a couple of hours and clearly no one had explained anything to him, “So are you like the wildling queen?” he asked.

You grimaced at the suggestion, “Do you assume everyone is a king?”

Jon glared at your words, “That was an honest mistake,”

“Are all southerners so ready to bend the knee?” you asked with a smirk.

“I’m a northerner,” Jon spat.

You laughed as you began to walk away, Jon following behind you and Ygritte behind him, “A northerner who can barely walk in snow,”

“There’s like 9 inches of snow!” he shot back.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that shot out your lips as you turned to face him, “I’ll keep that in mind next time im cold, Snow,” you smirked.

Jon’s face flushed pinker than the cold had already nipped it, “I didn’t mean it like that! And you know it,”

“Are you always so miserable?” you asked, turning back to face where you were walking. You were walking to where some of your men were preparing hot stew, something you needed to help with the admittedly high snow.

Jon just sighed behind you and ignored your question. “So, what are you then? Queen, princess, general?” he asked.

“Why does it matter?” you asked as you got in line for stew, Ygritte cutting in front of you and Jon behind you.

“I want to know who I’m talking to,”

“Are you blind?” you snipped, growing hungrier by the minute. “Or just an idiot?”

“Are you?” Jon said, causing you to stop moving and turn to face him, “Why did Mance need your permission?” he asked.

You rolled your eyes, “He didn’t need my permission, just my opinion. Which by the way is usually right so don’t prove me wrong,”

“And why does your opinion matter to a king?” he asked as Ygritte walked away with her stew.

As you took the bowl from the man you turned to face Jon again. “His daughter,” you smirked, and you could see Jon’s face pale.

“So, you’re a princess?”

“Maybe to the south,” you said, “Here I’m his first man, his council. What you people call a hand,”

“My father was a hand,” he said as he reached for his own bowl of stew.

“I never asked,” you said as you stopped his hand, ��Who said you could eat?” you asked, and Jon’s face fell.

His shock was quickly replaced by anger as he stomped to where Ygritte was sitting on a log. You laughed as you picked up his bowl before walking to join them. You held the bowl out to the crow who looked up at you with a cold stare. “I’m not that bad,” you shrugged, holding it out closer for him to take.

“How kind,” he said, rolling his eyes. You smacked the back of his head for that, “Hey!”

“Shut up,” you said as you reached into your pocket and pulled out the fabric you wrapped your spoons in. you passed Jon one without saying anything and he seemed shocked but less angry this time, “Eat,” you told him and finally he did.

After your food Jon stopped being your problem till the sun began to set. That’s when Ygritte approached you with her next problem, “Where’s the crow sleeping?”

“Fuck would I know?” you said. You were just about to go into your own tent when she had caught you. The day had been long, and Jon was far from your only problem. “Ask Mance,”

Jon stood a couple of feet behind Ygritte, “He said to ask you,”

“Ask Tormund,” you said as you rolled your eyes and went to walk into your tent, but she grabbed your arm to stop you.

“He said the same thing,” she smirked.

“You’ve got to be kidding me? How is the crow my problem now?” you asked.

Jon stomped closer to where you debated with Ygritte, “I’m right here you know,”

You held your hand up to him, motioning him to shut up as you continued talking to Ygritte, “Stick him in a spare tent,”

“No ones willing to give him one,”

You sighed knowing you wouldn’t have given him your peoples spare supplies either in their shoes. “Does he have furs?”

“Oh, aye I carried furs all the way from the wall encase I came to camp with yous,” Jon said.

You held back a laugh and kept an annoyed face on as best you could. Snarky Jon was better than formal Jon. “Can’t you keep him?”

“I share a tent with two other folk who’d skin him in his sleep,” she said, and you sighed knowing she was right, “What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Right fine fuck fine okay,” you said, running a hand through your hair, “Just fuck off and I’ll deal with it,”

“Thank you,” Ygritte yelled as she was already running away before she could change her mind.

You sighed and began to walk to go into your tent, “What about me?” Jon asked, rushing to follow.

“You have legs. Keep up,” you said as you entered your tent, holding the flap open for him to get in. “Hurry up im cold,”

“Oh, so wildings do get cold,” Jon smirked as you began to secure the tent entrance shut to block out the harsh wind.

“Do you want to sleep in the snow?” you asked as you turned to face him. He just rolled his eyes in response. You ignored him as you began to light a couple candles to light the dim tent. “You can borrow my spare furs. Don’t ruin them crow,” you warned.

 “Don’t worry your precious furs are fine with me milady,” he said as he looked around the tent.

You grabbed one of your furs and threw it at him, “Don’t call me that,” you said.

“What?” he asked, “Milady? Are you not a princess milady? Do you have another title milady? What would milady like?”

“Milady would like you to shut the fuck up,” you almost yelled as you sat on your own pile of furs that acted as a bed and began to remove your cloak, flinging it into the corner of the tent.

Jon laughed as he internally celebrated his mini win before he looked around the tent awkwardly, “Where am I supposed to take these?”

You looked up at him, eyebrows knitting in confusion as you took off your boots, “You’re sleeping in  here. With me. Unless you’d prefer the snow?”

“I don’t think your father would- “

“I am his daughter not his possession,” you said as you finally got your second shoe off. “and if its my honour your worried about just know us free folk have another definition of honour,”

“And what’s that?” Jon asked.

You stood up from the furs and grinned, “Well part of it is you not killing me in my sleep. At least wake me up first,” Jon just grumbled something under his breath, and you rolled your eyes, “Are you gonna stand there all night? Get ready for bed dumbass,” you said.

“Fuck off,” Jon said; however, he did as he was told as he laid his furs on the ground and began to take his cloak and boots off.

You ignored the crow as you began to fix your hair for bed. You looked down to where Jon was getting under the furs with his clothes still on, “Are you that cold?” you asked.

“What?” Jon asked but a blush fell on his face as you began to remove your outer layers. “Oh,”

You grinned as you stripped down to a lose long shirt you wore under your other clothes. “I forgot you crows didn’t do the whole sex thing,” you said. Jon avoided looking at you as you sat on your furs, deliberately not going under them. The shirt covered your torso and tops of thighs but apparently your legs were too scandalous for him, “Relax, we’re not having sex. I know you crows don’t have it in you,” you laughed.

“I could!” he protested, his eyes flashing to meet yours then quickly moving away, “But I took a vow saying I wouldn’t take a wife,”

“Who said anything about marriage?” you asked.

Jon rolled his eyes as he began to shed his own outer layers. You kept your eyes on him, smirking as he flushed under your gaze, “Can I help you?” he asked as he took his tunic off.

“You already said no to that,” you grinned, and his flush only depend. “Have you ever had sex?” you asked as you decided to retreat under your furs.

Finally, Jon could look at you without going red, “I made a vow- “

“I meant before that,”

“I was just a boy then,” Jon said who was now in just an under shirt and pants. He climbed under his furs you had gave him as you watched, “Why are you staring at me?”

You laughed at him as he scowled, “Never seen a crow without his clothes on,” you said, “Not half bad,” you laughed as you took the under shirt you had on off, puling the furs up to cover yourself, “Not as good as a wilding though,”

Jon rolled his eyes, but his face was red after he noticed you were now naked in the tent, “Of course you’d say that”

“Want me to prove it?” you offered, sitting up more so the furs slipped down slightly.

Jon blushed more, “No I believe you,” he stammered.

“Do yous not sleep naked?” you asked, deciding to give him some mercy.

Jon laid down, turning to face you on his side still a couple of feet apart. “Some do I suppose. Im always scared someone will walk in,”

“No one will walk into this tent,” you assured him.

Jon snorted, “What? Would Mance kill them?” he asked.

You pulled the dagger out from under your furs, “No, I would,” you grinned, and you saw a look of fear and impress fall on his face. “Don’t worry. I don’t want to get blood on my good furs,”

Jon rolled his eyes before turning to face the other wall. You grinned as you settled down to sleep. However, sleep did not come. Despite the furs you had you felt the chill as a storm seemed to be over the camp. The frigid air beat the side of the tents and whistled in the wind. You had decided to not blow out two candles so you could make sure the crow wasn’t planning to kill you, but it now helped you ask you rolled over to see Jon shivering in his furs.

Admittedly you had gave the boy one of the more scraggily ones and he only had one while you had several. You could tell by the cold he would not be asleep and was merely making. You sighed as you sat up, keeping the furs covering your chest, “You cold?” you asked, already knowing the truth.

“Why do you care?” he asked, not opening his eyes.

You sighed as you moved some of the furs around, “Get under,” you told him and this time Jon opened his eyes, “Toss that one on top and come on,”

“What?” Jon asked as he sat up in his own makeshift bed.

“You’re shivering so much your teeth are gonna break. Get under the furs,” you told him. Jon seemed to debate it, “Your southern honour doesn’t apply here. Get under the furs,” you commanded him.

This time Jon seemed to listen. He got up and quickly fling the fur he had on top of the pile you had on you, and shimming in in between your pile of furs, “I’m not a southerner,” he protested as he joined you in the furs, letting out a sigh as the warmth surrounded his body.

He accidentally nudged into you, and you yelped at his cold skin, “Your like ice!” you squealed.

Jon grinned as he rolled over to face you, “More like snow,” he said. You rolled your eyes, telling him to fuck off under your breath and in response Jon pressed one of his icy hands to your waist.

You squirmed under his touch as he laughed at your yelping. His hands were probably colder than the ice outside but despite this you still wanted his hand on your waist. He pressed the back of the other to your cheek, “You’re playing a dangerous game snow,” you warned him, teeth chattering.

“And whys that?” he asked. Gods was that smirk attractive.

You grabbed the wrist by your face and pushed it back while grabbing the other off your waist, forcing him onto his back with his hands pinned by his head, “I’m quicker,” you smirked. You were now straddling the crow’s waist, your chest exposed and only inches from his. The way his breath caught in his throat and his eyes widened made your grin grow. “Crow got your tongue?” you asked.

“You might be quicker but I’m stronger,” Jon stuttered out.

However, he made no attempt to make you move which only made you laugh, “So you’re choosing to have a naked woman on top of you. How dishonourable of you Jon Snow,” you tutted.

Jon scowled up at you, “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said and this time you laughed loudly causing his face to go red.

Your laughter stopped when the bastard flipped you onto your back, your legs now wrapped around his waist as he held himself above you. Jon now had your own wrists pinned above your head, allowing you to look down to see his body above you. The nightswatch did something right you had to admit when you saw how toned he was from what his undershirt revealed.

Your eyes scanned over him deliberately slowly before meeting his eyes. “I could get used to this crow,” you said before wrapping your legs tighter around your waist, you pulled him closer causing you to rub against his crotch which you could feel hard against you. You saw his face flush as you chuckled, “You might have honour but he,” you said, grinding against the crow again, “does not,”

“Shut up,” Jon grumbled as he avoided your gaze, but he made no attempts to remove your legs.

You removed your legs from around his waist, causing him to finally glance down at you, “If you want me to stop, I’ll stop,” you said and once again he looked away like a scared puppy, “but no one but us has to know what happened in this tent,” you finished.

Jon looked down at you, his eyes filled with desperation and longing, “Can I kiss you?” he finally asked.

This time your smile was gentle as you pulled your hand free of his before pulling his head closer to yours and placing your lips onto him. Despite loving to tease you could tell how nervous the boy was, so you started the kiss slow, unsure if he had ever kissed anyone before this. His lips were far gentler than any wildings and his hair was soft in your grip.

You tugged gently on his curls causing him to moan against your mouth. You took the opportunity to slip your tongue into Jon’s mouth who gladly let you. You felt his tense body relax against your touch as he rested more of his weight on you.

His arms rested beside either side of your head to keep him up. Taking on of his hands, you brought it down your body, placing his hand on your breast. You could sense his nerves and pulled back slightly, laughing gently, “You can touch me, I don’t bite,” you said, pressing another small kiss to his lips before adding, “much,”

Jon didn’t argue with your smarminess this time and instead gently squeezed where you had placed his hand before diving back into your lips, desperate for your touch. Your other hand slipped away and began to roam down his chest then down his body, feeling his abs underneath his shirt and causing him to shiver.

Then you moved your hand down lower, playing with the band of his under clothes. You felt his stomach tense again under your touch. “I have an idea,” you told him before flipping him back onto his back before he could protest. With his hips under yours, you grinded down onto his hard member causing Jon to groan and his eyes to flutter shut, “We’ve barely even started and look at you,” you cooed down at him.

Jon tried to argue but you rolled your hips against his again and another moan fell out his pretty lips. “Do it again,” he begged. You complied once more before stopping, moving your hands to pull of his shirt so you could trace his abs, “Please,” Jon begged again.

“You’re cute when you’re desperate,” you told him before your eyes flickered back to his body. You trailed your hands over his chest, and you felt Jon buck his hips into yours. In response you lifted your hips up away from his, “You need to be patient,” you warned the crow, “Im much nicer to boys who listen,”

“I’m not a boy,” Jon argued, and you smirked at his words.

Brushing the hair out his face, you looked down at him as he glared at you, “Prove it,” you told him before pressing your hips down, grinding into him again causing him to moan louder this time, “Men don’t beg for me to do this,” you said as you continued rolling your hips against him, “They beg for much more,”

“Please,” Jon begged, his hands moving to grab your hips which you decided to allow, enjoying how they dug into your flesh, “I want to feel you,”

“But do you deserve it?” you asked, still rolling your hips against him, trying to ignore the wet spot that was growing against him and wetting his underclothes.

Jon let out a whine when your hips met his again, “I’ll listen I promise. I promise I’ll be good,” the way he shamelessly begged to be touched made you want to tease him more, but you were afraid he wouldn’t last long enough for it to be worth it.

You hummed at his words, your fingers trailing down his body before arriving at the hem of his remaining clothes. You leant down to press a kiss to his throat as you slid the clothes down his legs. Jon quickly shimmed them off. Now you could see his hard cock that was already red and dripping with precum.

Jons hips bucked as you took his member into your hand, running your thumb over the top. “If you don’t keep still ill stop,” you warned, and Jon did his best to comply as you slowly began to pump your hand up and down. He began to whimper under your touch, begging under his breath to feel you. You moved up to hover over his cock again, running its tip over your wet folds, “Beg me,” you said.

Jon cursed under his breath, his eyes rolling back at the sensation of you against him, “please,” he whimpered, “please just-fuck,” Jon gasped as you sunk down onto him, his eyes screwing shut.

You gasped yourself as you took him in, he was bigger than you had expected. Giving yourself a moment to adjust, you rested your hands on his abs to keep yourself up. Once you began to feel more comfortable you began to roll your hips again, feeling him move deeper into you as you did. “Fuck you feel so good,” you praised, hands gripping onto him. Jon was still moaning under neath you, but you saw a bashful smile cross his lips when you complimented him. “You like that?” you asked moving faster, “Like when I tell you how good you are?”

“Mhmm,” Jon agreed as he let out a string of shameless moans.

You moved your hand to grab his, pulling it up to grab your chest, “Are you scared to touch me crow?” you asked as you used your hands to move his.

“I’m not scared,” Jon said, his breath shaky.

This just made you grin, “Not scared him?” you said, “What pretty noises you're making for me… am I making you feel good?" you asked, and you felt Jon twitch inside you.

You began to roll your hips slower but deeper, feeling yourself hit off his pubic bone, “Fuck please don’t stop,” Jon moaned.

“Aw is the crow gonna cum?” you asked, grabbing his jaw before leaning down to kiss it all while your hips still rolled against his. “You’re such a mess right now you know that?”

“I don’t care,” he stuttered, his breath beginning to catch in his throat.

You continued to leave kisses along his jaw line and neck. “It’s hot when you talk back to me,” you said, your lips grazing his ear before giving it a quick bite.

“You said you don’t bite,” Jon moaned.

“But you like it don’t you?” you said, biting his jaw gently causing him to moan. “You’re so pretty like this,” you said, sitting back up to allow yourself to move your hips better. You sped up you’re bouncing, and you felt Jon squeeze your tits tighter and his cock twitching more.

“I’m gonna,” Jon started to saw, his hips rutting up against yours. You sped up slightly, wanting to savour your last few pumps, before quickly pulling off him. Jon whined but your hands instantly replaced your cunt and within two strokes he had came all over his stomach as you rested over his thighs. “Fuck,” Jon panted as he tried to catch his breath.

You laughed as you fell over to lay beside him, also out of breath. “Maybe you’re not so bad after all,” you said as Jon whipped his stomach off with a cloth you passed him.

“Is that so?” Jon asked, throwing the cloth to the side, “What about you?” Jon asked as he rolled over to face you.

“What about me?” you asked.

Jons hand trailed over your thighs, his fingers mere inches away from your wet cunt, “You didn’t, you know,” he said, his cheeks flushing.

“It’s okay I don’t mind,” you told him as you went to push his hand away.

Jon gripped your thigh to stop you, “But I wanted you to,” he pouted.

You raised an eyebrow at the man, “What did you have in mind?” you asked.

Jon trailed his fingers closer to your core which was beginning to feel so empty without him in it, “My watch brothers told me about this thing you do to women to make them,” Jon began to stammer out his words. “You know,”

“You want to make me cum,” you confirmed, and Jon gave you a sheepish nod. You laid back into your furs, settling yourself in. “Show me what how the crows do it,” you told him.

Jon hesitated for a second before he began to shuffle down, his head disappearing under the furs. Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, but a moan ripped through your throat as Jon placed a kiss to your cunt. The wildings didn’t do it like this. You couldn’t see his face, but you knew he had to be smirking as he began to lick a stripe up your cunt. He began soft at first before he began to lap up your juices, his tongue massaging your core. You didn’t stop the moans as he continued to kiss and lick you.

Then you felt his fingers tease your hole and you felt a knot tighten in your stomach as they slipped into you. Jons tongue trailed up to focus on placing sloppy kisses to your clit as his fingers pumped in and out of you. You moaned his name when you felt his fingers curl inside you. Your skin felt hot as his face was buried in your cunt, his spare hand gripping your thighs.

Your hands were knotted in his curls, keeping his face where you needed him. The knot in your stomach tightened with every curl and pump of his fingers. The pressure continued to build as he kissed your clit before taking it in his mouth and lightly sucking it. the feeling sent you over the edge. You gripped his hair even tighter as you rode out your orgasm on his tongue which never stopped till you let go of his hair as you began to come down from your peak.

“Why so quiet now?” Jon teased as he came out from under the furs, his face soaked with your juices.

You were almost gasping for breath as you pulled the furs to cover you, “Is that how the lords please their lady’s?” you asked him.

Jon grinned at you, placing a kiss to your cheek, “I’m not sure,” he confessed, “I just wanted to kiss you there,”

[bucknastysbabe]

Tags: Smut 🍆 || Angst 🟣 || SFW 💜 || Dead Dove 👿||Fluff 🐼

Aemond Targaryen

Misunderstandings?🟣💜

Winner takes all💜🐼

Get a load of this guy!🟣🍆

Prince in shining silks💜🐼

Sci-fi AU🍆🟣👿

Pass the Crown🟣🍆

Daeron Targaryen

The Brother Fucking Incest Spectacular🍆🟣👿

Harwin Strong

For honor and virtue🐼🍆

Jacaerys Velaryon

Winner takes all💜🐼

Prince in shining silks💜🐼

Cruel Summer🍆🐼

Summer Camp AU🍆🟣🐼

A little problem, a lot of patience🍆🐼

The PR Stunt🍆🐼

Northron Delights🍆🐼

Dreary🍆🟣🐼

Jon Snow

The Crow who called Wildling🍆🐼

Maegor Targaryen

Belly of the Beast🍆🟣👿

Viserys III Targaryen

Unwind🍆

Egotistical🍆

Ancient Rome AU🍆🟣

[essektheylyss]

It's t-minus one week until we all finally find out where the Mighty Nein are in this fine extended Apogee Solstice, so in honor of the occasion, one more time:

[j-k-writes]

Hello bro, would you ever write a Ygritte x male reader x Tormund, in which the reader is part of the Night’s watch as well, and is with Jon when the whole situation with the wildlings happen in aprox. season 3? Perhaps with “I don’t do well when you’re away” and “no. Its non-negotiable. You’re staying here” as prompts?

Love your Rhaenyra x reader series🙏

Summary - Y/N had been a Man of The Night's Watch since he was barely a man, but when he and his fellow brother-in-arms Jon are taken in by the wildlings, he wonders if he'd chosen the wrong side. Two wildlings kissed by fire are determined to show him that he did.

Warnings - General GOT warnings, innuendos (?)

Thank you!

Used a mix of book a show canon to make the plot make sense.

“Tormund climb the wall.” Mance had declared. “Take Orell and twenty good men, take these two. They know Castle Black’s defenses better than any of us, and if they’re useful, good. If not, throw them off the wall.” 

It had been a month since they’d set off for the wall. Y/N had made longer journeys ranging past the wall before, but Jon hadn’t and Y/N could see the effort of it all was taking its toll on the younger man. Y/N sympathized with the man, the act of pretending to betray his brother’s was taking its toll on Y/N as well, but he doubted it was the same as Jon. Y/N found himself dreading his ultimate return to Castle Black more and more the closer they got to the wall. 

Ygritte wasn’t helping his dread in the slightest. 

The girl in question took a seat by him at the fire, resting her thigh directly next to his. “You’ve got a funny look on your face.” 

“What?” Y/N turned away from the fire, facing her. 

“What?” She mimicked, turning her lips down in a frown, probably meant to imitate his own. He laughed, shoving her away, she caught his arm as he did so, pulling herself closer to him. She smiled, rubbing her nose against his before catching his lips in a kiss. 

Y/N grasped her face, deepening the kiss. Her hands found their way into his furs, and she began to maneuver her way into the man’s lap. But she was stopped by a loud cough beside Y/N. Y/N pulled away, face burning, and he turned to face the other ginger of the camp. 

Tormund had a smug look on his face, taking a seat next to Y/N, “A couple of rabbits, the both of you.” 

Y/N reddened further, and Ygritte just laughed, shifting to sit even closer to Y/N. “Don’t be jealous, Tormund. If you want to share, you can just ask.” 

Y/N made to stand up, “I’m going to go find Jon.” 

Tormund grabbed his arm, dragging him back to the ground. “She is just messing with you, boy.” 

Tormund gave Y/N his usual teasing smile, although it didn’t quite reach his eyes this time. Y/N breathed out, nodding, and settling into his place between the two wildlings. He knew Ygritte was just joking, but the way she looked between him and Tormund when she thought Y/N wasn’t looking made him uneasy. He liked Ygritte, he’d known that since she brought him and Jon to the wildling camp, making lewd jokes at the both of them the entire way. 

But Tormund, Y/N didn’t know how he felt about the man. 

He was an attractive man, Y/N couldn’t deny that. But Jon was an attractive man, and Y/N didn’t feel the same dread in his gut when he was alone with Jon that he did when he was alone with the wildling. Tormund had been sticking close to both Y/N and Ygritte since it had become obvious Ygritte had won the ex-Man of The Night’s Watch over, if that’s what it could be called. Never leaving the two of them alone long enough to have a repeat of their night in the cave. 

Ygritte was amused by the wildling man’s actions, but Y/N couldn’t help the thoughts his sudden change in behavior brought. And he wondered if the two wildlings were the same in more than just their hair color. 

“I need to talk to you.” Tormund cleared his throat, looking away from the man and toward the fire. 

“So talk.” Ygritte said, humor falling off her face. 

“We’re climbing the wall tomorrow.” 

Y/N nodded, “I know that.” 

“No.” Tormund scratched his beard, “We’re climbing the wall tomorrow, you are not.” 

Y/N’s expression hardened. “What.” 

Tormund sighed, and Ygritte spoke. “What do you mean he’s not climbing the wall? You’re just gonna leave him behind? He’s proven-” 

“I know what he’s proven!” Tormund interrupted her, wincing at the volume of his voice and lowering it when he spoke again. “This is not about what he has or hasn’t proven.” 

“Then what is it about?” Y/N spat, and Tormund winced at the tone of his voice. 

“Be honest with me, boy. With your leg and this walking, do you think you can climb the wall tomorrow?” 

Y/N opened his mouth in shock, he’d thought he’d been able to hide the pain in his leg well. The accident was years ago, and it had healed well. Y/N had brushed off the sharp pains in his leg as the cold making his muscles stiff, and nothing more. But apparently Tormund paid more attention to him than he thought. 

“My leg is fine.” Y/N kept his voice flat, and Ygritte just looked confused, her gaze flicking between the two men. 

“I know what a bum leg looks like, boy.” 

Y/N’s nostrils flared in anger, “I do not have a bum leg, and you are not leaving me behind tomorrow.” 

Tormund clasped his shoulder, giving him a sympathetic look which just made Y/N angrier. He tried to shove the hand off, but Tormund just grasped him tighter. “You don’t need to prove your strength to me. But I will not have you risking your life for pride. We will climb the wall, and you will stay behind with a smaller party, when we’re over we’ll lower a ladder and you will join us.” 

“Are you not risking my life by leaving me here?” Y/N sneered, turning to Ygritte. The expression on her face already told Y/N whose side she was on and Y/N deflated slightly. “I- I don’t do well when you two are away. They don’t trust me like you do, they’ll use any excuse to kill me as soon as you leave.” 

Ygritte cupped his cheek, touching her forehead to his. “Then you kill them first.” 

Y/N sighed, “Ygritte-” 

She shushed him, “You’re mine, Y/N. You don’t get to kill yourself because of your stupid crow pride.” 

“You will be fine.” Y/N turned to Tormund, who squeezed his shoulder where his hand still rested. “You are strong. You have wildling fire inside of you, you have to if you’re keeping up with her.” 

Ygritte laughed behind him, and Y/N gave a small smile. “I am not going to change your mind, am I?” 

Tormund shook his head, brushing loose hair out of Y/N eyes. “No. It's non-negotiable. You’re staying here” 

[blackmosscupcakes]

Oh my god, Sam's playing a campaign with his kids and their friends where they're at the Wildemount Wildlings summer camp and Luc is a counsellor. 🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹

[jonsnowunemploymentera]

Mance’s cloak this, Mance’s cloak that…WON’T SOMEONE THINK OF THE HELM??!!

A few tents were still standing on the far side of the camp, and it was there they found Mance Rayder. Beneath his slashed cloak of black wool and red silk he wore black ringmail and shaggy fur breeches, and on his head was a great bronze-and-iron helm with raven wings at either temple. Jarl was with him, and Harma the Dogshead; Styr as well, and Varamyr Sixskins with his wolves and his shadowcat.

The black and red is obviously a nod to Jon’s Targ parentage but the helm….ohhhhh

Robb’s crown looked much as the other was said to have looked in the tales told of the Stark kings of old; an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron spikes wrought in the shape of longswords. Of gold and silver and gemstones, it had none; bronze and iron were the metals of winter, dark and strong to fight against the cold.

Winter has no king, as some wildlings would say. But there is a warrior suited to war against it. Isn’t that what Mance is? A black and red cloak reminiscent of the Targaryens of old Valyria - the ones who commanded beasts of flame. Dragonkings. And the helm is reminiscent of a crown worn by those who once ruled “Winter-fell”. And the ravens?? Birds of prophecy, foresight, destiny…..

Jon’s gotta get his hands on that stupid thing….

[ariadne-mouse]

(I remembered right after posting this we learn canonically that there was a child death/revival in the first camp and it was a "big publicity boost" so just vote with your desire for crime lol)

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [5/?]

Previous Chapter // Main Masterlist // Next Chapter

Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3454

Summary: Aemond gradually embraced the rugged and untamed ways of the wildlings, adjusting to their customs and survival skills in the harsh environment they inhabited.

As dawn broke, the first fingers of light seeped into Aemond’s tent, casting a gentle, golden glow that wove through the coarse fabric. The sun’s early warmth stirred him from his slumber, and he awoke with a serene awareness of another day granted to him. The sleep he had savoured was a rare gift from the gods especially when he stepped foot in the north. 

The finest sleep he had enjoyed in months.

Surely this humble tent wasn’t as extravagant of his chambers in King's Landing. The Wildling’s tent was as if it brings comfort to him than the Night's Watch barracks. Here, the simplicity of his shelter was a luxury in itself, a sanctuary far superior to the cramped mattresses and the chill of the stone walls. Aemond’s gaze fell upon the fur and blankets that cocooned him—a gift of warmth from the Wildling woman who had shown him unexpected kindness;  he knew he might never be able to fully repay her. As he drew the fur closer, he inhaled deeply, savouring the lingering scent of the wild, a subtle fragrance of her that spoke of forests and untamed lands. 

Aemond took his time layering his new clothing that formerly belonged to the wildling named Yuri, one of her wildling companions. He wondered if she herself could make good clothing. Putting on the thinnest layer first, he wrapped the sheep skin next around his waist up to his chest. After several layers, he topped it off with the wildling’s distinctive camouflage fur coat. Tying it up, he peeks through his tent, finding the area already alive. Stew boiled as children ran through the snow. 

Far much different that the smallfolk yet they were just as simple as they were. 

He slips on his boots also made out of thick fur, possibly sheep skin. 

Tying his hair like he always did since he was a child, 

He looked up to the tent’s opening. 

It’s time. 

Parting the tent’s entrance, revealing himself as Aemond stepped out of his tent, he felt eyes on him. Some were the same, some were positive stares. Through all that, he couldn’t help but to feel a sense of insecurity washing over him. Yet he masked it well enough, walking through the crowd, searching for familiarity in this foreign world he walks in. And he finds his answer well enough when he spots her. 

Sitting on a wooden log on the edge of the camp, beside the stallion he brought from castle black, sharpening her arrows. He stepped closer as his heavy footsteps stomped through the snow. Heavy enough for her to notice him, turning her head around. “Snow haired! You’re finally awake. A good night's rest, I suppose?” She teased with a childish grin across her face. “It was well enough,” he said with a smirk. His wildling friend could only smile back before carving her handmade arrows once again. 

“Do you sharpen your arrows everyday?” He asked curiously. 

“No, not everyday. Just for special occasions or for hunting,” she said as she shook her head. “And what is today’s occasion if I may ask?” Satisfied with his question, the she wildling turned her head once more. “We are going to take you…hunting, Prince Aemond.” Saying his title with a hint of tease, standing up before him. “Taking me for a hunt?” He repeated. 

“Why yes. If you shall fight with us, we would like to see first how well you hunt. How you ride your horse, how quiet your steps are–,” tapping his feet with her bow, recalling how heavy his footsteps were wearing her kind’s heavy boots, “–and how true you were of your skills in swords and such.” 

“You want me to prove myself to you?”

“Oh not to me. But to the Chief, to Gruff, to Yuri, and the whole tribe, basically. I have no doubt for you, my prince,” she mocked with a chuckle, bowing ridiculously in front of him. “Do not taint my title,” Aemond said, a bit frustrated with her childish behaviour yet his words did not scare her, it just made the situation more amusing to her. “You clearly are no fun! But is it true though? Are you actually a prince?” Her bow reaches out to swipe his hair away from his shoulder in which he swats it away with a scowl in his face. “Yes, I am.” 

She snorted. 

“You don’t act like one.” 

Walking away to their horse, Aemond took hold of her with his grip on her arm. 

“Was that supposed to be an insult?”

She snorted once again. Amused with his temper. 

“You tell me,” she cockily said to him before taking her arm away. 

“Besides, I can’t imagine you sitting on a tall palace drinking wine as your servant pour you more into your cup. Whilst you stare down at your people like some kind of god–,”

“–I hate to break your imagination, but I simply do not do that–,”

“–Now you just made me doubt for a second. Maybe you really did do that in your lavish castle,” she teased with a laugh. “And what? You have ten girls surrounding you?” She mocked once more, turning herself to face him as she walked backwards. “If you are asking if I have ten whores, no I do not,” he snarled. “I beg to differ, snow haired. I bet you cuddled with them all day as they fed you the ripest fruit in the realm!” She cackles, throwing her head back as she started to walk side by side with him

“And what of you? You yourself are surrounded by two men,” Aemond bickered back, playing with her games. 

“Gruff and Yuri? You disgust me. They are like brothers to me.”

“But do they see you as a sister?–”

“–Gruff has a wife and Yuri has two children. Do not speak of them that way.” 

Surprisingly, he was satisfied with her answer. 

They walked side by side as the sun shone down on them. 

“But do you actually have maidens by your side?” He heard her ask. 

“Maidens? No, not all the time,” he hummed, his hands behind his back. 

“Not all the time? Then when do you have maidens beside you?”

He knew of the maidens she meant. Not just ordinary girls but women who threw themselves at him. Lovers or mistresses. He recalled one or two. Sylvie and another woman he replaced her with. He doesn’t even know if Alys is considered one. But he didn’t want to admit this to her. And he does not know why. She was just a stupid wildling, why would he care what she thinks of him? She could not change his past and he should not care if it did affect the way she looked at him. But he couldn’t. 

“Why do you want to know so badly?” He instead said, smiling smugly at her. And he swore to the gods he saw a faint of red tint in both of her cheeks. Surely she had them before because of the cold but he could differentiate her usual red cheeks with a woman’s natural blush. “Badly is a strong word. I was just merely curious,” she replied, inserting her arm into her bow. The one eyed prince has a smirk painted on his face as he watches his flustered friend walking ahead of him. It seems he had struck a chord. And he liked it. 

Hunting was a rare activity for him at his youth. His father was too sick to even teach him how to hold a bow and arrow or even a sword. The last time he went hunting was for his ten-and-four nameday. Ser Criston Cole was the one who guided him, Aegon, and Daeron through the woods to catch the biggest boar they could find. Even in that, ser Criston was the one who slew the boar himself for the guard told him that he should not risk himself with hunting since it could put him in risk. 

And now Aemond finds himself hiding between trees and shrubs, sitting close with the she wildling. The others hid in other places around them as the snow fell from the sky, slightly covering the area around them. “Look!” She said, pointing towards a doe, walking curiously around the forest as it sniffs an area uncovered by the light snow. “It should be an easy target,” smirking at the one eyed prince before lending him her bow and arrow. A crossbow, yes he has taken hold of that weapon. But to act as an archer? He is ashamed to admit that he is untalented of that particular skill. “I shall skin the deer–,”

“–No, I want you to do it. Prove to them,” she insisted, nudging his arm with her bow. 

If he lied– no. There is no escape to this. 

“I am untalented with this weapon,” he said, boring his healthy eye onto her eyes that resembled the doe they’re hunting. His heart rate quickened when he didn’t earn an instant answer from her. They were cramped as they hid themselves quietly from their prey. In a swift motion, she positioned herself beside him, guiding his calloused hands to her bow. 

“An untalented can be talented if they try,” she whispered. 

Her whisper was relevant for their situation, yet he felt tiny bumps erupted across his arms. Every word she spoke was like a spell to him, obeying her as he took the bow into his hands. Her small calloused hands guided him to the bow’s grip, close enough for him to feel his cheek pressed to hers. 

“You have your foundations for archery. You just need to take another step further– Keep your grip tight, now pull the string back.”

He did as she told him to. 

Fixing his fingers with hers, calloused and rough that made him want to know every single story behind it. 

He took a deep breath, aiming at their prey. 

“Do not let it slip. Just breathe,” she whispered to him. 

Aemond’s hands were steady, but his pulse hammered like a war drum in his ears.

His bowstring flicked, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he drew the bowstring back, the taut cord singing a soft, tense note. But it hits a tree beside their prey, causing it to flinch and move from its place. 

No, he failed.

“Oi! Catch that deer!” He heard Gruff say from a distance, assuming he said it to the other wildlings that came with, but Aemond wanted to prove himself. He was the one who startled it, letting it run. So he took no choice, leaping from his spot and sprinting to the deer. Startled by a human’s presence, it started to run. But Aemond was close enough to leap and trap the deer with his arms. Tackling it down, he pulled out his dagger. 

Ready to stab his hunt.

But he looked down, finding the doe’s eyes looking up at him with fear. 

It was alive, and it reminded him so much of her. 

Doe. 

He asked himself, why did he become so weak?

Was it grief? Fear? Was it all consuming his bravery?

Or did he just know how to feel once more?

To be alive like he was before they took his eye?

His train of thoughts were suddenly interrupted when an arrow shot through the doe’s body. He looked back, and saw her standing not far from him, lowering down her bow as she saw how distraught he was. She saw through his cowardliness and he was ashamed of it. All this time he thought of her as his prey, someone he could easily devour. But now he was the one who felt powerless. 

He even could not shed a single blood from a doe. 

“You are angry.”

The tent’s flaps were yanked open with a force that sent them flapping wildly against the tent’s sides. Aemond stormed inside as she followed along behind him. His boots pounding the earth with a ferocious rhythm that echoed the thunder of his anger. Each step was a declaration, a defiant stamp that shook through the small, confined space. He grunted, throwing his sword and dagger away. 

“Snow haired–,”

“–Do not call me that!” He hissed, pointing at her as he glared the seven hells out of her. 

“Is your temper that short, Aemond?”

“My temper can be as short as I please.”

Ignoring her question, he sits down and looked away at her as he felt so defeated. 

“Then why was it short today? Was it because of the doe?”

“No,” he coldly replied. 

“Then what is it?” She asked again, sitting on the fur covered ground beside him. Then he felt it, her hand placed on his shoulder. “If it is not because of the doe, then what is it?” Her tone is careful and gentle. Aemond forgot the last time someone asked him why he was angry. Not why he did what he did, but why he was angry. He turned his head slightly towards her direction, but not fully showing her his vulnerability. 

“When you first saw me, what was the first word that came to your mind?” 

A comfortable silence. 

A faint laughter of small children bleeding through the tent. 

“Different,” she answered honestly. 

“How so?” He asked, not daring to lock his eye with her. 

“Your hair. It was silver. And your posture, your physique was not big and rough like northerners,” she explained further. “Did I scare you? When we exchanged words in that bridge?” Playing with the dagger he previously tossed away. “I know I should be, and I was at first. I was scared that you would not help me or my people,” she answered again. “But did I– scared you?”

“You’re asking the wrong person, snow hair.”

A chuckle erupted from him. 

A genuine one. 

“It all felt so easy back then. To kill, I mean. I rode Vhagar on dragon back and burned everything to the ground as I please,” he told her, spacing off to a distance recalling his rage and anger throughout the war. “She was my pride and glory— my dragon, Vhagar. The only thing that preserved my identity and power as a Targaryen prince,”

“So you were not a kind prince,” the spearwife pointed out, listening to every word he uttered. 

“I believe so. A war cannot be won merely by someone occupying a position on a council or residing in a castle. It requires more than just strategic planning and oversight from a distance. Someone has to take direct action on the battlefield, face the dangers, and engage in the conflict firsthand. That was the role I had to take on, and I embraced it more than anyone.”

“But it was not a pure act, I must admit. All the bloodshed I have done were sins that I must pay— and I believe the way to pay for my sins were to suffer like them. The Gods kept me alive a little longer for me to endure the torture I have placed upon— innocent lives at war. I suffered when I placed my foot on winterfell. I suffered when I heard of my brother’s death. I suffered when the gods left me to realize that the war was not worth all the pain.”

Throwing his dagger aside, Aemond clenched his fists tightly, his knuckles paling. It was true—he was furious. His anger was directed at his own blind ambition during the war, the realization hitting him with a pang of regret. Everything he had fought for now seemed meaningless, and he was tormented by uncertainty about his family's fate. While he remained free in the wilderness, he could only wonder what had become of them, knowing he had abandoned them in the process.

Where is duty? 

Lost in his own labyrinth of his mind, he didn’t feel her shift. Their arms touched as the wildling leaned on to speak,

“Everyone who took part in a war has ever felt that way, Aemond. They all thought about what-ifs to escape for a moment from their fate. A war must be won one way or another. But even the one who wins made as many sacrifices as you did. You both endured the same grief as the other.— Both spilled as much blood as the other.” 

“But you are still alive now. You might see it as a punishment, but you have a purpose in life.” Placing her palm on his chest. “You are more than just a pawn at war. This place is not your realm anymore. We live beyond the wall and you are free. You are welcome to be anything, for the wilderness does not limit the people.” 

“But what is my purpose if I am not a Targaryen? What is the purpose of being free if I know that the people I love are caged in the walls of—.” He halted, a pregnant pause. 

Aemond swallowed a lump in his throat, desperate for an answer. 

“Then that is your purpose, is it not? You are free so you could rescue your loved ones from misery. To lead my people back into the wall— pass through it and sail your ship home. Save them from their torment. When 5 people are trapped in a cage, without any of them escaping or letting loose from its cage, they would all be trapped in that cage forever. But you— have escaped. You are outside of your cage and it is your mission to find the key and let them all out.” 

As the wildling’s words flowed, a spark of intrigue ignited in the the one eyed prince’s eye. Each carefully chosen phrase seemed to resonate deeply, building a sense of connection and understanding. His posture relaxed and their gaze sharpened with growing admiration. Slowly turning his head to face his now companion. 

“How old are you, wildling?” He asked.

“I just turned twenty years of age. Why do you ask?” 

“I am one year older than you, yet I feel like a boy beside you.” 

She smiled gently at him, letting out a bashful chuckle.

“Your mind is clouded by your emotions. I am sure you are just as intelligent as anyone.” 

The air crackled with a charged tension. The girl and the prince sat close, their proximity amplifying the intensity of their unspoken connection. Shadows danced on the fabric walls as they exchanged glances that lingered longer than usual, each look revealing a flicker of vulnerability and curiosity. The silence between them was thick, filled with an electric anticipation, as if every word they might speak could unravel the depth of their hidden emotions.

“Preserving my identity as a Targaryen means so much more to me than I can imagine,” he whispered.

“Then preserve it. Don’t let it slip away from your grasp.”

Their nose almost touched as Aemond felt his body drawn to her. The way she never felt him lesser, validating his feelings that no one could ever did in his life. Helping him to crawl out from his own darkness. 

Her eyes still reminded him of the doe he failed to kill. He could devour her right now if he wanted, for she was supposed to be his prey and pawn. But something changed within him. He does not wish to over power her. He does not want to exploit her the way he did with the others. She was his prey but he did not want to make her as one.

He refused to kill the doe.

He refused to harm his doe.

His doe.

Brushing a strand of hair away from her face, he sighed. “But I have changed now. I am not the same person I was in the war,” he confessed.

“Then what shall you do about it?” She asked.

Reaching out for his dagger once more, he looked down upon the sharp edge of it. “The Targaryens were identified with its silver hair, and I would like to keep it that way.”

Taking her hand gently in his, he placed the dagger in her palm.

“But I want to leave bad omen from my identity. For I have changed. My hair was long when the war started— and now it has ended. It is time to cut away the man I once was.”

a/n: they’re evolving😈😈😈 STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER🌷✨🎀

[huramuna]

selkie's song - chapter 2.

night's watch aemond x wildling shapeshifter ofc work is 18+, minors do not interact, lest ye be smited.

this is wholly inspired by lonelymagpies depiction of Night's Watch Aemond. please go check out their beautiful work here!

a bit of worldbuilding in this chapter and descriptions of euna's tribe! i have no idea if any of the things i described would actually work but fuck it we ball

previous | next chapter

word count: 2.3k

content: smut (eventually, specifics will be under the cut of chapters with it), enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, canon divergence, ofc is a menace to Aemond and he kind of likes it

enough for now - the fray • heartache - toby fox (undertale ost)

Preservation. Tradition. Perseverance. The mantra of Euna’s family. Her family had once been large— the ones related to her by blood, atleast. 

She remembered faint memories of her mother, her grandmother and grandfather and half a dozen cousins, aunts, uncles, laughing around a fire and eating roasted venison. Her mother’s father would tell stories of ghastly white creatures lurking in the mountains and caves, waiting for naughty children to be alone. Euna would cling to her cousin, half crying and screaming and giggling— she couldn’t even remember her cousin’s name anymore. 

She couldn’t remember their faces, none of them. When she really focused her mind, their visages were like streaky paintings, a collage of colors faded and damaged and the only thing that stuck were her mother’s blue eyes. Sometimes she would dream and see her family again, but they would all be withered and bones protruding, their eyes a sickly blue glow. Nothing like her mother’s— something dangerous. She usually awoke in a cold sweat and in need of a swim. 

Her papa, her father, was the only one left related to her by blood in her tribe. His hair, once deep brown, was now starkened white with age, his beard long and braided. He used a femur bone of an elk mended with a cedar branch as a cane, his left leg lame since the day they lost almost everyone. 

The earth had opened and swallowed them whole, shaking with deathly tremors. Their homes collapsed in on them, the ones who hadn’t fell into the crevices in the ground. Euna and her father had been away from camp that day, swimming near the lake miles away. They came back to destruction of everything they knew— and all traces of any of their family had been destroyed by the quake. It was as if they never existed, and their camp was long abandoned. The earth gives, as it takes away.

She was young then, mayhaps too young to even know what happened. Her mind did her a favor by stowing away those memories— they’re too painful to remember. 

She swam to quell the pain, ever aching and nipping at her heels. Tightening her seal fur cloak, her bare feet dipped into the water. The transformation was a swift feat for her now, as easy as changing one’s clothes, she slipped into the skin of her seal form, gliding through the water. She felt at home here, as if this was where she was meant to be. She swam past the schools of trout, chomping a few for a quick snack– rainbow trout were her favorite next to salmon and red fish. She was supposed to be on patrol, but patrol meant there was some leader, some sort of organization within their ranks. The Free Folk had no laws, no one to tell them what they should and shouldn’t do and the strongest were the ones that usually prevailed. 

They weren’t even meant to be patrolling for crows that day– they could care less about the kneelers beyond the wall, they could do as they liked. Euna’s tribe had been in a few skirmishes with the neighboring free folk that dwelled past the Haunted Woods. 

One of the crows screamed about an ambush– as if it was anything like that, they were just walking through, Euna swimming in the stream near the trail. Lifting her head from the water, she smelled the heady scent of the invading tribe. They had been aiming to shoot one of Euna’s companions– and landed on a crow instead.

Euna had held her knife to many throats, crow and free folk alike— but none interested her like this purple eyed fellow. She could feel his presence, smelling of ash and brimstone, underlying with musk and sandalwood. It reminded her of a smell she couldn’t quite place. The warmth that emanated off of him wasn’t normal and she wondered if he had a second layer of fat to keep warm like she did as a seal– upon second inspection, that couldn’t be true. He was a skinny waif of a man.

‘Aemond’. A silly name, with a proper way of speaking and a gemmed eye. Odd man indeed. 

She strung him along, “You don’t belong with those crows do you?” she asked, “You’re more fancy, primmed n’ proper.” 

He snorted, “I wouldn’t say I’m primmed and proper. But yes, I don’t truly belong to them.” 

“Where are you from then?” she asked as they meandered through the snow laden woods, their feet crunching aloft the frost.

“The South.”

“Everything beyond the wall is the south to us, crow. Be more specific.”

“King’s Landing.” he responded, his voice a bit clipped.

Euna shrugged her shoulders, “Never heard of it.”

This elicited something of a laughing snort from the crow, “You don’t know much, do you, wildling?”

“In terms of you kneeler’s way of life, I ‘spose not. I heard that you all think of women lesser and her value is measured by what old lord’s seed she spawned from, and which old lord she is wedded to. Seems all a bit barbaric to me.”

“Hm.” Aemond hummed.

“You don’t talk much? Seems you’re a bit upset you got bested by a wildling savage woman, huh?”

“No. Not so much that you’re a woman or a wildling. I think I’m more ‘upset’ as you say, that I got bested by a pipsqueak. I thought wildlings were supposed to be tall. You’re hardly taller than my child nephew and niece.”

Euna’s brow furrowed, “You aren’t a solid brick, neither, crow. You’ve got a waist like a svelte little ermine,” she giggled, tugging him along further, “Too tall for an ermine, maybe a marten or polecat.”

“Gods– the punishment doesn’t seem to cease, does it? I’ve gotten captured by the mouthiest wildling in the entirety of the North.”

“Haven’t met many, have you? If you think I’m mouthy, you’re in for a surprise once we get to my camp.”

They walked for the better part of a day, Euna prattling on about various things and Aemond being mostly silent– with a few well timed quips and jabs here and there.

The wind picked up, the smell of salt and brine wafting along with the breeze. They neared a valley hugged by two cliffsides, which bordered the sea. It was a bit icy beyond, shards of glaciers floating in crystal clear waters. Below the surface were expanses of kelp forests, wafting against the tide. The valley led through to a village with quite a few buildings– most were small, home-sized, and there was a large one in the center, lit with a few animal bone sconces. Coastal caves were lining the walls of the cliffs, some lit emitting from within them.

The village came alive with people– husbands and wives welcoming home their significant others, children gathering at the feet of the warriors, and oldened parents checking in on their kin. It was all a sign of warmth, of community. Something about it made Aemond feel homesick– almost.

“Ah, Euna!” an older man bellowed. He was tall and broad with a grizzled brown beard, speckled with white, “See you caught yourself a crow, huh? Something to add to your collection of shiny things?” he clapped her on the shoulder with the force that almost sent her toppling.

“Yup– ain’t no regular stinky crow, either. He’s surely one of those fancy lords– he doesn’t speak like other crows. Mine’s got some decorum– and an odd eye like me.”

The man came forward, scratching at his beard. He observed Aemond up and down– he was at least a head taller than the scorned prince. “What’s your name, crow?”

“Aemond.” he answered, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

“Chieftan Cailean,” the broad man responded, “You’d best listen to Euna, since you’re seemin’ apart of her horde now, eh? Small she may be, but you might wake up with your balls sliced off. Ain’t no exaggeration either, seen it happen.”

“All due respect to the small one, but I am no one’s possession.” Aemond responded quickly, his voice dripping with venom. His lip was curled in slight disgust at the insinuation. 

Cailean put his hands up, “I ain’t got no jurisdiction over what Euna does with her stockpile, that’s all her. But, when I hear you screamin’ and moanin’ about your lost nads, don’t say that Cailean didn’t warn you.”

Euna huffed, “Mouthy crow, don’t need you spewing stuff at my papa when we get there,” she cut a piece of leather from her tunic and wrapped it around his mouth, to which he looked absolutely livid about, “Too noisy.”

Cailean laughed– a deep, clamoring noise, “You’ve done it now, crow.”

Euna led them to a smaller hut near the shore, pushing in the driftwood door. The aroma of sea air was strong in this particular part of the village, mingling with the smell of burning sage and incense. “Papa?” she murmured, “I’m back.”

“Euna? Dear girl, c’mere,” an old voice called, “I’m at the sea door.” 

Walking further into the home, it was quite cozy– a small fire pit was in the center of the main room, filtering out through a hole in the ceiling, as well as some smaller horizontal filters on the siding of the roof. It was decorated with dozens of shells and some of the finest pearls that Aemond’s ever seen– not even anything from Driftmark rivaled the quality of the pearls strung up on the walls of the house. Dried seaweed hung in the windows, which were shrouded by nearly transparent stretched pieces of leather or pelt– likely from some livestock animal, a lamb or goat. Leading on further into the abode, they stopped at the round entrance to some sort of tunnel– Aemond remembered seeing this house pushed to the back of one of the cliff walls. 

An older man was standing there– he was balding, his once brown hair receding into a wispy white, his beard tied into a braid with a pearl inlaid cord. His left leg was crippled and twisted at a wrong angle, but the injury didn’t appear to be new– it was old, the skin set taut like forged steel. Against the wall was a gnarled cane, carved from cedar and a femur bone of an elk. There were images carved into the cedar, the red core of the wood eking out against the sullen brown– it was depictions of seals weaving and bobbing through a kelp forest. The man turned towards them both, raising his brow. One of his eyes was a milky white, a jagged scar going down it. 

Euna felt Aemond shift slightly as he looked at her father, his eye zeroing in on his scar– the old man stared back with the same intensity. “I caught a crow, papa,” she hummed, breaking the slight tension, “He’s got a fancy eye– or two, ‘spose.”

“You got a name, boy?” her father asked, stepping a bit closer and observing him further. His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grinned, “Ah, been too mouthy, then? Euna’s got you stopped up from talkin’. Should be feeling lucky that it’s just temporary and she ain’t taken your tongue. You can call me Atohi.”

Aemond grunted in response, glaring daggers at Euna, who reached up and took out the leather from his mouth. “Aemond. Your daughter is a little beast.”

“Heard that one many times before, you ain’t the first, nay be the last to tell me I got a creature for a child,” Atohi shrugged his shoulders, “Hungry there, Aemond? Got some fish cakes baking.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to feel like a guest rather than a prisoner, which he was. The friendliness of everyone was unnerving to him– their words didn’t seem to be laced with venom or ulterior motive, as far as he could tell. He wanted to refuse– but his stomach growled, and the last seven moons on gruel at Castle Black made it hard to. He clenched his jaw, “I suppose I could eat.”

“Ah, good man. Seems he’s smarter than other crows– it's rude to refuse food.” 

Euna turned to Aemond, cutting through the leather cord binding his hands together, “Let you stretch your wings a bit, you won’t run, will you?”

The scorned prince glared at the wildling woman, his nostrils flaring. He looked at the Catspaw dagger still on her hip– he should grab it and slaughter the both of them and leave– but where would he go? Castle Black was a hell on its own, and he’d likely be marked as craven for returning alive after his brothers had been slain. Lord Commander Fir has had it out for him ever since he arrived, the old bastard likely spinning the tale of the scorned Targaryen prince was a coward and ran away from battle.

Gritting his teeth, he nodded, “What sort of fish is in the cakes?”

Atohi clapped Aemond on the back, leading him towards the larger room once more, “That’d be some red fish, you ever have red fish, son?” he poked at the ashes in the fireplace, turning his cane and hooking a stone grate, revealing the fishcakes within. They were being baked below the surface of the fire in a subterranean oven.

Aemond shook his head, glancing around. Euna was nowhere to be found– she slipped away as soon as she’d cut his bindings. He didn’t hear her leave, the driftwood door in front of them hadn’t been opened.

“Euna is always popping in and out, hope you weren’t too keen on speaking to her soon. She’ll be back in a bit.”

“Hm,” he snorted, sitting down in front of the fire on a log carved chair, “I need a reprieve from that hellion.” 

“You’ll get used to it,” Atohi said, rolling up one of the lambskin window shades, letting the smoke ventilate further, “You kneelers seem to have a way of thinkin’ you can tame women– ain’t no tamin’ that one, you’ll die trying.” 

This particular window was facing the sea, the waves rolling and waning, splashing against the cliffside near them. A gray and white seal was dancing through the tide.

[novaursa]

This is a really vauge and obscure kind of ask but could you write anything for Styr? The wildling thenn that only was in a few episodes, but he was always interesting to me..

A Wild Heart

Requests are closed!

- Summary: You always followed your twin. You even went with him into the heart of the Free Folk territory without a question. And in the process of following Jon, you catch someone’s attention.

- Note: The reader is Jon's twin sister.

- Paring: snow!reader/Styr the Thenn

- Rating: Mild 13+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: Nothing is too obscure for me, dear anon. I got you. ❤️

The wind bites as you ride through the snow-covered hills, the cold seeping through every layer of fur and cloth you wear. Jon is beside you, his face hard beneath the shadow of his hood, eyes ever watchful as he scans the land ahead. You've always been the more reckless of the two, your spirit untamed as wild as the lands you now find yourself in. Jon, for all his brooding, has always been the one to pull you back, to keep you grounded when your instincts urge you to run free. But even he can't fully hide the unease in his expression as you venture deeper into the world of the Free Folk.

The air is thick with tension as you arrive at the camp. The smell of smoke and meat drifts toward you, but the eyes that follow your every move are not kind. You feel them sizing you up, wondering what a woman from the south is doing here, with your dark hair that mirrors Jon’s and a face they've learned to distrust.

As you dismount, Jon stays close, a silent reminder of the bond you share, the only constant in this unfamiliar world. But even your brother can’t protect you from the attention of him. You feel it before you even see him—Styr, the Magnar of Thenn. His gaze burns like a brand as it settles on you, piercing through the layers of snow and distance. There's something unsettling about the way he watches you, something raw and primal.

You’ve heard the stories, of course. The Thenns are not like the other Free Folk. They have a culture of their own, strict and unyielding, and Styr is their leader, their Magnar. His name carries weight, whispered with both fear and respect among the people of the North. But none of that truly prepares you for his presence in the flesh.

When you finally lock eyes with him, it's as if the world stills. He’s tall, impossibly so, his body draped in furs, his head bald and his face marked with deep, harsh lines that speak of a life of constant struggle. His eyes, though—those cold, sharp eyes—are what pin you in place. There’s no warmth in them, but there’s something else. Interest.

Jon stiffens beside you, his hand falling casually to the hilt of his sword, but you know better than to show fear. You meet Styr’s gaze, refusing to look away even though every part of you screams to do so. You will not be cowed, not by anyone, least of all by this Magnar who seems to think he can read you like a map.

"Your sister," Styr says, his voice rough and low, directed at Jon. "She has fire in her."

Jon’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t speak, waiting for you to answer for yourself. You straighten, squaring your shoulders, your breath coming out in visible puffs of air as you take a step forward, closer to Styr.

"I have more than fire," you reply, your voice steady, though your heart hammers in your chest. "I have steel too."

A small smile, more a curl of the lips than anything else, tugs at the corner of Styr’s mouth. "A bold one. We’ll see how long that fire lasts beyond the Wall."

It’s a challenge, and you know it. You feel Jon's concern in the air between you, but you press forward, unwilling to shrink in the face of this man’s provocation. "It'll last as long as it needs to."

There’s a flicker of something in Styr’s expression—amusement, maybe—but it passes as quickly as it came. His eyes sweep over you once more, a slow, deliberate appraisal, before he turns and gestures for the others to follow him.

Jon moves to walk beside you, his steps heavy with warning. "You don’t want to get too close to him," he mutters under his breath. "The Thenns... they’re different."

You glance at your brother, seeing the worry etched in his brow. "I can handle myself, Jon."

He doesn’t reply, but the tension between you remains. Jon is your twin, the one who’s always tried to protect you, even when you didn’t ask for it. But you’ve never needed saving, not from men like Styr, or from anyone else.

Later, when the camp settles and the fires burn low, you feel Styr’s eyes on you again. This time, he doesn’t try to hide it. He approaches you with the slow, deliberate movements of a predator sizing up its prey.

"You think you’re strong," he says quietly, his voice barely more than a growl. "But strength in these lands is not the same as in the South."

You lift your chin, defiant. "Then I'll learn."

He steps closer, so close that you can feel the heat of his body despite the cold, and your heart skips a beat. There’s something dangerous in his proximity, something that stirs beneath your skin, a tension you can't name.

"You will," Styr murmurs, his gaze never leaving yours. "Because if you don’t, you won’t survive."

His words linger in the air between you, a promise as much as a threat. You don’t flinch, don’t look away. Instead, you hold his gaze, the fire inside you burning all the brighter for the challenge he represents.

In the silence that follows, you realize something that both excites and unnerves you: Styr, the Magnar of Thenn, doesn’t want to break your fire. He wants to feed it.

[marichive]

𝐒𝐍𝐎𝐖 : 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄

Writing / roleplay prompts collected from the POV chapters of Jon Snow in A Storm of Swords , the third book of the ASOIAF saga. Feel free to adjust pronouns / etc. as needed.

tw: dark & mature themes, death, violence, suggestive / sexual content

❝ I am dead to the world. ❞

❝ Might be you fooled the others, but don’t think you’ll be fooling him. ❞

❝ He’ll take one look at you and know you’re false. ❞

❝ In your hearts you all want to fly free. ❞

❝ And when I’m free, will I be free to go? ❞

❝ It’s dangerous being free. ❞

❝ He has a wolfish cast to him, now as I look close. ❞

❝ They don’t care much for that beast of yours. ❞

❝ They’re dogs and he’s a wolf. ❞

❝ They know he’s not their kind. ❞

❝ We’ll make camp here. ❞

❝ We’ll gut him after. ❞

❝ These two are more dangerous by far. ❞

❝ He slew him with his own hand. ❞

❝ Spin yourself around, might be you’d find who you’re looking for. ❞

❝ How . . . how could you know? ❞

❝ That’s a tale for later. ❞

❝ How did you like the song? ❞

❝ What does it matter, for all men must die. ❞

❝ It was his doing more than mine. ❞

❝ He was my enemy, but also my brother, once. ❞

❝ Shall I thank you for killing him? Or curse you? ❞

❝ Thank me for killing your enemy, and curse me for killing your friend. ❞

❝ If you would join us, you’d best know us. ❞

❝ Treat her like you would any queen. ❞

❝ She is carrying my child. ❞

❝ This beauty is her sister. ❞

❝ The man beside her is her latest pet. ❞

❝ I am no man’s pet. ❞

❝ Where did you come from? ❞

❝ Who told you where we were? ❞

❝ Some day try thinking before you speak. ❞

❝ That’s why he’s king and I’m not. ❞

❝ I would speak with him alone. ❞

❝ I eat in no hall where I’m not welcome. ❞

❝ Sit if you like. Are you hungry? ❞

❝ I would be pleased to eat. Thank you. ❞

❝ Take care not to play tricks with me. ❞

❝ I promised you a tale before, of how I knew you. ❞

❝ Have you puzzled it out yet? ❞

❝ I knew your face. I’ve seen it before. ❞

❝ That can’t be so. ❞

❝ I wanted to see him with my own eyes. ❞

❝ The Wall can stop an army, but not a man alone. ❞

❝ Freeriders and hedge knights are always attaching themselves to royal processions. ❞

❝ I know every bawdy song that’s ever been made. ❞

❝ I did not steal either of your sisters that I recall. ❞

❝ Once I’d eaten at his board I was protected by guest right. ❞

❝ The laws of hospitality are as old as the First Men, as sacred as a heart tree. ❞

❝ Here you are the guest, and safe from harm at my hands . . . this night, at least. ❞

❝ Is there another reason that brings you to my tent? ❞

❝ Weigh every word before you speak it. ❞

❝ The wildling blood is the blood of the First Men, the same blood that flows in the veins of the Starks. ❞

❝ My lady is blameless. ❞

❝ I have a great fondness for the charms of women. ❞

❝ There are men still wearing black who have had ten times as many women. ❞

❝ It was the greatest treasure she had, and her gift to me. ❞

❝ I left for a place where a kiss was not a crime, and a man could wear any cloak he chose. ❞

❝ There is only one tale that he might believe. ❞

❝ Big enough for you? ❞

❝ Giants have no kings. ❞

❝ What did you say to him? ❞

❝ Was that the Old Tongue? ❞

❝ Now why would you doubt a mighty man like me? ❞

❝ It was winter and I was half a boy, and stupid the way boys are. ❞

❝ How did you come by your other names? ❞

❝ She has a temper on her, that one, but oh, she can be warm too. ❞

❝ In the deep of winter a man needs his warmth. ❞

❝ The more I drank the more I thought about her. ❞

❝ Would that I could find her again. ❞

❝ Why refuse her? She’d hardly give you any fight at all, seems to me. ❞

❝ The girl wants you in her, that’s plain enough to see. ❞

❝ I am a man of the Night’s Watch. ❞

❝ Cold water is better if you’ve got someone to warm you up after. ❞

❝ A little ice won’t kill you. ❞

❝ Do you mislike the girl? ❞

❝ I am still too young to wed. ❞

❝ Wed? Who spoke of wedding? ❞

❝ Must a man wed every girl he beds? ❞

❝ I would not dishonor her. ❞

❝ What dishonor if you lay together? ❞

❝ I might get her with child. ❞

❝ A strong son or a lively laughing girl, where’s the harm in that? ❞

❝ The child would be a bastard. ❞

❝ I will not father a bastard. ❞

❝ I swear, I’ve never touched her. ❞

❝ I will kill him if I must. ❞

❝ We need not slay a thousand, only one. He is all that keeps them together. ❞

❝ Why are you weeping? It was only a song. ❞

❝ You know nothing. ❞

❝ You should never have lied to me. ❞

❝ I am fast losing patience with you. ❞

❝ You’ll find a use for him, or you’re a fool. ❞

❝ I never asked you to lie for me. ❞

❝ Deeds are truer than words. ❞

❝ We look up at the same stars and see such different things. ❞

❝ We have to part. Do you understand? ❞

❝ You cannot come with me. ❞

❝ Two hearts that beat as one. ❞

❝ I have no choice. ❞

❝ If I refuse her, she will know me for a turncloak. ❞

❝ I am playing the part I was told to play. ❞

❝ Isn’t that good? ❞

❝ I had to do it once, to prove I’d abandoned my vows. ❞

❝ I had to make her trust me. ❞

❝ Even my father stumbled once, when he forgot his marriage vows and sired a bastard. ❞

❝ It will never happen again. ❞

❝ If only it were that easy. ❞

❝ If you lie to me, I will have your tongue. ❞

❝ If all of them behaved like him, it would be easier to betray them. ❞

❝ An old woman, am I? ❞

❝ You’re older than me. ❞

❝ I want you to see me. ❞

❝ We shouldn’t ─ ❞

❝ If you want to look you have to show. ❞

❝ I know I want you. ❞

❝ I love the smell of you. ❞

❝ I love your hair. ❞

❝ I love your mouth, and the way you kiss me. I love your smile. ❞

❝ I love your legs, and what’s between them. ❞

❝ If you love me all so much, why are you still dressed? ❞

❝ That thing you did. With your . . . mouth. Is that what lords do to their ladies? ❞

❝ You seemed to like it. ❞

❝ There’s been no one. Only you. ❞

❝ If this is so wrong, why did the gods make it feel so good? ❞

❝ He’s a ruler, not a raider. ❞

❝ No wall can keep you safe. ❞

❝ A wall is only as strong as the men who defend it. ❞

❝ How long can they keep on with that? ❞

❝ Why are you crying? ❞

❝ We could bathe in the hot pools, and love beneath the heart tree while the Old Gods watch over us. ❞

❝ Even the promise of land will not lure men north with a winter coming on. ❞

❝ What’s wrong with flowers? ❞

❝ A man can own a woman or a man can own a knife, but no man can own both. Every little girl learns that from her mother. ❞

❝ He cannot win this war. ❞

❝ They fight with reckless courage, every man out for glory. ❞

❝ When it comes to battle, discipline beats valor every time. ❞

❝ You’re mine. Mine, as I’m yours. ❞

❝ If we die, we die. All men must die, but first, we’ll live. ❞

❝ Is this a trick to get the clothes off me? ❞

❝ Do I need a trick for that, now? ❞

❝ I have never seen a dragon. ❞

❝ The last dragons died a hundred years ago or more. ❞

❝ I will fall into those eyes and drown. ❞

❝ You were wrong to love her. ❞

❝ You were wrong to leave her. ❞

❝ Your leg is drenched in blood. ❞

❝ You’re white as milk, and burning hot besides. I’m taking you to the maester. ❞

❝ You must tell me all you’ve seen and done. ❞

❝ Who was it? Who turned on him? ❞

❝ We should have seen it coming. ❞

❝ He is bringing milk of the poppy. ❞

❝ She’s warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. ❞

❝ I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but . . . ❞

❝ I will not scream. ❞

❝ Be gentle with yourself. ❞

❝ You must give yourself time to heal. ❞

❝ He doesn’t know. ❞

❝ Much and more happened while you were away. ❞

❝ I can fight. ❞

❝ Your leg’s healed, is it? ❞

❝ You’ll find nothing here but death. ❞

❝ Bastards are wanton and treacherous by nature, having been born of lust and deceit. ❞

❝ It does not matter how brave or brilliant a man is if his commands cannot be heard. ❞

❝ What gods do you pray to? ❞

❝ He may be pretty, but he’s quick. ❞

❝ A man is never so vulnerable in battle as when he flees. ❞

❝ The battle’s done. The maester will see to you. ❞

❝ You’re kissed by fire, remember? Lucky. ❞

❝ It will take more than an arrow to kill you. ❞

❝ We’ll get you some milk of the poppy for the pain. ❞

❝ We should have stayed in that cave. ❞

❝ You’re not going to die. You’re not. ❞

❝ There is no place for you here. Go away. ❞

❝ We will fight a battle, and then we’ll rest. Alive or dead, we’ll rest. ❞

❝ I want a fire, a hot meal, a warm bed, and something to make my leg stop hurting. ❞

❝ You. You must lead. ❞

❝ It must be you or no one. ❞

❝ It’s good that he can make a jape of it. Someone has to. ❞

❝ The child must be coming very soon. ❞

❝ I will hear these explanations for myself. ❞

❝ Do you deny that you took her into your bed? ❞

❝ Did you think my skull was stuffed with cabbage? ❞

❝ I don’t know what your skull is stuffed with, My Lord. ❞

❝ I know what it is to be betrayed by men you trusted. ❞

❝ I made a botch of that. ❞

❝ I have decided to give you one last chance to prove you are as loyal as you claim. ❞

❝ The hottest fires burn out the quickest. ❞

❝ The joining works both ways, warg. ❞

❝ Sorcery is a sword without a hilt. There is no safe way to grasp it. ❞

❝ You can kill your enemies, but can you rule your friends? ❞

❝ You knew nothing of this, did you? ❞

❝ You best get back inside the tent. ❞

❝ It’s as they say. This is his true queen. ❞

❝ You are not cold, My Lady? ❞

❝ The lord’s fire lives within me. Feel. ❞

❝ That is how life should feel. Only death is cold. ❞

❝ You are a warg, they say, a skinchanger who walks at night as a wolf. ❞

❝ How much of it is true? ❞

❝ Your father was no friend of mine, but only a fool would doubt his honor or his honesty. ❞

❝ You have his looks. ❞

❝ I know more than you might think. ❞

❝ He trusted too easily, else he would not have died as he did. ❞

❝ She and the babe did not require much capturing. ❞

❝ She wants to bring his son to him. ❞

❝ Why should I do him a kindness? ❞

❝ You are fond of her? ❞

❝ I scarcely know her. ❞

❝ They tell me she is comely. ❞

❝ Beauty can be treacherous. ❞

❝ I was trying to win the throne to save the kingdom, when I should have been trying to save the kingdom to win the throne. ❞

❝ There is where I’ll find the foe that I was born to fight. ❞

❝ His name may not be spoken. ❞

❝ It may be that this is your war as well, if you will give me your help. ❞

❝ I need more than a sword from you. ❞

❝ I need the North. ❞

❝ I loved my brother. ❞

❝ The castle can be rebuilt in time. ❞

❝ It’s not the walls that make a lord, it’s the man. ❞

❝ Your men do not know me, have no reason to love me, yet I will need their strength in the battles yet to come. ❞

❝ A king can remove the taint of bastardy with a stroke. ❞

❝ When the cold winds rise, we shall live or die together. ❞

❝ It is time we made alliance against our common foe. Would you agree? ❞

❝ The surest way to seal a new alliance is with marriage. ❞

❝ This match is necessary, to help assure the loyalty of our new subjects. ❞

❝ Are you refusing me? ❞

❝ This has all come very suddenly. Might I beg you for some time to consider? ❞

❝ I thought I had forgotten that. ❞

❝ Why am I so angry? ❞

❝ I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. ❞

❝ I have always wanted it. ❞

❝ He belongs to the Old Gods, this one. ❞

❝ A warg walks among us, brothers. ❞

❝ This beastling is not fit to live! ❞

❝ You’re all a bunch of mad foods, do you know that? ❞

❝ I think you’re going to need a lot of wine. ❞