#GoTfic

[justadram]

Later Nights

an Olympic Broadcast AU Jon/Sansa fic, rated E by justadram

Her husband, Jon Snow, might be in his off-season--blessedly. But with the Summer Olympics around the corner, her late-night Olympic show producer, Tyrion Lannister, hasn't forgotten about the unlikely Team USA star and their recording-setting ratings in 2022. He has his sights set on a triumphant rematch between the newlyweds any way he can get it.

Sequel to Late Night

[ariastarke]

everyone knows you're the way to my heart,  part ii.

Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Arya Stark / Gendry Waters Series: N/A Words: 15,025 Chapter(s): 2/2 Rating: Explicit

France, 1992. Arya Stark's career is far from over, and this is her opportunity to prove it. Nothing, not even a former skating partner turned coach for a male singles skater, is going to change that.

Arya hasn't seen Gendry Waters in four years. Not since Calgary, not since a devastating loss that shook her to her core���and not since she lost her shot at a gold medal.

That hurt, too.

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

no shrine, no grove, no oracle

She will be radiant as the sun, as rich as the Stepstone Galaxies, and more beautiful than Queen Cersei herself.

They say a prophecy is like a treacherous woman. She takes your member in her mouth, and you moan with the pleasure of it and think, how sweet, how fine, how good this is, and then her teeth snap shut and your moans turn to screams.

—

A Cupid & Psyche Retelling for @bidonica

[consistentsquash]

Asoiaf Detailed Rec - Rubicon: A Dreamer's Sextet

Asoiaf Sunday! Easter Sunday so best time to rec a fic about the Failed!Jesus archetype Rhaegar Targaryen. I am actually late by one day but anyway.

TL;DR - He's a total loser. But also the guy who never learned to hate.

My fav author summary ever - She is horny. He is not. They live.

Why Rec - Because using sex for character development and story exposition is valid! Because good ace representation doesn't have to always mean sex repulsed. Because sometimes humans do be complicated and messy. Because established relationship means you have got to keep establishing it. Because het doesn't mean it can't be super queer. Rhaegar is Ace coded with really low/zero sex drive but he's got the kinkiest married sex life and that becomes the biggest building block in their relationship. This is actually my favorite Ace characterization I have personally read.

YMMV - I feel like when a fic deviates from a lot of standard conventions it can be a tough sell. Which is totally understandable. I am reccing it because I loved it. But of course YMMV. These things are subjective. There is a lot of sex for exposition which can also be YMMV.

Big things - This fic won't make sense if you don't have some basic info about their canon.

Ok! Time for details! Sorry if my rec is really bad but I don't go for het fics normally. Also no agegaps. Also they are married. Also they have kids. Stuff I totally nope out of. Idk I mean trust me. It's an eldritcher fic. So it's just really weird/sensitive/brilliant. Nothing is normal.

Will probably clean this up for writing a meta on AO3 later :D If i get the motivation.

Link - Rubicon: A Dreamer's Sextet

Author - eldritcher

Pairing - Rhaegar/Elia. There is also some vibes of Rhaegar/Oberyn but it's complicated.

Type - het, canon divergence, Not canon compliant in the sense Rhaegar, Elia and their children survive

Length - 150000 words. Complete. It's a collection of fics. So depending on whether you read the full thing or just some one shots the length is going to be different. I used the series length here. We get POV one shots from Rhaegar, Elia, Aerys, Rhaella, Arthur Dayne, Rhaenys, Lyanna, Oberyn, Doran. Highly recommend reading the full thing because it's brilliant.

Themes - Asexuality

One of the best parts about this fic. It really said here is this handsome hero archetype everybody crushes on. Also he is Ace. Deal with it. Total sensualist. But you can have sensuality w/o wanting sex. You can also be sex positive. You can also be bi and ace. Like you can be anything and how you feel about things can change from time to time. Mess is ok. Of course it doesn't say it like it. The fic doesn't feel like checklists on good rep. It's just when you read it you get it. YMMV. Idk if that's better than flat out saying things. But this really worked for me. Also the reason why I am writing a het fic rec. Omg.

Themes - Masculinity

Rhaegar's characterization is a meditiation on masculinity. Idk how to explain. But it breaks him down in this flesh and blood style. Really sensitive. Normally in fanfic/romance genre I am more used to seeing sensitive takes on female characters instead of male characters. Especially cishet hero type male characters in a het fic where they can be for wish fulfilment type roles. Slash fic is of course different but also similar. One of the M/M characters generally will get more sensitivity/focus compared to the other character. This is pretty different. The vulnerability/nuance in Rhaegar's characterization is insane.

Themes - Queer

Asoiaf fandom like hp fandom can get pretty weird about what a het fic should be like. Probably not the right place to talk about it. But I feel fanfics can be subversive in a lot of ways. I really love how this fic subverts some fandom concept of a het fic. Rhaegar and Elia are really queer in the sense they are super different. They are not neurotypical, they both have hyperfixations, dysphoria but at like some emotional level. Anyway it's the type of mess idk how to describe because they are super messy humans.

Odd and odd, matched in equal wedlock, and it has become something like felicity.

It really says you can be weird and also the world's biggest loser but you can be happy in a relationship.

Themes - Failure

The biggest win of this fic is the Rhaegar POV. He is a pretty controversial/polarizing character whose motives are unknown/ambiguous in canon. Fandom can get into whitewashing/bashing territory for that type of character.

This fic straight out builds his character as a failure and also makes us sympathize with him. I mean you end up rooting for him because that's how great the character development is.

He carries the rivers he failed to cross.

Themes - Love

A really unconventional love story. But it's definitely love. It's the type of love that just becomes mythological but like without epic soundtracks or montages.

There is a promise in the reek of burned clothes and hair and the man bathed in her water. Something of the father handed to the spouse. It is only a promise. Words are not deeds. It is only a promise, that he will cross this last river to her.

What I really love is how they really fail a lot. Like they make promises and don't succeed like they want. But it's ok. Because trying your best counts! Points for effort! :D

Themes - Hope

I mean! This is an eldritcher fic. Hope is everywhere! The vibe is pretty Tolkien about that. Sometimes you got to believe in stories and that's what you need to get to the other side of some tunnel.

"Nymeria fled the cruel dragon-lords after Garin fell. She took her people with her, on any sea-worthy vessel they could get their hands on. They sailed, for months and months, until months became years. Many perished, many deserted, many rebelled. One night, Nymeria stood at the steer of her vessel, and looked up at the bare sky in despair. Perhaps she prayed to a god. Perhaps she prayed to none. A star rose for her. Bright it was, and enduring. She led her fleet where the star went, south and south and south, until they washed ashore on Dorne. There, waiting for her, beneath the star, was Mors Martell. Gladly, she married him and twined their houses, binding her sun to his spear. He gave her a myrtle crown and taught her about the fruitage of oranges. Thus she became the Dornishman's wife." An old tale Doran liked to tell Oberyn and her when they were children. Her odd husband listens to her raptly. There is a strangeness in him that is not merely dragon-blood or dreams. She thumbs his brows to undo the frown that has settled there. Children believe in stories. And it is belief that gives stories life. "Only a story," she tells him.

Themes - Feminism

Really, really feminist. I mean. Idk how to explain. It is a Rhaegar centric fic. But a male protagonist doesn't have to mean you can't have a fic which is feminist. Rubicon is pretty uncompromising on that. No boss ladies or femme fatale or archetypes like that. But this story in canon is a really slippery one for the Bechdel test. Which means the fic fandom just can get into character/ship bashing and writing female characters like archetypes/pit them against each other. I really love how the fic explores the female character trauma in the canon with a lot of sensitivity.

Characterizations

Book characterizations. No show elements from GOT. But the characterizations are deeper/more nuanced because these are not POV characters in the books. They are dead by the time the books start. Really beautiful interwoven characterizations where you can see Isabel Allende style The House of Spirits influence in their generational trauma. This fic got me from somebody who just didn't like Rhaegar's character to actually seeing him in a more interesting light. Deep and beautiful characterization and character dynamics of the Robert's Era Rebellion Targaryens. The Aerys and Rhaella POVs are insanely good and dark. The Rhaegar characterization is superb. Elia is also brilliantly characterized. The whole series is unforgettable, intense, unsettling, uncomfortable and absolutely a must read.

Plot

It doesn't really have a lot of plot. It's just Rhaegar and Elia from 16 to 40. How their characters change/grow. The plot parts are just the canon divergence because they survive the war and get a bittersweet ending.

Prose

The prose style is kind of less poetic compared to Ossuarium. Which works great because Ossuarium had dragons. By the time this fic happens in the canon timeline the dragons are dead. So their world is less supernatural/magical. The lowkey prose kind of reflects that.

Some other thoughts

Rubicon is Ossuarium honestly. Just a continuation in the canon timeline. It has the same queerness and feminism vibes IMO. YMMV.

Length - 150000 words. Complete. It's a collection of fics. So depending on whether you read the full thing or just some one shots the length is going to be different. I used the series length here. We get POV one shots from Rhaegar, Elia, Aerys, Rhaella, Arthur Dayne, Rhaenys, Lyanna, Oberyn, Doran. Highly recommend reading the full series because it's insanely brilliant.

[chants-de-lune]

your name written here in a rose tattoo

His hair was in need of a cut, sprawling wildly with the same fire that had entranced her a lifetime ago. The boyhood stubble that had plagued him with patches, now grown to an evenly trimmed beard. His shoulders had broadened, arms and chest sturdier. And his eyes, eyes as blue as the sea he had fled into, were clouded with grief and the drink.

She held back the urge to cry.

“You’re here?” Robb asked breathlessly. Margaery scowled.

“Of all the pubs to wash up in, you came to the one under my patronage.”

Continue Reading on AO3

[annabellehunt]

FORGETFUL DREAMERS — UPDATE

A new chapter of Forgetful Dreamers, titled “Circle I. Memories: Hers. VI” is published!

After the defeat of the Night King, Jaime and Sansa have occasion to learn that one must be careful when making wishes.

Jaime Lannister x Sansa Stark, canon and time loop AU.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18415835/chapters/120184183

[thestagthatlovedthewolf]

Ellaria has seen Willas and Oberyn's relationship from afar, from their letters and text messages, now it's time to meet him.

I came back to a song of ice and fire over the holidays!!! So for a polyamory challenge - @holly-poly - I ended up writing Willas/Ellaria/Obeyn for the second time!!! Sharing here if anyone wants to check it out!!!!

[lyannasjon]

all that remains

Chapter One: The Ghost at the Wall (read on ao3)

Winter had come. With it came unspeakable horrors and darkness that threatened to swallow the world, dead men had walked and beautiful monsters had almost killed all life. Jon Snow would always remember the harrowing battle at Winterfell, while chaos surrounded all of them. He remembered dragons spitting fire upon ice, remembered scales beneath his fingers as the pit in his stomach grew deeper and he lost a little more of himself.

By the end, he was but a shell of the man he’d once been, of who he hoped he one day would be. Not the lord of Winterfell, not a Stark, not a brother of the Night’s Watch, much less its Lord Commander (the scars were still fresh on his skin). He had saved the world, it was said, but Jon Snow no longer belonged to it.

While the losses were counted and the rebuilding started, Jon was still surprised he had survived. Both he and the Targaryen queen had been ready and willing to lay down their lives in battle, riding to the end of the world to ensure they wouldn’t be overtaken again as the usual players measured their next moves in their game of thrones.

When he was back, broken but alive (not by choice) Seven Kingdoms was no longer just a name. Sansa had taken the throne of Winterfell for herself, sitting on the chair that had once belonged to their–her father, to Robb. Arya and Rickon were at her side, ready to rebuild the north, the home they once had that was taken from them. Bran had retired himself once more, to wherever in the seven hells he went now, Jon could understand, like him Bran was no longer himself. Would never be again.

They asked him to stay, but he knew he didn’t belong in a different way than he hadn’t growing up. Eyes followed him everywhere, the shadow of him larger than it had ever been, Ghost and Viserion hardly let any man forget who he was.

He started by scouting the lands far beyond the Wall. Making sure the battle was truly over, overseeing the large expanses of white snow covering the edges of the world, wondering why his grave was not marked in the land like so many unknown others.

By the time he accepted whether he wanted or not he remained alive, the world seemed to have shifted on its axis some more. The Wall was being rebuilt, and though his watch had ended upon his brief embrace with death, now there was no one better suited to lead the reborn version of it. The irony didn’t escape him–as didn’t the pity in Samwell’s eyes, when Jon let Visorion’s white wings shadow the wreck that was Castle Black. 

Sansa wrote constantly, and he replied with the sparse news he had, an exercise that seemed to stretch what little of him there remained. He felt tempted to go back, to sit beneath the heart tree, looking upon its bleeding eyes and hearing Bran’s whispers in the winds. Then he was reminded there was little Bran could say that he’d want to hear these days, and the feeling of displacement he’d feel back at where should be home would be too much to bear.

He stayed, keeping his vigil for whatever it would be worth. 

The first visit happened in a dream. There was laughter in his ears, the sound of wooden swords knocking against each other while snow melted upon meeting his skin. He was in Winterfell, the courtyard spanning further than it should. There was a wrongness to it; he didn’t belong, like in the nightmares with the crypt he’d once had. Those were past him now that he had faced what waited for him down there. The face of his mother immortalized in stone, all the secrets and promises bound by blood. 

This was different, the wrongness was him. He was older, beaten down, he was not the boy who ran these halls, who played with swords wishing to hold a real one. Dreaming of being the daring conqueror. How foolish he was; how he longed to go back to those times.

There was someone else, there, a shadow that like him seemed to haunt the scene of two kids playing at being heroes. He didn’t wish to see who it was, truthfully. There were no good answers.

Perhaps it was his father, the one he never met, the one who started a war and lost his life trying to prepare himself for the one to come and failed. Perhaps it was the one he knew, who hid so many things from him. Jon’s rage had known no bounds, his grief was still sitting with him, along with all the other scars from a war he couldn’t escape. 

Part of him knew even then that it was neither of them. He’d know the auburn shade of his hair anywhere, the way snowflakes melted on it, covering him in white. Robb looked just like he did the last time they saw each other. Blue eyes meeting Jon’s from across the yard. Then he looked older, graver, hands clasped in front of his body like he was holding Ice, as his father had done.

“Robb…” He whispered, blood seeming to boil and freeze all at once, air fleeing his lungs like he was collapsing in on himself. It was terrible and a bone aching relief to see him once more. He took a step closer.

“Black was always your color.” Robb whispered back, the word echoing low on the space between them. Jon felt like walking through freezing water, swimming against the current as he tried to reach him. “I’ve missed you brother.” Robb said and the words felt like another knife piercing his body, cold seeping through the wound and filling his very soul.

“I’m not your brother.” His voice sounded pained, Robb’s lips were pale as a sad smile graced them.

“Haven’t you realized yet, Jon?” Robb asked, far more somber than he’d ever spoken to Jon in life, “Blood matters really little where the heart is concerned.”

Jon shook his head, he didn’t care anymore. Couldn’t find it in himself to mind things that were now so little, yet so painful. “I should be with you, Robb.” 

Robb smiled then, and Jon was just close enough to reach out to try to touch him one last time. He should never have gone away.

“Who says you are not?” Robb asked, as if he knew more than Jon. As if he didn’t wake each morning feeling his loss like a missing limb. His fingers were almost at his cheek, grasping for him, for something he couldn’t have anymore.

He woke with a gasp, Ghost’s red eyes watching him intently from his spot next to the bed, too big to share it with Jon now. He was cold, colder than he’d ever been at the wall, and the feeling of being so close yet so far away from Robb made his chest ache with a pain he had thought not forgotten but settled beneath all the newer pain and grief he faced.

It was as if all his wounds had reopened, bleeding out again and threatening to make him even more of a wreck than he already was. Jon Snow wanted nothing more than to walk out into the night and let the dark and the cold swallow him whole, bury him so that he could perhaps be with his brother once more. He didn’t. And as the day rose Jon still couldn’t understand why.

In the following days, while overseeing a large portion of the wall being rebuilt, using more than just ice this time around – whatever they were, they were not Bran the builder – and the tearing down of a wrecked part of the castle, Jon wrote and burned at least a dozen letters addressed to Sansa. His words seemed to fail him, and he felt like a stupid maiden, confiding in her sister about dreams. It was unbecoming, something told him but he had seldom enough time to worry, some matter or other always called to him.

It was a week later, after hearing his whispers in another dream that Jon finally wrote to her. Ghost lay next to him, silent eyes carefully watching him, as if he too needed someone to know.

He had no dreams while he waited for an answer, enough to push the matter out of his mind entirely. He had new recruits, people who lost everything they had and followed his example, green boys whose eyes widened upon seeing a dragon for the first time. Jon felt for them more than he felt even for himself.

When Sansa's response came, Jon was unsure of what to expect. Did he want to know? Brother, She wrote carefully. Jon knew that was no slip of tongue, Sansa was far too smart for that, and had made clear the space Jon ought to occupy in the family. He didn’t resent her for it, but he wished she’d understand…

I often dream of our family. Father and mother, and all we have lost. How I wish to be able to do things differently, to spare us all of what came. I too understand the grief such dreams awaken, and how one might long to forget it. It brings me joy to know you have entrusted me with those thoughts, I, of course, won’t mention it to the others. Rickon is rueful, now, these years have been cruel to him in ways I fear none of us would understand, he was but a babe when tragedy struck, after all.

I understand you spared details in your account, and I won’t pry. But I must caution you; we know what dreams have meant before. We mustn’t ignore this simply because reason demands us to. I understand the tragedy that can come from following such whimsical things, but running from it will not avoid it. I know you have shied from it in the past, but Bran’s guidance on these matters might be better suited than mine.

I hope you might visit soon, perhaps we could discuss the matter more comfortably then. Viserion’s wings are large and powerful, as I remember.

Lastly, I had hoped to speak of such matters on another occasion, with better news but it seems ill suited to caution you and not heed my own warnings. I have sent word for Robb’s bones, Arya has some bearing of where his last resting place was given her encounter with – the letter had stained there, but Jon knew the story well enough to gather the meaning of her words. 

At any rate, no one seems to be in any rush to find it, and I’m not sure who to entrust this task to given the unrest in the Riverlands. To complicate matters, the Freys had part of it at the Twins, not many of them remain, but there was no luck in getting it back so far. Perhaps you would like to try your hand at it, if your new role at the Wall allows for it.

I wish to see you soon and well. With regards from your sister, 

Sansa Stark

Queen in the North.

Jon Snow read and reread his sister – cousin’s words, Sansa’s writing was neat and the letter bore the grey wolf of Stark in its seal, Jon had clear memories of seeing the same seal on Ned Stark’s desk while he grew. He felt a thousand years away from the boy who’d grown in the warm halls of Winterfell, watchful eyes taking note of every detail… dreaming. He used to wonder what Robb dreamt of; did he not have it all?

He knew better now, and he wished he’d asked him then. Did he dream of being lord? of marrying some northern or southern lady, of bearing Stark children with hair as bright and red as his… Did he like the weight of the crown upon his head or did he come to resent it?

Jon missed him like he missed the bits of himself that had been taken away, a bone deep ache that hit deeper than the stabbing wounds on his back. Coldness seeped in, chilling him to the soul, he closed his burnt hand into a fist, tears coming to his eyes. Brother, he wanted to whisper, come back to me. There was so much he didn’t know, so much he wanted to know…

He  turned his eyes back to the letter, the careful calligraphy calling to him with truths he had ignored. The weirwood tree near Castleback was still standing, struggling to remain alive after the others brought the cold and death with them. He knew if he were to kneel in front of its bleeding face Bran would hear and see him but he’d avoided the place, avoided what was left of Bran since he took his leave.

Perhaps they were too alike, or simply too different from the people they had once been. That put them apart from their siblings in ways he feared they would not understand; but so far it had not brought them any closer to each other. He remembered Bran’s eyes, all seeing and unfeeling as he showed Jon what he’d chased all his life. It was too late then to turn his back and flee. They’d both lost themselves.

There was much to be done in Castle Black, apart from rebuilding the wall and the castle, the recruits had to be trained, the villages surrounding the area that had all but been erased from existence slowly started coming back to life. There was also the issue of the free folk, some of them were at the wall, others had remained south but some had sought to go back north, refusing to bend the knee still. Far from keeping the old role the Watch had taken before his time, the men of the watch and them had kept in touch for the preservation of both.

There was also the matter of Viserion, Jon was one of the few people the dragon allowed near him and his eating was something he had to keep careful watch over, lest he attack any villages. He was mostly under control; mostly, and Jon doubted that’d ever not be the case, whatever the Targaryens did to tame their dragons had been dead and buried with them. Not even Daenerys had full control and she was far more intimate with the dealings with dragons than Jon could ever hope to be.

The beast had an iron will, seeing eye to eye with it was hard, and rare, but Jon had enough practice by now. Sliding towards it with the corpses of slain sheep. It was gruesome to watch, but Jon had seen more gruesome things from far closer before. He threw them towards Viserion, blood and snow wetting his hands as the dragon roared. Once it was done eating Jon slid closer, hand ahead of himself as he made a move towards the beast’s head.

Viserion met him halfway, sliding forward with a movement of legs and wings, surprisingly graceful for a creature his size. His chest rumbled with power and his warmth from this close reminded Jon of home–of what that had once meant, a lifetime ago at least. He cradled the beast in the way that scared men whenever they saw it, though most of what Jon did now scared men, one way or the other.

He felt more than heard Ghost moving behind him. He kept his distance from Viserion, even now, but he seemed at loss at what to do except to follow Jon. Even with all the wounds he sustained on the last years. 

Jon sighed deeply, watching the smoke from his breath rise, between the dragon and the direwolf, he felt like a relic. As wrecked and haunted as Castle Black and the wall was. He knew he ought to heed Sansa’s advice and talk to Bran, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not today.

He was kneeling in the grounds of Winterfell in his dreams. The snow fell down heavily, but the blood pouring from the weirwood tree ran like a river as if untouched by the cold. Jon rose to his feet, almost expecting to hear whispers of Bran’s voice but he heard nothing, not until a hand touched his shoulder. A firm grip, warm.

Arms closed around him, Robb’s red-brown locks filling his view as he held him just as tightly. “You came back.” He whispered. Jon didn’t realize how relieved he was to see him again until he pulled away, hands reaching for his face and feeling him just like he had felt the scales covering the skull of the dragon earlier that day. 

Robb’s skin was soft, and warm as it had been the day Jon left him in the courtyard, never to see him again. “Of course.” Robb said. He looked so young, but he sounded old, worn down. Almost as much as Jon felt.

“I am dreaming.” Jon said softly, but his hands remained where they were.

“Are you?” Robb asked, mouth curling up in a sad mockery of a smile. Jon swallowed, grey eyes meeting blue. He rested their foreheads together, breathing out slowly.

“Robb, I–” 

He was shushed, strong hands grabbing at his sides. “You’ve suffered so much, Jon.” He whispered, “Just let us have this moment.”

Jon shook his head, fingers moving down, closing around Robb’s neck where they’d taken away his head. Replaced it with Grey Wind’s. Rage and grief filled his chest, threatening to break his ribs and swallow them down in the anger he felt. If he could, if he was braver or more reckless or more stupid he’d march to the twins and make it a second Harrenhall, burn it to the ground until there was nothing left but the ghosts of the Freys who dared to— 

“Jon…” Jon’s eyes opened, fingers releasing Robb’s skin. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, Robb.” He chocked out, tears filling his eyes. He had never been one to wear his emotions so close to surface but now… Why hide it? Robb was dead, almost all his family was dead or gone, and this was all a dream.

“We’ve gone over this,” Robb said, eyes distant though his tone was gentle. “You fulfilled your destiny, that’s what matters.”

Jon’s laugh was bitter, breaking through the somber scene. Robb’s hands tightened on him. “You’ll go after my bones, won’t you?”

He met his eyes once more. Could this Robb read his thoughts? Was he just a conjuration of Jon’s desires? His grief and misery?

“What else can I do?” He asked both of them, Robb shook his head though not in disapproval. “Would you not like that? Being home again?”

“That matters less than you’d think.” Robb said with that somber smile, “Go, if you must. Winterfell was always meant to be my resting place, anyway.”

Jon nodded, refusing to let go of him. Robb seemed to bother very little with it, himself, and Jon swore he could smell him beneath the furs covering his body. Could one feel cold even in death, he wondered.

There was so much to say, but words failed him. His heart raced in his chest, and he felt scared of what might come out if he opened his mouth. “I miss you so much.” He whispered, voice coming out hoarse and pained as if he had to force each word out. Acknowledging it made it so much more real–so more unbearable.

“I’m here now.” Jon shook his head, hair falling on his face. His hair was so long now–there were seldom any time to worry about it, was he even someone Robb would recognize now, were he still alive?

“Take me with you, then.” He asked, clinging to Robb still, fingers on his shoulders. He sounded like a broken, desperate man. There was nothing he wanted more. To be back with Robb, to be out of the cold and dark world he’d helped save. “I’m ready.”

“I can’t.” Robb said. Kindness became him, even in death, but his words still broke what was left of Jon. He stepped away.

“Were you… was it what you wanted? Being lord? being king?” He asked, hair flowing in the breeze. He could feel the weeping eyes on his back, watching. 

Robb’s shoulders slumped, he stayed still even as Jon stepped away but the pain was clear on his face. He shouldn’t be in pain, not anymore. Not ever again. “Was it for you?” He asked.

Jon closed his eyes. Stannis Baratheon’s offer was not something he’d thought of often, not after everything that came next. 

“No.” He whispered, like a secret being shared. Like the ones whispered under furs in Robb’s bed. Stealing each other’s heat.

“I’d trade it all to be at home. With you.” Robb confessed. “Damn titles, damn that crown–we were ruined by it… I never wanted to be king. I just wanted us safe, at home, Jon.” He seemed to be struggling for words, eyes behind him as he talked, until the very end when their eyes met, “I just wanted you.” 

Jon swallowed, both hands closing into fists, he could feel his nails threatening to pierce skin. Once it’d be impossible to say these things, to hear them and not flush in shame and wrongness… He thought he understood the world then, he knew now how little he did, how little he still does. “The gods are cruel.” 

“Aye.” Robb agreed, looking away once more, his figure fading. Jon wanted to scream. “Get me to Winterfell, Jon. It’s where we belong.”

Jon awoke with Viserion’s roar, a whisper in his ear, but what startled him the most was the smell that filled the room. Even Ghost seemed to sniff the air, red piercing eyes where Jon laid, with Robb’s scent all over him, as real and tangible as it’d been on all those mornings, waking on his bed or sliding next to him in the great hall. Like a fist closed around his throat, Jon couldn’t breathe.

[247reader]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Patches | Patchface the Fool (A Song of Ice and Fire), Stannis Baratheon, Davos Seaworth, Shireen Baratheon, Devan Seaworth, Rhaella Targaryen (Wife of Aerys II), Melisandre (A Song of Ice and Fire) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Ghosts, Undead, Drowned God & Storm God Worship (A Song of Ice and Fire), R'hllor | The Lord of Light Worship (A Song of Ice and Fire), Character Study Summary:

The saltwater burns into his lungs as the sunlight fades. The boy drifts. - They say, on Dragonstone, that the dead outnumber the living.

-

I wrote a little character study on the theme of “what if most of Team Dragonstone  were some variant of (setting-appropriate) undead?”

[sarcasticsweetlara]

We know Rhaena loved Alayne

She preferred to spend her days with her siblings, her dogs and cats, and her newest favorite, Alayne Royce, daughter to the Lord of Runestone … a plump and homely girl, but so cherished that Rhaena sometimes took her flying on the back of Dreamfyre, just as she did her brother Aegon. (Fire & Blood)

Alayne asked, “Did you take your cousin Larissa flying too?”

“No, I never did. Dreamfyre was not large enough to carry the weight of two people, when Larissa was my companion.”

“Is she strong enough to carry us both? I am plump enough for two, my brother used to say. I could do with less flesh on my bones, he said, the last time I saw him. Princess Rhaena would be embarrassed by a plump and homely companion, with no claim to beauty to speak of, he claimed.”

“Your brother is a fool!” Rhaena exclaimed. “And he’s too skinny besides. At this rate, he’ll never be strong enough to wield a sword. He should be more concerned about putting more flesh on his bones. Tell him Princess Rhaena said so.”

Alayne tried to imagine the look on her brother’s face, if the message was ever conveyed. Not that she had any intention of conveying it. Her brother would only accuse her of making it up, no doubt. “Brothers are often foolish, I find,” she remarked. “The bane of a sister’s existence, all too often. I used to think I was the only one feeling that way, but ever since I arrived in court, I have heard the same sentiment expressed by so many. It is reassuring in one way, but disheartening in another.”

“Not all brothers are like that. My brothers are as delightful as little Aly. They are the joy of my life, my siblings.”

“Your love for your brothers and sister is very touching, Princess. It … well, it surprised me, truth be told, when I first came to court, to see how openly affectionate you are of your siblings,” Alayne confessed.

Rhaena regarded her with raised eyebrows, instead of the stern expression Alayne had been expecting. “Why were you surprised? Did you think I am incapable of love? Did you believe the tales told of me, that I am cold and unfeeling?” The princess seemed more amused than wroth, despite her questions.

“No, not cold and unfeeling,” replied Alayne. “Princess Rhaena is shy, it is often said. She prefers her books and her pets to people.”

“I prefer my books and my pets to some people. That is true enough.”

Eyes twinkling, Alayne asked, “Or most people?”

Rhaena laughed. “Perhaps. But certainly not all people.”

“Am I in that list?”

“Which list?”

“The list of people you prefer less than your books and your pets.”

“If you are, would I be asking you to fly with me?”

[julesxrules]

Chapter Update: Memories of Winter Chapter Three: The Things That Plague Us Most

Read it on Fanfic | Read it on Ao3

PREVIEW:

To the Girl Who is Fond of High Places, it read and Morwenna's lips twitched at the immediate realization that the letter had not been from Lord Stark, but in fact his son.

"Robb," she whispered with a grin.

The Maester's door opened and Morwenna jumped, heart leaping as she quickly stuffed the letter into her apron pocket.

"You've been standing outside my door for several minutes, I was wondering if you were ever planning to knock," said Maester Helliweg.

Morwenna stood, hand over her wildly beating chest, and bowed her head. "Apologies, Maester, for my delay. I received my very first letter. Onenotfrom Gwyn of course."

Helliweg smiled. "Well as Lady of Runestone, I suspect you will begin receiving a good deal of correspondence as you become a woman." He pulled the door open and motioned towards his table. "Come now. You have a long day ahead of you. Best not to delay too much longer."

Long day. Newly five and ten, Morwenna's life was now asuccessionof long days and even longer nights in winter. Her moments of freedom became fewer and far between. She wondered if one day soon, they would cease to exist all together.

[justadram]

Suddenly Last Summer

When he spots her on the pool deck, her lips are stained as red as her swimsuit. Red like the popsicle she eats. Signed for with her dad’s club number at the pool shack, where they stock chips and popsicles and sodas for kids and rich teenagers with nothing to do on a Tuesday afternoon. She looks sweet, and he’s going to ignore her until he can’t anymore.

Chapter 3/3

Jon/Sansa; Alternate Universe: 1980s; Tropes: Summer Love, Class Differences

[ariastarke]

everyone knows you're the way to my heart, part i.

Fandoms: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Arya Stark / Gendry Waters Series: N/A Words: 17,642 Chapter(s): 1/2 Rating: Explicit

France, 1992. Arya Stark's career is far from over, and this is her opportunity to prove it. Nothing, not even a former skating partner turned coach for a male singles skater, is going to change that.

Arya hasn't seen Gendry Waters in four years. Not since Calgary, not since a devastating loss that shook her to her core—and not since she lost her shot at a gold medal.

That hurt, too.

[bitchfromtheseventhhell]

The moment the door was closed behind him, the smirk slid off Daemon’s face.

If one thing was true, he needed Aemond to believe that Daemon knew what he was doing.  He needed the Greens to fear him and what he might do, to think that he was a mad dog only leashed by one member of the Kingsguard.  

But Aegon was gone now, and every brewing plan he had was ruined.  Where had Aegon gone?  Had he returned to the keep as Mysaria had said? That was the worst possible fucking outcome, the one that would mean he would have to round up his goldcloaks and make blood flow in the city.  It wasn’t beyond his capacities, of course. But he suspected Rhaenyra would be angry if he did that preemptively.  In retaliation—that would be different. 

Besides, his numbers were limited.  If the Greens had a good grip on the cunts who lied and actually wanted Aegon for the Iron Throne, then chances were they’d already be on their way, before Daemon had even…

Before he had even written to his wife to tell her that her father was dead.

Read more of THE PRINCE AND THE QUEEN on AO3

In the hour of the wolf, King Viserys I Targaryen breathed his last breath with only one person there to hear it: his estranged brother, there to give him comfort in his final hours. From there, Prince Daemon sprang into action to preserve the peace his brother so desired upon his death and protect the throne that rightfully belonged to his wife.

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4| Chapter 5 | ...

[fandomficsnstuff]

Little Dragon - 19

Summary: You were a child slave of Meereen, when one day a silver haired woman sets you free. Though your master isn’t too keen on letting you go, and Daenerys took personal action to see you freed and taken care of.

(Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and guess what? MORE FLUFF!!:3)

High Valyrian is in cursive

Dress:https://www.pinterest.dk/pin/281543719052873/ 

Daario’s gift:https://co.pinterest.com/pin/192880796532589610/ 

Crown:https://co.pinterest.com/pin/AbN0ixO56v2Wj6H6PxtKFaYsPF36hQ4JkyUMKwjcjzDKr5UdXRjz6dM/ 

Hair:https://www.pinterest.dk/pin/AXxDcTImMu_iN63SHq1HSC3LOrYhgMY3rlTckUReYLp67G2EGy39O8Y/ 

Throne:https://www.pinterest.dk/pin/309622543126026921/ 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Looking into the mirror as the final touches on your hair was being made by the servant behind you, Elise, a short woman with red hair and brown eyes. There was a knock on the door and Elise glanced at you through the mirror walking to the door and opening after you gave her a nod. You got out of your chair as the door was opened, turning to see Tyrion and Gray Worm, a soft smile forming on your lips at the sight of them near each other and Tyrion’s throat uncut. “Your Grace, you look beautiful” Tyrion complimented as he bowed gracefully, a small smirk tugging on your lips “you’re not half bad yourself, Lord Hand” you teased lightly, your eyes turning to Gray Worm who stared at you with a deep frown, making your own smile fade as you began to grow concerned. “What is it?” you asked with concern and you swore you saw tears in his eyes before he blinked them away “your mother would be proud, Your Grace” he stated calmly and now it was your turn to feel the stinging of tears in your eyes, a smile forming yet again on your face as you walked over and hugging him briefly. “Missandei would be proud of you” you whispered as you put a hand on his shoulder before turning to Tyrion. “Is everything in place?” you asked gently as Elise walked over to you, silently asking if she could continue her work and you nodded, walking over to your chair and sitting back down, Elise getting straight to work on your hair. “Yes, Your Grace. Yara Greyjoy and the Ice Waters have returned. House Yronwood of Dorne has come to pledge their allegiance at your coronation, Robin Arryn has arrived as well with the same intent and so has Bronn…” Tyrion listed off and you nodded softly, frowning ever so slightly at your own reflection. So few houses were left, the Martells were gone so Yronwood took over Dorne as the second largest house, Robin Arryn was but a boy, Bronn was… well as Tyrion put it; ‘Bronn is Bronn’. “Another one has arrived as well, from Essos, the ship is about to dock in the ha-” you flew out of your chair at the thought of seeing Daario again, Elise barely managing to keep up with you as you ran through the hallways, your skirt lifted up so you wouldn’t trip on it, Tyrion feebly trying to catch up with you while Gray Worm relaxed and walked at a casual pace after you.

You couldn’t stop grinning as you saw him talk with one of the Unsullied you had sent to get him. His beard had gotten a bit longer, so had his hair and you forgot who you were as you sprinted towards him and jumped up, wrapping your arms around him as he spun you around while hugging you, Elise, Tyrion and Gray Worm catching up, the first two staring in shock at the new queen who was being spun around like a little girl, while Gray Worm allowed himself to smirk briefly, very briefly, at the sight. “You came!” you exclaimed as you were finally put down, Daario placing his hands on your shoulders as he looked you up and down “of course I came, Little Dragon! I would never miss your name day” he stated with a smirk, grinning as he made you chuckle lightly. “How is Mereen?” you asked with a small frown, Daario giving you a sad smile “I’ve heard nothing of slavery since you and your mother left… the people have begun to elect a new ruler, they’ve formed several laws and is currently putting them in place… the Second Sons are hardly needed there any longer” Daario informed and you nodded softly as you walked with Daario off the docks towards Tyrion, Elise and Gray Worm. “The Second Sons… they want to come to Westeros, (Y/N), I’ve talked with several of them and they all agree that they want to serve you” Daario added, heat filling your cheeks as you looked down with a soft smile “that’s very kind of them, but I don’t think the realm could afford it-”

“No, they won’t be paid, they only want to be part of your Queensgarde” Daario stated with a smirk, watching you as your eyes went wide in shock as you stopped, turning to look at him. “M-Me? Why?” you asked with shock, Daario chuckling “most remember when you ruled Mereen while Daenerys was gone, (Y/N). Even back then you were a just and fine ruler, besides, most of them want to see the famous Westeros and King’s Landing” Daario noted with a sly smirk, making you chuckle lightly “if that’s what they want, they’re more than welcome, but Brienne must meet them all and give her opinion on them… and what about you, Daario?” you asked with a small frown, stopping to look at him as he looked at you with soft eyes. Daario almost began to kneel but you quickly ushered him up, cheeks burning with embarrassment “don’t do that! You don’t need to do that!” you hissed, Daario chuckling as he got back up and continued to walk by your side, Elise and Gray Worm walking behind the two of you while Tyrion had left when you stepped off of the docks, seeing as Daario had all but ignored him. “Why not, Your Grace?” Daario asked through his own laughter and your cheeks got even hotter “because-... that’s what the people of Westeros do at the coronation! I-I’m not a queen” you stated with a huff, pouting lightly which made Daario chuckle “yet” he added in a teasing tone and you rolled your eyes, stopping and turning to face Elise and Gray Worm “Torgo Nudho, could you please show Daario to the barracks where he can get some rest?” you asked calmly, Gray Worm nodding and approaching Daario who smirked and patted Gray Worm’s shoulder as the two of them went off.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sitting at the head of a table outside felt… strange, to say the least. Daario was sitting at your left, Tyrion to your right as you didn’t have anyone else to sit with, Daario making you laugh and chuckle, occupying your mind so you didn’t think too much of it, he didn’t want you to dwell on the fact that he was just about the only one you had left. “When do you sail back to Mereen?” you asked while taking a sip of the wine in your goblet, Daario tensing up as he frowned at you “what do you mean? I’m not going back to Mereen” he stated with a nervous chuckle, putting his own goblet down to look at you, finding you already looking at him with a sad smile. “Yes you are… until a new ruler is elected you have to keep the peace and order, you know I’d go myself if I didn’t have the responsibility of King’s Landing” you pointed out, watching Daario as his smile faded, his gaze returning to the decorated table as he thought about it. “(Y/N)-”

“Daario, it was my mother’s wish… once it’s fulfilled, you’re more than welcome here, you know that… my mother only had a few wishes, to get rid of slavery, rule King’s Landing fairly and make sure that slavery will never rise again, especially not in the cities she has liberated. She can’t rule King’s Landing and she has already gotten rid of slavery, now it’s up to us to make sure it stays this way, peaceful, free” you stated softly, Daario sighing as he looked down briefly before nodding, looking back up at you as he leaned back in his chair “as you wish, Your Grace” he mumbled and you gave him a soft smile “don’t be like that, please” you begged softly, seeing him nod once more as he forced a smile on his lips “you’re right, Little Dragon” he murmured and you blushed, looking down as you smiled only for your attention to snap back to him as he patted the table loudly before standing up. Everyone’s attention shifting to Daario as he walked around the large table you sat at moving to stand in front of you as he pulled something out from a hidden pocket, walking over to stand in front of you, the table in between as he neatly laid it out in front of you, your eyes scanning over what appeared to be some form of jewelry with red and white stones, made of gold. “Once, when I was a young man, before I met your mother, the late Queen Daenerys, I served briefly under a Braavosi noble woman as her bodyguard. I saw her wear this, forgot about it when I moved on with my life, but a stunning piece such as this should never be forgotten, neither shall (Y/N) Targaryen, First of her name” Daario said loudly with a proud smirk, people clapping as he moved back to his seat, sitting down as he picked up the piece with gentle hands.

Daario carefully slid it on your left hand and over your middle finger and wrist, securing it with a smirk as you stared at it with wide eyes and a grin that started to make your cheeks hurt. You wrapped your arms around Daario and hugged him tightly, hearing him chuckle lightly as he gladly hugged you back. “Happy nameday, Little Dragon” he muttered quietly so only you could hear, tears threatening to spill over and run down your cheeks as you parted from him, “Daario, I thought I told you I wanted no gifts?” you asked quietly as you admired the piece, Daario merely smirking “I had it already made” he lied and you rolled your eyes but accepted the gift anyway with a smile.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Your chest felt heavy as you watched the people gather in the hall, it felt as though your knees would buckle at any moment, letting you fall to the ground where the Iron Throne had once been standing, now melted and gone, you had ordered it to be melted into something useful, something the people could use, a new throne standing in it’s scorched place. You gulped lightly as you watched them create a path, the remaining nobles and highbornes standing to the side of the hall as the new High Septon arrived, a tall, lanky old man dressed in white robes, with more gray and white hair on his cheeks and chin than on his head, his expression one of indifference. There were dragon banners hanging behind you, Gray Worm standing to your left with what would be your crown soon, sitting comfortably on a beautiful black cushion. As the High Septon reached you, you bowed and courtesies as you had been taught, hoping that when you lifted your head you wouldn’t see malice in his eyes. You slowly lifted your head, almost daringly, your eyes meeting his and you saw a faint smile, your heart nearly stopping with relief as you stood back up as he walked past you to Gray Worm. He picked up the crown and your eyes returned to the people in the hall, heart beating harder than before in your chest, your palms sweaty as the High Septon walked over to you, holding the crown above your head. “I give you; (Y/N) Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoyner and the First Men, Protector of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros, Queen of the Realm and the Last Dragon, long may she reign!” the last words were echoed in the hall as you felt the crown be placed on your head, it was heavier than you thought it’d be, tears in your eyes as you looked out over the hall, people chanting ‘long may she reign’, a small, proud smile on your lips as you basked in it. She would have loved this, she would have watched from the sidelines with a proud smile on her lips, standing next to Missandei as they both watched you with pride, (Y/N) Targaryen, Queen of Westeros. You could almost see her out of the corner of your eyes, standing there, clapping with a proud smile on her face and tears of joy in her eyes, chanting along with the others in the hall. You sat down on the new throne and the hall began to grow quiet, your eyes scanning the crown nervously as Tyrion stepped forward, his pin neatly on his chest. “If anyone wishes to pledge themselves to our new Queen, I believe this is the moment for it” Tyrion stated loudly and you had to bite your lips together to not chuckle at his choice of words, your eyes moving to the center as someone stepped forward, the young boy from the Vale, Robin Arryn. “Queen (Y/N), the Vale is yours, now and forever” the young boy said loudly as he kneeled, a smile forming on your face as you nodded “thank you, Lord Arryn, you have my faith, trust and gratitude” you replied softly, watching the young boy nod as he stood back up and walked back in place, next was house Yronwood, the Dornish man stepping forward as he bowed his head and kneeled as well. “Queen (Y/N), Dorne is yours, now and forever, long may you reign” he stated as loudly as he could and you smiled softly “thank you, Lord Yronwood, I can only hope Dorne will flourish in the coming years” you stated with a bow of your head, the Dornish man standing up with a smirk “it will under your reign, Your Grace… you know, I have a son about your age-” Anders Yronwood as cut off as Gray Worm took a step closer while gripping his dagger, only to halt as you raised your hand, amusement clear on your face as the entire hall waited with bated breaths. Would you laugh? Order his execution? Imprison him for insinuating such a thing?

You chuckled lightly as you nodded to Gray Worm, watching him stand back as you looked back at Lord Yronwood. “I’m flattered, My Lord, but I want the realm back on it’s feet before I think of such things” you stated with amusement, the hall chuckling lightly as Yronwood nodded and stepped back into the crowd. You couldn’t help but smile as Yara stepped forward, smirking lightly at you, about to kneel when you shook your head and stood up. “I’m flattered, Lady Grayjoy, you stood by my mother, I remember seeing you in Mereen… to see you kneel when you’ve earned so much of my respect and love wouldn’t feel right,” you stated as you walked down the few steps and walked towards her as she stood back up with a small hint of confusion. “Thank you” you muttered as you reached your hand out to her, as your mother had done, and Yara smirked when she noticed the resemblance, gripping your wrist as you gripped hers. “The Ice Waters are yours, now and forever, Your Grace” she stated loudly with pride, making you smile as you gave her a thankful nod. You turned back around and walked back to the throne, sitting down on it and nodding lightly, watching Yara join the crowd once more. Your eyebrows quirked up in surprise as you saw someone you didn’t recognise, your gaze moving to Tyrion who looked somewhat shocked before turning to you. “Ser Bronn of the Blackwater, Your Grace” he stated before looking back at Bronn, your eyes moving back to the man as he nodded. “Your Grace, I think it’s safe ter say you’ve done well for King’s Landing in the year you’ve been ‘ere, I have been serving as a Master of Coin in the small council which I would like to have the honor of again, if you’ll have me, and I think it’s obvious by now but my sword is yours” he stated casually, unlike the other lords and Yara who had a sense of pride, a larger-than-life type of air around them. “And I’ve heard many good things about your work as Master of coin, your wish is accepted and I hereby entrust you with the wealth of the city, you’ve done a good job before, let’s continue that, shall we?” you asked half jokingly, the hall chuckling as Bronn smirked and chuckled lightly “with pleasure, Your Grace. Though I don’t have any sons ter offer ya” he stated jokingly and you laughed briefly “thank you, Bronn” you stated with a smirk, watching him nod and walk back into the crowd.

You smiled as Gendry stepped forward, hands clasped behind his back until he bowed his head and kneeled “Queen (Y/N), the Stormlands are yours, now and forever” he announced and you couldn’t help but smirk “thank you, Lord Baratheon. You’ve done both me and King’s Landing a great service in the year you’ve been here, helping us repair, get back to the way life was before, thank you” you stated softly, watching him get up with a nod and walk back into the crowd, another face walking up, looking slightly hesitant. “My Lord, if you don’t want to pledge yourself, you don’t have to…” you stated loudly, Tyrion leaning a bit closer, letting you know this was Edmund Tully, Catelyn Stark’s brother, uncle to the now Queen of the North. “Lord Tully, pledge yourself to your niece instead if you’d like, you are under no obligation to follow me, the Riverlands are a part of the North” you announced loudly, the man studying you before nodding softly, hesitantly kneeling while you stared at him with confusion, standing up before he could begin to talk. “Lord Edmund Tully, there’ll be no repercussions if you leave now and pledge yourself to your niece, no one will blame you. Remember that before you do anything, if you pledge yourself to me, I’ll expect you to uphold that oath” you stated in a serious tone as you walked closer to him, hearing his ragged and unsure breathing as he kept his head low. “Edmund…” you kneeled down to be at his eye level, seeing him tentatively raise his head to look at you “go, be with your family and niece, don’t pledge yourself to someone else when you have your niece waiting in the North” you said quietly, watching his eyes as he narrowed them at you. “Queen (Y/N), the Riverlands are yours, now and forever, that is my oath and that is what I will fulfill” he stated loudly and you sighed softly “I’m touched by your decision, Lord Tully, if you’re sure it’s what you truly want then I’ll gladly accept it, thank you” you stated softly, putting one of your hands on his shoulder as you stood up, prompting him to follow. “Thank you for your trust” you added, watching him nod before walking back into the crowd, a sigh leaving your lips as you walked back to the throne and sat down on it.

You frowned lightly as you watched Daario walk from the crowd to stand in the front, right in front of you, a soft smirk on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d get through this thing without me, did you? I’m uh, not so sure what the Westerosi culture is, this whole kneeling thing, though I know you lot don’t like foreigners…” he stated with a smirk as he glanced around quickly before looking back at you, kneeling on not just one knee, but both. “Queen (Y/N) Targaryen, Your Grace. I served your mother, from Yunkai to Mereen… I ask that you allow me to follow you now, to wherever it’ll take me, my death, happiness, peace, as long as it’s in your footsteps” Daario spoke softer than the others, tears forming in your eyes which you quickly blinked away, clearing your throat “stand, Daario Naharis, you’re welcome at my side whenever you want, all I ask is that you promise to do what I asked first” you stated with a small frown, hearing him scoff as he stood up “when did I ever fail your mother?” he asked rhetorically and you smiled softly, subtly nodding your head to where he had been standing before, a smirk on his lips as he bowed his head and walked back to his spot.

[ellayuki]

13082022 - Game of Thrones

~

The night is over and so many have died that Arya thinks she’s lucky to still be breathing. 

Lucky, especially after her attack on the Night King. That could’ve gone… so very differently, she knows. She could have died, could have become yet another soldier in the undead’s vast army. Not today, she thinks, struggling to walk, her eyes scanning her surroundings. Thought, too, when she dropped the dagger from one hand to the other. 

She walks over fallen walls and burned bones, and dead men and women who will never see nor feel the sun’s light again. She walks until she finds Sansa (alive), finds Jon (alive), finds the Hound (alive, still, damn him), and only stops when she finds Gendry, too, covered in soot and guts and snow, but wonderfully alive as well.

“You’re not dead,” she says, stepping in front of him, and when he looks up at her, eyes wide, she remembers the way flames danced and reflected in them just hours ago.

He breathes. Blinks. Bows his head. (Arya still catches a glimpse of a smile. Can still feel it against her skin.) “Could say the same, m’lady.” 

Arya smirks, relieved. “Don’t call me that.”