#I’m still not ready to speak about Robb’s death

[myrxellabaratheon]

Watching Game of Thrones with my parents because season 6 is airing on the TV while we are having lunch.

My mother, who had read the first and half of the second ASOIAF book, seeing Jon: “Is he Robb?”

Me: “Let’s see if I can explain this to you without crying: Robb was murdered at the Red Wedding, butchered by the Freys. I should have been with him. Where was I? I should have died with him.” She just watches at me as if I turned into a some tre headed monster and asked nothing more about the matter.

Then, when Jaime and Brynden Tully are speaking and the Black Fish call Jaime “Kingslayer” my father asks: “Why Kingslayer? Does he kill kings for job?!”

“Don’t let me neither start to speak about why he is one of the best characters of this goddamn show and why everyone should really understand that the only king he killed was a cruel one and all the people who judge him are just hypocrites because they simply watched when Aerys killed Rickard and Brandon Stark without doing anything! So nobody has the right to judge him!”

I’m pretty sure they just tried to understand something about the show but… In fifteen minutes they succeed in remind me one of the most hearthbreaking thing and definitly the most unfair one! (And luckily it isn’t season 3 cause I’m not sure I could keep my nerves together explaining them Theon’s storyline)

[asongofstarkandtargaryen]

Jon Snow Month - Arya Stark

JON & ARYA: THE ONES WITH THE STRONGEST LINKS TO THE STARK LORE AND THE NORTH.

Among the youngest generation of Starks, Jon and Arya are the only ones who share the traditional Stark look (aka the look of First Men, the one most Northerners share):

Jon had their father's face, as she did. They were the only ones

According to the Old Nan, all Starks have wolf blood but it is stronger in some than in others.  Arya is the only one who is mentioned within text to have the wolf blood.Ned shares a scene with his daughter where he explains that she shares the same trait with her aunt and uncle (Lyanna and Brandon Stark) while he never shares a similar scene with any other of his children:

"Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. 'The wolf blood,' my father used to call it. Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch. It brought them both to an early grave.

I’d agrue that among all of Arya’s siblings the one who also has a stronger touch with the wolf blood is Jon. Ned seems to associate wildness and stubborn behavior with the wolf blood. And as Jon has admitted on his own POV  “he was nothing if not stubborn”. As for examples of Jon giving in to his wildness, just remember anytime someone insults his father and how ready he is to throw fists.

Something that I also find interesting when it comes to wolf blood is that Ned only mentions Lyanna and Brandon from the previous generation. The parallels between Lyanna and Arya are obvious and have been highlighted through all the books. But what about Brandon and Jon? Maybe those two Starks share a similarity (which is influenced by their wolf blood) that it’s worth discussing. The most prominent action of Brandon is that when he thought that Prince Rhaegar stole his sister. In a reckless move he went to Kings Landing and demanded the prince to face him. Sadly, that lead to his early death. Just like his uncle, Jon also made a reckless move when he thought that Ramsay was threatening Arya via the pink letter. He declaired to his Black Brothers that he was going to face Ramsay and that lead to his assassination.

Another thing that highlights their Starkness is the strong bond they share with their direwolves. Both experience “wolf dreams” (although that this is something they also have in common with their brother, Bran). The difference between them is that Arya embraces her wolfness, while Jon is trying to separate himself from his wolf (”I’m a man, not a wolf). Not keeping close Ghost and fully embracing their bond is partly what lead him to his early demise. So once he returns to life in the next book, I expect him to fully embrace the wild, wolf side of his.

Finally, I wanted to speak about the Northern politics. Right now, Jon is the only Stark kid who actually participates in politics that concern the North: his advices to Stannis Baratheon, letting the Wildings settle in the North, Solving the Karstark succession issue. He’s also the one who is named by Robb his heir and thus has currently the biggest claim to become Lord of Winterfell/ King in the North. 

Meanwhile, all of the rest of his siblings could potentially become “keys to the North” (Davos is searching for Rickon , Littlefinger wants to use Sansa in order to claim the North and Bran while is considered dead is still the rightful heir). However, so far the one person who was highlighted as “key to the North” was princess Arya Stark even if they used an imposter (poor Jeyne Poole) and the actual Arya is across the Narrow Sea. 

So, while I can’t say for sure how things will turn out in the future and the extent their other siblings might also get involved, right now the ones who are more connected to the Northern Plot are Jon and Arya.

[a-libra-writes]

okay so like what i thought of was basically it’s a stark reader(robb’s twin) like in the hc, BUT up until theon left to go recruit his father they had a kind of unspoken thing going on and we’re clearly in love with each other just neither one had the guts to say it(theon would even pick out whores specifically bc they looked like the reader) and so(like in the hc) roose bolton captures her and their direwolf at the red wedding to marry her to ramsay. who subsequently becomes slightly(but let’s be honest this is ramsay) obsessed with her, and one day her direwolf makes its way into the kennels only to find and lay next to theon. it refuses to come out and even snarls in a protective way if someone tried to get theon out of the kennel. the servants decide that the best way to get the direwolf out is with its owner, reader and theon have a ready reunion and he kind of snaps out of reek for a short period of time. butttttt then ramsay gets jealous and chaos ensues :))))) hope you like it!!!! yeah it is kind of based off of the hc you did lol

first of all how dare you anon???????? i thought about this ask way too much today and it HURTS

So lets start with this. Theon was ten when he was taken from his family, he’s witnessed his home be invaded and the castle walls destroyed. Heard about his older brothers being murdered. May have seen their heads on spikes. Taken from his sweet mother, and older sister, probably didn’t see his uncles and father??? there sure as shit weren’t any nice goodbyes.

Yes Ned didn’t approve of this whole thing, but he saw it as a better alternative to another war coming up. Robert saw it as mercy; he wasn’t destroying the whole Greyjoy line or burning their keep to the ground.

So with all of that, he arrives in Winterfell, where it’s freezing. Travelled with the man that may have led to the deaths of his older brothers. Meets this man’s wife, who clearly isn’t happy he’s there. And meets this man’s children, who are young and just staring at him and his strange clothes. 

Now that we’ve got that out of the way....

I really like Theon and Robb’s friendship, and how it almost progressed to the level of Jon and Robb’s brotherhood, but not quite. I think that’s because he’s older by several years in the books, and while Jon is “at least” Stark, Theon is not. He’s a hostage. A potential danger. Catlyn likely doesn’t want her oldest anywhere near him but if Robb is going off to play with the Ironborn boy, why can’t Y/N? She’ll sneak out if she has to! She wants to talk to him and ask him questions. He’s annoyed by a stupid girl trailing him around, and tells her as much. 

I like to think they have an annoying sibling relationship for a while, and Y/N is very fascinated with him, but she also has a great deal of empathy because she starts to realize his situation. She’s still a child, but she knows he was taken from his family and struggles to understand why her father would do that. Ned tries to explain it to her, but I think it’ll always feel wrong to her, so even if Theon teases her and she teases back, she’s always nice to him even when her mother tries to discourage them socializing.

And of course, my favorite trope.  They get older and start to realize feelings, she grows into a beautiful lady and still wants to hang out with him and Robb. She still smiles at him during feasts and comes to watch him practice at archery and still glares at anyone who dares insult him. “You’ll do well to keep your words to yourself, especially where it pertains to matters you don’t understand,” She’ll sneer at lordlings who come in to gawk at the Ironborn. Theon loves it when she talks “like a lady” to annoying guests and lords. She speaks far more casually with him and her siblings. 

His crush is intense!!!! It’s so much. It hits him early and puberty + Theon brain just makes it worse. Like you said, he absolutely picks whores that look similar to her - I HC he generally seeks whores at an early age bc 1) thats just an OK thing to do for young men in Westeros and 2) he’s really lacking in physical affection and acceptance in general. 

He has no chance with a Lady Y/N Stark. Not a single fucking chance, but he still daydreams. When he was younger especially, when he hoped the Starks would accept him, when he thought he’d never return home - maybe they’d see him like a son, maybe, if he was good. Maybe if he was good enough, she’d ... but no. That’s all pipe dreams. The older he gets, the more he knows it, but knowing doesn’t help the bitterness.

I think it’d be even worse if Y/N saw him in a more romantic light than a familial or platonic one. The yearning. The pain!! The shared glances after touching each other’s hands, wondering if the other person knows or cares as much, but never knowing for sure because how the hell can you ask that? How would it ever be appropriate? 

There’s so much to this. Ramsay just adds a dozen layers of angst and complications 😂

Obviously Theon’s betrayal and “death” would break her heart, among other things. The war is not kind to the Starks. She has a lot of pain by the time she’s married to Ramsay. 

Also YOU’RE BREAKING MY HEART like the idea of her direwolf sniffing out Theon, even after all that, or just seeing him and instantly curling up. Theon’s half asleep, half delirious, but he feels the warmth of the fur and for a wild moment believes it’s Grey Wind. He feels the wet nose on his face and the wolf gently licks his wounds. This isn’t the hounds that snap at him and bring their fleas. The wolf curls up with him, and it’s probably the most peaceful sleep Theon’s had in months.

Later Y/N realizes her direwolf has been gone for hours and searches for it in a panic. She doesn’t want to go into the dungeons, she hates them, hates the sounds and the smells coming from them, but she doesn’t know where else to look. She’s sick to her stomach wondering why her wolf is down there, what if Ramsay -? No. He wouldn’t... would he?

And yes, Ramsay’s men have been trying to get Theon out per their master’s orders and can’t. The direwolf refuses. Theon has to crawl out on his own, all bones and scars and scabs and wounds, and the wolf sticks to his legs. Shows its teeth to anyone even looking at him. That’s when Y/N hears the commotion and comes down, she has no idea who this old man is - then... Recognition. Terrifying, heart-wrenching recognition.

When she holds him, she’s not sure who falls down first. It could be either of them; Theon from weakness and shock, her from heartache and relief. And he’s Theon again. He says his name, and her’s, and it’s hard for him to think straight and get the words out. But there is I’m sorry.

She demands an explanation from Roose. There’s no point in hiding it now. And she turns on Ramsay for it, and lord knows he won’t feel guilty about it. I feel like Theon would get slightly better treatment now, both because the direwolf is at his heels as much as Y/N’s and now she has a close eye on him. If anything else happens, she’s going to raise hell in the Dreadfort. All the anger and fire and outrage has been stoked again. Ramsay is not pleased with any of these developments.

And yeah if she and Theon had romantic feelings, this is about to get much more complicated :^)

[agentrouka-blog]

I often read that Robb making mistake by marrying Jeyne W which leads to his lords left him and breaking of oath with Freys is what leads to his death. But Lannisters, Roose and Freys were also responsible for breaking guest rights to kill him and his mother. What do you think about actual Robb failure which made him doomed and how starks will learn from it?

Hi there!!

I'm not immersed enough in the warfare aspect of the stories to answer this with confidence. Many factors combined to doom Robb.

But the underlying reason was trust placed in those who had been forced into submission in the past. The Ironborn. Theon. The Boltons. Historically, the Starks conquered much of their territory and as recently as a decade ago held a child hostage to force their father to comply. Bad karma. Incidentally, Robb places his trust in just these people. That's the self-inflicted doom.

I am fairly certain that Roose Bolton was mentally ready to turn on the Starks the moment Ned went South, certainly by the time Ned was arrested. He married Fat Walda almost immediately after the Battle at the Green Fork, if I'm not mistaken, creating his own separate bond with Walder, while Ramsay began messing around in the North, and he was certainly aware of what the Karstark disruption was doing to the Northern political landscape, as well, making sure to send Harrion into the same doomed battle that saw Tallheart killed and Glover captured, paving the way for Alys Karstark's planned forced marriage to her corrupt uncle. A significant part of Robb's army is destroyed at the nonsensical attack on Duskendale.

This is ordered before the news of Robb's Wedding ever arrived. Duskendale is already a done deal. Darry burning is a done deal, paving the way for Amerei Frey (of Darry heritage) and Lancel taking over, a match likely planned before the Blackwater and made official after his full recovery in AFFC. All this is done in collusion with Tywin. Those important letters are happening even before Jeyne Westerling. We know Tywin was in touch with Sybell Spicer and she gave Jeyne moon tea from the start. Tywin had a long reach. Robb was unmatched in battle but surrounded by treachery. Or "treachery", because what does Sybell owe a guy who invaded her castle? Nothing.

Ramsay cleaned up after Theon in the North and by capturing him held a key to negotiate with the Ironborn at Moat Cailin. By that point the Jeyne incident only tipped over the Freys. I think.

Anyway, Robb was doomed by his ancestors' forceful submission of the North, in a way. When the Starks were weak, Ironborn and Boltons struck. This is a fair mirror to the Targaryens, and it is emphasized in the story of the Rape of the Sisters later on. The Starks are not unproblematic angels. None of the Northerners are, if you consider the fate of Lady Hornwood or Jeyne Poole.

Narratively, Robb pays for this as much as he pays for submitting to his society's sexism. Disregarding Cat's advice, discounting the value of his sisters, refusing to prioritize family and peace over warfare, at the cost of the peasants who are plundered, raped and murdered on either side. Independence is a worthy cause, but Torrhen Stark chose peace to save lives. Robb refused peace. Understandably so, the Lannisters killed Ned, but his own house was not in order, so to speak, and it ended up strangling him. You cannot resist oppression on a throne that was errected on oppression. (Contrast Dorne!)

When the North is done with its internal strife, they will be ready again for kingship based on the kind of unity that is earned, not conquered. Jon earns Alys' support. The Manderlys are loyal because of past generosity. The Liddle is appreciative of the peace in the land that the Starks worked to uphold. That sort of thing. Asha was negotiating with Lady Glover for resettlement, which would create a true peaceful coexistence, just like with the wildlings at the Wall and in the future in the Gift. Long-term, peaceful, well-built ties. Not force.

The final hurdle will be the sexism in the North. Sansa the elder could not rule in her own right as a girl. She needed to marry her uncle Jonnel who became Lord Stark. (Whatever their personal relationship was, the political one is bathed in sexism.) I think this wrinkle will be adressed strongly in the Northern succession arc coming up in TWOW and in ADOS. And not by a marriage of convenience. That would be marrying Sansa for her claim. (Currently prevented by her marriage to Tyrion anyway.)

For true balance, Sansa needs to be crowned in her own right, independent of marriage. In a North decimated of many of its male heirs, succession through the female line looks like it could win some much overdue legal recognition for all the nobility, not just the crown.

Basically, in order to restore what was destroyed, the Starklings need to revamp the whole enterprise of what it means to rule in the North. I made a post a while ago about this, called "House Stark Redemption Arc". I still stand by that.

[tomakeitbeautifultolive]

Something I've been wondering about: If Jon comes back as a fire wight like Beric Dondarrion and unCat, will he be able to get it up? Blood won't really be flowing in his body anymore, so would his dick be powered by fire magic or something like that?

I, too, have spent a great deal of time pondering Jon Snow’s dick, Anon. 😏 Jokes aside, I will admit right off the bat that most of what I have to offer is total speculation, but over-thinking the most minor details of ASOIAF happens to be my favorite pastime, so let’s go!

Like pretty much everyone who read the quote, I was totally thrown off by the “fire wight” revelation. Here’s the quote for reference:

“..poor Beric Dondarrion, who was set up as the foreshadowing of all this, every time he’s a little less Beric. His memories are fading, he’s got all these scars, he’s becoming more and more physically hideous, because he’s not a living human being anymore. His heart isn’t beating, his blood isn’t flowing in his veins, he’s a wight, but a wight animated by fire instead of by ice.”

So, an important distinction to make here is that this quote is about Beric Dondarrion specifically, not Jon Snow.

The condition of Jon Snow’s corpse might matter

George can be very clever with how he words things. Note that he goes into Beric’s deaths, describing multiple resurrections and how he’s falling apart before stating that his heart is no longer beating. It could be that a fresh “fire wight” might still possess bodily functions—at least at first. Catelyn, too, was a very sorry looking corpse by the time she was reanimated, therefore not a great comparison, either. Especially since it’s Beric rather than Thoros who, with very little life force to lend, resurrects her.

If nothing else, Jon will be “fresh”, and his location at the Wall means the low temperatures will help preserve his body even if the resurrection takes some time. 

And speaking of the Wall… there happens to be a special lady there who could help Jon, and whose powers happen to be amplified by the magic of the Wall...

Melisandre is profoundly more powerful than Thoros of Myr

Thoros may be a red priest, but otherwise he seems to be a pretty normal human man. We get a clue about when he converted from Jaime:

“Jaime had once heard Thoros tell the king that he became a red priest because the robes hid the winestains so well.”

Relatively recently, one might guess, as most children aren’t yet drunks. Further, he was never very dedicated to his faith, even questioning it at times.

Melisandre, on the other hand...

“Melisandre had practiced her art for years beyond count, and she had paid the price. There was no one, even in her order, who had her skill at seeing the secrets half-revealed and half-concealed within the sacred flames.”

While we don’t know much about her, this confirms that she spent countless years studying her craft, and no one in her order can match her skill. And no one believes in their faith more than Melisandre. Like in the television series, it’s a safe bet that she’s actually much older than the natural human lifespan, particularly if she managed to lose count of how many years she’s studied magic.

If Melisandre is the one to resurrect Jon Snow, she might not use a ‘last kiss’ method at all, or, if she does, it could be more powerful than anything Thoros is capable of.

Unlike Beric, Jon Snow is probably the prophesied prince

Speaking of Melisandre’s ability to glimpse secrets in the flames… there’s someone she sure seems to see a lot of:

“I pray for a glimpse of Azor Ahai, and R'hllor shows me only Snow.”

“Skulls. A thousand skulls, and the bastard boy again. Jon Snow.”

“The flames crackled softly, and in their crackling she heard the whispered name Jon Snow. His long face floated before her, limned in tongues of red and orange.”

I know. There is some contention about who the Prince that was Promised is. Regardless of whether you agree that it’s Jon Snow, you’ve got to admit that Melisandre is seeing him in the flames for a reason. And if he’s not the prophesied prince, then perhaps his blood has something to do with it. It’s likely that, for some reason, the combination of Targaryen and Stark blood matters. At least, Rhaegar Targaryen seemed pretty convinced...

Whatever Jon Snow’s business is in Westeros… it’s unfinished. And part of that unfinished business might just involve becoming a father.

The emphasis put on Jon fathering a child is notable

Let’s go back to Jon’s first chapter ever. It opens with Jon at Robert’s feast, the author uses Jon’s eyes to describe the setting and multiple characters. And then enters Benjen Stark. This is when we really get to know Jon. When you read this passage, really consider the author’s intent here:

"You don't know what you're asking, Jon. The Night's Watch is a sworn brotherhood. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor."

"A bastard can have honor too," Jon said. "I am ready to swear your oath."

"You are a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a woman, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon felt anger rise inside him. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom.

Suddenly he realized that the table had fallen silent, and they were all looking at him. He felt the tears begin to well behind his eyes.

This is how George R.R. Martin chooses to introduce us to Jon Snow. And gods, that always hits me right in the gut. It’s absolutely supposed to. Jon’s trembling, venomous anger is palpable. You feel the deep hurt and resentment in his words, right down to his core. Jon says he doesn’t care—but the bite in his words and the tears welling in his eyes tell us otherwise.

Jon Snow easily embraces his vow of celibacy. At first. And then comes Ygritte. And after getting his first taste of love and later flirting with the idea of becoming a lord when it’s offered to him by Stannis, Jon Snow begins to imagine what it might be like to have a wife...

“I might someday hold a son of my own blood in my arms. A son was something Jon Snow had never dared dream of, since he decided to live his life on the Wall.”

And look what happens the moment he does dare to dream of it...

“I could name him Robb. Val would want to keep her sister's son, but we could foster him at Winterfell, and Gilly's boy as well. Sam would never need to tell his lie. We'd find a place for Gilly too, and Sam could come visit her once a year or so. Mance's son and Craster's would grow up brothers, as I once did with Robb.

He wanted it, Jon knew then. He wanted it as much as he had ever wanted anything. I have always wanted it, he thought, guiltily. May the gods forgive me. It was a hunger inside him, sharp as a dragonglass blade.”

And the feeling transitions into an almost tangible hunger felt by his wolf, Ghost.

Speaking of Ghost…

Grab your tinfoil! ‘Cause Jon’s life might’ve already been ‘paid for’ ...By Daenerys

First… in case you didn’t know, Daenerys is probably a skinchanger:

“The slightest pressure with her legs, the lightest touch on the reins, and the filly responded. As she turned to ride back, a firepit loomed ahead, directly in her path. A daring she had never known filled Daenerys then, and she gave the filly her head.”

Basically, it goes like this:

As Daenerys wanders the Dothraki Sea in search of food after being whisked away by Drogon, she hears a wolf’s howl.

“Will (Ghost) howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell?”

Feeling lonely yet no less hungry, she eats some strange green berries. Her stomach begins to cramp.

“My flesh will feed the wolves and carrion crows, she thought sadly, and worms will burrow through my womb.”

Unfortunately, Daenerys then experiences some horrible diarrhea. Poor girl! I don’t bring it up to be crass, but because this purge bears striking resemblance to an earthly drug called Ayahuasca—a substance that, aside from emptying your bowels, is often used as a means to ‘open your third eye’ (Just as Bran does in the crypts, and he can finally reach Jon and Ghost…)

Dany falls asleep and begins experiencing trippy dreams about her brother—perhaps even achieving contact with the other side? Then...

“When she woke, gasping, her thighs were slick with blood.”

Assuming it’s nothing more than her period, Dany begins to wonder the last time she bled—hinting that it might’ve been a little while.

“The sight of so much red frightened her. Moon blood, it's only my moon blood, but she did not remember ever having such a heavy flow.”

Maybe a bit of a stretch, I know. But… this wretched and graphic scene of Dany’s loose bowels really made me wonder what in seven hells George was thinking. I was so embarrassed for Dany that I HAD to figure out why he’d do this to her.

And my best guess is that she’s using these latent skinchanging abilities to tap into this strange connection with the “blue rose” over at the Wall of Westeros and the silent wolf who finally howled for help upon his death… And so, Dany’s miscarriage may be the death that will pay for Jon’s life.

I might’ve found some more evidence to back this claim up, this is very new ‘evidence’, so bear with me:

“Fire”, in the world of ASOIAF, often translates to “life”. As is seen here in Sam’s speech following Aemon’s death (thanks, bridge4!):

“He was the blood of the dragon, but now his fire has gone out.”

Further, according to the wiki:

“When a follower of the Lord of Light dies, priests fill their mouths with fire and breathe flame into the deceased”

In the House of the Undying, Dany receives a series of chilling prophecies, one of which happens to be about fires:

“Three fires you must light, one for life, one for death and one to love”

I know, I know. Drogo’s pyre, the Khals, etc etc. But George might be playing with double meanings here… So, if we think of fires as conceptions, this could maybe mean:

One in exchange FOR the Dragon’s lives (Life)

One in exchange FOR Jon’s resurrection (Death)

One conceived (likely with Jon) and carried to term (TO love)

Food for thought! Especially considering that, like Jon, Dany possesses the blood of Old Valyria, and these sacrifices are probably all the more powerful as a result. But even if I’m dead wrong about that prophecy, well, fire still broadly means life, which bodes well for our brooding ‘bastard’, who might just end up as a “fire wight”.

Hopefully something in this drivel has given any Jon fans reading this a little bit of faith that, despite the slight setback of death, Jon will still be able to exercise his, uh, virility when he finally meets Dany. 😅 Thanks for the ask!!

[peaceoutofthepieces]

Tracing Time

This discusses the hate crime in s3 (and the homophobia plotline in sos).

Thursday, 02:26

Song: IAMX - Insomnia; Crywolf ft. EDEN - Stomach It

He’s going to break that clock.

It’s usually not something that bothers him. Sometimes he even finds it soothing, counts the ticks to help him sleep. Now it’s too loud, occupies too much space, and taunts him with how late it is and how much he’s going to regret this tomorrow. Even though it’s out of his control.

He stuffs his face further into his pillow and makes himself take a deep breath. When that doesn’t work, he takes another. Then one more. And another.

He gets up, climbs so that he’s standing on top of his bed, and takes the clock off the wall. He pulls out the batteries from the back, careful not to let them drop and roll away, and there. Peaceful, beautiful, blissful silence. This time his deep breath works, sending a wave of relaxation all the way through him before he climbs down again.

When he crawls back into bed, he’s got his phone in one hand and his key to Robbe’s in the other.

He doesn’t really do anything with either, just sets his phone next to him and lets his hand rest on it and rubs his thumb over the key in the habit he’s picked up. It’s most soothing, even as he feels apprehension and doubt swirl in his chest. Robbe had gone to sleep before Sander even went to bed, messaging him while Sander was still working on his assignment, trying to finish off just that one paragraph. He’d told himself that was enough to be satisfied with, that it would be more beneficial to sleep when he still has two days to work on it. He’d had to take his pills, anyway, and he’d hoped they’d pretty much knock him out, but he hardly even feels as sleepy as he usually does.

Now he just feels like he’s wasting his time. He’s not working or sleeping, and his brain has nowhere to go so it spins in circles.

He's thinking about his assignment, still. Worrying. He’s pretty sure he’ll get it done, but that doesn’t mean it won’t be a load of crap. He’s also thinking about Agathe, telling him he’s doing well. He’s thinking about the woman with the death stare from the cafe. He’s thinking about that talk with Jens, and moving on and doing better.

He rubs over the key too quickly and lets out a hiss as he scratches his thumb. Instead of putting it down, however, he holds it tight in his hand and picks up his phone.

He navigates to Robbe’s contact, first. He looks at their messages from earlier, the usual banter, the sweet goodnight, and he settles a little, allows it to warm him. He could text Robbe, but chances are that the boy is definitely asleep and Sander will wake him up. Robbe’s insomnia had returned with a weak sort of vengeance after the holidays as he stressed about his final ever semester, but he seems to have gotten it under control now. Sander will not disturb him.

He could go through and look at videos or photos or listen to voice notes, bring the remnants of Robbe close enough to feel his comfort. Or it might just strengthen the twinge in his heart.

He finds himself opening Instagram instead, maybe to bore him to sleep, and finds Lucas’s story waiting for him. He’s only shared a song, nothing unusual, but it was also only posted two minutes ago.

Sander’s calling him without even taking time to think about it, but Lucas picks up on the first ring.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and sleepy but curious, the concern thinly veiled. “Can’t sleep either?”

“No,” Sander whispers. “Hi.”

Lucas is silent for a moment, probably waiting for Sander to speak. Eventually, he gives up. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Sander pauses. “No? I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Lucas says. “I’ll wait.”

Well.

It’s not Robbe, but it’s the next best thing, maybe. It’s the perfect thing to say, to do. Because Lucas won’t push, but he won’t leave. He’ll breathe in Sander’s ear and wait. Sander takes the time, because he knows, is sure, that it really is allowed, and without the incessant ticking it doesn’t feel as long, anyway. Even when he’s silent for what must be a few minutes, Lucas stays silent, too. Keeps waiting.

“Are you scared of Jens’s house?” Sander finally asks.

The silence on the other end becomes total, and Sander checks to make sure Lucas hasn’t hung up. But no; it’s just his breaths that have stopped. Sander worries for a brief moment before a sigh emits. “I know you spoke to him.”

Sander takes it for the non-answer it is and points it out as one. “That wasn’t my question.”

“I know.” Their breaths pass to each other silently again. Then Lucas just says, “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yeah, I’m afraid. Even now. It doesn’t matter that I know it’s stupid. It doesn’t matter when he’s not there.” He takes a louder breath. “I think I’m just always a little afraid, anyway, though.”

Sander absorbs this. After a while, he just says, softly, “Yeah.”

It’s not that he hadn’t been, even before. Merely meeting Robbe was scary for a multitude of reasons, and kissing him for the first time had his heart pounding, but it was worth it, so worth it. Then he’d had Robbe turn him down, had seen Robbe so hurt and upset by what he’d done, and he’d felt the fear and the horror and the disgust at himself before he realised it was all the same things that had made Robbe so harsh in the first place. It hadn’t mattered, when Robbe came back to him, because Sander had him then and that was all he wanted and he had always understood. Even if he had never struggled with himself quite the way Robbe had, it was still part of his understanding. He’d never really needed Robbe to explain himself to him.

Then Sander had taken Robbe on what he thought would be a perfect first date, and his understanding grew to a whole new level.

And with it comes the fear.

Even though he knows, he knows, that Robbe has only been strengthened, has only grown braver, because of their relationship. Even though he never wishes or feels the need to hide Robbe, never, no matter where and when they might be. It’s still there.

It’s a valid fear, and that understanding fills Sander with such a burning fury that of course he has to fight back against it.

He’s already spent too much of his life fearing too much about himself. He will not fear this, not when it is what allows him his biggest source of happiness.

“Is this about the bar?” Lucas asks quietly. “I know you talked to Jens.”

Sander huffs.

“I’m sorry, if you didn’t want him to pass anything on to me, but he needed to tell me you were the one knocking sense into him. I’ve been meaning to say thanks.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he mumbles.

Lucas hums. “You did. You understood.”

“So I was right?”

“Of course you were,” Lucas laughs, derisively. “You knew you were. I mean, you’re also shockingly wrong, but that’s a whole different point.”

Sander frowns, furrowing his brows, even though Lucas can’t see him. “What does that mean?”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Lucas sighs. “You know it’s not the same. With you guys...it’s not just about Robbe.” He pauses for a moment. “It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” Sander says forcefully.

“That’s not what I meant. I know it’s not. I know enough about the guy to know he’s just a dick, and no matter what I did, that wouldn’t be any different. I don’t think you do.”

Sander has a denial ready, but it dies in his throat. He doesn’t have the energy to protest and argue, not with his medication finally feeling like it’s kicking in, and not when Lucas will just see right through him. “I know,” is all he manages to say, hoarsely.

“Do you?”

“I do. But don’t you also think...I don’t know. Maybe if I was thinking more clearly, I would have gotten us out of there sooner, or I could have fought them off—“

“But Robbe couldn’t?”

Sander swallows. This is precisely why he didn’t want to argue, because he knew Lucas would go for all his sense and logic and pick Sander’s points apart at the seams. Sander doesn’t have any retorts prepared.

“Sander, I get how you feel, but you know he wants to protect you too, right?” Lucas asks softly. He gets even quieter as he continues. “You know you were hurt, too.”

“This woman gave me a weird look today, when I was at the cafe with Robbe,” Sander tells him. “And I was just so relieved she didn’t actually say anything and he didn’t see.”

Lucas lets out another breath, and there’s a rustling of sheets. “I wouldn’t tell him, either.”

Sander lowers his voice to a whisper. “Why doesn’t it matter how long it’s been? Robbe and I go back to the bar all the time now, and it’s fine, it doesn’t bother us.”

“But you don’t have to be there to think about it, so it bothers you anyway, at the most random times.”

Sander closes his eyes.

“It’s okay, Sander,” Lucas murmurs.

“I told Robbe not to go to the police. That they’d never catch the guys, that shit just happens. Like it was nothing, like we just have to get over it.”

“I’m sure he knows that isn’t what you meant.”

“No, but he doesn’t know what I did mean. He doesn’t know that I didn’t want my dad to be taking our statement and know about another way that I fucked up. I didn’t want to have made another mistake, I didn’t want it to be my fault for finding trouble, I—“

“Sander, stop,” Lucas says sternly. “I can hear your voice cracking. You need to breathe, okay? Take a minute. It’s fine.”

Sander struggles to obey, abandoning his rant to take another deep breath, like he’d always been taught. Lucas doesn’t say anything, but his own breaths seem to get louder. The steady rhythm filters into Sander’s ears and eases its way towards his lungs. He closes his eyes, but his mind is still conjuring too many unpleasant images, so he opens them again and looks for something to focus on in the dim, moonlit room. He settles on the photographs framed on his nightstand. One from when he was a child, both his parents next to him, and the other much more recent. That first afternoon he’d spent in Robbe’s room, the two of them locked away in their bubble, talking about universes and films and thoughts. Well over a year ago, now, and he still remembers it so clearly. Robbe’s arms draped around his shoulders, kissing the top of Sander’s head while Sander pulls a stupid face. Robbe so caring, so indulgent, even then.

“That’s better,” Lucas speaks up again.

Sander lets out a shaky sigh. “Sorry.”

“You never talk to anyone about how much it affected you, do you? Aside from the first time you told me about it, you don’t let yourself be upset.”

“It’s Robbe,” Sander says, somewhat hopelessly, unsure that he’s making any sense at this point. “How could I not love him? What’s so bad about it?”

“Nothing,” Lucas says, sure and steady. “Nothing at all, Sander.”

A tear Sander hadn’t even noticed was building slips down his cheek, and he lets it, waits until it seeps into the pillow before wiping the dampness from his skin. They both stay quiet, but the simple presence of his friend is enough to be calming. He’s somewhat glad he hadn’t called Robbe, though he longs for nothing more than to go to him, and the key still tucked in his fist is enough permission. But he doesn’t want to talk to Robbe about this, not anymore, not again. Not when it could do harm rather than good, could bring sadness without any relief.

It’s a relief, to tell Lucas, who understands but won’t be hurt by it in the same way. Who knows Sander almost as well and has been in a similar position and who won’t cry just because he does.

“You never told your parents about it, did you?” Lucas asks. It’s not judgmental, but it’s clear he knows the answer already.

“Would you have, if you didn’t have to for Jens?”

He hears Lucas’s soft huff. “Probably not. But that doesn’t mean I’m not glad that they know.”

“It’s not the same, though. You didn’t lie to them about why you came home beat up. You didn’t have to.”

“No. I was lucky, I know that. But that could just mean I’m a lot more to blame for what happened to us than you are for such a random, hateful attack. I lied to my dad, too. He didn’t know Jens and I were together, and if I hadn’t been at his house, his dad would never have found out. Or at least, it might not have been as shockingly bad.”

“No,” Sander argues, again, but it’s difficult with Lucas using his own logic against him.

Lucas sighs; Sander can picture him shaking his head. “Maybe if I’d told dad earlier, Jens wouldn’t have had to run off, and I wouldn’t have felt so shitty. But I know even if I’d never brought it up, it would still feel like a relief to tell him today.”

Sander purses his lips, and doesn’t say anything.

“You can be upset, or angry, or hurt, or whatever you want. And you can talk about it. That’s how you move on, Sander.”

“Robbe and I have already talked about it so many times,” Sander sighs. Then he admits, “But never like this.”

Lucas hums. “He’ll understand, better than me. And he can handle it just as well. You know that. But thank you, for telling me. You always can.”

“I know,” Sander mumbles. Somewhere in the past couple of minutes, his eyelids have started drooping. “Thank you.”

“Did it help? At all?”

Sander presses into his pillow and lets out a breath. “Yeah. I actually think it did.” It hasn’t really changed anything, he knows, and it’ll come up again eventually no matter how much he tells himself it’s in the past and he’s moved on. The weight of the memory isn’t gone, but it feels lighter, somehow. Like admitting it’s not okay is starting to make it so.

“Good.” He can hear the smile in Lucas’s voice. “Are you falling asleep now?”

Sander can’t do much more than hum.

Lucas laughs quietly. “Okay. Get some rest, dumbass.”

“Are you okay?” Sander thinks to ask. “You were up, that’s why I called.”

“I’m going to sleep now, too,” Lucas promises. “I think you helped me as well.”

“Okay,” Sander sighs. “Night, Luc.”

“Bye, Sander.”

Sander waits a moment even after he hears the call run out, then lets his hand slip away from his ear slowly. He sets the phone aside, stretching his arm out to the nightstand, but keeps a hold of the key. He brings it closer to his chest and sucks a breath in, then lets it out, and finally relaxes. He doesn’t have to go to Robbe, he convinces himself. But he can—he really can, any time he wants to, and that’s more than enough.

He’s asleep in seconds.

~^~

previous/next

[cruciology]

Thunder and Lightning

Sandor Clegane x Reader

Summary: You and the Hound take shelter during a storm

The cold water felt amazing on your skin after days of traveling under the hot sun. It had been too long since you had had a proper bath, but you didn’t mind bathing rivers if it meant being far away from King Joffrey and his horrid mother. You wished that your sister had come with you and of course you felt terrible for leaving her there by herself, but when the Hound offered to take you both away with him when he ran, to take you to Castle Black to Jon, you couldn’t say no. You wished you could have forced her, but as soft and meek as people thought your sister was, you knew she could be just as stubborn as Arya. And you couldn’t very well stay in King’s Landing. Sansa’s high born status and betrothal to Joffrey protected her from certain death, but you were just a bastard. They would kill you the moment you stepped even a toe out of line. Even if the Hound had frightened you, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you. You had been traveling with him for months now and he still hadn’t laid a hand on you. In fact, besides when you were sitting on his horse in front of him, riding across his lap, he tried not to touch you at all. 

You dived into the cold water to rinse your hair. You came up, taking a deep breath. Even the air on the road tasted better than the air in King’s Landing. 

You heard your name from the trees surrounding the river you were swimming in. You should have known the Hound would come looking for you as soon as he awoke from his nap. He didn’t like you leaving his sight. He claimed he didn’t want to have to deal with your family coming after him if you got hurt under his watch. 

“Here,” You called out, sinking up to your shoulders in the water. You could hear the Hound breaking branches as he walked through the forest. 

He finally broke through the edge of the forest, looking annoyed. Then he spotted you naked under the water and quickly turned his back to you. “Fucking Hell, Snow,” He said. “Are you fucking stupid?” 

“No, just sweaty and dirty,” You said. “Or I was until just a bit ago.” 

“You’re going to just strip down in the middle of the woods where anyone can see you?” The Hound asked. “Get your clothes on before I end up having to kill somebody.”

“You would’ve heard me if something happened,” You argued, but you pulled yourself out of the water regardless. You pulled your slip back over your head and it clung to your cool, wet skin. 

“You covered?” He asked. You rolled your eyes before confirming that you were while you were busy turning your dress right side out. He turned back, only to swear and slap his hand over his face again, making you laugh. “What did I say? Put your dress on, Seven Hells, girl.” 

“You’re such a child, you can’t see anything,” You said.

“Can’t see anything, my ass.” 

 You finally got your dress on, tightening the ties at the front. “There, big baby man, my dress is on, you can unshield your eyes, your modesty is safe.” 

The Hound finally took his hand away, looking down at you. “Not enough that you have your tits popping out half the time? You’re gonna get me killed by some horny pervert in my sleep.” You had this argument before. The Hound was always grunting that you were too noticeable. You learned this was Hound Speak for he thought you were too pretty for your own good. You tried not to look too closely at why him thinking you were pretty made your stomach flip. 

“Did you have a point or did you just come out here to yell at me for having a bath?” You asked, hands on your hips. There was a time where you could barely look at the Hound’s face, but now you stared up at him with ease. You would dare to even call him your friend, though maybe not to his face. That was bold, even for you. 

“It’s going to rain tonight,” He said, pointing up at the sky. The clouds hung heavy and grey just ahead. “Gotta find someplace to sleep if we don’t want to be half drowned by morning. There’s an inn up the road.” 

“Oh, an inn, aren’t we fancy?” You followed him back into the forest, back to your small camp in the clearing. 

“More trouble than you’re worth,” The Hound said, shaking his shaggy head. When you first left with him, you were careful not to annoy him, watching your every move to make sure you didn’t rub him the wrong way in case he really did just tire of you and cast you off to face the dangers on your own. It didn’t take long to realize that he wanted you around for company as much as you needed him for protection. You had lost track of the times he had threatened to leave you behind only to swoop in and save you anyways. 

It only took a moment for you to clean up the small camp. You had only set up a few hours before, but the Hound was right. You couldn’t really sleep outside if there would be a downpour. The two of you normally found a barn to hole up in at night, but there hadn’t been much along this road. You were surprised that there was even an inn nearby. 

The Hound grabbed you by the waist, lifting you onto the horse with ease before climbing on behind you. He pulled you close to him, making sure you were settled against him and your arm wrapped around him to steady yourself before he rode. Sometimes you found yourself falling asleep when the ride was smooth enough, your head laying on his armor clad chest. If he minded, he never said anything. 

It was a short ride to the inn. The rain was just starting to come down as the Hound tied the horse up. You hurried into the shelter of the warm inn before the heavy rain could soak you through, the Hound shortly behind you. 

The whole place was crowded with drunk, burly men. It was early in the evening, but it seemed they all had the same idea as the Hound. You spotted a few women you were sure were being paid by the hour but you weren’t sure where they had found themselves this far out in the middle of nowhere. 

“Stay right here, I’ll get us rooms,” The Hound ordered. You nodded, sitting down at a table closest to the door as you watched your traveling companion part the crowd easily. Even drunk men knew not to get in the Hound’s way. If it wasn’t his brutal scar that scared them, it was the sheer size of him. You often found yourself wondering how big his mother had to have been to bore both him and the Mountain. 

A low whistle caught your attention and you resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you spotted the source. A couple of men twice your age were making eyes at you from a table a few feet away. You looked back in the direction that the Hound had gone, hoping he would be quick about it. You busied yourself with your skirt, looking for loose threads you knew weren’t there. You cursed under your breath as you saw two pairs of feet out of the corner of your eye.

“What’s your name, love?” One man said. He was doughy and red faced. He looked like he had once been a good fighter but had let himself go, big arms and a round middle. You pretended you couldn’t hear him, your fists balled on your lap. You wished you could just tell him to fuck off. You knew Arya would. Your younger sister could be so much braver than you. 

“He asked you a question,” The other said, grabbing your shoulder and turning you towards them. He was scrawny and his skin leathery, probably from too much time in the sun. 

“I heard him,” You said, feeling a bit more defiant now that he had invaded your personal space. 

“And you didn’t answer?” The scrawny one asked. “Very rude.” 

“Makes me not want to tip you,” The doughy one said. 

“I’m not a whore,” You said, your cheeks turning pink. 

“Any woman’s a whore for the right price,” The doughy one said, his lips pulling back in a greasy smile. 

“I’m traveling with my husband,” You lied. You stared back at the man, hoping you sounded more confident than you felt. 

“I don’t see a husband,” The scrawny one said.

“Look harder.” 

You breathed a sigh of relief, turning to see the Hound looming behind you, his eyes trained on the two men. He had one hand on the hilt of his large sword and the other on your shoulder. The two men looked up at the Hound, their eyes wide, their mouths agape.

“We’ll be going,” The doughy one said, backing away so quickly he stumbled and nearly fell onto the floor. 

“What did I tell you?” The Hound asked as he sat down across from you. “You’re my wife now?” 

“Men respect other men’s claim to a woman more than a woman’s claim to herself, unfortunately,” You said with a small shrug. It was something Lady Catelyn had taught you from a young age. There were many times when you had to pretend you were betrothed to Jon or Robb just to avoid a sticky situation with some lecherous lord. 

“Aye, you’re right about that,” The Hound said. 

“Did you get us rooms?” You asked. 

“Just one,” He held up a single key. “Busy night.” 

The rain started coming down harder, pounding on the roof of the inn as you and the Hound ate your dinner of kidney pie. The Hound seemed in a better mood than normal, most likely due to the steady intake of ale. He wasn’t drunk, as it would take a lot more than a few pints to intoxicate a man of his size, but he was certainly jollier. You could swear you even saw a smile on his face when you got up from the table. 

He led you up the stairs and down the hall. The room you were to share was all the way at the end. As the storm raged outside, you were grateful to even get a roof over your head for the night. 

The Hound unlocked the door, letting you enter first. The storm had scared off any summer heat, making the small room slightly chilly, but the feather bed in the middle of the room had a big fur blanket. You were full and sleepy, ready to crawl right under it. You started untying the front of your dress and you expected the Hound to make another comment about modesty but instead he just sat down at the little table by the window, absently looking at the rain slapping against the stained glass. 

You pulled your dress off, leaving you in your thin slip again. You climbed into the bed, pulling the blanket up to your chin. After months of sleeping on the hard ground or the occasional bale of hay, the soft feather bed felt better than anything you had ever touched. You were nearly asleep when you realized the Hound was still sitting stiff upright in his wooden chair, his arms crossed and nodding off. When you slept outside, he didn’t remove his armor in case you needed to make a quick getaway but you thought that behind a locked door, safe for the night, he would at least make himself comfortable. 

“Hound,” You said, making his head jerk up, looking annoyed. “Are you just going to sit there all night?”

“Slept in worse places, believe me,” He said. 

“There’s a perfectly good half of the bed right here,” You said, patting the spot next to you. The Hound’s jaw tensed. “I promise not to hog the blankets.” 

“Not right,” He said it so quietly you were sure you misheard him. You laughed slightly. 

“You aren’t known for your chivalry, Hound,” You said. “Surely you’ve shared a bed with a woman before.” You could almost swear you saw him blush. 

“Fuck off.” 

“Sleep on the end like a dog if you must, live up to your name,” You said, sitting up fully. You saw his eyes flick down to your slip again. “But if you don’t get in this damned bed I’ll just stay up and annoy you all night and neither of us will sleep.” 

“Just shut up.” He finally got up, unbuckling his armor. He was about the only person you had seen who could do it himself. Years of practice, you supposed. Most people didn’t want to get near enough to help him.

In just his underclothes, he blew out the candles on the table and climbed into the bed next to you in the total blackness of the room. You felt the bed shift under his weight, rolling you slightly towards him, but he was careful not to let your bodies touch. You could feel the heat radiating off him. You thought how nice he would be to curl against on some of those cold nights you had spent up north and found yourself blushing. 

“Goodnight, Hound.” 

“Go the fuck to sleep.” 

You woke up in a cold sweat. You were almost grateful for the crack of thunder that had awoken you. The nightmare you had, of watching your father’s head chopped off and seeing it mounted on a stick to rot, was one you didn’t mind being interrupted. You shivered, trying to calm your breathing, but with every lightning strike, you shook harder. 

“You alright?” You had almost forgotten where you were until you heard the grumble from the Hound next to you. Remembering he was there made you feel a little better, even if he sounded annoyed at being roused from his sleep. You could see the vaguest outline of him in the flashes of light. He had his arm over his face as he laid on his back. 

You nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see you. “Sorry, I’m alright,” You confirmed. 

“You’re not.” 

“I don’t like thunderstorms,” You admitted. 

There was a long moment of silence between you as you shivered despite the warmth beneath the blanket. “You gonna keep shaking like that?” 

“Sorry,” You said again. 

The Hound sighed heavily before taking his arm off of his face, wrapping it around you and pulling you flush against his side. His big, hairy arm felt secure around you. You rested your head on his chest, hearing the slow tick of his heart beneath you. You matched your breathing to his and you felt safe even as you heard the thunder outside. He fell asleep again quickly, but his arm remained tightly around you. 

You almost fell back asleep yourself, but he turned in his sleep towards you, his other arm draping over you. He surrounded you, his large body sheltering you as you pressed both of your hands to his broad chest. He smelled like ale and leather and just slightly of sweat. You were used to it by now, after riding so close to him for so long. It was comforting. You let yourself press against him fully. 

You could feel your cheeks turn red as you felt the rigid length on your thigh. You felt a sudden ache. It was the same one you got riding on his lap, when you found yourself thinking about what it might feel like to have his strong hands under your dress. You shifted yourself, throwing your leg over his, pressing your growing wetness against the growing bulge. You know you shouldn’t, but the slight friction made you bite your lip. You heard a soft groan come from the Hound’s throat, only serving to turn you on more. You wanted so badly for him to touch you. 

You turned away from him, your bodies still pressed close and his arms still holding you close, your ass rubbing against his hardness. You cursed yourself for being so depraved as thoughts of the Hound taking you swam through your mind. All you wanted was to roll over and take every inch of him inside of you. 

Without even thinking, you reached your hand down to the wetness between your thighs, feeling his arm under yours even as you slipped a finger into yourself. You could be quick and quiet about it and then just fall asleep. You bit your lip to keep silent as you rubbed your clit, trying to finish yourself without waking the Hound. You couldn’t help your ass grinding back against his groin. You were so close when he grunted, grabbing your hip, making you stop. You snatched your hand away. 

“What are you doing?” He asked. His voice was so low and he was so close you could feel his words rather than hear them. 

“Nothing,” You lied, your face burning bright red. You were glad the room was dark. He didn’t move his hand, he just let you lay in embarrassed silence. You could still feel that sharp ache, stronger now that you were so close. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

You let out an involuntary whimper, letting your hand drift back down to your center. You rubbed your ass against him as you slipped your fingers into your pussy. He groaned, squeezing your hip tighter. 

“Sandor,” You whimpered as you rode your hand. His grip on you bordered on painful. You knew he wanted to touch you but wouldn’t let himself. Throwing all subtlety out the window, you grabbed his large hand from your hip and moved it between your thighs. 

“Fuck,” He whispered as he felt how drenched you were for him. He slipped his middle finger into you. You dug your nails into his forearm, your head throwing back against him. You rode his hand, whimpering his name as you felt that band of tension snap when his thumb found your clit. You came apart in his arms, breathing hard. 

He removed his hand from you, going back to its place around your waist. “Better?” He grunted from behind you. You nodded against him. “Good. Go to sleep.” 

“Don’t you-,” 

“I didn’t take you from the capital for that,” He bristled. You could tell you offended him. 

“I know that,” You said. You knew how he felt about the knights that abused their power. You didn’t think you could be any clearer about how badly you wanted him. You reached behind you, grabbing his length through the fabric of his pants and making him shudder. He was painfully hard now. “Please.” 

“Don’t be begging like that, girl,” He groaned. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.” 

“I’m not a virgin, I know what a cock feels like,” You said. You felt him tense at the word. “Though, your’s is a lot bigger.” The fight you got into with your brothers when they found out what you had been doing with Theon had barely been worth it. You felt like the Hound’s would be and you were desperate to find out. You dipped your hand below his waistband, grabbing him fully and making him curse, thrusting his hips into your hand. “I’ve been thinking about you fucking me since we got to King’s Landing.” He said your name with a warning tone. “Please, Sandor,” You stroked him again. 

“Fucking hells.” 

He pushed you onto your stomach, looming above you as he pushed his pants down. He pushed into you with one thrust, making you gasp and clutch the sheets. He held your hips as he rutted into you, grunting with every thrust. You were stretched so tightly around him you could feel every inch of him as he moved. 

“Cum inside me,” You heard yourself saying. You wanted to feel every part of him. 

“Fuck,” The Hound groaned. He pulled out of you, sitting up on the bed and you were about to protest but he moved you again, moving you onto his lap. He watched your face as you felt him slide into you again. He pulled at the straps of your slip, letting it pool at your waist. He looked over your chest hungrily before leaning in, taking a nipple into his mouth, raking his teeth across it. 

You moved your hips, making him groan low in his throat. He released your breast, wrapping his arms around you. You lifted your hands to grab his face. He flinched as you made contact with the burnt flesh, but he let you hold his face as he thrusted up into you. You pressed your lips to his. Oddly, this felt more intimate than having him full hilt inside of you. 

You moved in sync with him, feeling him deep inside of you as he released, a shudder running through him. You pressed your forehead to his as you both breathed heavily. He kept his arms around you, holding you close to him. 

A clap of thunder made you jump and he squeezed you tighter, a rumbling laugh coming from the Hound beneath you. You had forgotten all about the storm raging outside. He pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your temple. 

“Don’t worry about the storm.” 

[itubainaretro]

TW // mentions of violence (the attack) 

Sunday, November 15th 2020 -  22:53 

Maybe right now Sander and Robbe are still together in Sander’s house, putting the last of their dinner away and almost done with cleaning the kitchen so they can head to Sander’s room and get settled for the night.

-

Usually, Robbe spends Sunday nights at home, with his mama, finishing some last minute homework and assignment that he had left unattended during the week, but not tonight. Tonight he’s staying at Sander’s place, just like he has been doing since Friday night, and he still thinks it’s cute how Sander made sure to ask Robbe’s mama himself if there was any problem with Robbe spending the entire weekend with him, including Sunday night, more than a week ago. She said there was no problem as long as Robbe finished his school work on time and really went to school on Monday morning and not skipped classes to stay with Sander. Robbe promised his mama he would be responsible and he made sure to keep that promise, finishing all his school work by Thursday and leaving for Sander’s house Friday afternoon after giving his mama’s cheek a kiss and hugging her goodbye.

Robbe didn’t think too much of it when Sander asked him, thinking maybe Sander just missed him and wanted to spend some alone time with him since his parents would be gone for the weekend so they would have the house all to themselves, besides, he would never pass up the opportunity to spend all the time he could with Sander, so he simply agreed to it, without giving it a second thought. 

Until he realised the date.

Things changed when Robbe woke up today and noticed what day it was and what happened to them a year ago. Their first date. The countless hours they spent at the bar, their bar, talking, getting to know each other, drinking, flirting and taking silly photos of one another. The breathtaking kisses they shared outside. And how it all came to an abrupt end. 

Robbe tried not to think too much about it, he tried to keep those memories out of his brain, locked in a box he shoved at the back of his mind and pretended to forget it existed. Instead he tried to focus on the good parts of the night, like when he got to the bar and saw Sander waiting for him by the bike racks with the most beautiful smile on his face, or when they entered the bar and Sander held the door open for him like a true gentleman, or when he pulled that stupid magic trick he learned when he was a kid and Sander found it amusing despite telling Robbe to stop, a sweet smile adorning his face.

It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but he managed, being easily distracted by Sander’s presence and all the plans he had for them throughout the day. 

After waking up they watched an old movie, one of Sander’s favourites, in Sander’s bed, and stayed there cuddling for what felt like a thousand years, until their bellies started making weird noises, signaling it was time for them to get up and get some breakfast in their systems. They spent the rest of the morning listening to music and cleaning the mess they made in the kitchen yesterday, during their spontaneous instagram live to try out their new Croque 2000 machine, that was left there to be taken care of later after Sander’s near death experience choking on a tomato. They laughed while remembering Sander’s face after getting rid of the offensive tomato and hugging Robbe, thanking him for saving his life and promising to not try that ever again. Robbe couldn’t stop himself from kissing him and calling him a dork. 

For lunch they had some leftover pizzas they had had on Friday night and sometime during the afternoon, after taking a nap together in front of Sander’s TV while some random documentary played as background noise, Sander requested Robbe’s help in the kitchen again so they could start making dinner. Sander decided to go all out and make them pasta from scratch and it was a delight to see them both messing up until they finally got it right and managed to not only make a decent meal from scratch but a delicious one at that.

-

So right now they’re almost done with the dishes, Robbe washing and rinsing everything and Sander drying them and putting them back in their rightful places. 

After rinsing the last of the cutlery, Robbe washes his hands and waits for Sander to finish drying and putting everything away, leaning on the counter and smiling as he sees Sander shaking his head to the music that plays softly from his phone.

As soon as Sander puts away the last fork he was drying he absentmindedly throws the dishcloth somewhere near the table and grabs Robbe’s waist and pulls him into a kiss. It takes Robbe a bit by surprise but he soon after follows Sander’s lead, opening up to him as soon as he feels Sander’s tongue grazing his bottom lip, asking for entrance. It’s urgent, fast, all consuming and all Robbe can think about, feel and smell is Sander, Sander, Sander.

They make their way to Sander’s room, closing the door out of habit, and Sander pushes Robbe against it to kiss him again. It’s another urgent kiss, but this time it feels desperate, like they’re both trying to hold onto something they don’t know how to name. It feels off.

Sander is the first one to break the kiss, breathing heavily and leaning his head against Robbe’s with his eyes still closed. He takes a deep breath and Robbe waits for him to say something, gently caressing his neck from where his hand had found its way to earlier, hoping it soothes him.

Sander shakes his head, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Robbe whispers, “it’s okay.”

“No,” Sander shakes his head again, “it’s not.”

Robbe pulls away a little, trying to search for Sander’s eyes, but he still has them closed. He caresses his thumb across Sander’s laugh lines and hopes he understands what Robbe wants from him. Sander opens his eyes but doesn’t meet Robbe’s gaze, looking down instead.

“San, look at me,” Robbe tries again. “Please?”

Sander finally looks at him and the sight of Sander’s defeated green eyes is enough to make Robbe’s heart break.

“What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Robbe shakes his head. “Sander, there’s nothing to apologise for. What’s going on?” 

“Yes, there is,” Sander nods. “Tonight I wanted to show you how that night was supposed to go, how it was supposed to have ended,” his voice is barely a whisper. “But I don’t think I can.”

Robbe takes a sharp inhale of breath and silence falls between them.

After a few seconds Sander breaks the silence. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bringing it up and I’m sorry for that night as well.” He sounds choked up.

Robbe shakes his head and engulfs Sander in a hug. “Sander, please, it wasn’t your fault,” he whispers in his neck. “It was never your fault.”

Sander holds him tight and both of them can feel the other’s tears making a wet trail in their clothes the moment they both break down crying.

“And we were both thinking about it the whole day today, so don’t apologise for bringing it up either,” Robbe’s voice is hoarse.

They stand like that, just holding each other for a long time, until Sander pulls away a little bit and kisses Robbe’s forehead, disentangling them from the hug and leading them to his bed.

When they get settled, side by side, Robbe is the first one to speak. “Do you want to talk about it?”

They never properly talked about that night, about how they felt or how hard it was, avoiding all the pain that came with the memory of it, just that they shouldn’t let the existence of close-minded people allow them to make their world smaller, but Robbe thinks it’s about time they do, as painful as it sounds.

Sander nods. 

“I tried helping you, but I wasn’t fast enough,” Sander starts. “I’m sorry about that.” His eyes are still gleaming with the tears he shed earlier. “And I’m sorry we had to go through that, I wished it had never happened...”

Robbe grabs his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“But most of all I’m sorry for what I said and how I treated you after”, Sander continues. “That wasn’t a case of shit happens, Robbe. It could’ve cost us our lives and we should’ve gone to the police, and I know it’s no excuse, but I was afraid. I was so scared, Robbe. I didn’t want to relive that night ever again and just the thought of having to tell someone what happened and go back to those memories, tracing step by step of what and how everything happened killed me, that’s why I told you we shouldn’t go. I’m so sorry.”

Robbe hugs Sander closer and lets his head rest on his shoulder, trying to give him some sort of comfort and seeking some for himself too. He feels Sander dropping a kiss to his hair before he takes another breath and speaks again.

“And the thing with Britt, I….”

Robbe squeezes Sander’s hand. “San, it’s okay.” Because they’ve already talked about that, and Robbe doesn’t want to make Sander talk about all the things that hurt him, hurt them, all at once if he’s not ready for it.

Sander musters up enough courage and goes on anyways. “Somehow I made myself believe it was all my fault and that you’d be better off without me, safer... and I couldn’t bear the thought of something ever happening to you again, Robbe, so I had to keep you away from me. I deliberately tried to push you away, even though I knew it would hurt you, because I thought you being with me would hurt you much more, and I couldn’t have that. That’s why I went to that party and kissed Britt and let her post those stupid photos. As soon as I did it, though, I knew it was wrong. But there was no going back then, it was already too late…” Sander shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Robbe starts crying at the same time he feels Sander’s tears falling down on him, so he turns around and climbs into Sander’s lap to hug him as close as humanly possible in that moment. Sander squeezes his shoulders, burying his face on Robbe’s neck, and doesn’t let go.

After some time, when their tears have subsided and they’re just trying to find comfort in each other’s arms Sander rearranges them so they’re sitting in a more comfortable position, facing each other. 

Robbe bites his lips before finding the courage to talk too. He breathes in and out twice before he starts. “The first thing I need you know is that it wasn’t your fault, Sander. None of it was, you know that, right?” 

When Sander nods, he continues. “Please believe it.” 

Robbe gives him a lingering kiss on the forehead before speaking again. “I wish it had never happened to us either and I’m sorry it did. I’m sorry I couldn’t unlock my bike fast enough or reach you when those guys came for us, I was so scared too...” he takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t support each other the way we needed to in the aftermath.” 

Sander grabs his hands and gives it a squeeze, interlocking their fingers and resting their hands on his lap.

“But the way we reacted wasn’t our fault either, Sander. We both went through a huge trauma that night and what we did afterwards was us barely trying to find a way to cope with whatever was being thrown our way. It hurt, yes. You hurt me, but deep down I always knew there was a deeper meaning behind the things you did. You weren’t doing those things out of spite to purposefully hurt me. You’re not cruel, San. I know you and I know your heart, and I know we weren’t together for long back then, but I knew you then as well. And I knew you wouldn’t want to hurt me just because.”

Robbe disentangles one of his hands from Sander’s grasp and lifts it up to caress his cheek. Sander nuzzles into it and Robbe smiles weakly. He brings their faces close and rests his forehead against Sander’s.  

“But if you need to listen to this to make peace with it I’ll tell you: I forgive you, Sander,” Robbe says sincerely. “I had already forgiven you back then, when you found your way back to me in the flatshare on that Friday night,” he caresses Sander’s cheek again. “But I need you to do something for me too.”

“Anything.” Sander answers in a beat.

“Forgive yourself too,” Robbe whispers. 

Sander nods and hugs Robbe tight against his chest, Robbe’s fingers finding their way to Sander’s hair like it’s second nature and staying there for a long time.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about this,” Robbe whispers some time later against Sander’s ear. “What happened that night hurt the both of us, Sander, and if you ever feel the need to talk about it you can talk to me, no matter how much it hurts me. I know it hurts you too.” His voice breaks. “But you’ve always been there for me when I needed you and I want to be there for you too, okay?”

Robbe can feel Sander nodding against him.

“We will get through this together,” Robbe reassures Sander. “It may have taken us a whole year to talk about it, but we finally did it and now we can finally start healing from this together, like we always do.”

Sander’s voice trembles when he speaks. “I know.” 

“I love you, and nothing will ever change that, okay? Please remember it.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

Robbe closes the distance between them and kisses Sander.

-

They spend the rest of the night in bed curled around each other underneath the covers, still talking about that night, but trying to focus on the good part of it instead. Trying to separate the traumatic event from the happy memories they had from their first date.

“I was feeling like the luckiest man in the world, Robin,” Sander smiles down at Robbe, still playing with his hair that’s going in a million different directions now since Robbe’s been  resting his head on his chest for the past hour. “You looked so pretty in all those lights.”

Sander can feel Robbe’s smile before he sees it. “Despite us only having had that one beer I think I have never felt drunker in my life than I felt that night,” Robbe admits, looking up at Sander, an adorable smile adorning his face. “I guess maybe I was just love drunk.” 

Sander can’t help leaning down to give him a quick kiss.

“I know I keep talking about us going back to that bar until it feels right again because it’s our bar, but you know we have all the time in the world, right?” Sander asks. “It doesn’t have to happen now, or a week from today, or even in the next 10 years, okay? I don’t care if it takes us our whole lifetimes to go back there again, I just want you to feel safe. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“I know,” Robbe reassures him, nodding. “We’ll take things day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.” He smiles. “We’ll get there eventually.”

Sander nods. “And I’m sorry to bring the topic back,” he says hesitantly, “but if we still want to report what happened to the police we can. There’s no expiration date for these things and it doesn’t matter if they’ll catch whoever did that to us or not, we still have a right to let the police know what happened to us.”

“Thank you,” Robbe whispers. “I know it won’t be easy to talk about it, for neither of us, and I actually don’t even know if I’m ready to talk about this with anyone else besides you for now, but thank you for letting me know.” He rearranges himself in the bed so he can be on Sander’s level and look him in the eyes, both boys now laying on their sides. “When we’re both ready we’ll do it. Together.”

Sander nods and gives him a soft kiss. 

Robbe’s hand travels up to Sander’s face, gently caressing the small scar he has by the side of his eye, making Sander close his eyes at the soft touch. “Thank you for being so patient with me...” Robbe whispers so close to Sander’s mouth that both boys can feel the vibrations of the words on their lips. “... and thank you for tonight.”

Robbe can feel Sander’s small smile on his own lips when he speaks. “There’s no need to thank me, I love you.” He emphasizes his words with a kiss. “And the night didn’t go exactly as planned, so…” He trails off.

“Maybe not, but it happened the way it was supposed to happen this time,” Robbe says. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way, San. I’m exactly where I want to be. Laying in your bed with you, not even an inch separating us from each other,” he reassures him. “I feel like talking about this has made my heart the calmest it’s ever been,” he confesses.

“Mine too,” Sander agrees, smiling.

“See?”, Robbe smiles genuinely at Sander. “I’m happy and I hope that you’re happy too.”

“I am,” Sander’s smile is the most beautiful thing Robbe has ever seen in his life. “I really am.”

[ben-barnes-is-my-husband]

Here’s a Jonsa WIP

I’ve even got a picset made by the lovely and talented @mynameisnoneya1991

So, this is a rough draft. And I’m still fiddling with it (in my mind). I can’t decide if I want Jonsa to be living apart at the start of this to make things easier, and if that would work if they did. That would mean more editing, but I’ll let you guys decide. 

Sansa Stark groans at the heavy pounding at the front door. God, she hopes it isn’t Jon. She isn’t ready to deal with him right now. Not after she had drunk herself into oblivion the night before. 

“What the fuck?!” 

Sansa jumps at the sound of Arya’s shout. Okay, yep, it was coming back to her; she had gotten drunk with her sister last night. 

With her head pounding, she manages to sit up and get out of the bed. The room spins as she stands and she gags and runs to the bathroom to retch in the toilet. She just makes it. 

When she’s done, she wants to cry. She hates throwing up. Any time she had been sick in the past Jon had always held her hair back and then tucked her into bed. 

Now she wants to throw up for a whole different reason. 

She hears her brother’s voice from the living room, and after splashing water on her face and brushing her teeth, she heads out of the bathroom. 

Robb is standing in the middle of the living room and Arya is laying on the couch with the comforter Sansa didn’t recall getting her the night before. 

“Robb,” she croaks and goes to the loveseat to curl up on it. “What are you doing here at…” She doesn’t even know what time it is. 

“Noon,” Robb finishes for her. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said. Noon,” she mumbles. 

“I came to see how you were doing,” he said. He looks sad and lowers his voice as he says, “Jon called me.”

Sansa buries her face in the plump pillow under her head and tries to hold back the tears that sting her eyes. She isn’t ready to cry so soon after waking and definitely not after puking. 

“What the fucker want?” Arya asks crossly. 

“He’s been trying to call Sansa and was worried,” Robb replies. “He told me what happened.”

“Did he tell you he cheated on her?” Arya demands. 

“He said that they had decided to take a break and that he was all fucked up about it and went drinking and…”

“Fucked someone else?” Sansa says. She squeezes her eyes shut. 

“Yeah,” Robb says softly. “Fuck, Sansa, I’m sorry.”

Sansa waves a hand at him. She just wants him to shut up about Jon, she wants her mind not to think about Jon, she wants to feel nothing about Jon, and she wants the room to stop spinning. 

“Did you tell him to fuck off?” Arya asks. 

Sansa smiles into the pillow. She loves her little sister so damn much. No one else would get this angry on her behalf. Well, Jon would have. The time she was sexually harassed by a client at the advertising firm she worked for, he had been out for blood. 

“I told him he was a fucking asshole and that when I saw him next I was going to kick his ass,” Robb says. 

Sansa smiles again. That’s her big brother; her hero. 

“Does he expect a phone call?” Arya asks. 

“Yes,” Robb sighs. 

“Don’t call him,” Sansa says, turning to look at her brother. “Let him suffer.”

Robb frowns again. “San, he was really worried.”

“Ask me if I care.”

Robb nods. “I won’t call him. But just for s and g’s, where is your phone?”

Sansa waves a hand again. “Somewhere.”

“You don’t know.”

“No, I don’t. And I don’t care. I don’t want to see his stupid name on it or hear his stupid messages or read his stupid texts. I just want to not think about him, okay? I’m hungover and I feel like death. I want to just focus on not throwing up again.”

She squeezes her eyes shut again and then the tears come. She buries her face back in the pillow. 

“Now look what you did,” Arya scolds Robb. 

“I didn’t just come for him; I came to see if she was okay, too. I didn’t know about any of it until he called,” Robb says defensively. 

“Can someone get me some water and something for my head?” Sansa asks. 

“I’m on it,” Robb says and hurries off. 

Arya kneels beside the loveseat and Sansa looks at her. “You look like shit.”

Sansa wipes at her tears. “So do you.”

Arya shoves some of Sansa’s red hair from her face. “What do you want to do?” 

“Sleep. When I sleep I don’t have to think.”

“Then let’s get you back to bed and you can sleep.”

Sansa nods and sits up just as Robb returns with water and ibuprofen. She has a feeling the water might make her throw up, but she has to try. It’s ice cold, which helps. She hadn’t realized how thirsty she had been until the water is sliding down her throat. She hopes the ibuprofen works quickly. She also wonders if popping a sleeping pill would have been better. She’d be knocked out for a good chunk of the day. She is all about avoiding this altogether. 

After she’s done, Robb and Arya follow her to the bedroom and help her settle into bed. They’re treating her like porcelain, but she’s okay with that honestly. She feels shaky and weak, and not just from drinking. 

“Do you want me to pack up Jon’s shit and put it on the lawn while you’re resting?” Arya asks. 

“I can help,” Robb offers.

Sansa grabs Jon’s pillow on the bed and hands it to them. “Burn it.”

Arya takes it. “I’m on it.”

The sheets are cool and they feel good against her skin. Robb and Arya cover her up and she rolls over and curls into fetal position and closes her eyes. She chants don’t throw up in her head until she dozes off again. 

                                                 **********

Jon Snow checks his phone again and expels a frustrated sigh when he sees no notification from Robb or Sansa. 

He drags a hand through his curly black locks and then rubs at his beard as he paces, phone in hand, in his kitchen. 

His friend, Sam Tarly, is sitting at the table watching him. “Maybe I should call her?” he asks. 

“You never just randomly call her,” Jon says. “She’ll know you’re with me.”

“She’ll know you sent Robb,” Sam points out. 

“Robb’s also her brother. She won’t turn him away.”

Sam concedes the point. “I’m sure she’s fine, Jon.”

“Fine?” Jon demands, turning on his friend. “I slept with another woman, Sam. She is not fine. You didn’t see the look on her face when I told her.”

He can’t get the image out of his head. The devastation in her eyes along with the tears. The way she’d paled and then the trembling of her bottom lip and the sob - he can’t get the sound of her sob out of his head either. 

He has never felt like such a piece of shit. He hurt the only woman he has ever loved and he is terrified that he won’t be able to fix this. 

Sam holds up a hand. “I just meant I’m sure she’s physically fine.”

Jon rubs at his forehead in frustration. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you.’

“You’re worried. It’s understandable.”

“I’m more than just worried,” Jons says. He feels the tears come. “I hurt her, Sam. I did something I can’t take back and you have no idea how much I want to. I don’t even remember most of it…” What little he can remember he wishes he could scour from his brain. 

“Why exactly did you guys decide to take a break?” Sam asks. 

“It was over something stupid, something about going out to dinner… We’d been having these stupid little fights for a while now.”

“Why?” 

Jon finally sits. He leans forward and picks at his nails as he speaks. “We just haven’t been on the same page lately. I figured it was because she was dealing with a difficult client at work and I just changed firms. We’ve just been off.”

Sam nods slowly. “That can happen.”

“She said she felt like I wasn’t ‘present’ in the relationship anymore, that I was taking her for granted.”

“Were you?”

Jon purses his lips together, thinking about the week before when he told her she had to come with him to a dinner his new boss was having and she told him she had to work late. A fight had ensued. 

“I’m going to take your silence as a yes,” Sam says. 

“She hasn’t been easy to live with lately,” Jon retorts and automatically wishes he hadn’t said it, never mind thought it. 

“How so?” 

“She’s been so touchy about everything. I feel like I’m walking on eggshells with her.” He sighs. “How the fuck did we get here, Sam? Sansa is...she’s my world. How can she not know that?”

“She can’t read your mind, Jon,” Sam says gently. “Relationships take work--”

“Yeah, I know. I fucking know,” Jon snaps. He holds up a hand. “Sorry. Again.”

“So, this woman…”

Jon groans and drops his head to the table. He bangs it there twice and Sam tells him to stop. 

“I was hurt, I was angry, she was laughing at my jokes and I was drunk off my ass. You know, I’ve only been with one other woman besides Sansa?”

“Was that part of it?” Sam asks. 

Jon frowns. “I don’t know. I don’t think so? I just wanted to feel anything but how I felt. It was a mistake. A drunken mistake.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “What am I going to do, Sam? How am I going to fix this?”

Sam just looks at him sadly and Jon feels the urge to punch him. He doesn’t want Sam to look at him like that, like he knows already that it’s pointless. That the mistake he made just cost him the love of his life.

[zelenacat]

When We Were Young- Chapter 10- An Obitine Story

“I feel so stupid and worthless.”

“No, Your Grace.” Parna whispered, helping Satine into bed.

“I’ve made a fool of myself.”

“Your Grace,” her lady sighed, “Marrick is dead, you’ve been betrayed twice now.”

Satine leaned back, “It’s a terrible feeling.”

“It must be terrible, Your Grace.”

Satine patted the bed next to her.

“Have you heard anything from your brother recently, Parna?”

The lady smiled, “Apparently, Mara is quite the proficient at mind tricks.”

Satine tilted her head, “Is she?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

That brought Satine some comfort at least, knowing that there were beings, Obi-Wan’s children, her children, that she could love without judgement.

“I’m glad your quarters are next to mine, Parna.” Satine nodded.

Parna curtsied, “I’m happy to serve, Your Grace.”

In the morning, when they arrived on Coruscant, Satine disembarked with Parna behind her as if she wasn’t shaken to the core over what transpired over the last few days.

“How surprising to meet again,” Satine said, approaching Obi-Wan involuntarily, “only to find we’re on opposing sides.”

“The needs of your people are all that matter, they couldn’t be in better hands, with you to guide their future.”

“Kind words indeed from a mindful and committed Jedi,” Satine stepped forward with a smile, “and yet-”

“I’m still not sure, about the beard.”

“Why,” Obi-Wan’s voice was garbled, “what’s wrong with it?”

“It hides too much of your handsome face.”

Then she left him, grinning as powerful as she felt. Senator Robb winked at her as she got on the transport, Satine winked back. 

“Your Grace,” Parna whispered as they disembarked, “you seem happy.”

“I think he might still care for me,” Satine whispered, “deep down, somewhere.”

“Be careful, Satine.” Parna placed her hand on her lady’s.

“I will.”

A woman and two ladies came forth to greet Satine and her party, smiling gayly as she did so.

“It’s been a long time, Your Grace.” she said when she finally reached Satine.

“It certainly has Senator,” the Duchess shook Padme’s hand, “you’ve grown much since your queenly days.”

“I should hope so,” Padme winked, “I was quite small then.”

“Your contributions to your people however, are gargantuan in size.” Satine commented.

“The same could be said of yourself, Duchess,” Padme offered Satine her arm, “I am behooved to ask one of my standards to accompany me for a tour.”

The Duchess took Padme’s arm, “You are most kind, Senator.”

They dined together that night, along with Senator Onaconda Farr and Senator Bail Organa. Satine was surprised at the informal setting, but she was certainly pleased.

“Your Grace,” Senator Organa bowed, “how wonderful to see you again.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Senator,” Satine responded as he kissed her hand, “Senator Amidala tells me you have quite the help to her recently.”

“We only hope to do our duty, Duchess,” came the eloquent response, “Padme tells us it’s poor business that brings you to Coruscant.”

“Unfortunately yes,” Satine frowned, “though I appreciate the kindness you all have shown me.”

“It is our honor to finally meet you, Your Grace,” Senator Farr smiled, “Padme has spoken of you with a great deal of regard.”

Satine turned her head, “Has she now?”

The female senator blushed.

“I’m overjoyed at the notion.” the Duchess grinned.

“Let us sit down to our meal,” Padme gestured, “there is much catching up to do.”

The evening was pleasant and happy, but Satine noticed how often Padme looked towards Master Skywalker, who happened to be guarding them for the evening. The Jedi for his part, was doing a great deal of looking at her as well, but the rest of the night he spent whispering to his padawan. Satine could only wonder what they were talking about.

Senator Farr retired early, he was showing his family around Coruscant before the senate commenced. Senator Organa confessed that as an old man, he was tired.

“Oh, but Bail,” Padme laughed, “you aren’t old.”

“Still, I take my leave of you ladies.”

As the Senator left, General Skywalker did as well, likely to escort her back. His padawan stayed.

“Padme,” Satine turned, “may I speak to you as a friend.”

“Of course,” the Senator frowned, “have these assasination attempts frightened you?”

“Yes,” Satine admitted, lowering her voice, “but that’s not what I wanted to discuss.”

Padme leaned forward, so did Satine.

“Be careful with that Jedi,” the Duchess whispered, “it won’t end happily.”

Padme looked shocked, then recovered.

“Your Grace, I-”

“Please believe me,” Satine pleaded, “I know.”

After a quiet moment, Padme embraced Satine. Though it was unexpected, the Duchess welcomed it.

“Tecla,” Padme turned, “please send for the Duchess' lady.”

“Of course, My Lady.” Tecla nodded.

“Ahsoka,” the Senator turned to the padawan, “wait outside and look for Anakin a minute.”

A little suspicious, the padawan left. Padme took Satine’s hands in hers.

“I’ll be alright,” the Senator assured Satine, “I don’t know if I should tell you this, but, we’re married.”

Satine’s eyes flew to her forehead.

“It’s true, and he old me about you and-”

“It’s a secret then?” Satine wondered aloud.

“Yes.”

The Duchess squeezed Padme’s hand, “I thank you for trusting me so, I hope you can rely on me in the future as well.”

Padme actually smiled, “And I hope your happiness rekindles.”

Tears stung Satine’s eyes, “Thank you, Padme, for your kindness.”

“Of course, Satine,” Padme winked, “we could be sisters-in-law, you know.”

Leaning her head back, the Duchess laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“You flatter me, Senator,” Satine sighed, “although I fear I may never see that day.”

Padme grinned wickedly, “If Anakin and Ahsoka get their way, you certainly will.”

“And are you going to help them?” the Duchess asked.

With a sly smile, the Senator answered in the affirmative.

“Your Grace?”

Satine stood and kissed Padme’s cheek, “Your hospitality has been most lively, Senator, I hope to see you soon.”

“And I you, Duchess.” Padme winked.

On their way back to their rooms, Parna asked Satine how she was so close with Padme after one night.

“I have a sister in experience, Parna,” the Duchess smiled, “and she is a most talented lady.”

Once they got back to their rooms, Parna undressed her lady. Once Satine was ready for bed, she dismissed Parna to her room next store and climbed under the covers, perhaps this wouldn’t be the most terrible thing at all.

Satine was woken up too early for her liking by Parna, who’d informed her that her alarm had gone off already.

“Why’d you let me sleep then?” Satine groaned.

Parna leveled her lady a look, “You needed it.”

Satine dressed quickly, yet double checked herself in the mirror three times, she was representing her people today. She must look the part. 

“Are you ready, Your Grace?” Parna asked.

Satine sighed, “I never quite got over the nerves.”

“Nerves mean your heart is in it,” Parna smiled, “I’ll be waiting for you in the wings.”

Satine nodded and headed off to the Senate Chamber, her lady trailing her.

“It grieves me to say it,” Chancellor Palpatine began, “but Death Watch, is now a significant, deadly threat.”

Satine urged her pod forward, “Mandalore is making great strides to locate this terrorist movement, they are not strong enough to overpower our government. We will resolve this without conflict.”

“If the Republic gets involved in our affairs, it would only lead to further violence,” Satine continued, “thus, I shall reassert our position of neutrality.”

“Talk of an idealist.” huffed the Chancellor’s right hand.

“No,” Satine shook her head, “those are the words of a pacifist and a people who have chosen non-violence.”

“That may be so, Duchess,” the Chancellor frowned, “however, this message was delivered to my staff just this morning. I think you shall find it most illuminating.”

Satine watched the transmission with wide eyes.

“Do you know this man, Duchess?” asked Senator Amidala, coming near her.

“Yes, Deputy Minister Jerrick,” Satine tried to keep her voice even, “he’s a good friend.”

“Stop!” Satine cried.

With earnest remorse, Satine explained that the Mandalorian Government held no secrets from its people.

“If only that were true, Duchess.” said the Chancellor sarcastically.

“Death Watch is far stronger than we once thought,” continued the hologram, “if we are to combat them directly, we must have republic assistance, instead this government acts out of pride and rejects the help of the Jedi-”

“It’s not true,” Satine ejeculated, “it is not needed-”

“Duchess Satine will ultimately cause our defeat, make no mistake,” continued Jerrick, “Republic intervention is absolutely necessary.”

“This isn’t right,” Satine cried, “something here isn’t right, I wish to speak with Deputy Minister Jerrick immediately!”

The Chancellor then had the kindness to inform the Senate that the Death Watch had bombed Krewella this morning.

“Let us insure that his death was not in vain,” the Chancellor continued, “let us commit our military might to defending the Mandalorian people.”

“Defend,” Satine scoffed, “you mean to occupy our home and trample our right to self determination.”

“We mean to save your people.” Chancellor Palpatine said calmly.

“You will turn our planet into a military target which will bring the war to us,” the Duchess, argued, “Mandalore must remain a neutral system.”

“The vote shall commence in the next session.” is all the Chancellor said in response.

Satine was fuming when she stepped off her pod, fortunately, Parna was there waiting for her.

“I know,” she said, taking Satine’s hands, “we won’t let it happen.”

Padme met Satine in the hallway soon after that exchange.

“I’ll try to convince my friends not to send troops to Mandalore.” she assured.

“He acts like I don’t know my people,” Satine shook her head, “why is he so intent on sending soldiers?”

“I won’t let it happen, Satine,” the Senator stated, “nothing good will come of it.”

“You are honest, Padme,” the Duchess smiled sadly, “I thank God you chose this line of work.”

Satine’s next interaction took place on the loading platform, when she heard her name called.

“Duchess,” the voice paused, “Satine!”

Slowing down for Obi-Wan, the Duchess felt her anger subside at his tone. No, she couldn’t let herself focus on anything but her people.

“Wait!” Obi-Wan grabbed her arm.

The royal guards pointed their scepters at the Jedi.

“I just heard what happened in the senate.” continued the Jedi tentatively.

Sighing and pushing the weapons away from Obi-Wan, Satine turned.

“You’re sweet to be concerned, but I promise I’ll be alright.”

“I am concerned,” Obi-Wan’s voice softened, “we’re friends are we not?”

“Yes,” Satine felt all her hopes crash at once, “friends and nothing more.”

“Satine, as your friend,” the Jedi continued, oblivious to her struggles, “I don’t think you should make any decisions in this state of mind.”

“This state of mind,” the Duchess dropped her formal mask, “and what state of mind would that be precisely?”

“What I’m saying is,” Obi-Wan clarified, lowering his eyes, “any person would be hysterical by now-”

“Hysterical,” Satine gasped, “the Republic is attempting to enforce its will upon innocent people-”

“I only meant-”

“Frankly,” the Duchess continued, her voice shrill, “I’m surprised you’re not hysterical, perhaps if more citizens got hysterical, they’d be more inclined to speak up when the Republic tramples on their rights.”

“Rushing in like this,” Obi-Wan’s voice tremored, “it’s foolhardy.”

“Ironic words coming from a man who spends his days running hither and yon,” Satine spat, “wielding his lightsaber with deadly force as if, on a crusade!”

“Why should I listen to someone who so frequently relies on violence,” Satine asked, “in my opinion, you’re the one who’s foolhardy!”

Storming away, Satine got on her cruiser. Obi-Wan was no longer the man she loved, he was someone new now. The Duchess cursed herself that she hadn’t seen this earlier. Saddened, Satine let her thoughts consume her. Then, the cruiser shook.

“What’s happening?” she asked.

“It’s the navigation system,” was the answer, “get her out of here!”

It sunk in, someone was trying to kill her again.

“There’s a platform over there, I’ll try to steer near it!”

“Aramis, no!” Satine shouted.

But the guards formed a phalanx around her and jumped, so did she. Sitting up just in time, Satine was just in time to see the explosion.

“Your Grace,” a guard huffed, “we must return you safely to your chambers.”

Luckily, she was housed in the same building Padme Amidala was, and by the time Satine and her entourage arrived at the sprawling tower, the Senator, her two ladies, and Parna were all waiting at the door.

“Your Grace,” Parna ran up and embraced Satine, “I’m so glad you’re safe.”

“Thank you, Parna, it warms my heart to see you.”

“Senator Amidala told me about your accident soon after it happened,” the lady turned and gestured, “she has been most worried.”

“You are a dear one, Padme,” Satine reached out and took the Senator’s hand, “I stand by my early assertion that the galaxy is lucky to have you in the business of democracy.”

“Oh, Satine,” Padme looped her arm through the Duchess’ and tugged her along, “I really think we should discuss safety precautions in these situations. I myself know the fear of assassination.”

“I will defend myself,” Satine agreed, “but I already carry a deactivator.”

“Satine,” Padme smiled, “a deactivator can only do so much.”

“I stand by my pacifist principles.” the Duchess articulated.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t teach you how to throw a punch.”

“I’m Mandalorian,” despite herself, Satine smiled, “I know how to punch people, although I find it rather grisly.”

“Dear friend,” the Senator sighed, “you are worth more to the world while you’re still in it.”

They had been walking for some time now, and Satine noticed they had crossed the bridge from the housing quarters to the senatorial offices.

“The Chancellor’s office is on the highest floor,” Padme pointed, “I believe you should report this incident to him.”

“I shall,” Satine agreed, “thank you for your wisdom, Padme.”

Parna elected to wait outside while only her guards accompanied Satine into the Chancellor’s office.

“He’s too slimy for my tastes.”

Satine snorted, “How kind.”

The door opened wide and the Chancellor turned from his window.

“Duchess, please take a seat.”

He seemed pleasant enough, but in a few minutes, Satine was riled up.

“What do you mean no charges are to be filed,” she asked, trying to keep cool, “none at all? Someone tried to kill me, the controls on my speeder were compromised.”

“Sadly, my dear, there is no proof anyone tampered with anything,” the Chancellor replied calmly, “it might’ve been just an accident.”

“An accident,” Satine’s hands curled around the armrests, “and it just happened to coincide with me defending my home world?”

“I agree with Satine,” Chancellor Palpatine’s aide interjected, “it proves what I’ve been saying all along, Death Watch is out of control, the Republic must step in and help.”

“No, wait, I didn’t-”

“You can’t keep them reigned in, obviously, so we will.”

“This is patently offensive, you can’t do this!”

“Unfortunately it is up to the senate now, I know they will make a reasoned and thoughtful decision.”

With bile rising in her throat, the Duchess smiled politely and with a steady gait, left the Chancellor’s office.

“Satine,” a familiar voice called, “I just heard about your accident.”

He was standing beside her now, yet Satine still felt cold. Her earlier realization came to mind, and she let her anger flow.

“Those two are,” Satine spat, “this government, it’s just, ugh!”

“Satine,” Obi-Wan reached out and took Satine’s arm, “tell me what happened.”

Poor Jedi, he looked so earnest.

“I’m fine, I wasn’t hurt,” Satine confessed, “I didn’t want to worry a friend.”

“Well on that count,” Obi-Wan’s eyes saddened, “you’ve failed spectacularly.”

Satine wondered if this estrangement was killing him as much as it was her. No, itt couldn’t be, he didn’t know about the children.

“Look what happened-”

“Look what happened,” Satine repeated, suddenly angry, “this attack proves I’ve upset someone! I must be on the right track.”

“This attack proves your enemies are here even on Coruscant,” Obi-Wan countered, then, his eyes widened, “you’re not going to let Republic authorities handle this are you?”

“You’re not backing down.” Obi-Wan continued to observe.

“Republic authorities, certainly not,” Satine spat, “I’m on my way to the ministry of Intelligence right now to meet my contact.”

Suddenly, Satine was whirled around, Obi-Wan’s hands rested on her arms.

“Don’t you see, you need your friends with you, not held at arm's length,” the Jedi was too earnest and involved for Satine’s liking, “in your quest to be self-reliant have you decided to cut your friends out of your life?”

“I,I,” Satine stuttered, her foolhardy heart palpating at Obi-Wan’s closeness and choice of words, “I don’t know.”

Suddenly, her Jedi stiffened.

“Senator.”

Satine turned, “Padme, it’s good to see your face.”

“I have bad news,” the Senator frowned, “the Senate has decided in favor of occupation.”

With invigorated fire, Satine remembered her purpose, “When, how did this happen? The vote was supposed to be tomorrow!”

“It was during your meeting with the Chancellor, I’m afraid your accident accelerated the situation,” Padme stepped forward, “Republic forces are set to leave for Mandalore at sunrise tomorrow.”

“You see,” Satine sighed, devastated all at once, “I was right before, counting on the Republic is a mistake.”

Parna was most kind when Satine returned to her quarters.

“I need to be inconspicuous.” she told her lady.

Without questions, Parna nodded and picked out a plan frock.

“I will make arrangements under my time so you may get into the city.”

Later that evening, dressed in a heavy red robe, Satine met her intelligence contact.

“I don’t have much time,” he said, “they’re following me.”

“You’ve put yourself in great danger,” the Duchess said earnestly, “I will never forget it.” 

“I had to come,” her contact pulled out a file drive, “this is worth it.”

“Where did you get this?” Satine gasped.

“This evidence was hidden at the ministry, it was not easy to find, believe me.”

“You were right,” her contact continued, “the recording shown to the senate wasn’t in its full form, someone faked the evidence. You must show the senate-”

“Dabu,” Satine gasped as the man was shot, “no!”

The next few minutes that followed were blurry, she was accused of murder, someone was shooting at her, and Satine had to escape. Hiding in an alleyway below a dripping air conditioner, the Duchess relinquished her pride.

“Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan come in.”

“Satine,” the Jedi responded, “where are you?”

“I need your help, Obi-Wan,” the Duchess swallowed, hating herself, “please.”

It took her twenty minutes to arrive at the meeting point, but Obi-Wan was already there.

“Nice disguise.” she heard him say.

Then he walked towards her and sat down.

“Seeing you alright,” Obi-Wan began, “well, it’s a relief.”

The Duchess melted at those words.

“You should turn yourself in-”

Satine frowned.

“We’ve both sworn a loyalty to the Republic.”

“Believe me,” Satine rolled her eyes, “neither one of us is breaking our oath, and this will prove it.”

“But Republic guards are hunting you, which means-”

“That whoever docted this recording is in the government itself.” Satine concluded.

“If you set foot inside the senate they’ll take you.” Obi-Wan added.

Satine growled, “And the disc will be destroyed before anyone can see it, which is why you must take the disc to Padme.” 

A patrol came near and Obi-Wan pulled Satine up and began meandering.

“Where will you be while I’m in the senate,” Obi-Wan asked suddenly, “What if they find you?”

“They won’t,” Satine sighed, “I’m going to turn myself into them.”

“What-”

“Your concern is heartwarming Obi-Wan,” Satine smiled softly, “and you’ll need a distraction to enter the senate freely. I can’t risk them searching you just because you and I are associates.”

“I’m a Jedi,” Obi-Wan crossed his arms, “they wouldn’t dare.”

“Things are changing,” Satine turned, “my dear.”

Then the bomb, and Obi-Wan thrust her forward. Groggy after the explosion, Satine reared her head just as her Jedi’s lightsaber was knocked out of his hands. Fearful, the Duchess ran up and grabbed Obi-Wan’s lightsaber.

“Obi!” she called.

The assassin escaped, but the Jedi and his Duchess made it back to the Senate just in time.

“Excuse me,” Satine smiled, removing her hood, “I believe you’re looking for me?”

With a nod, Obi-Wan disappeared into the senate building. She didn’t see Obi-Wan again until later, after the Senate voted against the occupation of Mandalore. In her joy, she reached out and embraced Obi-Wan, and because her Jedi was kind, he indulged her with a spin.

“Thank you, Ben,” Satine smiled brightly, “I know I can be stubborn-”

“Worse than you know-”

“But, thank you.” the Duchess finished.

“All in a day’s work, my dear,” Obi-Wan winked, “I keep to my oaths.”

Satine looked at the Jedi a moment longer.

“What?” he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

“I’m so grateful, Ben,” Satine placed her hand on Obi-Wan’s, “you helped me save my own people. How can I ever repay you?” 

“There’s no need to repay me.”

“Well,” Satine tilted her head, “you could shave that beard.”

[ladycatofwinterfell]

Promises

Summary: Arya is very worried about her mother after finding out that she is pregnant and Catelyn tries to soothe her. And it turns out that Ned shares his daughter’s fears

I originally thought of writing something Valentine’s day inspired, but now you’ll get this instead because that was what my brain gave me. We need more Cat and Arya content.

“Father?” Arya’s little voice piped up.

“Yes?” Ned asked.

“Do you love Mother?”

All of them looked up at her. Arya had many questions. Too many for her own good, but they always tried to answer to the best of their abilities. That question made Catelyn curious though. Not because she doubted what Ned felt for her. He loved her, just as she loved him. But because of the tone in Arya’s voice. Her youngest daughter could be serious as death, that she had after her father, but she usually didn’t get like that when she had no reason for it.

“I do love your mother” Ned said.

“Is it true that having a babe can be dangerous?” Arya continued and glared at her father.

Catelyn leaned towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. She wouldn’t lie about that. Having a babe could be dangerous, the risk of something happing to her in childbirth was higher than one might have liked. But there was no need to be harsh either.

“It can be” she said. “But why do you ask about all this, sweetling?”

They had told the children that she was with child the night before. And they had all been very happy when they heard it. Bran had been overjoyed to hear that he wouldn’t be the youngest anymore, he hated being coddled. But clearly something about it was irking Arya. Catelyn had a feeling of that she had been thinking of it during the night and decided to bring it up when they broke their fast.

The girl didn’t look at Catelyn when she spoke, she kept her eyes focused on Ned.

“Why would you put the babe in Mother if it could hurt her?”

“You should not ask that” Sansa said. “Father would never do anything to hurt Mother!”

“Arya, I promise you that I would never do anything to hurt your mother” Ned said. “Never.”

“But you did. She can get very hurt. And it would be your fault.”

Catelyn saw how Ned almost physically flinched at that. He seemed to be desperately looking for words, but he found nothing. Arya’s words had hurt him no matter if she meant to or not.

“Arya!” she said sharply. “Enough!”

“I’m not wrong!”

Only then did Arya look at her and she saw the stone hard Stark eyes.

“You should not be accusing your father of trying to hurt me, apologize immediately!”

“No!”

Arya pushed out her chair before Catelyn had time to grab her arm and fled the room while the rest of them just stared after her.

Catelyn glanced at Ned, trying to get a hold of the situation, but he wouldn’t look back at her. He just stared down at the plate before him.

“I don’t understand” Robb said after a while.

“Neither do I” Sansa said. “But I never understand her. She’s strange.”

“Don’t say that about your sister” Catelyn said.

“Sorry.”

Sansa and Arya fought like cat and dog, but Catelyn wanted them out of that habit. Because both of them could be infuriating at times, but they were family. They had to stay together.

“We need to talk to her” Catelyn said and rose from her chair as well. “I would like to know what that was about.”

Ned frowned.

“You should go, my lady. I will be of no help, she will not want to speak to me.”

Arya was stubborn as an ox and if she didn’t want to speak to a person her lips were sealed. Once she had refused to speak to Catelyn for four days because she had told her not to play alone in the stables because she might get hurt by the horses. Arya was a scrawny little thing and Catelyn really didn’t want her to get kicked to death by one of the large stallions. Arya had not agreed with that though, she had insisted on that she was careful and wouldn’t get hurt. And then she had refused to speak.

“Yes. Might I come to you afterwards?”

Whatever it was that was gnawing on their daughter’s mind she would most likely want to share it with him.

“Of course.”

She left him there with the remaining three of their litter. Bran got a little bit fussy, but it seemed to be alright. So she began the search for Arya. She made her way through the Great Keep, and found nothing. Arya had left the keep and that would make it a lot harder to find her. Winterfell was big, and there were many good places to stay hidden if you did not want to be found. And despite that it did not take long for Catelyn to find her youngest daughter. Curled up behind a haystack in the back of the stables, of course.

“Arya?”

The little girl looked up at her, but only after having dried her tears with the sleeves of her dress. She had been crying, the poor thing.

“How did you know where I was?” she sniffled when Catelyn sat down next to her and arranged her skirts around her.

“Mothers just know those things” she said.

“Your dress will get dirty.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Catelyn could only smile at the wonder on Arya’s face at that statement.

“But that was not what I wanted to talk to you about, Arya. Why are you upset?”

Immediately Arya tensed and looked down at the floor. She bit her lip and started fiddling with a hay straw.

“I don’t want you to die” she said after a while and her voice broke at the last word.

Catelyn reached for her and Arya immediately threw herself into her arms. She held her close and stroke her hair while Arya cried into her chest. She could not help but feel happy for that Arya accepted her comfort. Because often she did not. Despite her young age Arya was determined on being independent.

“I’m not going to die, sweetling.”

“You cannot know that! No one can!”

Once she was done with that she would have to find out who had put all the thoughts of death and destruction in Arya’s head. Who had put into Arya that her mother would die.

“Childbirth is not without risk, but I will have people to help me. Like they helped me with you and your siblings. And they would never let me die. Not that I would die either way, I refuse to die. I will not leave you, and your siblings, and your father behind.”

No. That she wouldn’t do. Not for very long, if she could have it her way. And even if something would happen to her when she birthed the babe it would do them no good to brood over it before it happened.

“Really?”

It was foolish to make promises that she had no power over. She was well aware of that. Her fate was in the gods’s hands. But Arya was a child, she needed comfort. And Catelyn would not tell her that she had to prepare herself for that her mother might die.

“Yes. I promise.”

That seemed to calm Arya at least a bit. Catelyn cupped her daughter’s face and dried the tears on her cheeks. She was a sweet girl. Fierce as a direwolf, but kind and caring. And Catelyn knew that she couldn’t promise that she would survive, that she was luckier than many to have managed four births without much harm, but in that moment she decided that she would fight the Stranger with tooth and nail and win if it came for her. She would stay with her family. She would not die.

“So now when we know that I will not die, may I ask you another question?”

“Yes” Arya said.

She snuggled up against Catelyn once more. Sitting on the floor amongst the hay was beginning to get very uncomfortable, but she didn’t want to ruin whatever was in the air at the moment. The heavy things that needed to be sorted out was not yet over and it would be easier if Arya kept talking to her.

“Why did you accuse your father of trying to hurt me?”

Arya was quiet for a moment.

“He knows that it can be dangerous. And still he put the babe in you. Why would he do that if he loves you?”

Catelyn desperately looked for a way to tell Arya that Ned had given her the babe because he loved her. Arya knew that it took a man and a woman to make a child, but since she was six she didn’t know exactly what they had to do in order to create a child.

“He did not give me the child to hurt me. He gave me the child because we both wanted it. Because we love you and your siblings and we want to have more children” she explained. “And he would never do anything to cause me harm. You need not worry, sweetling.”

“It’s stupid!”

“What is stupid?”

“That it’s dangerous to have babies. If you need to have them, why is it dangerous?”

Catelyn chuckled when Arya scrunched up her face.

“The gods made us imperfect and flawed. It is a burden women must bear.”

“Well, it’s a stupid burden!”

“Yes, it is a stupid burden.”

So many children had lost their mothers to that burden. That burden had taken Catelyn’s own mother from her. She knew the pain of it. And she wouldn’t lie to herself, she was at times terrified of that it would take her as well, that she would die in childbed. But she didn’t want her children to know that pain. Not until she was old and ready for it. And she did not want to think too much about it.

“Does it feel better now?” she asked.

Arya just nodded and Catelyn smiled at her.

“Good. You need to run to your lesson with Maester Luwin. Tell him that you are late because I needed to speak with you.”

“He won’t believe me. He never does.”

“Simply send him to me if he does not believe you and I shall deal with him.”

Arya grinned and hugged her tightly.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you more, sweetling. But now go.”

Arya scrambled up from the floor and ran out of the stables.

~*~

“My love, do you have a minute to spare?”

Ned looked up at her.

“For you I always have a minute to spare. Please join me, my lady.”

Catelyn closed the door to the solar behind her. Then she walked over and sat opposite to Ned in the chair before his desk.

“Might I ask what happened to you?” he said and nodded towards her skirts.

She had not bothered to change into a clean gown before going to see him. It really did not matter, just like she had told Arya.

“Arya was hiding in the stables, I sat down to speak with her there” she said. “Therefore all the dust.”

“I see. And what did she say?”

“She is afraid of that I will die in childbed.”

It was like a shadow crossed Ned’s face when she said that. He turned his gaze away from her, looked at a point above her head instead.

“And if you did it would be my fault” he said in a low voice.

She really could see where Arya had got the brooding from. She was much like her father at times.

“Don’t be silly, of course it would not be your fault.”

“If you died birthing one of my children it would be my fault. Who else do you think would be at fault?”

Catelyn sighed. Why did everyone think she would die? Could they all lighten up a bit? They spoke like her death was certain when it was very much not.

“Sometimes no one is at fault, Ned. Sometimes it is simply the will of the gods” she said.

“Curse the gods, both old and new, if they take you from me.”

She left her chair and walked around the desk so that she stood before him.

“Where does all this come from?” she asked. “I am with child and that is a wonderful blessing. We should be happy.”

He had been very happy when she told him, she had no idea about when all the rest had came. And she had no idea about what it was.

“And I am happy, Catelyn” Ned said and took one of her hands into his. “But I am also terrified of losing you. And I despise putting your life at risk when we have four healthy children already. I do not know what I would do if you were to come to harm because you need to bear my children.”

“You speak like you force me to bear children for you. Was I not a willing participant in making this child?”

She had been willing enough. Quite shamelessly willing, if she could say so herself. Septa Mordane would have been horrified. So she really did not understand where Ned had got the idea that she felt forced to have his children from. She would not have made love with him if she had not wanted his children.

“I just don’t want you to feel that you have to. Because you don’t. With this one we will have five, and that is more than enough. I love our children. But I don’t want to lose you. Ever.”

“I wanted this child. Your child. And you will not lose me, I promised Arya that I will live and I’m not one to break my promises” she smiled. “But we will have more children.”

“Catelyn–“

She raised a finger to his lips to silence him.

“We are still not old. I will most likely get pregnant again unless you plan on not warming my bed after this child is born.”

Ned scowled at that and she had to chuckle. It was very endearing. She leaned down and kissed him. Softly and quickly, but she tried to put into it all the comfort she had.

“Can you promise me as well?” he asked when she stood up straight again.

“What?”

“Can you promise that you will not die?”

Catelyn leaned against the desk and looked at him. Her husband, the father of her children. The man she loved and never wanted to leave.

“I promise that I will not leave you.”

Could she really make that promise? Just as before, no. But would she still do it? Yes. That promise would give them comfort, and comfort was what they needed. And she also hoped that it would keep Ned in her bed. Because she knew that if he got worried enough he would most likely stop with making love to her. And that she really did not want to give up.

“You better not” he muttered

She laughed.

“Are we done with brooding now?” she asked. “Can we move past this?”

Ned only rolled his eyes.

“Would you please stay and help me with this?” he said and gestured to the papers before him.

Just a quick glance at them told her that he absolutely did not need any assistance with them. He merely didn’t want her to leave. But he would never admit to that. And if she was going to be honest with herself she did not want to leave him either.

She leaned down and kissed him once more.

“Of course.”

Six moons later Catelyn Stark birthed a healthy babe. A boy they named Rickon. And she did not die. Just like she had promised.

[if-you-built-yourself-a-myth]

Check Ignition: Part VIII

The Sobbe fake-dating Hogwarts AU that one person requested and I dove into headfirst

First part // Previous part // Next part

Send me requests for other fics, ideas for this one, opinions, whatever! My apologies if the quality seems to have one downhill; I'll be doing minor edits for the sake of readability when I have a good chunk of free time.

“Shhh, guys, leave it,” Jens said. Everyone’s comments died on their tongues. Zoë and Moyo herded the superfluous students from the room and left as well, shutting the door behind. Moyo almost clapped a hand on Robbe’s shoulder, but seemed to think better of it in favor of a saddened smile. It didn’t really help. Robbe wasn’t sure if they ended tonight on good terms.

“We’re going to bed early,” Aaron suggested. “We have to get a jump on those damn exams.”

“Leave it,” hissed Jens.

“I was just saying, we’re—”

“Leave it.”

“It’s a good idea,” said Robbe. “We’re going to bed early.” He hadn’t realized how angry he was all week until faced with its culmination. And now—now he was tired. Stupid and single and tired.

There were still no sheets on his bed; he hadn’t gotten around to doing anything with them. He could perform a cleaning spell on the mattress if it got too bad in their absence. Whatever. Robbe couldn’t be bothered to rifle through his trunk for a cleaner blanket, so he crossed the room and grabbed the one off the fourth bed.

Motherfucker. It smelled like Sander. He really couldn’t win, could he? Robbe threw the blanket to the decimated floor and curled up without any covering at all.

“He wasn’t that attractive,” said Jens, breaking his own rule. “Had to get those roots done again.”

Robbe clamped his pillow over his ears. “Shut up.”

“We haven’t been to Hogsmede in a while. Might be nice to go tomorrow. The four of us.”

Hogsmede. Robbe’s eyes burned.

“I need to stop at Honeyduke’s,” Aaron agreed. “It’s Live It Up week.”

“I’d fancy a pint at the Three Broomsticks.”

The Three Broomsticks. Robbe was not going to cry over this. It brought him back to Sander explaining their fake love story to Zoë, all the little accurate details, all the possibility… that’s all it was. A story. You don’t like me. He cast the Muffliato charm across his four-poster before the tears started flowing. Once they started, they didn’t stop until morning.

“You don’t have to tell us a thing,” Jens said. “We understand.”

I want to, Robbe thought. He rolled over and faced the wall for the remainder of the night.

***

As much as he would love to hardcore sulk, Robbe had never been that kind of person. Sander was gone. They weren’t even together for that long, so there wasn’t much sulking warranted. He took Saturday and Sunday as unofficial off-days before exams, in that he spent them with Jens, Moyo, and Aaron, pointedly not talking about Sander. They did not go to the Three Broomsticks. Jens passed a whole afternoon in Honeyduke’s, attempting to sample every flavor of Bertie Bott’s Every-Flavor beans.

Okay, Robbe sulked. But not hardcore.

Robbe resolved that one Monday he would snap out of it in time to guard his outstandingin his five classes. What should he do? What had he learned? He could start there. Starting there was something.

1. He should never drop a class for someone he wasn’t really dating.

Robbe’s Potions exam was the first on Monday, and he went into it grossly unprepared, despite hours of common room studying. There was a large difference between reading theory and enacting what it said. Plus, a lot of his library time focused more on Sander’s eyes than on the written material.

Everyone else chopped up their beans and sprinkled them into their brews without difficulty. Robbe couldn’t remember how many he should use. In the end, he dumped a whole handful in completely whole and stirred counter-clockwise. How much could it hurt, anyway? He left fifteen minutes before the exam period was up, and the Potions master did not bother to stop him. The Drought of Living Death he prepared could probably kill the whole class, Britt and all, even if not in the way it was meant to.

Why had he stopped attending in person? What could Britt have done to him? It hit him—she probably knew the dating thing was fake from the beginning. Sander might have planned it all out to make Robbe look like an idiot.

That wouldn’t account for that night in the workshop.

Fuck that night in the workshop.

Sander waited outside the Potions classroom, his back on the wooden doorframe. Britt would be done soon. It didn’t give Robbe any satisfaction to brush by Sander without speaking—or at least, not until he saw Sander rubbing his arm in the aftermath. Robbe must have hit him with the door.

“Sorry,” he called over his shoulder, hoping it sounded blasé.

It could have been anyone there, he thought. Sander wasn’t special anymore. Then he went to his bedroom and stared at the wall over it.

2. He was not straight.

The specifics were, as of yet, unclear. He was in love with Sander, which meant he liked boys, but he’d kind of liked Noor too. Not romantically. Or even sexually. But like, he enjoyed her company.

Sometimes.

He wasn’t in love with Sander anymore, though, definitely not. Robbe figured if he told himself that at least four to five times a day, it might become a little more accurate. Two weeks was too short a time to fall for someone.

After all this, he needed to get Jens alone and lay it all on at once. Bad phrasing be damned. The boys began packing their belongings on Wednesday, after a mostly uneventful Transfiguration exam (Moyo turned his cockroach into a pair of earrings that still moved their spindly antennae—he seemed satisfied). They would leave on Saturday afternoon. Aaron tried a simple cleaning spell, Scourgify, and ended up scattering his belongings to the four corners of the castle. He scurried away to pack the rest manually, Moyo at his heels to help.

Jens and Robbe were alone. Robbe was ready to talk about it.

“Why is Moyo always here?” asked Jens, in a way that made it sound like he was breaking the tension.

His plan failed, of course, because Robbe was already speaking. “We have to talk about something.”

They stared at each other. Jens blinked.

“There’s a lot I haven’t told you,” Robbe began. “I wanted to, but it was always so complicated.”

“Uh, sure, okay.” Jens shoved a crumpled shirt into his trunk, followed by a pair of ripped slacks he could never wear to class again.

“This thing I had with Sander… it was fake to him. But, well, uh, to me—”

Jens nodded. “I know.”

Damnit, no.

“Jens,” Robbe tried a second time, “I’ve realized some things about myself recently. They kind of explain other things, from earlier, so…” He switched tactics. Who knew how long until Moyo and Aaron returned? “Do you remember when you and Jana broke up? How you found out about what’s-his-name and—”

Another shirt in the trunk. Some more destroyed pants. “Yeah.”

“Cool. So um, you should understand that it was—” It was never this awkward to talk to Jens before. Jens was supposed to be easy. Robbe folded his shirts by hand, like his mother did, and placed them carefully in his own luggage as he thought of how best to phrase this. “I did it on purpose. She was gonna tell you and I—well I said—”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I know things about myself now. Learned them. From that. and this.” Here it came, the big jump. Even though Robbe knew Jens, Aaron, and Moyo outlined a whole plan to get him and Sander together, he still worried about what they’d say when confronted with the reality of it. “Jens, I’m—"

“I know.”

No, that wouldn’t work. Again, “Jens, please, I’m—”

“It’s okay, Robbe, I know—”

“I don’t want you to know!” Robbe flopped a shirt down harder than he intended. “I want you to let me say it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m gay. That’s who I am. With or without Sander. Okay? I need you to understand that it’s like that with or without him.”

“I—”

“Don’t say you know. You’re my best friend.”

“Okay,” said Jens. “I understand.”

“Good.”

Jens closed his trunk on top of some clothing that spilled out the sides. He sat down on it to close the latch. Then he reached out and gathered Robbe into the tightest hug ever. It wasn’t nearly everything that Robbe wanted to say, but it was some, and Jens didn’t run away from him. Sexuality crisis, somewhat had. Robbe was sure there would be more later.

3. You don’t like me.

Robbe’s final exam was History of Magic. Luckily, his cramming paid off. He breezed through the questions on the first and second wars faster than any of his peers and was out the door within thirty minutes.

Most students were trapped in their classrooms for another half-hour or more. Empty corridor stretched in all directions, and Robbe didn’t have anything to do for the rest of the day. He knew where he wanted to go.

Sure enough, his astronomy tower perch was vacant. Bright sunlight dyed the campus in shades of yellow and gold, made the upper turrets appear as drawings from a children’s book. Robbe noted in passing that someone had collected Sander’s picnic blanket from its forlorn position on the roof. That made sense. Filch himself must have cleaned.

From overhead, soft music played. Robbe was sure he was hallucinating. He sat down on the sill.

Oh fuck, maybe not hallucinating. Noon cast a shadow of someone above onto the roof below.

Sander’s blanket wasn’t where he’d dropped it on night one because Sander sat on the overhang above the window. He had it splayed across the shingles, a compact player oozing the final lines of that same damn song on a loop, his wand gripped in his hands.

Robbe couldn’t escape him. Couldn’t escape how he felt about him. He could bring it under his control if he made it look purposeful.

“Hey,” he said. “Don’t you have class?”

Sander startled.

This was a mistake. Never mind. Robbe should go.

He leaned even further out the window for a better view of Sander’s setup. A stack of textbooks balanced precariously, end on end, held aloft by a complicated charm of some sort. A quill rolled down the roof and stopped as if by an invisible wall. Sander had created a bubble for his things.

“Cheers to exams,” Robbe said, a bit louder. Sander did not look at him. The music cranked itself up to mask Robbe’s voice—perhaps it was spelled to muffle all noise Sander did not want to hear. That wasn’t fair. “This is my spot.”

“You said you didn’t want to be friends,” said Sander. He didn’t sound upset. Why did Robbe expect him to be upset?

“Can you turn down the music?”

“Britt’s going to join me.”

“That isn’t really what I asked.” Robbe wondered if interactions like this would ever stop hurting. But he didn’t feel as bad as he felt last week. Or on Friday night. Maybe the finality of a no was all he needed to move on. He recalled Sander’s speech word-for-word, mostly the end. You don’t like me.

It hit Robbe in a moment of irrational bravery, when Sander’s music dialed up in volume. Their first night in the astronomy tower, together, illuminated by Britt’s wand. The CD playing in the background. Sander knew what he was wearing on a specific double-date on a specific day—there was no denying something existed between them.

And to have Sander talk like that, say it was nothing… it wasn’t nothing, not to Robbe, and Sander needed to hear it.

So he said it. No introduction, no nothing. “I liked you.”

The Major-Tom-planet song quieted. Definitely some kind of magic there.

“I liked you so much,” he said again. Now that it existed, now that it was said, there was nothing to stop him from continuing. “You can’t tell me I didn’t.”

One of Sander’s quills rolled to the edge of the bubble, only this time, it dropped out and fell the length of the tower.

“We made it up, we agreed,” Sander whispered. “I’m sorry.” He slid down from the roof, landing beside Robbe on the sill, then jumped to the floor. His belongings trailed behind him in a floating line.

Robbe stood his ground and blocked the staircase. “It’s not your thing to decide.” His voice softened. “I liked you. So that’s that. And it’s done.”

Sander scuffed the floor with his shoe.

“Good. You never have to see me again.” Robbe pointed down the stairs for dramatic effect. “I have class. Bye.”

He felt lighter than he had all week when he descended the staircase. Any lighter, and he would have missed it when Sander said, “I liked you, too.”

4. He was a jerk to Noor.

Robbe sought her out on the train home, abandoning his friends in their own little compartment. They had plenty to discuss without his involvement. Pranks and whatnot. The usual. Noor was alone in a compartment near the back of the train, a dozen or so scrolls of parchment dispersed around her. She wrote on one with a broken quill.

She wasn’t a bad person. Robbe should have just told her. The least he could do was tell her when everything was over.

“Hey,” he said, taking the seat across from her.

She looked up, surprised. “Hello.”

“You seemed like you could use some company.”

Noor blushed. “No, I—Britt’s sitting elsewhere, and I have a lot to do.”

“With Sander,” Robbe supplied.

“What?”

“Britt’s with Sander.”

“Oh, um, actually—”

Robbe wasn’t in the mood for the nitty-gritty details of whatever Britt and Sander had going on. Obviously it was toxic. Not his problem. Besides, this conversation was for Noor’s sake, not his own.

“Listen, about me and him,” he said. “I need to apologize. It wasn’t fair of me to lead you on.” He hoped it wouldn’t get awkward. The extent of his recent planning was pretty much just say it without warning and hope it works out.

“I don’t read smoke signals,” said Noor curtly. She set her quill down on the seat next to her, ink stains bleeding into the cushioning. “But I get it.”

“No, it was fucked up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

Awkward silence. Robbe wasn’t built for prolonged chatter with anyone besides Jens, Moyo, and Aaron. The girls’ group was the exception, and only when Jana and Zoë were present. He fiddled with the beginning of a hole in his yellow sweater.

“I suppose I should apologize too,” said Noor, after a while. “That was fucked up, to say he’d get bored of you. I was a little—well, you know.”

“If it helps,” Robbe said, “you were right.”

Noor frowned. She sat up in her seat, and her parchment fell to the carriage floor. The sweets trolley passed by their sliding doorway without stopping—its driver could likely sense the tension. Robbe explained, “He’s back with Britt.”

“No, he isn’t,” said Noor. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jana said—”

“Who would know better: Jana, or me?”

Robbe fumbled for something to say in response. Actually, now was a pretty good time to get out, before the topic became any more serious. He said, “He broke up with me.”

“It wasn’t for Britt. She helped him through some stuff, sure, but everyone knows that train’s come and gone.”

“I guess I’m just boring,” Robbe said.

“Bullshit.” Noor picked up her parchment again. She dipped her quill into her ink and began her writing anew, on whatever mess this was. Robbe couldn’t read fucking cursive. “I don’t believe it. Britt says he adored you.”

Robbe didn’t know what to make of that. There was no way he could segue into his next point, which was, of course, that their dating arrangement wasn’t real in the first place, especially after something so honest from Noor. He gave a bullshit excuse, something about chasing the sweets trolley, and got the hell out of there.

***

Robbe said goodbye to Moyo on the train platform. Jens and Aaron lived close enough that their parents parked in the same general vicinity, meaning that they could walk over as a trio. Robbe considered awaiting Sander on the platform as well. Every time he learned something new about Sander’s behavior when he wasn’t there, he got more and more confused. What fake relationship could be convincing enough to have Sander’s ex lamenting its reality?

The boys shared idle gossip on their way to the parking lot. Nothing substantial. Robbe’s head was too full of thoughts, most of them Sander-related. He wasn’t angry, or upset, or tired right now. How did knowing one little thing from Noor make a difference in his overall mood? They split off to their respective parents with casual goodbyes and a promise to write at least once during the holidays.

“Hey,” called Jens, just as Robbe opened the shotgun side.

Robbe turned back, his rucksack swinging off his shoulder. He swiped a hand across his eyes.

“Were you in love with him? Actually?”

They spent two weeks together. Two weeks, plus months and months of pining from afar that couldn’t count for much. It was supposed to last longer. What had Sander said, that day after their date? He wanted it to continue through the holiday break. And now, nothing. Robbe summarized this feeling the only way he knew how: “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”

He climbed into his mother’s waiting car, and with that, it was Christmastime at the Ijzermans house.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part IV

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,696

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.7 Pt.8 Pt.9

“Has he done this before?” Ned asked, referring to Cersei’s wounded cheek.

“My brother would have killed him.” She answered.

”Your brother or your lover?”

“Jaime and I shared a womb. We came into this world together, we belong together. Do you love your children?”

“With all my heart.”

“No more than I love mine.” She confidently said.

“And they are all Jaime’s, except for Y/N.”

“The hair gives her away. I used to have resentment against her. Being the only creation that we brought to the world. Y/N was the only time we really gave it a try. A man who didn’t give a fuck for me. He never loved me but he loves her.” The Lannister woman held a neutral tone.

“When the King returns I will tell him the truth. You must be gone by then. Take the rest of your children and go.”

“You should have climbed those steps. When you play the game of thrones you win or you die. There is no middle ground.” Lord Eddard Stark discovered the secret Lord Arryn died for. It wasn’t his territory anymore.

“I should have spent more time with you. Show you how to be a man. You can learn a big deal from Y/N. I was never meant to be a father. Everyone out!” Cersei looked suspiciously at Ned, Joffrey left the room retaining the tears, not processing what was happening.

“Except you, thanks the gods for blessing me with a daughter like you.” You held his hand tightening the grip. “The girl, Daenerys. You and Ned were right. Varys, Littlefinger, my brother. worthless. No one would tell me no but the two of you. You are much alike. So honorable. She changed my mind. Let her live. Stop it if it’s not too late.”

“We will.”

“And my son, help him. Make him better than me. Help your brother. He’s not ready. Give him your council to make wise choices.” You nodded sobbing.

“I shall always remember this strength you gave.”

“It comes from yourself. Now give me a moment with this fool. And Y/N, don’t be scared even in the face of danger.”

“His grace has had a change of heart concerning Daenerys Targaryen. Princess Y/N convinced him. Whatever arrangements you made, unmade them. At once.” Your father’s best friend declared.

“I’m afraid those birds have flown. The girl is likely dead by now.” You scowled.

“But if it’s not the case stop sending sell swords or assassins to do the job. Also if it’s possible send other birds to abort the mission. That’s a command, Lord Varys.”

“Yes, my princess.” This Targaryen girl will survive.

You once more found little Arya with his dancing teacher, you approached while she was off guard earning a slight hit on your arm.

“I didn’t see you there.” The small one exclaimed.

“We don’t need eyes to see what’s around us, boy.” Syrio reminded her.

“I’m sorry about your father, Y/N.” You sat on the stairs. “I miss Robb, Bran, Rickon and Jon so much. Unlike Sansa, I prefer the North.”

“I met Jon. He seemed to be a good brother, better than Joffrey that’s for sure.”

“He gave me a sword. I named it Needle. I don’t have it here, I’ll show it to you tomorrow.”

“I can’t wait.” You smiled.

“Do you have any bastard siblings?”

“Plenty of them. But it is highly unlikely we’ll ever meet.” You squinted, thinking about the possibility.

“Wish I had a sister like you, mine hates me.”

“I don’t think you hate each other. You just have different opinions, different preferences. You share more than blood. I see a lot of potencial in you. You cannot use someone else’s fire. You can only use your own. And in order to do that, you must first be willing to believe that you have it.” She closed her eyes and proceeded with her classes.

This was crazy. Your mother locked you in your room. The King was dead. Everything was out of place.

“What‘s going on? Why you locked me up?” You shouted to Cersei. She frantically sighed.

“It was a precaution. We don’t know where your loyalty stands, Y/N. Your brother is the King now. Your friend’s father conspired to dethrone him and seize it from himself.”

“That’s insanity...-“

“The little bird was on her room. I haven’t seen the other.” Sandor entered with the redhead.

“Where’s Lady Arya?”

“We have guards looking for her. She won’t be able to hide forever.”

“Princess, what’s happening?” She anxiously asked. After your mother explained what her lord father allegedly did, she made her write a message to his older brother Robb, asking him to come to King’s Landing and swear fealty to Joffrey. You also learned from Lord Baelish that Renly and Loras flee the city before they took the Lord of Winterfell as a prisoner.

“My father would never do that! He is not a traitor” She spat once you two were alone.

“I know, my lady. It must be a misunderstanding.” You said trying to calm her nerves.

“Where do they took him?”

“To the dungeons, I suppose. Things are going to clarify.” The pretty little dove was completely bewildered, same as you.

That very night you went undercover to see the alleged offender.

“Lord Eddard. I brought you some water. Are you okay?” Holding a torchlight, you removed your hood kneeling to give him the canteen.

“Thanks for visiting me. I’m worried about my daughters. You know where they are?”

“We haven’t found Arya, we‘re still on the search. Sansa is alright, she’s under custody. I will protect her.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

“Treason, my lord? I don’t think that makes sense. Why would you say my brother is not the rightful heir?” You raised an eyebrow.

“You are a clever young princess, I’m surprised you haven’t noticed yet.”

“About what?”

“I didn't know if it was appropriate to tell you.” He took another big gulp. “You are the only highborn child Robert had. Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are your uncle Jaime’s bastards. Your mother confessed it to me the other day. They tried to kill Bran cause he saw them. Don’t say a word, not even mention it or you might face the same fate. Though you are the princess is better to be careful with your family.” He was speaking the truth. Deep down you’ve always suspected it, however it was hard to assimilate.

“Y-yes, I won’t say anything to anyone.” You promised. “If you bend the knee and say he is the one true heir to the crown, you might live.”

“Nothing haunts us like the things we don’t say. You have a gentle heart, don’t let the wrong people take advantage of it.” The late hand cautioned.

You were in the Thorne Room. Your mother called Ser Barristan, he stepped forward facing the new King. A huge crowd was there. You stood beside the Stark girl.

“You served the Realm good and faithfully. Every man and woman in the seven kingdoms owns you thanks. But it is time to put aside your armor and your sword. It is time to rest and look with pride at your many years of service.” The lioness said.

“Your Grace, the king's guards is a sworn brotherhood. Only death realizes us for our sacred trust.” He replied.

“You let my father died. You are too old to protect anybody.” The boy on the throne yelled.

“The council has determined Ser Jaime Lannister as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.” Jaime wasn’t even here, that was stupid.

“A man who profane his blade against the king he swore to defend.”

“Careful, Ser.”

“I am a knight. I shall die a knight! Here boy, melted it out and add it to the others.” He threw his sword and left the room.

“If anyone else has other matters to set before his grace, let him speak now or go ford and told his silence.” The northerner squeezed your hand before speaking.

“Your grace.”

“Lady Sansa of the House Stark.”

“Do you have some business with the king and the council, Sansa?”

“I do. As it pleases your grace I ask mercy for my father. Lord Eddard Stark who was hand of the King.”

“Treason is...-“ Pycelle interrupted her.

“Let her speak. I want to hear what she says.” Joffrey declared.

“Thank you, your grace.” You didn’t peel away your glance off her.

“Do you deny your father’s crime?” Baelish inquired.

“No, my lords, I know he must be punished. All I ask is mercy. I know my lord father must regret what he did. He was king Robert's friend and he loved him. You all know he loved him. He never wanted to be hand until the king asked him. They must have lied to him. Lord Renly or Lord Stannis or somebody. They must have lied!” He was clearly nervous, how could she not be? You wanted to intervene and help but you remained silence, it wasn’t the place.

“He said I wasn’t the king. Why would he say that?”

“He was badly hurt. Maester Pycelle was giving him milk of the poppy. He wasn’t himself otherwise he never would have said it.”

“A child’s faith... such sweet innocence. And yet they say wisdom often comes from the mouths of babes.” Lord Varys commented.

“Treason is treason!” The old maester repeated.

“Anything else?”

“If you still have any affection in your heart for me, please do me this kindness your grace.” She pleaded.

“Your sweet words have moved me. But your father needs to confess and say that I am the king or there will be no mercy for him.”

“He will.” You hope so too.

“Mother, please.” She walked passed ignoring you.

“There’s nothing I can do.”

“You are Queen Regent. You know the consequences.”

“Joffrey, have mercy. If you order to have his head you’ll bring war here. The North will fight you. Thousands and thousands of innocent people will die. You can prevent it.”

“You won’t tell me what to do, little sister.” He immediately dismissed you.

[stilesssolo]

Well that’s tragic

Lol this is perhaps the crackiest thing I’ve ever written but it’s distracting me from the never ending anxiety this election is causing so WHATEVER. Also this cannot possibly be quantified as a drabble it is firmly a one shot I’M SORRY it got away from me as always. Once again insta post is available on ao3; enjoy! 

18. Well, that’s tragic. 

“You ready to go?” 

Jon looks up from his nearly-packed duffle bag just as Dany reenters the room, wet hair down her back and wrapped in a towel. “Almost,” he says, considering whether or not he can fit one more pullover in there. Although, well— does he really need it, if Dany won’t be there to steal the one he usually brings? 

“When do you leave again? An hour or so?” Jon nods, Dany rifling through her own suitcase as she looks for clothes. 

“That’s if Bran and Rickon have actually managed to pack, of course,” he says. Dany laughs, pulling a hair brush through her long waves. Robb had had the idea a few months back for them to reinstate their brother-camping-trip this summer when they all went back to Winterfell, like they used to back when they were younger and Ned would take them. Jon’s excited, but he also can’t help the feeling that the weekend can only end in disaster. 

“You sure you’re going to be alright?” Jon asks, frowning at her. “I still feel bad, leavin’ you here all alone with my aunt this weekend.” 

Dany rolls her eyes. “Please. I have Sansa and Arya and Talisa; I’ll be fine. And you know Catelyn will still be too distracted by Ben to hate me too much.” 

Jon chuckles. “Aye, that’s true, I suppose.” He exhales, surveying the bag in front of him as Dany unwraps the towel around her to change. “Okay, I think I’m good—” 

His sentence is cut off by the door banging open, Rickon standing there. “Jon, d’you have a—” he says, before his words die in his mouth, anything else he was about to say drowned out by the sound of Dany’s shocked yelp. 

Jon whirls around, suddenly realizing that his little brother is staring, slack jawed, at his naked girlfriend. 

“Rickon, what the fuck!” Jon says, his brother grabbing the door handle and yanking it closed again, leaving him and Dany alone. She’s scrambling for her towel, hastily wrapping it around herself as she blinks in confusion. 

“Hold on,” Jon mutters, making sure Dany is covered again before opening the door, following the quickly retreating footsteps of his brother. “Rickon, get back here!” 

“Help!” Rickon yelps, Jon gaining on him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs, tearing around the corner. “Robb, help me!” 

“What in seven hells is happenin’?” Robb says as Jon bursts into the kitchen after Rickon, their youngest brother cowering behind Robb as he looks up from the cooler he was packing in bewildered confusion. “Rickon, knock it off, it’s too early in the morning for this.” 

“You’re just saying that because you have an eight month old and you never sleep anymore,” Bran reasons, hauling dog food from the cupboard to the island. Robb glares at him, before his eyes turn back to their cowering brother. 

“Jon’s going to kill me!” Rickon declares. “He’s going to drag me off into the woods and leave my body for the bears!” 

“What bears, you idiot?” Bran snickers. Robb shakes his head, looking even more confused. 

“Have you ever heard of knocking?” Jon demands, eyes narrowing at Rickon. “What the fuck is wrong with you, burstin’ into people’s rooms at seven in the morning?” 

“I couldn’t find my hiking socks!” Rickon wails. “And I know you have loads from Tyrell so I wanted some! I didn’t know Dany was going to be fucking naked!” 

Understanding dawns on Robb’s face at the same time that Bran bursts into laughter, doubling over. “So, let me just make sure I understand here,” Robb says, shaking his head. “You burst into Jon’s room, to which the door was closed, and saw his girlfriend naked,” Robb says. “Is that it?” 

Rickon nods, still refusing to meet Jon’s eyes. His cheeks are still red as Sansa’s hair, gaze darting nervously around the room. 

“Well, that’s tragic,” Robb says. “It’s been nice knowin’ you, Rickon. Maybe you should use the time before Jon murders you to learn how to fuckin’ knock on a door.” 

“How was I supposed to know she’d be changing?!” Rickon yelps. 

“You would have if you’d asked before comin’ in!” Jon huffs. “What the bloody hell were you thinkin’?” 

“Hey,” Dany says, appearing behind them— mercifully, fully dressed this time, with Jon’s bag slung over her shoulder. “What’s going on?” 

“Daenerys, I’m so sorry!” Rickon says, eyes wide, cheeks growing even redder. He’s still half hidden behind Robb, running a hand through his hair agitatedly. It makes his mop of curls even messier. “I didn’t know—” 

“Mm, but you would have if you knocked,” she responds primly. Rickon gulps, but Jon can see that glimmer of light in her eyes that tells him she’s not really mad. 

“Alright, enough,” Robb says. “We have to get on the road. Rickon, go get everyone’s things in the car. Try not to catch anyone without their clothes on in the process.” 

He scrambles out of the kitchen, cheeks still burning furiously, Bran laughing as he follows behind with the dogs’ things. “Hey,” Jon murmurs, catching Dany by the waist. “Gods, I’m sorry about him. You alright?” 

“Of course,” she says, trying to fight back a smile and failing. “Honestly, I think Rickon’s the one more emotionally scarred. You should have seen his face when he realized you realized what was happening.” 

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Jon grumbles, but he leans down to kiss Dany goodbye anyways. Three days without her— is it bad he already wishes this weekend was over? 

“Have fun on your trip,” Dany whispers. “And don’t actually murder your brother.” 

“No promises,” Jon teases. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” she says, giving him one last kiss, a squeeze of the hand, before she hands over his duffle. “See you on Tuesday.” 

The cars are mostly packed when Jon gets out to the drive, all four of the dogs circling them and barking their heads off as they finish loading the rest of their things into the car. “Alright,” Robb says, nodding. “I think we’re ready to go. Who wants to ride with who—” 

“I’m with Robb!” Rickon says, practically leaping at the opportunity. “I call Robb!” 

“Rickon,” Jon says with a roll of his eyes. “I’m not really goin’ to murder you.” 

“That’s what you say!” Rickon exclaims. “And then next thing you know the police are findin’ a body bag at the bottom of the river with my name on it!” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Robb grumbles. “Can we just get the dogs in the car and go?” 

The drive is uneventful, with Bran next to him— Jon listens to his brother speak about all his classes, the two of them chatting amiably the whole way up. Jon almost forgets about the incident of this morning until they’re at the campsite, and Rickon still won’t make eye contact with him. The whole time they’re setting up camp, pitching tents, Robb getting a fire going as Bran watches the dogs race around, his youngest brother turns scarlet every time he catches sight of him, running in the other direction. 

“Rickon,” Jon finally says as they all make dinner, the dogs gathered together in a pigpile as they nap, tired out from the afternoon hike they took. “Could we please just move past this? The weekend’s going to be insufferable if not.” 

“How am I supposed to forget when you’re actively plannin’ to leave me in the woods for dead?” he demands. Jon sighs, scrubbing at his face with his hand. 

“I think the real issue here,” Bran teases, “is that Rickon doesn’t want to forget what he saw, and it’s makin’ it hard to look at you in exchange.” 

“Oh, does Rickon have a crush?” Robb teases, and their youngest brother’s cheeks turn even darker red as he’s left spluttering for words. “Tell us, was that the first time you ever saw a girl naked?” 

“Fuck you, Robb, of course not!” he retorts, arms flailing wildly. “And I don’t have a crush on Jon’s girlfriend, even if she is really hot!” He seems to catch himself a moment too late, eyes going wide with dread. “Fuck! I didn’t mean that!” 

“Mm, I think you did,” Bran says. Honestly, at this point, any aggravation Jon had had is pretty much gone— Dany is fine, which is what he really cares about, even if his brother has no fucking manners. He laughs, tipping his head back as Rickon looks like he’d rather die than be here any longer. 

“Quit while you’re ahead, brother,” Robb says, slapping Rickon’s shoulder. “Not that you’re really ahead now, of course.” 

“I didn’t mean it, Jon,” Rickon begs. “Please don’t drag me out to the woods and plot my death.” 

Jon laughs, ruffling his brother’s hair. “I’m not going to murder you,” he promises, and Rickon sighs, seeming to relax a little bit. “But if you ever forget to knock and barge into our room again, I’m not responsible for Dany’s actions.” 

Rickon nods, Robb cackling as he pokes the fire. “Trust me, she seems like the one you need to be more scared of anyways,” he says. Jon laughs, his youngest brother’s cheeks turning red again. 

“Aye,” Jon says with a nod. “She certainly is.”

[kalemakar]

Plz dont read this its pure crack that i wrote at 1am 

Senne x Coffee (three times bc that park one was weird af senne and coffee were in love and then one time coffee died rip [omfg its 1 am go to sleep norah]) 1377 words of crack

1. 

     Senne stretched his limbs, cracking his joints and yawned loudly. He opened his eyes slowly and rubbed his eyes harshly in order to wake up. He looked over to Zoe sleeping peacefully beside him. He wanted to stay with her, he really did; but he really, really needed his wonderful, amazing, coffee. A bright grin lighted Senne’s face and he softly shoved Zoe’s head off his arm and jumped out of bed. He lightly jogged over the kitchen, still having his stupid giddy smile on his face. 

    He sees his beloved coffee maker and his cup all nice and clean. He makes his coffee as quickly as he can, excited for his morning cuppa. After 5 really really long minutes, his coffee was finally ready. He brings the coffee up to his mouth and eagerly sips it. The coffee had a crisp, bright flavor, with subtle hints of citrus and rich chocolates. The air is thick with the scent  of his coffee and it hits his nose harshly but Senne drinks in the aroma as he sips his beloved coffee. He plops down at the kitchen table and looks out the flatshare window. It was perfect; it was perfect scenery. Him with his coffee, looking out at the skyline of Antwerp, looking at the bustling street below him. He gives a small little smile and looks down at his partner in crime, the one who was always there for him; coffee. His brown, delicious, sweet, smooth, wonderful tasting coffee. 

    He hears the soft footsteps of Zoe coming up behind him. She looked at him and titled her lips, softly smiling. She sat on Senne’s lap, cuddling him, as they both looked out at the streets of Antwerp with his coffee in one hand and Senne thought, “I don’t need anything else.”

2. 

    Senne slammed his head against the kitchen table in frustration after reading a passage from his physics book once more (mi in physics that bitch). He groaned, both in mental and physical pain and felt like tearing his hair out because of how confused he was. The afternoon light came through the windows, lighting up his physics assignment, reminding him that he had to finish all of it today. 

    “Frick it” he thought as he got up and went to the coffee machine. If he was going to suffer through his physics assignment, then he should have some company of some sort. As he makes his coffee he looks at his physics in contemplation. He had an idea of what he was supposed to do, but whatever he did, it just didn't make sense. 

    His coffee was made and he slipped in delicately. He sighed happily and closed his eyes. ‘Yes this was he needed.’

    Just then, he heard Robbe and Sander crashing through the flat and making their way to the kitchen. The two were exchanging kisses and dragging the other along. They finally reached the fridge where Sander put Robbe on the counter and opened the fridge to get some snacks. The two were giggling and cuddling and kissing the other every five seconds. 

    Senne put the coffee down with tight pursed lips. “Oh my fricking god these gay biotches are ruining my coffee and me time”

    Senne loves his adopted son, he really does. But right now he was interrupting Senne’s and his coffee me time. He cleared his throat, causing both Sander and Robbe to jump and whip their heads over to the noise. Both had eyes towards him and were surprised to see him. 

    Senne asked, “Do you two mind, I’m trying to study” [and drink my fricking coffee]

    Robbe nervously giggled, “Of course Senne” and hopped off the counter and dragged Sander, who carried all of their snacks, by the sleeve of his hoodie. 

    He smiled at the two and returned to his delicious af coffee.

3.

    Zoe and Senne were cuddling and lazily making out on Zoe’s and Senne’s bed in the flatshare. The two trading kisses, cuddled up in blankets and through the silence of the flat. Both were so relaxed and happy lying peacefully together.

    That is, until Senne’s alarm went off. The loud “ring, ring” noise started Zoe so much that she flew right off the bed and the ground loudy. She groaned in pain and looked up at Senne in confusion.

    “Senne… why is your phone alarm going off”

    But Senne wasnt answering her. Instead he was getting off the bed and quickly throwing on his shirt. He looked determined; as if he had somewhere or someone or something important to get to. Senne bolts out of the room, sliding and almost crashing into the wall because of his socks on the hardwood floor. Zoe quickly gets up as well and chases after Senne to see what the big fuss was about. 

    “Senne! Where the heck are you going? Senne-”

    Zoe slows down to find Senne, making coffee. He interrupted their time together… to make coffee. Zoe clenched her fists and blew her hair out of her face all while having an angry death glare on her face. She looked back at Senne to see him with a giddy smile on his face towards the coffee maker and muttering something about his coffee. 

    Zoe rolled her eyes, but a small smile grew against her will, “Senne, did you leave our warm, comfy, bed to make coffee, that you apparently scheduled”

    Senne was startled and jumped after hearing Zoe speak. He looked sheepishly at her while rubbing the back of his head and replied “Yeah, I have to have my coffee at least five times a day or else we wouldn’t have our tight bond”

    Zoe stared. And stared. And stared. 

    “Our.. bond..?” She asked, confused. 

    Senne smiled, “Our bond”

    Zoe once again stared; but then decided, she didn't need to know more and slowly and quietly tiptoed back into her room. 

4. Oops 

    Milan, Zoe, Robbe, Sander, and Senne were having a small flat share party to celebrate everyone finishing their year of school. Sander and Senne have finished another year of college and Robbe and Zoe finished their last year of high school. They were having a few drinks and lively music playing in the background. Sander was twirling Robbe, both were looking happily at each other. Milan was jamming out to the song while swinging violently all over the kitchen. Zoe was hugging Senne and trying to convince him to put his cup of coffee down. After Zoe pulls at him and smiles and gives him convincing kisses he finally puts his coffee down on the table and puts his arms around Zoe and they sway around together with their foreheads touching. Everyone was ecstatic, joyful, and overall were having a wonderful time. 

    That changed in seconds. 

    Milan swung too much in one direction and became extremely dizzy. He bounced around the kitchen with everyone laughing. However; he landed on the counter that held Senne’s precious coffee maker and coffee. As Milan was getting up, he swiped his hands across the counter, bringing down the coffee maker and the coffee cup. 

    It was like a slow motion video. Everyone’s jaw dropped and a look of terror crossed Senne’s face. He ran after the coffee maker but it was all vain. Both the coffee cup and coffee maker smashed into the ground and shattered into a million pieces. Senne dropped onto his knees and his hands hovered shakily over the mess. He cut off a gasp by putting his hands over his mouth. Tears came to his eyes and he stared at his beloved coffee maker and the cup spilled all over the floor. He glares up at Milan, opening his mouth but nothing comes out of it. He stares back at the mess. 

    Behind Senne, Sander looked concerned and asked Robbe, “Is he okay? Should we do something?”

    “...I don't know,” Robbe replied, looking concerned for Senne as well. 

    Milan looked terrified, not really knowing what to do but slowly running out of the room away from Senne. 

    Zoe however, looked over at Senne with purse lips and a slight sympathetic look in her eyes and said, “Oh my god, Senne we can buy a new one”

    Senne tensed and then whipped his head over his shoulder and yelled, “IT'S NOT THE SAME”

In conclusion i'm a dramatic bitc 

[onthesandsofdreams]

Moment’s Peace

Fandom: A Song of Ice and Fire Pairing: Sansa x Sandor Rating: T Summary: Falling in love with her, truly falling in love with her had surprised him. The fact that Sansa loved him back, made Sandor question the sense of the Gods – if they were any. She deserved better, someone who was a better man than him, but Sansa had persisted and he – weak as he was – could not find it in him to fight her away. Words: 1192 Notes: Post Canon, Post A Dream of Spring. Written for fictober-event, prompt #16.- I never wanted anything else

Read @ AO3 

Sansa and Sandor sat in a branch beneath the Heart Tree, snow was falling softly around them, they held hands and the silence they found themselves in was a comfortable one. After everything, they didn’t need to fill it with words.

They – well Sandor, had escaped the bustle of Winterfell and Sansa had joined him a few minutes later, their wedding was fast approaching and, the whole castle was a flurry of activity that left Sandor’s head spinning. Sansa took it all with her usual grace and aplomb. Sandor wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten so lucky, but he wasn’t about to analyze it for too long.

They had survived the war of the five kings, the war against the white walkers and now, peace was settling in. The kingdom was once again seven kingdoms and, peace was so far holding on. Bran, Sansa’s brother had been declared King of Winter and much to his own surprise, Sandor had been welcomed into Winterfell at his service. Well, more at the service of Sansa, because she was the one Sandor knew he could serve easily, without any prompting.

Falling in love with her, truly falling in love with her had surprised him. The fact that Sansa loved him back, made Sandor question the sense of the Gods – if they were any. She deserved better, someone who was a better man than him, but Sansa had persisted and he – weak as he was – could not find it in him to fight her away.

And so, here they were, days out from their wedding. Sandor knew, that Bran planned to give them the Dreadfort, well, it was more like giving Sansa the Dreadfort and he’ll simply be her husband and whatever else his little bird saw fit for him to be.

“Since Gregor burnt me,” Sandor broke the silence, “I’ve only ever wanted to kill him. I never wanted anything else. I simply wanted his death by my hand.”

Sansa squeezed his hand. “Yes, I figured it as much.” Sandor understood that she had grown wise in the years they’ve been apart. She’d grown in beauty too. “I remember when Joffrey made you kingsguard, you spoke of not leaving wife or lands. I always wondered why you mentioned that.”

Sandor shrugged, “It was the truth. I had no wife to leave behind nor any lands, so, why not? It was a great feeling, that it was me and not my brother who’ve been offered the post. But I still wanted to kill him.”

“You had your chance,” Sansa said. “Back at the turney of the Hand, but you didn’t.”

Sandor said nothing for a while. “Maybe I wasn’t ready yet.”

“Or maybe you knew, even if it was deep down, that his death would not made you feel good. It would’ve been justice, but you’d still be a kinslayer. Your brother was the monster of House Clegane, not you.”

“You give me far too much credit. I simply knew that it wasn’t the right place or the time. I’d have killed him in battle, but a tourney? That was far too easy.”

“Well, I for once, am glad that you did not.”

They fell into silence once more, Sandor turned to look at the face at the Tree, it never failed to unnerve him, but this was simply a tree. One of the Old Gods, one of the things Sansa worship and prayed at their foot, it would hardly do to falter and let his unease take hold of him. He had been a man of the North for some years now and he would be so, for the rest of his life now that he was marrying Sansa.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Sandor spoke again. “I don’t deserve you, Little bird.”

Sansa turned to look at him, those bright blue eyes serious. “When I was young, my father was going to break the betrothal between Joffrey and I, he wanted a man who was ‘kind, gentle and strong’. I, being a foolish girl who fancied herself in love, said that I wanted Joffrey. Look at where it got me.” She raised her hand, preventing him from speaking. “What happened wasn’t my fault, I know that now. It was Cersei, Joffrey, Petyr and the others. So listen to me Sandor, I met many high lords and lordlings, some of them were good, others bad, others neither. I was treated as a piece, something to be won at the highest bidding and I’m sick of it.

“The day I found out that Bran and Rickon were alive, it was the happiest day of my life because I knew that I had been pushed down the succession. That I wasn’t the heiress they all wanted. I once thought, ‘No one will love me for myself’. You do. And that’s what I want.”

Sandor was silent for a few moments again, then sighed and said, “There are many Northen sons…”

“Whose fathers left me in King’s Landing, and who agreed with Robb to disinherit me for a sin not of my doing. No, I will not have them. That would be rewarding that. Bran knows, so do Rickon and Arya. They understand and they agree that, after every would-be marriage I’ve been through, I should be the one to pick my husband. And I picked you. Is that not enough?”

Sandor looked down at their hands. “It’s more than enough, Little bird,” his voice was soft. “More than what I ever deserved or ever will. But I do love you and always will, and I will be at your side until I die and only then will I leave you. Unless you tire of me and cast me aside.”

Sansa lifted his face and smiled gently. “Never. I will never let you leave. We’ll have to change the name of the castle, I refuse to call it the Dreadfort. Not for me, it won’t do.”

Sandor laughed, but he knew that Sansa was right. The Dreadfort’s name echoed the history of battle, of the terrible things done by the Boltons, of the betrayal that came at the cost of Sansa’s own brother and Mother. It would hardly do for Sansa to rule over it with that name. “The Wolf’s Den.” He said, looking at Sansa. “It’s a historic name, with ties to the Starks. Besides, it would always say that there’s a wolf there.”

“That the children of my body will rule it, that we are another branch from the same tree,” Sansa said, smiling. “I like that.” She stood. “Come, let us tell Bran about it.”

“Go ahead, I’ll stay here a minute more. I’ll catch up.” Sandor said and watched as Sansa began making her way back to Winterfell. He stood and turned to face the Heart Tree. Its eyes and mouth seeped the red sap so much like blood. “I’ll take good care of her,” he said. “I swear it. Tell that to her father and mother if you can.”

Sandor turned and began following in Sansa’s footsteps. A feeling of peace settling in his spirit. He had found his home. Sansa was.