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lumillsie · 8 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ all my life. ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

jon snow x f!arryn!reader headcanons

╰┈➤ in which lady catelyn's niece is brought to winterfell as a ward, and grows to care for her misliked stepson.

a/n : I put jon's birth year as 283 ac, whereas in the show he was born in 281ac - so I struggled a bit on which to choose, but ultimately 283ac suited my outline for the story a bit better. the characters are still aged up as per their show versions. I've also aged down robin arryn, implying that both jon and reader would be in their adolescence during his birth, whereas in the source material, jon is only a few years older than robin.

massive, massive shoutout to @angelseraphines for being my greatest support as always, and I'm not sure if I would've gone ahead and published this if not for her encouragement 🩷

╰┈➤ in 285ac, lord jon arryn and his lady wife lysa welcomed the first of their living children.

╰┈➤ you were a beautiful babe, bright-eyed with a lovely smile, truly the apple of the hand's eye. lord arryn had been married three times in his lifetime, and you were the first of his children to live to term. the graying man was enamored with your newborn-self, and he wished for nothing but your safety and joy.

╰┈➤ for all his love for you, the hand of the king knew how venomous the environment of the royal court to be. the halls were dripping with the schemes of those who wished to advance their positions, and a man of his position knew that the only living child, let alone a girl, of his would be treated as no more than a tool of the court's most cunning.

╰┈➤ your father wished to see you happy and contented, and he wished to keep you safe from the treachery of red keep. and so, on the eve of your sixth nameday, your father wrote to the boy he once fostered in the vale, now a lord paramount in his own right. eddard stark was possibly the only man jon arryn trusted to the same extent he trusted his grace, the king. it was a difficult decision to make, but he was acting in your best interests. life at winterfell would suit his little falcon better, for you would grow strong and you'd be well-looked after. you'd be far away from the glances of power-hungry, lecherous men who wished for nothing but power. you would be with family as well, as the lady catelyn was your mother's only sister - and her children your closest blood. it was a great honour in westeros, to be trusted with the upbringing of one's child, and it was an honour lord arryn would bestow upon lord stark.

╰┈➤ lysa was resistant to the idea of sending away her only living child - the years of losing babe after babe had taken their toll on her, but she eventually relented. you would be safer in winterfell, and catelyn was still her sister - for all the distance between them.

╰┈➤ mere days after lord stark accepted your father's offer, you were sent to winterfell as a ward with a kiss on the forehead from your mother and an unusually tight hug from your father.

╰┈➤ the first couple of weeks were rough - for you were often coddled by your parents. you missed tugging on your mother's skirts and resting in your father's arms. you weren't used to the absence of them, and while you tried not to cause trouble for your caretakers - they could tell you had a hard time adjusting.

╰┈➤ there were two people in winterfell whose presence brought you comfort during that trying time. the first was your aunt, lady catelyn stark, your mother's only sister. you knew little else of winterfell, but you were comforted by the familiar shade of auburn that cascaded down her shoulders and the unique cadence to her voice that could only be ascribed to a woman born of riverrun. she wasn't your mother, but she was the closest to her anyone could get. she sung you lullabies only your mother knew, and the gentle manner in which she treated you was that of a mother towards her child. the second was the boy named after your father, jon snow. you latched onto him early on in your stay in winterfell, and nobody was quite sure as to why. perhaps it was for his name, for you often called for him - at first you were calling for your father, but jon always answered. he was two years your senior and still a boy unsure of his place in his own home - for all the love of his father and the acceptance of his siblings was matched evenly with pointed looks and whispers of bastardy, as well as lady catelyn's cold distance and her decision to ignore his existence the best he could. some would say that it was your insistence on seeking him out that helped reassure the dark-haired boy of his place. of all the nobles and commonfolk at winterfell, you gravitated towards him.

╰┈➤ at first you were content to spend your time with him in silence, and he never appeared opposed to that. within a few weeks, you were talking to him about your life back in the crownlands. you talked about your mother, and her watchful, protecting eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. you talked about your father, and his insistence on making time for your regardless of how pertinent his responsibilities may have been at any given point. you talked about the king too, and his tales of the valour and glory he experienced side by side with jon's own father. he spoke to you too, of how lovely his father and siblings were, of winterfell's hidden gems and it's most well-known attractions. he promised to take you to the weirwood tree in the godswood when the opportunity arose, and he followed through on his promise. jon snow had become, aside for the lady catelyn whom you'd grown to love as you loved your mother, your dearest person.

╰┈➤ your aunt catelyn was not fond of your budding friendship with the reminder of her husband's indiscretion - that much was plain to see by the harsh manner in which her brows furrowed and frown of her lips, and yet she made no move to disallow it. she could see that his presence helped you get used to your new home, and soon enough you were playing with sansa, teaching arya and bran how to say your name and often fetching robb to speak with him on the way to break your fast. it pleased to see your aunt to see you and her own children bond so quickly, and she kept her dissatisfaction of your bond with jon to herself.

╰┈➤ jon was there for many of the major moments of your life, with the most notable being the first letter you'd written your parents. you had just started learning how to read in the red keep, but lord stark made sure to place you with septa mordane alongside his daughters and he kept an eye on you to make sure your education was advancing. not to mention, lord and lady stark were adamant in ensuring that you remained in touch with your parents - making sure you became literate was the most important factor in that. early on, you would ask jon to re-read your letters before you were to show them to lord stark, and your friend was always glad to do it. the faint red hue that enveloped his cheeks as he read the parts where you mentioned him to your father went unnoticed by you, too focused on making sure that your letter was presentable to lord eddard.

╰┈➤ you remained close through your childhood and closer into adolescence, but it wasn't until one fateful evening that somebody changed between the two of you.

╰┈➤ the letter you received from your parents was unlike any other you had received in the past. the words seemed to swirl on the yellowed paper, and you could feel a headache in coming. your mother had given birth to a son - a proper heir to the vale. you should have felt happy, overjoyed even. a part of you, unfortunately, felt overwhelmed by misery and you could not quite understand why. you were content in winterfell, loved even - and you knew you were never to be heir to begin with, for you were a daughter and your father had plenty of nephews to choose from. so, why did you feel so unhappy? you couldn't quite figure it out, at least not until you spoke to the one person who understood why you felt the way you did, even when you yourself could not.

╰┈➤ you'd skipped supper in favor of spending the evening by the godswood, and truthfully, you expected aunt catelyn to send robb to retrieve you when it was due time for you to return to your chambers. instead, you were surprised to see that jon came for you instead. as you rose from beneath the weirwood tree, red leaves giving way to a darkened sky, you walked side by side with jon towards the great keep. he spoke to you quietly then, of things you never dared ask and he never dared to say outloud. he spoke to you of the mystery of his mother, of wanting to know who she was and if she had wanted him, of wanting to know what kind of person she was. it was only then that the truth of your misery dawned on you. you wished to truly know your parents, and your brother - but you never truly could. for all the letters in the world cannot bring you the closeness of having your family near. robin would know your parents in the ways that you never would, and they would know him in ways that they never knew you. it was a bitter pill to swallow, but you felt as if you could breathe easier - with the realisation clear in your mind.

╰┈➤ you were grateful to jon as well, for his vulnerability with you and for his kindness. you thanked him for walking you back to your chambers, and left a chaste peck on his cheek before retreating. "I am grateful... for you, and all that you are" were the words you spoke to him. a silent acknowledgement hung in the air between the two of you. he was still your dearest friend, and you were his - but something had changed. the way in which you regarded one another had changed.

╰┈➤ it was as if the wall that you two had carefully placed between yourselves had found itself with holes in it. you were still careful, chaste even - but it was apparent to those around you that you two loved eachother. you'd make handkerchiefs for him in your embroidery classes and he'd gently hold onto your hand in the privacy of the godswood.

╰┈➤ none were truly aware of the extent of your affections for one-another, for you were both aware of your positions. you were a noble-man's daughter, entrusted in the care of jon's father who was meant to find you a suitable match and marry you off well. you were considered a bride for theon greyjoy or willas tyrell, but not jon. not a baseborn son of your noble caretaker, with no titles to his name and no inheritance to claim. furthermore, were you to rebel and marry jon without anyone's knowledge - you would soil not only the reputations of your fathers, but the goodwill and bond they shared, for lord arryn entrusted lord stark with your upbringing.

╰┈➤ you two grew closer over the following year, and it was apparent to both of you that you would not have the time to properly court one another before pursuing a way to convince your fathers to allow marriage. you were a woman grown, of marrying age. not to mention, you were lord arryn's only daughter, and a marriage to you was the most effective manner in which a noble house could strengthen its ties to the vale. lord and lady stark, with minor interference from your parents, were close to making their decision - and your aunt made sure to consult you often in subtle manners, asking whether you'd prefer to remain in winterfell when you marry, asking if you'd like to return to the red keep once you are to have a family of your own. you could not avoid your fates any longer.

╰┈➤ you pondered over what to do for a couple of days, but you knew you had no time to wait. without informing jon, you decided to plea your case to your aunt catelyn - the person you'd always felt closest to in winterfell, from the day you arrived to the present. you knew of her mislike for jon, there wasn't a singular person in winterfell who wasn't aware of it - and yet, during all these years, she hadn't said a word to you of your closeness. you asked for an audience with her in the evening, and you told her everything as you sat with your hands in hers atop the fur carpets by the roar of the fire. you confided in her about how precious jon had always been to you, of how you felt the evening of robin's birth and of how you had love for jon in a way a lady should only have love for her husband. your eyes glistened with unshed tears as you spoke to her of how you feared a betrothal, as you didn't think you could bare being married to anyone else. she listened to you as you spoke. when you finished, she leaned down to give you a kiss on the forehead and exited the room. you never got an answer from her.

╰┈➤ lady catelyn's heart ached from the weight of what she had to do. she resented jon, but she could never truly hate him as a person. she feared what his existence, and the way he looked, may mean for her own children but she could never begrudge you for befriending him. this, however, could be disastrous for all of you - and she needed to put a stop to it. she sought jon out the following morning, before it was time for the family to break their fast. she warned him of what his involvement with you could do to your reputation, and of how marrying him would cause you to lose all that you were born with. a woman has little choice in this world but to marry well, and your singular status as lord arryn's only daughter provided you with a privilege not many women could afford - a privilege you would lose were you to marry him. she urged him to put distance between the two of you, if he cared for you as you claimed he did. it was the first time she'd really acknowledged him, and her words stung - perhaps nearly as deep as her resentment and distance once did.

╰┈➤ you were unaware of the fact that this conversation had even taken place to begin with, and jon's insistence on ignoring you came as a shock. you couldn't tell what you had done wrong and you were unsure of how to reason with him.

╰┈➤ it wasn't easy for him to keep his distance from you either, but he took lady catelyn's words to heart. he truly believed that if he kept his distance from you, then you would have an easier time accepting a potential betrothal - as you were always meant to do. now that he was at a distance from you, he was free to confide in robb - and he found comfort in his brother. it was difficult, keeping his feelings from the man he trusted most to begin with and robb's brotherly teasing, as well as his unspoken understanding helped him cope with his decision. for a time at least.

╰┈➤ this tense situation and the distance between you was broken by the most tragic news of your life - your father and the hand of the king, lord jon arryn, had passed away. in addition to your grief, added pressure was placed upon your shoulders as the news of the royal family's impending visit to winterfell reached you. all of this proved to be too much for you, and you crumbled once again, for the first time since your arrival to the north. it was jon whom you turned to once again, and he couldn't find it in him to turn you down. he held you in his arms as you wept, and as you turned to look to him - you made the bold move you'd never dared to make. you leaned upwards and planted a kiss upon his lips, the salty taste of tears staining both of you. he gave in for a split second, before pulling away - remembering lady catelyn's words. "I intend to promise myself to the night's watch. I've already made my father aware of my decision" he confessed to you, his tone gentle yet final. it was then that you asked him why, your voice on the brink of shattering. he spoke to you of his conversation with lady catelyn, and of the steps he took to make sure your reputation wasn't soiled - of the steps he took to make sure you could still have a good life.

╰┈➤ you left him wordlessly then, anger coursing through every inch of your body. you were angry for a multitude of reason - at your father, for sending you to winterfell to begin with. at the world, for taking your father from you before you'd had the chance to see him once more. at your aunt catelyn and jon, for making decisions that concerned you without even thinking to consult you.

╰┈➤ you withdrew to yourself, simply going through the motions as you prepared for the king and his family to arrive at winterfell. you felt no joy at the prospect of seeing him once again, and the thought of his visit served as nothing more than a reminder that you were truly never going to see your father again. you were courteous but curt in all your exchanges, but you exchanged nothing more than pleasantries with all those around you. jon tried to speak with you often, to ensure that you two weren't going to go your separate ways on such poor terms - but he was unsuccessful. you had switched places, with you now ignoring his attempts to speak with you as he had done weeks before.

╰┈➤ the issues between you two and your pointed attempts to ignore him are once again put on hold with all the madness that follows the royal family's visit - bran's accident, your mother's letter to catelyn and the king's offer to lord stark all become topics much more pertinent than jon's upcoming departure and your potential betrothals, and the two of you settle into a peaceful coexistence within the last few days of his stay at winterfell. in truth, as you came to accept your father's death and the unfortunate fate that befell bran, you came to the conclusion that the short time you had with one another was a precious thing, not to be wasted - and you sought him out often, just as you once did.

╰┈➤ the morning he was set to leave for the night's watch, you rose early in the hour of the nightingale- and you sought him out. you walked to the godswood once more, your arm brushing against his. "I believe that I have loved you all my life. I believe that I will love you for the rest of it" you admitted to him as he reached out to grasp your hands in his, a sad smile making its way across your face. "I have loved you all my life, and I will love you for the rest of it" he vowed to you as he leaned down to press his final, gentle kiss upon your lips. you needn't have spoken words of forgiveness or talked much of anything else. you were overcome with a melancholic contentedness in that very moment. jon left his home with his uncle benjen within the next few hours, but he left his heart in winterfell with you.

╰┈➤ that very same evening, you wept in your aunt catelyn's arms. her kiss upon your forehead felt the same as your mother's on the day you last saw her - on the day you left your home behind.

a/n : and that's where I think I'm going to end this! if I ever feel like it, I may revisit jon and arryn!reader later down the line - perhaps with a quick rewrite of season and a happier ending than I gave them here. the original version of this fic is still in my drafts, but I legitimately hated the pacing and the dynamic between jon and reader felt rushed so I rewrote the whole thing - I'm still not fully happy with it, but I much prefer this version and I'm more comfortable publishing it. I hope you enjoy reading this, and please be sure to leave some constructive criticism as I do think there are some parts here that I think can be improved. please do forgive me if the pacing feels slightly off, I struggled quite a bit with this prompt and I legitimately could not write this fic a third time nor expand on it more to try and make it more sensible.

as always, I'm tagging several different characters to help get the post out to as many people as possible, but I do write for all of the characters tagged below so please feel free to request something for them.

#game of thrones #game of thrones fanfiction #jon snow #jon snow x reader #x reader #oneshots #preferences #imagine #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house of the dragon #robb stark #robb stark x reader #theon greyjoy #theon greyjoy x reader #sansa stark #sansa stark x reader

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ichorai · 2 years ago

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be ; sansa stark.

track ten of WASTELAND, BABY!

pairing ; sansa stark x gn!reader

synopsis ; sansa only knew love from tales of gallant knights and distressed damsels. she thought love was meant to be loud and extravagant. you taught her that quiet love was just as meaningful—that love didn’t have to always be a statement. love could just be there, and that was enough.

words ; 1.8k

themes ; angst, fluff, mild childhood friends to lovers

warnings / includes ; crying, reader calls sansa a spoiled brat (affectionately), set before her entire character arc in game of thrones when she was still living in winterfell

main masterlist.

The fire crackled back to life as you placed another log on top of the dying embers, licking greedily at the wood. Sansa tore her eyes away from the fabric across her lap, watching as the warm amber glow of the fire bathed your features in honey-hued luminescence. Sharp shadows drew over your face, and stretched even further when you turned to her, a soft smile etched onto your lips.

“How are you getting along with that dress, Sansa?”

She blinked, looking back down at her work laid out over her knees, and she began working on the stitches once more. “Not bad. Though, I’m not so sure this color suits me very much.”

You strode away from the fire and sank down into the chair beside her, glancing at the deep emerald of the cloth. “I think it looks wonderful. Brings out your eyes.”

A flustered blush stained her skin with a kiss of wine, and she downcast her gaze back to her craft bashfully, opting to remain humbly silent.

With one last easy smile, you cracked open the book you had placed to the side to stoke the fire, easing into the seat with a pleasant hum.

Sansa stole quick looks at your side profile, her heart thrumming within her chest with every peek. The elated rush your compliment gave her made Sansa work on the dress twice as fast, her fingers moving so quickly it was a wonder she didn’t accidentally poke herself with the needle.

“What’s the dress for, anyway?” you asked idly, flipping the page.

“Just something pretty to wear,” she replied, her teeth softly digging into the flesh of her bottom lip. Hesitantly, she spoke again, this time more timidly, “Do you want to be married, Y/N?”

There was a beat of silence, and Sansa could feel the dread and regret wind itself around her stomach. You blinked in surprise, tearing your gaze away from the book and up to the flame-headed girl beside you.

Pursing your lips, you gave her question another second of thought, before shrugging aimlessly. “I mean, I’m not particularly looking for marriage at the moment. I’m perfectly content as I am right now.”

Before Sansa could stop herself, she launched into a tirade of defensive questions. “But don’t you ever feel like… things could be better? Like you’ll meet the right person one day and everything would just—fall right into place? Doesn’t it feel like a piece of you is missing?”

You arched a brow her way. “If you think someone is going to fix all your problems by marrying you, you’d be sorely mistaken. In fact, I’m nearly certain you’ll only have more troubling you once you get married.”

Heat flushed her skin and she opened and closed her mouth in search of a response. None came to her. Instead, she leaned back in her chair with a sour pout to her rosy lips, going back to her stitching.

“I just think it’d be nice, is all…” she mumbled. “I see my mother and father and how much they love each other and I just can’t help but want that for myself. I want to love someone like that.”

You hummed in understanding, dipping your eyes back down to your book. “I’m not opposed to marriage. If it happens, then it happens, but I won’t go and look for it because I’m happy as I am. I think there’s a wildly inaccurate expectation to love—it’s not all gallant knights on horses, or rescuing princesses from high towers. Love needn’t be a statement or a grand gesture, Sansa. Sometimes love is just there, and that’s enough.”

Sansa contemplated your words, screwing her lips together in thought. She certainly felt singled out, and she was rather embarrassed about her naivety about such a salient topic such as love.

With one last shameful glance to you, she returned to working on her dress.

Snowflakes danced about her hair, a pristine white amongst the flame-hued strands. You kicked at the weightless frost with your boots, a laugh on the tip of your tongue.

You were smiling so very wide, and Sansa couldn’t help but mirror your enthusiasm.

“Stop!” she squealed as she tried to trod away from you and your mischievous grin. “Don’t throw that at me—you’ll get my dress wet!”

Her pleads fell upon deaf ears, and you cocked your hand back, a loosely clumped ball of snow landing smack against her abdomen.

Sansa would’ve been mad, at least she thinks she would’ve been, but the way you threw your head back in pure joy seemed to quell her initial anger—your gleeful disposition was highly contagious. After all, the snow would dry eventually.

Without thinking, she scooped up some of the icy frost laying on top of the grass, chucking it in your direction. The snow splattered across your face and your expression faltered for a second. Sansa hesitated, wondering for a brief moment if she had crossed a line.

Then you smiled, and her worries melted away, like the snow on your heated face.

“I deserve that,” you said, stepping closer to her. The girl held her breath as you drew nearer, only inches away from her, and gently wiped a stray clump of snow on her cheek. Your fingers, surprisingly warm against the frigid skin of her jaw, moved down her face and cupped her chin. The blue of her irises darted from your own hooded eyes to your lips—she could feel her face reddening.

Something tugged within her gut. She felt as if she was doing something wrong.

“You’ve got a twig in your hair,” Sansa pointed out, breath falling away from her lungs.

She couldn’t tell whether it was relief or disappointment that flooded over her once you stepped away to rifle through your already-messy hair, pulling out the cold stick with a chortle.

“Come on,” you said, snapping her out of her reverie. “We mustn’t stay out too late—wouldn’t want Winterfell’s most spoiled little brat to catch a cold.”

Sansa would’ve been affronted that you called her spoiled (which she was, she just didn’t like you saying it), but the roguish smile you flashed her made her heart plummet straight to her stomach and she her shut her mouth tightly, afraid of what would come out if she opened them.

The fabric itched.

After hours upon hours of sewing together the dress—she had finally worked herself into trying it on.

And it itched.

Sansa could already feel the tears welling up behind her eyes. Her throat felt swollen.

There was a knock at her door. She balled her fists up, before releasing a deep breath, hoping her face wouldn’t give away her telltale frustration.

It was your beaming, easy-going face that greeted her. Almost instantly, Sansa could feel herself relax. She pulled her bedroom door open wider to let you in, and you slid by her with a quick kiss to her cheek. You smelled of Winterfell’s forest—of home.

If she wasn’t blushing up a storm before, she certainly was now.

Only once you were inside, did she notice that you held a rather bountiful bunch of flowers in one of your hands. They were coiled together by the stems with a thin rope, tied into a neat bow. The flowers themselves, smelling wonderfully fresh, were a brilliant shade of lavender, the petals bulbous and elegant in nature.

“What are those for?” she queried, clueless.

You rolled your eyes with a snort, before realizing that she was genuinely in the dark. “For you, love. Obviously, for you. I wouldn’t show up to your door with wrapped flowers and hand them to the next person I see.”

“They’re…” The words felt heavy on Sansa’s tongue. “They’re for me?”

“Of course.” You smiled toothily, and the ginger could feel her heart turning into sand—spilling through the gaps of her ribcage and making a mess all over the floor. “I found them during a walk—sprouted right through the harsh snows of Winterfell. Reminded me of you.”

Words like those should’ve made her happier beyond measure.

Strangely, instead, they just made her want to cry more. But she wasn’t exactly sad, was she? Were they happy tears?

Your jubilant expression began to falter as her shoulders began to shake, stifling small sobs. The flowers were gently placed by the edge of her mattress and you placed a hand on her forearm, pulling her closer.

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong,” you said to her as you pulled Sansa into a warm embrace. “Just know that I’m here to listen if you do.”

“You were right,” she sobbed, her tears spilling over her warm cheeks and onto your cold tunic.

“I often am,” came your tentative reply, “but it usually doesn’t bring people to tears. What exactly was I right about?”

“Love needn’t be gallant knights on horses o-or grand gestures… it could just be this. It could just be you.”

Oh.

You thought about her words for a second longer.

Oh.

“Gods, Sansa, it took you long enough.”

She blinked at you with confused, watery doe-eyes. You gently cupped her face, brushing her tears away with the pads of your thumbs, then leaned forward to slant your lips over her heated forehead.

“I love you. Ever since we were little children—I looked up at you and thought ‘Why, what a spoiled brat. I must simply become her best friend’. Which, transformed without me realizing over time, into romantic love.”

“Why didn’t… why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because!” you exclaimed, with a teasingly exhausted tone. “Because, for the longest time, love was only that to you. Love was a gallant knight or a prince of gold. I am neither of those. I am only me—and I didn’t think you’d ever be interested in the likes of me. Don’t you see, Sansa? I just wanted you to be happy.”

She could feel her heart splintering into two. “I know better now—I don’t need that kind of love anymore. I can be happy with you. Just you, and only you. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

You regarded her with such affection that it was nearly catastrophic for her heart. “Sansa, my dear Sansa. Are you sure you’d be happy with me? With a love that is not loud, as you used to want it to be? Would it truly be enough for you?”

“Yes,” she replied, winding her fingers through yours and holding them up to her chest. “Yes, that would be enough.”

And she kissed you. It was sweet and chaste, and tasted of raspberries. She ached for more.

“If it’s enough for the spoiled brat, then that’s more than enough for me,” you whispered against her lips, before grinning like a fool and kissing her once again.

#sansa stark x reader #game of thrones fanfiction #sansa stark fanfiction #got fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #sansa stark fanfic #sansa stark x gn!reader #sansa stark fluff #sansa stark angst #sansa stark imagines #sansa stark drabbles

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charliedawn · 1 year ago

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"Marry me."

How I think marriage proposals would go for those characters.

Sandor Clegane:

"…Wanna get married ?" You asked as both you and Sandor were sleeping side by side in the forest. Sandor blinked—half asleep. He had back pain and a headache. He had hoped that the wine would help him to fall asleep quicker, as to not have to hear you say any other crazy thing or request for the day. But, of course. He was mistaken.

"Huh ?" When the information seemed to eventually settle in his brain, his whole face seemed a perfect depiction of confusion. He finally turned around and you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t exactly sober either. You decided this was the perfect moment to ask—since he would probably not even remember you asked the next morning. It gave you courage to ask again.

"Wanna get married ?" You repeated with a little more determination and this time, he answered.

"No."

"Ah."

"…"

"…You. Wanna get married ?" He asked this time—more because he was curious than awaiting an actual answer. But, you took your chance and answered truthfully.

"Sure."

He was momentarily surprised by your confidence before he huffed a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

"…Fine. We’ll get married in the morning. Now, hush."

There was then a moment of silence before you both bursted out laughing. Just two drunks having the most normal conversation ever. You knew that by tomorrow, he would have surely forgotten all about tonight. But for now, you were satisfied with the knowledge that his subconscience hadn’t said no.

Oberyn Martell:

"Would you like to marry me ?" You asked Oberyn while he wad writing and whose lips curved slightly into a small smirk at the request. He was used to your rather straightforward nature. He liked it even. It made him laugh and enjoy your presence at parties. You were curious and completely unashamed or afraid of any consequences your requests or demands would bring. This is why he always caved. But, he could also be playful and this is why he answered with a small grin:

"No."

He was curious to see your reaction, but his smile slightly faltered when he saw the hurt in your eyes at his rejection. It was the first time he had seen you so upset and he immediately regretted his words.

"Oh. Okay then." You were embarrassed and turned around quickly to get back to your own private quarters. But he was by your side in an instant and wrapped his arms around you from behind.

"I was only kidding. I would LOVE to marry you, sweet peach."

He then kissed the back of your neck lovingly. You let out a sigh of relief as you leaned back against him.

"…Really ?"

He chuckled.

"Yes. Really."

He then kissed your temple and you stayed in his arms for a while before he started nuzzling the back of your neck.

"But what brought the subject, sweet peach ?"

You sighed before closing your eyes.

"…You’re the only one who truly enjoys my presence. You laugh and smile at me, even when my words are nonsense. So I thought…why not ask ?"

Oberyn seemed taken aback for a moment before his smile widened and he pressed your back further against him to kiss your shoulder and whisper in your ear.

"Let me tell you a little secret. I would marry you for your nonsense, my dear. Because your nonsense makes more sense to me than this whole world does…"

Tyrion Lannister:

"Do you want to marry me ?" You asked Tyrion one night and the man was so stunned that he spilled his cup of wine.

"What ?"

Tyrion was the most decent between all the Lannisters. He had helped you more than once and there was no doubt in your proposal. You would never find better husband.

"You heard me."

He stayed silent again and made you nervous. Would he refuse ? Would he tell you that he has already found someone ? Would he tell you that he has no interest in you ? But, he didn’t. He simply sighed.

"…Why ?"

Why ? You could tell him a thousand reasons why. Because he was one of the few good men you knew. Because you had no intention of marrying any other. Because you knew he could be gentle. Because he was funny. Because he could be brave. Because he had the heart of a true lion…but no. You wouldn’t tell him like that. Because even if you did, he wouldn’t believe you.

"Because I want to." You settled for instead and his eyes widened slightly in surprise before he smiled a little and shook his head.

"Why would you want to marry an imp ?"

"It is not an imp that I am marrying, but a prince." You retorted. You both stared at each other and his gaze softened as he started actually considering it for a moment.

"You would be miserable." You frowned in incomprehension at his words.

"Why ?" He glanced away for a second.

"Because I am not a good man."

You huffed a bitter laugh at his words.

"Haven’t you heard ? There are no good man left, my prince."

Tyrion seemed taken aback, but he couldn’t deny the truth behind your words and drank a little of his wine.

"Tell me, Tyrion. If I was to become your wife/husband. Would you hit me ? Would you abuse me ? Would you lie to me ?"

He shook his head with a small smile. No. He wouldn’t. You smiled back and Tyrion finally nodded understandingly. It wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about finding a good man. It was always about finding the one who wouldn’t hurt you…And hence, he understood and maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a wife/husband ?

Jaime Lannister:

"Jaime…" You sat down next to him at the feast prepared for the Lannisters and even though you could feel Cersei glaring daggers at you—you grabbed his hand. He didn’t react, but you could feel his fingers slightly curving to hold yours.

"Hello, buttercup." He finally greeted you in a whisper and you couldn’t help but smile weakly. You knew of his heart and his loyalty to his sister. It wasn’t really your business to interfere, but you didn’t like how Cersei was treating him. And, you also knew that his heart could maybe be won over.

So, you did the most nonsense ever and challenged him. You stood up and faced him—catching the attention of everyone in the room as you declared loudly.

"Jaime Lannister. I challenge you to an arm wrestling competition !"

That ought to have gained his attention as his eyes finally met yours and what he found in there made his eyes widen in surprise. You were determined and even though he was a knight—you didn’t seem scared of losing. He tried to laugh and wave it off as a mere joke—but you didn’t back down and even provoked him.

"Are you perhaps not a lion ? But a scared chicken ?"

That oughta do it. He was up before you could even pronounce another word and the fury in his eyes made you smile. He had taken the bait.

"If I win, you must agree to one single demand of my choice without knowing what it is !"

"And if I win ?" He quickly shot back and you bit back a laugh.

"Then I will give you whatever you want."

In a matter of minutes, everything was settled and you were both in position. Everyone assumed you were mad or had consumed too much wine to challenge Jaime Lannister—but it couldn’t be further from the truth. You had planned it carefully. You had trained and trained your body and your mind. You had worn big sleeves to hide the muscles hidden underneath. This could be the most important challenge of your life and you wanted to win. More than anything.

The moment Jaime gripped your hand, his eyes stared straight at you as he realised what you had done. This was not the strength of the Y/N he was accustomed to…but it was too late to stop and in a matter of seconds—Jaime Lannister was on the floor.

Everyone was stunned.

But, you only gracefully stood up from your seat and looked down at him before smirking.

"…I will be waiting for that marriage proposal." And with that, you were out of the room—leaving a very confused Jaime and a very angry Cersei behind. But, you knew that a lion never backed down from his word. And Jaime would be yours.

Petyr Baelish (Littlefinger) :

"Marry me." Littlefinger didn’t even seem surprised by you sudden demand. Everyone knew that your father wished to marry you off to Ramsay Bolton. And even though Littlefinger wasn’t sure why you would come to him with such a request, he didn’t show it.

He didn’t even look up as he simply asked.

"Why ?"

You huffed a bitter laugh. The man would sell mother and father for a throne. And he dared to ask why ?

"Does it matter ?"

He licked his thumb to turn the page of the book he was reading nonchalantly, even though you knew that he was secretly weighing the pros and cons of such an alliance.

"Depends. What will it bring me ?"

You looked away.

"Don’t pretend not to realise how advantageous it would be for you to be a part of the Lannister family. You’d have an easy access to the iron throne."

He hummed and pretended to think about it. It was true marrying you would be a fast way to get access to all the nice advantages of being a part of the so-called prestigious Lannister family. But, it had its own set of disadvantages to consider. He would become more than just a little man in the shadows that no one would deem worthy of being a threat, he would become a lion. A black lion.

"…Tell me why you would lower yourself to such an alliance with me. Surely, there would be one handsome young man who would say yes to such a proposal without even blinking. Why go to me, princess/prince ?"

You hesitated before sighing in defeat.

"…Because if I am to marry a snake, better be one I know than one chosen by Tywin Lannister."

At that, Petyr finally dignified you with a glance. You held his gaze and after a few seconds, he smiled.

"Very well, my beauty. Lead the snake to the lion’s den then."

Sansa Stark:

You and Sansa had been longtime allies and friends. You were maybe the only friend she had ever had after the almost complete destruction of House Stark. You had developed feeling for her over time and knew that asking her for her hand wouldn’t be easy—but you were willing to try.

"Please, Sansa of House Stark." You knelt on one knee before her with a rose in your hand and the other hand on your heart. "Would you marry me ?"

Sansa was surprised by the proposal. She had married twice and both marriages weren’t a success. She had lived through nightmares and pain out of such a dream as marriage. She used to want to get married with someone she loved so badly, but not anymore.

"My heart is not so easily won by a rose and pretty words anymore." She replied instead—thinking that she would succeed in breaking your resolve. But, she was mistaken.

"I know. I know that I may never be worthy of even your eyes on me. But…I am a fool, and my heart beats for you. And if you want it ? Then it’s yours. And even if you don’t want it. Let me fight for you. And prove my loyalty to the most beautiful and strong lady the North has ever seen." You pleaded and Sansa was rendered speechless.

She looked into your eyes and saw only love and adoration. She then glanced down at the rose you offered her and after a moment of hesitation, she finally took it.

"…You may try to win my heart, Y/N. But, I cannot promise you success."

You smiled and shook your head.

"Just having you acknowledge my feelings is enough for hope to enter my heart."

Sansa smiled back.

Maybe…romance wasn’t utterly dead.

Jon Snow: (Before the tragedy 😭)

"Marry me." It was said with such confidence that Jon himself was stunned as he looked up at you with widened eyes.

"What ?"

"You heard me."

There was a moment of silence before Jon smiled and he suddenly pulled you into his arms. There was no yes or no. Just a moment of pure euphoria as he couldn’t stop laughing as he buried his face in your chest. He was so happy, he forgot to form words.

When he was finally calm once more, he kissed you passionately.

"Yes. Yes. Yes, I will."

You both started laughing together and Jon even fell back on the snow as you held him tightly.

Daenerys:

"Marry me." You demanded and Daenerys looked back at you. She didn’t seem surprised or even mildly confused by the demand. She knew of your feelings for her—and she was more than happy to reciprocate.

But, marriage ?

Marriage meant boundaries. Marriage meant attachment. Marriage meant she would have to think about you and a possible future where she wasn’t all powerful.

She sighed before stroking your cheek and offering you an apologetic smile.

"My dear Y/N…If only I could, do not believe for a second that I would say no. But, as the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms…I cannot."

You closed your eyes and a few tears rolled down your cheeks. You had expected such an answer of course, but still…your heart ached.

"I…understand." You forced yourself to say and Daenerys nodded. She was a queen. A khaleesi. And you were just…human.

Ser Jorah:

"Please. Marry me." Ser Jorah was stunned at the unexpected request and turned towards you with widened eyes. He was about to answer when you quickly added.

"Love me. Hate me. I want you and you want her. But, I am not asking for your love. But for your protection, kind ser Jorah." He closes his mouth and seemed to think about it for a moment. He knew that you were a young lady/man who had left her/his family to join Daenerys. He had no idea you held such feelings for him…

"You can have my protection, but why go to such lengths to have it ?" He finally asked and you sighed before taking his hand in yours.

"Because it is not only physical protection I seek." You then laid his hand flat upon your heart and Ser Jorah seemed taken aback once more. He looked at you and you didn’t shy away from his gaze.

You knew Ser Jorah was honourable and even if he would never return your feelings, he would make a far greater husband than anyone you ever knew. He would respect you and your heart. And that was more than you could ever wish for…

Ser Jorah accepted.

After all, it was only his name that you were going to bear and his sword that would protect you. You would call him husband, but only in name.

#sandor clegane x reader #ser jorah x reader #daenerys x reader #jon snow x reader #tyrion lannister x reader #littlefinger #petyr baelish x reader #sansa stark x reader #oberyn martell x reader #jaime lannister x reader #got characters x reader #fandoms #imagine #got

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cdragons · 1 year ago

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❄︎ House Stark & Spicy Food ❄︎ - w/ spicy loving reader

Cries if there's too much pepper:

All of them, Sansa and Robb - these two will actually die if they have the slightest sense of heat to any food they try. Like their hair, they get it from their mother.

Robb will try so hard to pretend that he has any spice tolerance...he doesn't...he REALLY doesn't

This boy wants to impress you so badly while also dying and you are not being very helpful bc you keep laughing at how red his face gets

You didn't even put that much in, it was barely a dash of cayenne or one jalapeno seed and he will DIE

If you ever try to put spice in his dishes, he will look at you with the biggest look of betrayal

Redding Wedding what? Nope, the real, most unforgivable act of treason against this King of the North was putting a ghost pepper in his stew after he pissed you off and drinking all his water to make sure that there wasn't any left near him.

Are the two of you married? Does not matter - off to the dungeons with you.

Okay, not really, but he will be seriously pissed and have a huge pouty face for the rest of the week.

He feels even more betrayed when he sees Grey Wind sleeping next to you after you put the pepper in his food.

"Are you on my side or hers?" - Grey Wind is on Team Cuddles and Being Spoiled.

If you end up eating something too spicy for you, he WILL be the most insufferable person about it

Sansa is literally no different, if not worse, than her brother.

Everything that was written above -> multiply that by 10000 in terms of spice intolerance, and you get Sansa.

She does NOT care about impressing you with improving her spice tolerance.

You could try to convince her that spicy food is better for her body and there are a ton of health benefits, but you will FAIL

You once gave her a Cubanelle pepper (About 1,000 SHU) bc the only less spicy option was a bell pepper and bell peppers are only peppers in name and not in spirit

She did not react well

She RAN 🏃‍♀️ to the well and drank the water out of the pail.

...Was it bad that you laughed at her reaction? Yes

Would you do it again? Also, yes

Was it totally worth being banned from nighttime cuddles and kisses for an entire month?...Okay, maybe you won't do it again

You could make fun of her unseasoned potatoes and closer-to-water soup all you want. She is not interested in damaging her stomach lining and developing stomach cancer.

She WILL make fun of you if you end up eating something too spicy for YOU, and you let her because you love seeing her more childish smile and side.

Slightly Dying, but Otherwise Okay and Kind of Digs It:

Jon can eat spicy foods...theoretically.

He's eaten Wilding food and the rotten food from Castle Black -> compared to that, he can take a little heat.

He was wrong - He was so very, VERY wrong. Your level of heat and spice was something that only a demon could take.

Jon was convinced that you were part dragon bc he can't think of any other reason as to how and WHY you put yourself through this?

Eventually, he DOES develop a bit of spice tolerance, and you take full credit for it, especially because this means his taste palette is more on your level. You aren't as afraid of accidentally killing him with your cooking preferences.

But it ends up lowkey backfiring on him bc you won't stop sneaking spicy food into his meals, and sometimes Tormund and his brothers in Black will sneak a bite off his plate (no one died...everyone lives...shhhhhhhhh)

Sam is dead - he died, you killed him. Gilly is officially out for your blood, and little Sam is raised with the single goal of piercing you with a pointy stick bc you killed his dad.

Pyp and Edd are also lowkey dying. Still, they actually enjoy the heat and are always happy to taste test for your dishes...despite their bowels hating them for it

Grenn and Tormund fucking LOVE the heat. They can easily down bowl after bowl after bowl of your cooking.

Bran SHOULD not eat spicy food...but he does because it makes you so happy, and he will literally do anything for your smile and cuddles.

Like his love of climbing and scary stories, he honestly lives for the thrill of taking the heat.

All of his siblings are terrified he's going to get a stomach ulcer one day because he keeps adding more spice to his food, and they are ALL blaming you, and you're just like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

While he's traveling with Osha, Hodor, Rickon, and Reed Siblings, it's your cooking that helps keep them warm.

When he becomes the Three-Eyed Raven and King of the Seven Kingdoms, he and you will go to the kitchens to make your favorite dishes from your shared past because it brings a little of the old Bran back.

It's only around you that he can still smile and laugh, and you love him no matter what.

Love Spicy Food and Can ACTUALLY Take it

Arya LOVESSSSS the heat - All Day, Everyday Baby

While she was in Braavos and training in the House of Black and White, she sampled so many dishes and spices from the markets.

This opened a whole new world to her tastebuds, and when she returned to Winterfell - she still loved the food because it was all the food of her childhood, but it just tasted...boring.

You and her actually met while she was training in Braavos, and your family ran a spice stall in one of the markets.

You were fascinated by the girl and always offered a warm meal and housing if she ever needed it. While cooking for her, Arya would tell you stories about Ned and Jon and all her other siblings.

When she reunited with her family at Winterfell, she thought it was adorable how happy and excited you were to meet them. She also highly encouraged you to share one of your spiciest dishes with them.

Bran didn't have much of a reaction save for a small cough, but Jon immediately reached for his water while Sansa just fainted from the shock of the heat assault in her mouth.

Rickon is the only sibling who can actually eat your food and so he automatically becomes your favorite Stark after Arya.

Rickon and you met while traveling with your siblings (Meera and Jojen) to find Bran. You carried many foreign spices with you (for whatever reason).

Immediately, he was smitten with you because you were the youngest sibling around his age. Shaddydog also loved you from the beginning, which helped your case.

A lot of the spices you carried also had medicinal purposes, so you were in charge of cooking while Meera handled the weapons and Jojen helped guide Bran to the 3ER.

It was during the coldest and most freezing blizzard nights, you used one of your hottest spices to make a stew. It was a miracle by fate that Rickon LOVED it.

Since then, he's always begging you to put hotter spices in the meals, but you refuse bc your spices are expensive and because you don't want to accidentally kill the rest of the "Save The World" Gang.

Shaddydog is a huge issue when you're making food because he's very curious about all the different smells and tastes, and you have to keep booping his nose out of the way because you love adding garlic, and it's not good for canines to eat garlic and salt.

*BONUS*

Catelyn - cannot eat anything spicy for the life of her

Ned - same as his wife, tbh lol

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fantasydreamland · 9 months ago

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Queen in the North

sansa stark x fem reader

Summary: Sansa is titled queen in the North. After too much wine during the celebrations you discover no man has ever treated her properly in the bed chambers so you do your best to serve and worship your new queen.

Notes: 18+ ONLY!!! wlw, smutttt, fluff, alcohol consumption, fingering, oral (f&f), some spoilers.

word count: 2.1k

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“Congratulations, my queen.” You curtsy and smile wide to Sansa as people continue to gather for the celebration.

“Thank you, (y/n).” She gives a soft smile back.

“You look radiant tonight, the crown becomes you.”

“Thank you, you as well.” She replies. “I meant- the crown doesn’t become you- I meant you look radiant as well… Not that a crown wouldn’t become you! I believe you would look quite good in one.” She flusters.

“Thank you, my queen.” You giggle at her stuttering.

She gestures you to sit beside her. You chat and drink at the table with her and the others enjoying the feast. You couldn’t help but admire Sansa’s features from the side. She had the most beautiful face, her eyes, her pale face, her prominent nose, the way she smiled when she laughed, and her lips…

Sansa’s leg brushes yours and you can’t decide if that was causing the heat in your cheeks or if it was all the wine you had consumed, perhaps both.

As the hour becomes late most people head to bed. You say goodnight to the gentlemen leaving your table. Soon you and Sansa are left alone at the table while a few other drunks still hang about on the other side of the room.

“So…” You turn to Sansa. “Now that you’re queen I assume you will be looking to marry soon?”

“I am in no rush.” She chuckles. “I’ve not had the best luck with husbands.”

“So I’ve heard…” you place your hand gently on hers. “I’m sorry for everything that has happened.”

“So am I…” she says quietly and puts her other hand over yours. “However, I’m not sure if I would be the woman I am today had those things not happened.”

You nod and she gives your hand a gentle squeeze before removing it. You reluctantly let go of her other hand and place it back in your lap.

“And you?” Sansa asks.

“What about me?”

“Will you be searching for a husband soon? I am sure you are eager to start a family.”

You let out a laugh that causes a snort.

“Pardon me, your grace…” you say a little embarrassed by your laugh. “No… I have not found a man suitable enough for me.”

“It appears we have that in common.” She says lowly with a slight smirk.

“Forgive me for being forward…” You begin. “But were you able get any sort of pleasure from them?”

“Lord Tyrion and I never consummated, he was respectful. Which oddly enough, he likely would have been the only one to give me true… pleasure.” She becomes shy with the last word.

“As for Ramsay… well. What he lacked in pleasure he provided in pain.” She continued, looking down as her mind drifted.

“I’m sorry…” You say quietly.

She shakes away the awful memories and meets your eyes.

“No matter, it is all in the past.” She says reassuringly.

“Cheers to that.” You say holding out your goblet.

She smirks and clinks her cup with yours and you both take a drink. Theres a calm moment of silence just enjoying each other’s presence. You both hold your smiles and make shy glances at each other. You’d meet her eyes making her blush and look away. Then you’d look away and notice her glance back at you until you’d met her eyes again which caused you to then blush and look away. Sansa looks away again with a smirk and takes a sip of wine.

“I should slow down.” She puts her goblet on the table, breaking the silence. “Otherwise I may not be able to get up from this table.” She laughs.

“I would be happy to assist you my queen.” You smile as you stand up and hold your hand out to her.

“Why thank you, my lady.” She says in a jokingly polite voice.

She takes your hand and pulls herself to a stand before nearly toppling over. You catch her arm and she steadies her balance again.

“I appear to be more intoxicated than I had thought.” She jokes. “I think you may need to help me back to my chambers.”

“I am at your command, my queen.” You smirk and give a small bow before holding your arm out for her to take.

She takes ahold of your arm and you walk down the halls to her chambers. You’re not sure why the air feels tense. Maybe it was the way her hand gently held onto your arm or how ethereal she looked in the dark candlelight. You wondered if she felt it too. You look to Sansa and she simply smiles at you. You give a soft smile back, then turn away hiding your blush.

Once you arrive at the door to her chambers she lets go of your arm and turns to you with her hands folded together in front of her.

“Well, thank you my lady for escorting me.” She gives a polite smile.

“Of course, my queen.” You curtsy.

“And thank you for being the best drinking companion. I’ve not been this happy and content in a long time.” She reaches out and lightly takes your fingers into hers causing your breath to catch.

“You deserve nothing but happiness my queen…” Your voice comes out as a whisper.

She gives you a soft smile and takes a step closer to you, still holding your fingers. You notice her glance to your lips before meeting your gaze again with an intense look in her eyes. She hesitantly leans in at an excruciatingly slow pace as her eyes search yours for any sign you don’t want this. Once her lips are merely a breath away and your noses brush you close the gap and press your lips to hers, assuring her you definitely want this, you definitely want her.

Her hesitation instantly fades and she kisses you back passionately as your fingers intertwine. You sigh as you taste the sweet wine on her tongue. She moves her other hand to your waist to pull you closer against her. Your other hand caresses along her cheek and jawline. Your tongues continue to slowly and softly dance together. The kiss is gentle and fierce at the same time. She eventually pulls away and you see a soft smirk lingering on her lips.

“Would you like to come in?” She says lowly.

You nod your head a little too quickly, making her chuckle. She keeps her hand in yours as she leads you into her chambers. You look around at the room as she closes and bolts the door shut behind you. She walks over to a small table and gently places down the crown from her head. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears and feel your palms sweat from the nerves.

Sansa comes back over to you and you awkwardly look at each other, neither of you sure what to do next. You gather all of your courage and take her face in your hands and pull her into another passionate kiss. This kiss is hungrier and more heated than the last. You shiver as her fingers lightly brush down your neck to your collarbone, before they make their way to pull the strings of your dress. You follow her lead shoving the cloak off her shoulders before beginning to pull at her dress. Your lips never part as you both fumble with the strings of each other’s dresses.

After a frustrating minute of jumbled fingers you break the kiss and giggle to each other as you both unlace your own strings. Once they’re loose enough Sansa reaches out and slowly pushes your dress off your shoulders. Her gentle fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake. You blush as her eyes look up and down your exposed body. Nervously you move your hands to her shoulders, pushing her gown to the floor. You gulp hard as your eyes scan her beautiful figure. Your eyes fill with lust as you look at her like an animal ready to pounce.

You lean into one another, lips meeting again. You hold each other close as your naked bodies press together. You feel sparks shoot throughout your body when your sensitive nipples brush against hers. Sansa keeps your body pressed to hers as you move towards the bed.

Once you’re both laying in the bed something in you snaps. You kiss her again hard before moving your lips along her jaw, down her neck and collarbone. You’re both surprised by your sudden boldness. Your hand moves to massage her breast as you lean down and take the other in your mouth causing her to gasp. You graze your teeth on her nipple before soothing the tender spot with your tongue. You continue to kiss down her body, lower and lower.

“What are you doing?” Sansa says in a breathy whisper.

“Worshipping you the way you deserve, my queen.” You mumble, continuing to kiss down her skin.

You move further down to kiss the inside of her thigh making her jump. You lift your head to look at her.

“Unless you want me to stop…?” You say with a hint of disappointment in your voice.

“No.” She quickly says staring down into your eyes with a heated look.

You smirk and lean back down kissing and nipping slowly up her inner thigh. You hear her breath quicken as you get closer to where she needs you most. She gasps loudly when you give a tentative lick up her wet core. You smirk again before latching your lips to her clit causing her hands to reach into your hair. The taste of her makes you dizzy. You have never done anything like this before but you do your best to work your tongue on her. The sounds of her soft cries and desperate moans are like the sweetest song you’ve ever heard. You continue testing what pleases her. When your tongue dips into her hole she groans loudly. You do it again and she moans again grabbing harder onto your hair.

With her encouraging moans you begin to tease your finger around her hole before pushing it slowly inside, your gaze fixed on her as you watch her face contort in pleasure. Her moans become less contained as you slowly move your finger in and out as you continue to work your tongue on her clit. You add a second finger and her hands move from your hair to tightly grasp the pillow under her head as she pants harder between moans. Her legs begin to shake and you pump your fingers faster knowing she must be close. She gasps your name. You moan against her in response, the vibrations finally pushes her over the edge. Her thighs squeeze tightly around your head but you still clearly hear her long loud final moan ring in your ears.

Her body and legs relax and you crawl back up the bed to lay beside her. She pants heavily for a moment before turning her face to you. She smiles before leaning forward and capturing you in a quick kiss, tasting herself on your tongue.

“You are…” She holds your face in her hands and looks deep into your eyes as she struggles to find the right word. “…extraordinary.” She breathes.

You can’t help but smile as you hold her intense gaze.

“Thank you… my queen.” You whisper the last part.

“I would like to try...” She says sitting up and placing a soft kiss to your stomach.

You smirk and nod as she copies your previous actions kissing all the way down your body and then slowly up your thigh. With much less hesitation than you had, she dives right in. She spends no time working you up and slipping her fingers in. Her other hand reaches up to grab at your breasts. You hit your own peak much faster as she devours you like it’s her last meal. Her fingers curl inside you and that causes your sight to go black. Stars begin to fill your vision as you cry out from the intensity washing over you.

You feel her come to lay back beside you as you regain consciousness and steady your breathing. When you turn your head to her she’s smirking shyly at you.

“Well?” She asks.

“Extraordinary.” You breathe out.

She smiles and leans in to give you a chaste kiss but you put your hand around her neck to pull her closer and dip your tongue into her mouth. Her mouth tastes sweet and tangy from the wine mixed with your essence. You reluctantly pull away to breathe and lay back on the pillow. Your eyes meet again and you both laugh softly. You lightly brush her red hair from her face. She leans into your touch and sighs.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” She says hopefully.

“Of course, my queen.” Your soft smile turns into a mischievous smirk. “I plan to worship you again in the morning.”

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k4marina · 18 days ago

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— xi. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms || Heart of the Dragon

synopsis: a one handed man comes to join the fight for the realm, a new knight of the seven kingdoms emerges, answers are given, and the dead march closer

warnings: got-cannon themes/violence/and language, angsty, swearing, not proofread, shits getting dangerous.

a/n: decided to add my own twist to planning and tbh idk why they didn't think to do what i said. working on the next episode as we speak as well as a classic "tony starks kid" fic, so if you're interest keep your eyes open.

series masterlist || next part

11.6k word count

game of thrones x modern!fem!reader

[gif is mine]

The news spread early in the morning that Jamie Lannister had arrived at Winterfell. He’d came with the many men who also traveled all throughout the long nights from other parts of the continent to fight against the army of the dead. The castle, and its inhabitants, had been thrown into a frenzy as the news spread leaving behind a million other questions.

Was he really here to help or is this another one of the Lannisters lies? Why is he all alone? Where are the other reinforcements? And if he’s here then– what about Cersei?

Three tables were set at the front of the hall. One at the front, one on the left and the other on the right. Jamie Lannister stood in front of us, like a criminal on trial, while a wall of Unsullied and Stark soldiers stood behind him at attention ready for their Queen’s command. He looked tired and disheveled, no doubt from riding North all day and night, and wore modest leather and wool clothes, stripped of any Lannister gold, aside from his hand.

At the head of the room, Daenerys sits in the middle while Jon, Sansa and I are sat at her sides. To the left is another table where Varys, Missandei, and Jorah sit while Tyrion stands to the side, his eyes downcast. And to the right, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, Lord Yohn Royce, Alys Karstark, and Brienne of Tarth sat. The floor is set, the mood is heavy, and everyone’s on edge. Jamie stands there, awaiting whatever was to come towards him.

“When I was a child,” Daenerys’ tone is cold and unwavering. “My brother would tell me a bedtime story about the man who murdered our father.”

Silence hangs in the hall, no one daring to speak. The plethora of guards behind Jamie keep their eyes trained on him, daring him to make a wrong move.

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat. Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor.” Daenerys keeps her eyes trained on him, completely unwavering. “He told me other stories as well. About all the things we would do to that man once we took back the Seven Kingdoms and had him in our grasps.”

She pauses, everyone hanging off of her words.

“Your sister pledged to send her army north.”

Jamie swallows, sneaking a glance towards me. “She did.”

“I don’t see an army. I see one man. With one hand. It appears your sister lied to me.”

Tyrion looks up to his brother and Jamie looks back, both of them powerless and terrified of the ramifications. Jamie swallows down his nerves. “She lied to me as well. She never had any intention of sending her army north.” He then turns to me. “You were right.”

Daenerys turns her glare towards Tyrion for a brief moment, chastising him for the idea in the first place.

“She has Euron Greyjoy’s remaining fleet and 10,000 fresh troops. The Golden Company from Essos, bought and paid for. Even if we defeat the dead, she’ll have more than enough to destroy the survivors.”

I leaned forwards, “what do you mean the Golden Company has sent 10,000 troops? We stopped you from looting Highgarden. You’re dirt poor compared to the other houses in Westeros. How did she manage to pay for them?”

Jamie hesitates, “she sold them a dragonskull.”

You could hear a pin drop in the hall. Everyone turns their head in utter shock towards Daenerys, even some of the guards. Anger oozes off of her, fire in her eyes and her hands gripped the arms of the chair.

“Which one?” She’s not asking, she’s demanding.

“I don’t know.” Jamie licks his chapped lips. “It was small, no name, one of the few that were left.” Then he meekly adds, “the big ones wouldn’t fit on the ships.”

I scoffed loudly in utter disbelief and anger. I cross my arms over my chestplate and lean back in my chair. I don’t have to turn to Daenerys to know she was equally, if not more angry. “If you don’t kill her, then I fucking will.”

“I promised to fight for the living.” Jamie double downs. “I intend to keep that promise.”

Quickly, Tyrion jumps in hoping to help ease the tension in the room.“Your Grace,” he walks closer to the table . “I know my brother–”

“Like you knew your sister?” She quickly snapped.

“He came here alone, knowing full well how he’d be received. Why would he do that if he weren’t telling the truth?” He tries to persuade her and show her that Jamie had true intentions.

“Perhaps he trusts his little brother to defend him, right up to the moment he slits my throat.” Daenerys stares down at the Lannister.

Tyrion glanced at Jon and I, hoping one of us would side with him and vouch for his brother.

“You’re right.” Sansa finally speaks, keeping her eyes steady on Jamie. Daenerys turns her head towards the red-head as she speaks further. “We can’t trust him. He attacked my father in the streets. He tried to destroy my house and my family, the same as he did yours.”

“Do you want me to apologize?” Jamie interrupts to defend himself, though I doubt that it was a wise decision. “We were at war. Everything I did, I did for my house and my family. I'd do it all again.”

“The things we do for love,” Bran– who’d be seated to the right of Sansa– repeated.

All eyes fell on him while his remained on Jamie who stared at him wide-eyed, almost scared and ashamed of what those words meant. He subtly takes in a breath, but I could tell that what Bran said had shook him to the core.

“So why have you abandoned your house and family now?” Daenerys draws the attention back to her.

“Because this goes beyond loyalty.” He glances back to Brienne momentarily remembering those words she’d said to him in the Dragon Pit. “This is about survival.”

Tyrion turned to Daenerys who’s still debating what to do with Jamie when Brienna abruptly stands and takes a step towards her friend.

“You don’t know me well, Your Grace.” She moves to stand beside him. “But I know Ser Jamie. He is a man of honor. I was his captor once, but when we were both taken prisoner and the men holding us tried to force themselves on me, Ser Jamie defended me and lost his hand because of it.”

She turns to address Sansa next. “Without him, my lady, you would not be alive. He armed me, armored me, and sent me to find you and bring you home because he’d sworn an oath to your mother.”

Sansa considers Brienne’s word, knowing well that she wouldn’t be saying all of this if she didn’t mean it. Brienne wasn’t the type to just vouch for anyone, she valued honor and integrity the most. “You vouch for him?”

Brienne nods, confident. “I do.”

“You’d fight beside him?”

She holds her head up and stands straighter when she answers. “I would.” Jamie watches, touched, that Brienne held him in such high regard, despite his shortcomings.

Sansa takes a beat to carefully make her decision. “I trust you with my life. If you trust him with yours, we should let him stay.”

Daenerys turns her gaze towards Sansa, stunned that she’d sided with Jamie despite all he’d done to her and her family. Weren’t they just on the same page?

“What does the Warden of the North say about it?” Daenerys turns to Jon who sighs.

“We need every man we can get.” It’s clear that he doesn’t like him, that’s something Jon has always made note of, but if we’re supposed to fight as one force against the dead then having him stay is the right decision.

She turns to me next. “She’s honorable and she’ll keep him in line. And he’s one of the best, if he’s around then our chances are a lot better.” I leaned in closer, “besides, he was a key figure in all of this the first time and his usefulness still stands. We need him.”

Daenerys gives me a subtle nod and I turn to look at Jamie. “The more the merrier.”

The room falls silent as Daenerys takes each of our words into consideration. It was clear that she would agree– she’d done it before– but her concerns still lingered in her mind. “Very well.”

Tyrion exhaled in relief and Jamie looked grateful. She gives Grey Worm– who’d been standing at the left edge of the table– a nod and he picks up Jamie's sword and roughly hands it to him.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he bows his head, and despite addressing her corectly, there’s still some of his signature sass behind those words.

Daenerys stands up and the rest of the room follows. Sansa leaves first and Daenerys goes to speak to Jon, but he leaves right after, unable to look her in the eyes. I sighed inwards as last night's conversation with Jon was still hanging in my head. Daenerys turns to leave, rounding the table and out through the main doors of the hall with Tyrion, Varys, Missandei, and Jorah behind her. She passed Jamie– who bows his head– without sparing a glance. Brienne’s the next to go and the others soon followed after her, leaving through different exits. Jamie's eyes linger on Bran’s who eventually asks the Maester to help him to the Godswood, leaving just the two of us.

I round the table, stepping towards him. “I told you not to trust her, but you did.”

He nods, looking down. “You did. But-”

“But what? She’s pregnant and she’ll do anything for her child? Is that it?” I say, unimpressed. “Have you forgotten her behavior after Tommen killed himself? Your baby-boy took his life and she had the audacity to blame him for it. That woman isn’t a mother, she’s a murder. She’s killed at least a dozen of Robert's bastard kids just so her own bastard kids wouldn’t be affected.”

I paused knowing that me berating him isn’t going to do much of anything after all, he was a Lannister. “Go,” I waved him away. “There’s armor at the forge, find whatever you can. It’s no Lannister gold, but it’s good enough. We’ll be planning our attacks later today in the library, so if you’ve got any bright ideas, you know where to find us.” I craned my neck side to side, rolling out the knots from all the heavy armor I’d been wearing. “Time is running out, the Night King can be here any moment. There’s no point in going back and forth on useless shit.”

I walked out the room, leaving Jamie standing there. There was too much to do in too little time and I was close to losing my mind. I walked down a hallway when I spotted a maid walking.

“Do you know where Lady Sansa is?”

“She’s in the library with Lord Royce, My Lady.” She replies meekly.

I smiled, though it doesn’t do much to calm her nerves. “Thank you.” I turned and headed for the library. I’d already managed to get one Stark girl on our side (however much that may have been) and now it was time for the other. After Jon, Sansa held the most authority in Winterfell, and it was clear that she wasn’t the biggest fan or Daenerys and I. If I could find a way to get her at least a bit more friendly with us then our future plans would go a lot more smoother. The door was open and I could hear two women speaking inside. I stepped in closer and realized it was Daenerys and Sansa. They’re sitting at the table, Sansa’s hand on top of Daenerys’s clearly having a bonding moment.

“I'm here because I love your brother and I trust him, and I know he's true to his word. He's only the second man in my life I can say that about.”

“Who was the first?” Sansa asks.

Daenery smiles, “someone taller.”

They both giggle with one another, like two ladies gossiping over tea about knights and Lords, and whatever else they did during this time.

“And what happens afterwards? We defeat the dead. We destroy Cersei. What happens then?” Sansa’s tone shifts from happy to something more serious and anxious.

“I take the Iron Throne.” Daenerys says as if it’s set in stone.

“What about the North?” Sansa tries to pry. “It was taken from us, and we took it back. And we said we’d never bow to anyone else again. What about the North?”

Daenerys’ smile fades and her mood shifts to a more serious one, but before she can do anything I made my presence known..

“Well you’ll be Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell.” Their head snaps towards my direction, surprised. I walked closer to them. “The Stark bloodline will continue through you, my lady.”

“What about Jon? He’s Lord of Winterfell.” Sansa frowns.

“Don’t worry too much about him. He said it himself, he didn’t want any of this. But you, you’re the eldest daughter of Ned Stark. You may look like a Tully, but you’re a Stark through and through.” She doesn’t say anything, clearly confused, but I could tell that she was intrigued– just the slightest, but enough for me to keep going. “After the Great War and after we’ve dealt with Cersei, we’re all going to need each other's help to rebuild the country. Three hundred years ago, the Seven Kingdoms were unified for a reason. This is the reason.”

Sansa looks down at her hand over Daenerys’ thinking when the Maester interrupts us.

“Apologies, my lady, Your Grace. There’s someone waiting for you in the hall.”

––

We’re led back to the hall where none other than Theon Greyjoy is standing, surrounded by many Ironborns. Daenerys looks pleasantly surprised while Sansa looks stunned at his unexpected arrival. Theon glanced towards her with a similar expression. He turns his gaze away from her and walks up to Daenerys and bends the knee.

“My Queen.” He bows his head.

“Your sister?”

“She’s taken the Iron Islands in your name.”

“And Euron?” I ask.

“Yara has him in a cell, awaiting execution, My Lady.”

“Why aren’t you with her?” Daenerys asked.

Theon turns his gaze towards Sansa, who has tears brimming in her eyes. “I want to fight for Winterfell, Lady Sansa. If you’ll have me.”

She rushed past Daenerys and I and quickly wrapped her arms around Theon. He carefully wraps his own arms around her and the two share a very touching moment. They savor it, eyes misty and arms tight. The last time either of them had seen each other was after Theon had helped free Sansa from Ramsey Bolton’s sadistic grasp. Sansa’s the first to pull away, tearfully smiling. She doesn’t have to say anything aloud as her answer is already known. The reunion is quick and we exchange some more words. Daenerys and I excused ourselves to give the two some more privacy for them to catch up.

Daenerys decides to go find her advisors and I decided to go walk around the castle grounds to clear my head. Like the past few days, the place is filled with people. A group of children sat huddled together with wooden bowls and spoons in their hands as they quietly ate their meals. Men and women worked hard to dig up trenches and set up traps for the dead.

Time was running out. Each minute that went by was a minute the undead marched closer to us. Despite the impending doom, we were still underprepared and soldiers were still making their way up north to fight alongside us. Hopefully, the added numbers would help us in somehow overpowering the undead. Compared to before, when it was only Dany’s armies and the northern armies, we were better equipped this time. We had the Dornish and the Westerland armies on our side now, allowing us to have an even better chance against the undead than before.

So many died whilst protecting the realm, regardless of how big or small their roles were. The God of Death came for many that night, but ultimately the living had won, but only by the skin of their teeth. If everyone hadn’t played their parts then the dead would have won, no doubt. It was sheer luck and the God’s taking mercy on them that they’d won.

Like the days before, people worked tirelessly in the snow, digging trenches and fortifying the wall. I walked around the dirt path towards the northern part of the castle, where we assumed most of the fighting would take place. Traps were being dug out and tested for their effectiveness and what to improve on.

I glanced around one last time when I spotted Jon talking amongst a group of men. I stepped closer to him once they’d left to carry out their tasks. “You haven’t talked to her.”

He glances at me, but isn’t surprised at my words. After what I’d seen him do in the hall this morning, Jon knew that I would be coming. “I’m busy. I have men to command.” He’s quick with his responses, yet also defensive. It’s clear that what was revealed the night before weighed on his mind and wanted to keep his mind off of it.

“And you can’t leave them for a few minutes to talk?” I walk over and stand in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

“We’re at war with death, time is something that we don’t have.” He brushes past me and helps out a couple of men unloading another wagon of dragonglass.

“We’re always at war.” I leaned against the wagon with my arms crossed. “Jon, we have to do this now. The longer we let this be, the worse the fall out. Trust me, just a couple of minutes and then it’s over. Alright?”

He paused and considered my words. Truthfully, he wanted to tell Daenerys immediately, but feared the fallout. His identity, regardless of how much he denied it, was a threat to her and her claim and whatever they had between each other. He breathes out his nose giving me a glance. “Alright.”

I give him a small smile when out in the crowd a red headed woman catches my eye. “No fucking way.” Jon frowned and followed my sight to find where, or rather who, I was looking at. “Fuck is she doing here?” I asked no one in particular.

Jon spots Melisandre dismounting a horse. “The Red Priestess?”

I nodded, keeping my eyes on her. She hands the reins off towards someone else and walks into another crowd and disappears from view. “She's supposed to come,” right before the battle begins, “later… much later.”

Suddenly, a horn is blown in the distance, signalling that riders from the Wall had arrived. Jon and I brushed past a group of people and into the northern courtyard where more soldiers worked in fortifying the castle. Heavy wooden gates are opened and a group of men– presumably the last of the Nights Watch– walk in. Sam, who’d gotten here before us, pulls a man wearing all black leathers and a heavy black fur cloak into a tight hug. Jon follows after them, smiling to see his friend– Eddison Tollett– the current Lord Commander alive and well. He goes for a hug when someone rushes into him, knocking him a step back.

“My little crow,” Tormund gives Jon a big and probably suffocating hug. The nickname is affectionate and reminiscent of when Jon used to be in the Night’s Watch and lead them.

Jon smiles, holding his friend close. “I thought we lost you.”

The wildling man cocks his head, “almost.” Tormund pats Jon’s back and lets him go, letting him embrace his other friends. Just as I came close, Tormund turned to me, “Lady Dragon!”

Before I can respond, the winds almost knock out of me as Tormund tackles me into a hug of my own. Surprised, I wrap my arms around him, patting his back. He pulls back, allowing me to breathe again, and has a big goofy smile on his face.

“Good to see you too.”

“Is that Dragon Queen here?”

I nodded and his grin grew wider.

“Is she tall?”

I laughed, “no.” What’s up with this guy and being tall?

He frowns, confused. “Do dragons like small riders?”

“Jon’s a dragonrider too,” I pointed out, surprising Sam and the other man.

Unphased, Tormund looks at Jon and then back at me. “He’s short.”

“I’m not short.” Jon argued. “I’m average height.”

“No you’re not. You’re short.”

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” I hushed the two before they could go any further.

Beric, who’d been behind the others, steps forwards and shakes Jon and I’s hand. The six of us stood around in a circle, the light-heartedness simmering off a touch as the mood shifted to a more serious one.

“How did you meet?” Jon asked Edd.

“We met up at the Last Hearth.” Edd replied, glancing at the other two men who he’d come with.

“The dead got there first,” Tormund answers.

“The Umbers?” I asked, despite already knowing the answer.

“Fighting for the Night King now,” Beric replied. Jon turns to me, giving me a nod as a thank you for not letting him send any more men out of Winterfell.

“We had to travel around to get here.” Tormund says. His voice drops a pitch lower. “Whoevers not here now is with them.”

They give a few more details. Tormund, Beric, and the other men of the Night’s Watch had just narrowly escaped the collapse of the Wall. They fled Eastwatch with the Night King hot on their trails, all the way to Last Hearth where Edd and the rest of the Night’s Watch had regrouped to gather supplies and help facilitate the evacuation of the castle. However, the undead were far too quick and within a day they were on the horizon of Last Hearth, making steady progress towards Winterfell.

Solemnly, Jon asks, “how long do we have?”

“Before the sun comes up tomorrow.” Tormund replied.

The realization hits Jon and I and a shiver runs down my spine as time ticks down. Jon and Sam share a glance, the pair talking with their minds it seemed. Soon, very soon, death would be at our steps. It was almost time, and yet we weren’t as ready as we hoped.

Tormund looks around behind him, searching. “The big women still here?”

None of the others replied, but I did “Brienne? Yes she is.”

Jon breaths out after taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “We need to get ready.”

––

We’re all standing in the library. The room’s lit with dozens of candles, all emanating an orangy-yellow hue. A hearth is lit for warmth and light as the sun creeps below the horizon and the cold sets in. We huddle around a large square table in the middle of the room with a large drawn aerial map of Winterfell castle and its surrounding lands laid over it. Various markers are laid out by the northern castle walls in battle formations, each respective group representing the various armies that have joined forces together. In front of them are dozens of small rectangular white and gray markers that represent the Army of the Dead. There’s an overwhelming amount laid out, nearly taking up the entire upper fourth of the map, as a way to show just how many there were and how easily outnumbered we were.

“They’re coming.” Jon’s voice is firm as he speaks. “We have dragonglass and Valyrian steel. But there are too many of them. Far too many.” He looks at each and everyone of us in the makeshift war room. “Our enemy doesn’t tire. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t feel.”

At the very front, in two groups, were the Dothraki riders. Behind them, and between the fortified walls, were the Unsullied forces and the catapults that were made that they would operate. To the right, were the mish-mash of northern forces and the handful of Dornish and Westerland armies as well as those who’d traveled North to fight alongside us. And to the left, were the Aryn forces with the remaining Stark combined forces behind them. Within the castle, there were few groups for reinforcements and added protection around the castle crypts. The few– but powerful, Mormont soldiers were stationed inside to help facilitate and protect the castle gates while also making sure that everyone who wasn’t going to fight were all in the crypts.

Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Sam stand by the south side of the castle, by Kings Road, while Daenerys, Jorah, Tyrion, Varys, Grey Worm and I stand by the eastern wall. Theon, Alys Karstark, Brienne, and Jamie stand across from us and Tormund, Ser Davos, Lyanna Mormont, and Lord Royce stand where the undead army is placed. Behind Jon, besides the lit hearth, Bran sits quietly and watches on as the planning is finalized.

Jon stands slightly hunched over the mapped table. “We can't beat them in a straight fight.”

“So, what can we do?” Jamie asks.

“The Night King made them all.” Jon makes a face, recalling his encounter with the entity Beyond the Wall. He glances over to Jamie as he answers. “They follow his command. If he falls,” he pauses, but everyone knows what he’s trying to say. “Getting to him may be our best chance.”

Jamie furrows his brow. “If that’s true, he’ll never expose himself.” He’s not pessimistic, just realistic, his years on the battlefield both as a soldier and strategist behind him. If slaying the Night King was the way to end all of this, he’s not going to be there on the front lines.

“Yes he will.”

Everyone’s head turns to Bran as he speaks up, sure of what he was saying. “He’ll come for me. He’s tried before, many times, with many Three Eyed Ravens.” Something about the way he says it– with no emotions, but total reassurance sets the tone to a more ominous one.

“What’s a Three Eyed Raven?” Alys Karstark asks aloud for most of everyone.

“They’re greenseers,” I explained, recalling back the chapters I’d memorized whilst I was in school. “They hold the memories of past and present; everything that’s ever happened and is currently happening. Three Eyed Ravens date far back to the Children of the Forest, they even share the same powers as them.”

Everyone's attention shifts back to Bran, somewhat– but not quiet– understanding his role.

“Why?” Sam asks the second question. If all Bran could do was see the past and present with his ravens, then why is he such a threat to the Night King? “What does he want?”

“An endless night.” Bran turns his glance towards Sam. “He wants to erase this world, and I am its memory.”

Sam somberly takes a look around the room. “That's what death is, isn't it? Forgetting. Being forgotten. If we forget where we've been and what we've done, we're not men anymore. Just animals.” He turned back to Bran, “Your memories don't come from books. Your stories aren't just stories. If I wanted to erase the world of men, I'd start with you.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asks.

“His mark is on me.” Bran pulls back the sleeve on his right arm, revealing four red-ish brown lines on his skin. It looked as if someone had tried to grab and pull him so tight that it left deep bruises all the way to his bones. “He always knows where I am.”

“We’ll put you in the crypt, where it’s safest.” Jon decides.

“No.” Despite his even tone, Bran is firm in his answer. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa says angry.

“We’re not leaving you alone out there.” Arya agrees, doubling down. The two sisters stood firm in their resolve. In no way were they going to let their baby brother, regardless of his abilities, come face to face with a being that’s already made a threat to his life before and those who came before him.

“He won’t be.” Theon catches everyone's attention. “I’ll stay with him. With the Ironborn.” He turned to Bran, who'd covered his arm again, “I took this castle from you. Let me defend you now.” Bran doesn’t reply, but gives Theon one nod as a thank you. This was going to be his redemption.

Jon, who’d been quiet for some time, also gave a subtle nod towards Theon– his own thank you for risking his life for his younger brother’s safety.

With that, Ser Davos decided to continue forwards. “We’ll hold off the rest of them for as long as we can.”

“When the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be on the walls, to give you the signal to light the trench.” Tyrion adds on.

Daenerys frowns, against the idea. “Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own. You’ll be in the crypt.”

Tyrion looks at her determined, ready to protest. “Your Grace, I have fought before, I can do it again. Alongside the men and women risking their lives.”

“There are thousands of them and only one of you.” Daenerys puts her foot down. “You can't fight as well as they can, but you can think better than any of them. You're here because of your mind. If we survive, I'll need it.”

Understanding, Tyrion nods, but I could tell that he was still against it. Something in him wanted to fight alongside everyone, like he’s done before, but despite that, he knows that Daenerys was right.

“The dragons will give us an edge in the field.” Davos said.

“If they're in the field, they're not protecting Bran.” Jon glanced over to his own advisor. “We need to be near him. Not too near, or the Night King won't come. But close enough to pursue him when he does.”

“Dragonfire will stop him?” Arya turned to ask Bran.

“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “No one's ever tried.” Arya looks back, her expression a mix of worry and disappointment.

“Dragonfire will kill wights, but not the White Walkers or Night King.” I chimed in. “Fire will kill the wights, so use whatever you can to light them up, which I’m sure goes without saying.” I turned to Jon, “do you have what I asked for?”

He nods and motions for the Maester to hand me a cloudy glass bottle. It had a rag, presumably scrapped fabric, shoved halfway down the bottle with about an inch and a half worth of fabric hanging out. The other end was swimming in some unknown liquid.

“This is a molotov, doesn’t look like much, but packs a punch. To use it, you’re going to have to light this end–” I point to the bit of fabric sticking out, “–on fire, but you’ll have to act quick once you do. The fabric will catch on fire and travel all the way down to the bit that’s in oil. So light it and toss it at the dead, preferably when they’re near the castle walls. The bottle will shatter on impact and the fire will go everywhere.”

No one says a thing as they process what I’d just shown and said. Jamie, who had the same confused frown on his face as his brother, opened his mouth to speak. “Where did you even come up with the idea for that?”

This time, it was my turn to frown. Don’t tell me molotov cocktails aren’t a thing yet. “It doesn’t matter, what does is that these things,” I lightly shook the bottle and the oil swished around the, “are going to help us win.”

“How is it going to do that when we can’t even kill the Night King with fire?’ Sansa asks aloud, not fully convinced of the plan.

I glanced towards her. “He’ll die either by dragonglass or Valyrian steel. Someone will have to get close. His generals are the same.”

“Gernerals?” Sam asks surprised, taken aback. How can an undead army have commanding officers?

“The White Walkers. They’re the ones who control the wights. In theory, you get one of them and you knock down a chunk of the undead army.”

“How many are there?” Arya asked.

I gave a half shrug, “I don’t know. Craster's son’s– the ones he sacrificed to the Night King– were most likely turned into White Walkers and the Night King’s generals.”

“And I’m assuming that they won’t show themselves to us like the Night King.” Ser Davos says.

“No.” I replied. “But if we want to make a dent in their forces we need to get to them, and if we want to end it quickly then we need to go against the Night King.”

Silence falls over us as the realization hits that this was it, this was our one shot– our only opportunity to get this right– or else we’d all be marching in the Night King’s army down to King’s Landing and knocking on Cersei’s door.

“We’re all going to die.” Tormund says. He glanced towards his right to Brienne. “But at least we die together.” She says nothing and looks back down at the map, but his earlier words still linger in her mind.

‘Let’s get some rest.” Jon dismissed with a deep breath.

One by one, everyone left to do their own thing, believing it to be their final night alive, wanting to make the most of whatever they could. I turned to leave, leaving behind Jon and Daenerys, and Tyrion and Bran in the room. Unknown to me, Jon comes walking out behind me, clearly still avoiding Daenerys.

I reached out for his arm, halting his steps. “You still haven’t done it?” I couldn’t help the annoyance and surprise in my voice.

“I can't," he doesn’t bother looking me in the eye. “I have to get ready, we have too–”

“No, all you have to do is have one conversation with the woman you love. “ I firmly cut him off of his excuses. “Jon, a dead man marches towards us ready to kill us all. Don’t let this be in the back of your head and pull you away from this. Don’t live with any regrets, not while this could be our final night alive.”

Just as he was going to counter, Daenerys walks out of the room. I give his army one last firm squeeze and then let go of his arm. Jon looked between us and I lightly nudged Daenerys towards him when I walked past her. I don’t have to look back to know that the long awaited and strung out conversation was going to take place.

I retreated to my room to have a moment to myself as the hours dwindled down and everyone began to grow more anxious. Everyone knew their place and what they had to do, it was only a matter of time before the fight for humanity was at our doors. Women, children, the old, and sick all hunkered back down to the crypts while soldiers made up of men and women from all over the continent got ready and lined up in their posts.

I was in my room, having a quiet meal of rabbit stew, bread, and a small apple tart. If this was going to be my last meal then a little bit of dessert wouldn’t hurt, right? The hearth was lit, keeping me warm and a glass of wine in front of me that I’d leisurely sip whenever I’d catch my hands trembling or thoughts spiraling.

Truthfully speaking, I hadn’t thought this through (no shit, right?). When I arrived here and declared to Daenerys that I’d help win her the throne, it was merely out of self preservation and sheer hubris. In all honesty, I was way in over my head (guess hindsight’s 20/20). Riding dragons, fighting in battles, making alliances, changing the course of history with absolutely no care about its ramifications in the future. I thought that I had some sort of invisible plot armor around me leading me to think that I had nothing to fear.

But I’ve survived this long haven’t I?

But this was different. This was actual life or death.

ābrar iā morghon

And I was fucking scared.

My body trembled with fear. Mind racing with a hundred different ‘what-if’s,’ that I couldn’t shake away. What if I actually die here and now? What if Daenerys dies? What if Jon dies? What if the Night King wins? Then it would all be my fault. If I hadn’t gone and stuck my nose into all of this then humanity would’ve lived like before. But then again, I couldn’t take all the blame.

I didn’t choose to come here, I was brought here– dragged through the fabric of time and thrown into one of the most dangerous and tumultuous periods in Westerosi history– all for a reason that I still haven’t figured out. So, if anything does happen, then it wouldn’t be my fault. I was someone in an unimaginable situation who had to do anything that they could to survive.

Bang!

I jump up in my seat and whip my head around to the door slammed open and Daenerys standing in my doorway, fuming and glaring at me.

She knows.

“Did you know?” She demands from me. But there was no point in asking, she already knew my answer. I knew practically everything.

I calmly set my spoon down against the rim of the warm wooden bowl and stood up slowly. The wooden chair screeched against the stone floor and the hearth lightly crackled filling the silence.

“Know what?” I walked past her and over to the door, peeking out and looking both ways to make sure no one was there before closing and locking it shut.

“Jon.” She spits out his name. “About who he really is?” I walk over to the side table and pour a glass of wine for her, but don't give it to her just yet.

I set the cup down and turn to face her. “I did. It’s a major part of Westerosi Studies and Targaryen History.”

Her eye twitches, “is this a joke to you?”

“No it’s not.” A joke? Honey, I’m having a quarter-life crisis over here and you’re asking if I’m joking?

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“You didn’t need to know at the time.”

She scoffs, “always with your ‘you didn’t need to know’. How do you know what I should and shouldn’t know?”

“Because I just do.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “If I told you within a week of meeting me that your allies would die one by one, your dragons would die one by one, you would have spiraled. Yes, Jon is Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son. Yes, he has a better claim than you. Yes, if the people knew his true identity then they would champion him. If I had told you his real identity– that he just found out yesterday may I add– that’s what would’ve gone through your mind.”

I let out a shaky breath and reached over for my own glass of wine, gulping down the red liquid while I calmed myself. She stays silent and watches me set the glass down, but her anger is still there.

“Be honest with me, swear to your dragons and your people, if you knew who he was would you have welcomed him like an ally or would you have sent the dogs on him? Would you have given Jon a chance?” There’s no sarcasm in my tone, no bite or defensiveness, just me calmly asking her a simple question.

Daenerys stares at me, her anger slowly dissipating. She’s stuck between her stubbornness and my reasoning. She clenched her jaw and sighed, letting go of her pent up anger. She knew I was right. If Daenerys knew who Jon was before meeting at Dragonstone she would have dealt with him like he was the enemy and not like an ally. She would have lost the North and ultimately we would have lost the Great War.

“Daenerys,” I said her name softly. “Do you know how long I’ve been here?”

She lightly furrowed her brows. “No.”

“Almost eight months.” My answer weighs heavily. “In eight months I haven’t gotten one lead as to how I can get back home or why I was brought here. Frankly speaking, I’m stuck here. So why would I try to do anything hurtful towards you, knowing what you’re capable of. I have no lies, no false narratives or hidden agenda’s– all I have is the truth. Why would I risk it all to lie to you?”

Her face contorts between guilt and sadness as my words sink deeper into her consciousness. She’d been so caught up in her campaign that she’d overlooked my own footing in this world. She lets out a deep sigh and walks over to sit on the foot of my bed while I reach over grabbing her glass of wine.

“You’re right,” she says, face buried in her hands. “I shouldn’t have any reason to doubt you. It’s just.. I’m so close, so close. And it seems every time I take a step forward something gets in the way.” She takes the glass from me and I go to sit next to her. “And the way everyone looks towards Jon, it just makes me second guess myself.. if I’ll be accepted by the people here.”

I wrapped my arm around her shoulders, bringing her in close. “You are and you will be a great leader. Don’t ever doubt yourself, you’ve come a long way and have done great things. Do you have any idea how loved you are throughout Essos? The Dothraki named you their Great Khaleesi, only recognizing you as their leader, so many years later. The former slave cities have raised statues in your honor and hail you as their savior. You’ve grown so much from where you started, don’t give up now.”

Daenerys’ face softens around the edges at my reassurance, but a sliver of self-doubt still lingers.

“Trust me, people still praise you. They still remember you as a liberator and a great leader who did the impossible. Don’t ever doubt yourself, okay? The people of Westeros will come around, you just have to give them some time.”

She sighs out a breath she’d been holding since her talk with Jon. “What do I do then?”

“Turst.” I squeeze her arm gently. “Don’t overwhelm yourself and trust in those around you. It’s tough, but you’ve gone through the worst already. Just one more hill to climb over and then you’ve done it.”

Daenerys sits silently, but listens closely. All her life she’d fought for survival, she’s had to jump over hurdles to get to where she was now. It wasn’t totally out of left field for her to feel how she did. This wasn’t supposed to happen, the dead were just a story that parents would tell their kids– not a real threat to all of humanity.

“Alright. I will.”

It wasn’t an ideal relationship. This all started as a difficult deal; I helped her and she gave me protection. But slowly, it grew into something more familial and authentic. We had only one common ancestor and hundreds of years in between us, but we were the closest family either of us had right now. Maybe if I really was from this time and truly born as Daenerys’s sister I could have helped and protected her from the cruelty of the world.

“Go to him.” I quietly said.

“To who?”

“To Jon.”

She frowned, “but what about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.” I stood up, bringing her up with me and walked the two of us to the door. “It’s our final night alive,” I opened the door, “go be with him.”

She waits for what feels like minutes, but what was only a few seconds and just stares at me. Then, she wordlessly warps her arms around me, pulling me in. I sighed and embraced her back before letting her go. With a final look, she quickly walks down the hallway and back towards Jon. I sighed out once she turned the corner and turned back into the room. Quietly, I grabbed Dark Sister and fastened her across my hip and then I slipped Aegon’s Dagger, that Daenerys had let me hold onto, into its place.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Visenya’s armor glimmered red from the candlelight and fire from the hearth. I stared at myself, taking in my appearance. Eight months ago, if I were to be wearing anything remotely similar I’d look out of place, but now, it looked natural. My face, that used to have some roundness, was slimmer and had harsher shadows thanks to the environment around me. I tried to picture myself from before all of this, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t picture who I was before all of this– a University student in King’s Landing from the modern world.

I peeled away from the mirror and left the room, closing the door behind me. I mindlessly walked down the halls hoping to clear my head when I ran across someone who could give me an actual answer.

“Melisandre.”

The Red Woman stops walking, turning towards me. “Lady Vellarys.”

“We need to talk.”

Understanding, but albeit confused, she quietly leads me to her room. The door closes behind me and she stands in front of the lit fireplace.

“What do we need to talk about?”

I take in a deep breath. “Eight months ago I traveled to Dragonstone for a school project.” She frowns at my words. “I walked into the Dragonglass caves and passed out. When I woke up I was alone in the cave. I stepped out of the cave and was brought here, in the past.”

“Lady Vellarys, what are you trying to say?” She asked, sounding very skeptical of what I was saying.

“I am from the future. I’ve read– no, I’ve studied all of this. The Great War, the Long Night. I know who dies and who lives and what happens afterwards. I even know what you’re going to do tonight. You’re going to enchant the Dothraki’s swords and then you’re going to walk out into the freezing snow and take that off,” I point at her necklace, “and you’ll be your true age and wither away in the snow.”

“How do you know this?” Her body shifts to a more protective stance, shielding herself from what I was saying

“Because I’m from the future, I know what happens. And I want to know why I was brought here in the first place.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I’ve looked everywhere I could. Every goddamn scroll, book, ancient text and I’ve found nothing. And now you’re my only hope before you have to leave.” I let out a shaky breath, “please, Meslisandre.”

She stares at me, taking in my wild story, that she somehow found believable. Maybe it was how adamant I sounded or my behavior towards what was taking place that she’d noticed since our first meeting. She knew there was a reason why she felt something different about me, but she was never able to put her finger on it.

“Why?” I ask. “I need to know why… please.” Melisandre looks down for a brief moment and I feel like ripping the hair out of my head. “And don’t tell me that this is all the ‘Lord of Lights’ doing. I need answers, Melisandre, and we both know only you can give them to me.”

“I can, but I don’t think they will be the answers you are looking for.”

I swallow, nervously, “I don’t care. I need to know.”

She’s silent and I start to think that she doesn’t believe me. “Very well.”

She reaches into the open chest at the foot of her bed, pulling out a knife decorated in silver and jewels, its Valyrian Steel glows in the candle light. She then reached over to me, her ice cold hands sending goosebumps up my arm, and led me to the lit fireplace.

Her grasp loosens and travels down to my hand, turning it palm side up. Her eyes find mine, determined to do what I’d asked. She’s searching for something, doubt, uncertainty, but finds nothing. I had thought that her eyes were a deep amber color, but the light from the fire shows that they’re a deep red.

“I must warn you, you may be left with more questions than answers.” Her voice is firm and lower in pitch.

“I know.” I nod, firm in my decision

She gives my hand a squeeze before she starts chanting in Valyrian under her breath. Her left hand brings up the blade and places its sharp edge horizontally against my palm. I suck in a breath as she swiftly cuts into my hand. Beads of blood start to pool out of my hand and she moves my hand to the fire, tipping it and letting the blood flow from my cut and into the fire.

The room grows hotter and I could swear that the flames get deeper. My eyes shift to Melisandre who’s staring deep into the flames in some sort of incantation. The longer she stared the more on the edge I got.

What was she seeing? Was it something bad? Good? Why is it taking so long? Am I going to die?

Her grip on my hand tightened for a moment– as if she was seeing something she couldn’t believe– before she broke out of her trance. The room got cooler, back to his regular temperature, and the flames died down to their original hues.The silence in the room was palpable. No one said a word. Mellisandre kept her hold on my hand, though more relaxed now, her eyes stayed on the burning flames. My heartbeat thumped loudly in my ears and my breathing grew shallow as I waited for my answers.

“You were brought here for a reason, a reason you already know.” She began. “The Lord chose you to help the Prince Who Was Promised.”

“I figured that.”

She pauses before speaking again, careful with her words. “I don’t know if you can go back.”

“What?” I pulled my hand away from hers, not caring about the cut and the blood dripping down. “What do you mean? You said that the Lord shows you things– Melisandre– what did you see?”

She furrows her brows, thinking back at what she was shown. “I saw you, brief moments of you in the future. I saw you marry, have children, age. Y/n, you live the rest of your life here. Not once did I see you go back or if you could go back.”

I felt my chest tighten and I stepped back, anxiety filling my veins.

“No.”

My body moved on its own, walking out of Melisandre’s room and down the halls and then outside. Tunnel vision kicked in, my eyesight narrowed and everything became muffled as if my head was underwater. The winter cold and my bleeding hand were all forgotten as my feet carried me until they couldn’t. I collapsed onto the snow covered ground, feet aching and heart thumping loudly in my ears.

I could feel its eyes on me, looking down mockingly. Leaves fell down around me, my hands fisting the snow below me. There's a pounding in my head and an ache in my palm. My vision slowly clears and my hearing returns. I could hear the wind rolling past me and its leaves rustling.

I lifted my tear rimmed eyes up and to its eyes.

“You brought me here and it’s your responsibility to bring me back.” I spat just loud enough for it to hear. “Do you enjoy it? Messing with people's lives? Using them as pawns for your own enjoyment?”

Hot tears streamed down my face and my dried bloody hand came up to wipe them away.

“Bring me back. I’m doing what you want me to do– I’m helping her– just like I’m supposed to. You have to bring me back home. You owe it to me.”

The red leaves on the Weirwood tree swayed as the cold wind picked up again. Its carved face only looked down on me, almost as if it were belittling me even further. This wasn’t how this would end, it couldn’t. I had to go home.

––

The hearth is lit, along with dozens of candelabra's, in the castle's Great Hall. The room is dim despite the amount of candles burning. The tables from before have been cleared away and pushed up to the sides against the walls and the chairs have been shoved into a corner. Two, though, are pulled out in front of the hearth, basking in its heat and warmth. Tyrion Lannister sits on the right and his elder brother, Jamie Lannister sits on the left chair. They each have a goblet of wine in their hands, casually taking sip after sip.

Out of the blue Tyrion speaks almost reminiscing, “I wish father were here.”

Jamie blinks back, surprised at what his brother had just said and if he was hearing him right. Tyrion– the man who killed their father– wants him here? Tyrion catches the confused expression on Jamie’s face and talks further to explain himself. “I would love to see the look on his face when he realizes his two sons are about to die defending Winterfell.”

Jamie takes a beat, but snorts out a chuckleand lightly swishes the wine in his goblet in circles. “That would be something to see.”

The old wooden chair creeks when Tyrion shifts to look behind him into the dark and empty hall. “I remember the first time we were here. First time I saw this all.” Jamie cranes his neck back to see what his brother was looking at.

Tyiron turned his head to Jamie, “you were a Golden Lion.” He subtly puts on a voice as he says the ‘title’ aloud. But then he shifts, “and I was a drunken whoremongerer. It was all so simple.”

Jamie glances from his lap to Tyrion, giving a quick shake of the head. “It wasn’t all so simple. I was sleeping with my sister, and you had one friend in the world.. that was sleeping with his sister.”

“I was speaking in relative terms.”

“Do you miss it?” Jamie asks.

“Of course I miss it.” Tyrion replied quickly, thinking fondly to back then– before all of this.

“Well my Golden Lion days are done, but whoremongering is still an option for you.”

Tyrion shakes his head, “it’s not.” There’s a weight towards his words and memories he doesn’t want to remember, “things would be easier if they were.”

Jamie watches his little brother raise his goblet. “The perils of self-betterment.” Tyrion says. Jamie raises his own glass and the two drink.

Behind them, the heavy doors open and then shut. The two Lannisters turn their heads to see Brienne and Podrick enter the hall. Jamie’s quick to his feet, “My Lady.”

Brienne walks closer with a hand resting on her sword and Podrick to her right. “Oh, we didn’t mean to interrupt. We were just looking for somewhere warm to–”

“To contemplate your imminent death.” Tyrion stands up from his chair, “you’ve come to the right place.” He then moves to the right where a table with extra goblets and a pitcher of wine were placed. “You want some of this piss? It’s not bad, it’s not good either.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Podrick moves towards Tyrion, but Brienne stops him.

“I don’t think that’s wise. The battle might start at any moment.” Podrick looks a bit down, as if he’d just been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but then she speaks again. “Half cup.”

Tyrion pours a glass for Podrick, but overfills it causing it to spill onto the floor. The two glanced at one another, stifling their laughs like two students in the back of the classroom. Podrick takes the goblet and takes a hefty sip while Tyrion moves to fill his own glass. “And you?”

“No, thank you. I should try to get some sleep.” She replied.

“You really think any of us are going to sleep tonight?” Jamie asked, pulling up the extra chairs. “Join us,” he motioned towards the new seating arrangement.

“Alright,” she glanced towards Podrick, “just a bit.” She sits down on the left hand side of Jamie. Tyrion walks to her, pouring another glass, and hands it to her right when another person walks into the hall.

“Well what do we have here.”

“Ser Davos,” Tyrion calls, “join us.”

“No, not for me, thanks.” The older man briskly walked past them and towards the lit hearth. “Came here for this.” He turns around so that his back faces the fire and takes in the much needed heat after being out in the snow for so long. “Figured I could wait to die freezing my balls off out there,” Brienne backs stiffens as she feels someone approaching with their eyes on her, “or wait to die nice and warm in here.”

Tormund, who’d been right behind Ser Davos, comes up to the left side of Brienne, staring at her. He waits to speak when she looks at him. “This could be our last night in this world, you know.”

Jamie silently watches the exchange, sipping on his wine.

“Yes, well I’m glad you’re here.” Brienne replied, but quickly corrected herself. “Here– fighting with us– glad you survived Eastwatch.”

“Would you like a drink?” Tyrion asks, now standing by the tale.

Tormund raises what looks to be the end of a mammoth husk, hollowed out and full of whatever he’d been drinking. “Brought my own.” He then shifts his attention towards Jamie, who’d been silently watching, and sizes him up with his head tilted towards the side.

“They call you King-Killer.”

Jamie, who had to look up to look into Tormund's eyes, squinted his eyes. “I’m sure someone does.”

“They call me Giants-Bane. Want to know why?”

Jamie glanced at Tyrion while Tormund reached over to an empty chair and dragged it over to the smi-circle of occupied chairs. He sits down, eyes locked onto Jamie. “I killed a giant when I was ten. Then I climbed right into bed with his wife.”

Ser Davos glanced towards the Wildling, curious to see where the story would go.

“When she woke up, you know what she did?”

Jamie tilts his head, telling him to go on.Tomund leans in for added dramatic effect, “suckled me at her teat for three months, thought I was her baby. That's how I got so strong– giant’s milk.” He brings the horn up to his mouth and loudly starts to drink from it. Brienne eyebrows drew together in a surprised and disgusted expression as she watched the liquor spill out of the horn and down Tormund's chin and clothes and to the floor.

Jamie glanced at Tyrion as to say, what is this guy doing? Tyrion gives him an ‘I don’t know face’ and turns back to the Wildling. The gulping and occasional groaning was echoed by the hollowness of the horn, adding to the awkwardness of the whole ordeal.

Ser Davos peeled his eyes away from the horrid scene and moved away from the hearth, “maybe I will have that drink.”

Eventually it stops and everyone settles down into their seats. Tormund sits a little closer to the fire with Brienne to his right who has Jamie to her own right. Tyrion sits in between Podrick on his right and Ser Davos to his left, who’s sitting next to Jamie. Everyone’s cups are filled as they stare into the open flames of the hearth. There’s an oddly comfortable silence as they all sit there, sharing their final moments alive with one another. There’s an air of tension and fear in each and everyone of them, but also a sense of relief that at least they weren’t alone.

Tyrion’s first to break the silence. “It’s strange isn’t it? Almost everyone here’s fought the Starks, at one time or another. And here we are in their castle, ready to defend it. Together.”

“At least we’ll die with honor.” Brienne comments.

“I think we might live.” Tyrion replied, honestly. Davos and Podrick share a glance and then they both start laughing.

“I-I do.” Tyrion replied, quickly. “How many battles have we survived between us? Ser Davos Seaworth; Survivor of both the Blackwater and the Battle of the Bastards.”

“All without a shred of combat ability.” Ser Davos adds.

“Mm.” Tyrion turns to his brother. “Ser Jamie Lannister, fable hero of the Siege of Pyke.”

“Fabled loser of the Battle of Whispering Wood.” Jamie stands up to pour himself another cup of wine.

“Hear, hear!” Tyrion shouts. “Ser Brianne of Tarth. Defeated the Hound in-” He pauses, correcting himself. “Pardon me, Lady Brienne.”

“She’s not the Ser?” Tormund says, confused. He turned around to Brienne. “You’re not the knight?”

Brienne’s face slightly hardens and she turns to him to give a curt reply. “Women can’t be knights.”

“Why not?” He frowned.

“Tradition.” She replied.

“Fuck tradition.” Tromund stated bluntly.

She keeps her expression firm and just shakes her head, “I don’t even want to be a knight.” She catches Podrick staring at her, the both of them knowing that she’d just lied then. Throughout their journey together he could see how much she’d wanted to be a knight. She was good– very good, and so very deserving of that title.

“I’m no king. But if I were, I’d knight you ten times over.” Ser Davos smirked at the Wildling’s' wholesome declaration.

There’s a beat of silence and then Jamie looks at Brienne as if he’d just realized something important. “You don’t need a King. Any knight can make another knight.”

Jamie places his cup on the table, next to the pitch of wine. “I’ll prove it.” He unsheathed his sword and walked to the middle of the room, holding his sword out. Everyone watches carefully, and he turns to Brienne.

“Kneel, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne scoffs, not believing the one handed Lannister afterall, he’d been drinking for however long there was no way he was being serious.

“Do you want to be a knight or not? Kneel.” He asked, seriously. He doesn't sound drunk, far from it actually. He knows what he’s doing, he’s resolute in it.

She glanced back at Jamie who tells her to come over and kneel again. Everyone’s eyes are on her, eagerly waiting for her to get up. She looks over to Podrick who reassures her to go one. She doesn't move right then, she only gets up when she looks back at Jamie who gives her a reassuring nod. Slowly, she walks to the middle of the room, opposite of Jamie and kneels before him. Wordlessly, the others slowly stand to watch.

Brienne, now growing misty-eyed, stares at Jamie as he begins.

His grip on his sword– Widow’s Wail– tightens in his flesh hand. He lifts the sword and places the sword on her right shoulder. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.”

He raises the sword and places it on her left shoulder. “ In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.”

He places the sword on her right shoulder again. “In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.”

He lowers the sword to his side. Slowly, Brienne raises her head up and locks eyes with Jamie.

“Arise, Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Terry-eyed, Brienne stands up, and the two share a small moment together before the room bursts into applause and cheers. Tormund claps his hands loudly and Tyrion raises his glass in a toast.

“Ser Brienne of Tarth! Knight of the Seven Kingdoms!”

She smiles, tears of joy in her eyes. Wordlessly, she thanks Jamie who nods, smiling at her. The applause continues on and another round of drinks are poured in celebration. Once settled down, everyone sat back down in their chairs and conversations started to flow again. Eventually, though, people get tired.

Jamie lets out a groan. “We’d better get some rest.”

“No,” Tyrion almost whines. “Let’s stay a bit longer.”

“We’re out of wine.” Davos gruffs, placing the pitcher down and sitting back down.

“How about a song?” Tyrion suggests. “You must know one.” He looks to his left, “Ser Davos?”

“You’ll pray for a quick death.”

Tyrion chuckles and turns his attention to the newly knighted Brienne. “Ser Brienne?” She shakes her head prompting Tyrion to turn to Tormund who also shakes his head with an almost animalistic growl.

Suddenly, Podrick starts singing ‘Jenny of Oldstones’.

“High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts. The ones she had lost and the ones she had found, and the ones who had loved her the most,”

Somewhere in Winterfell's quarters Sam and Gilly lay in bed together with Little Sam between them. The two lay awake, staring at each other, sharing a brief moment before its ripped away.

“The ones who'd been gone for so very long,”

Out in the crowded courtyard, Sansa and Theon sit opposite to each other, sharing a brief moment before it all began. There’s a lit candle between them and two bowls of stew and a plate of bread. A quiet dinner with the person who’d saved them when they needed it the most.

“She couldn't remember their names. They spun her around on the damp old stones,”

In the hallways closest to the forge and smitheries, Gendry peacefully sleeps on a pile of rags with Arya laying next to him with her back turned. While he sleeps, she lays awake after the two had shared a rather intimate moment.

“Spun away all her sorrow and pain. And she never wanted to leave,”

Outside, the Unsullied start walking out of the courtyard. Missandei and Grey Worm walk together before he stops her, turns, and kisses her. It’s meaningful, both of them pouring out their love to one another, but also desperate, wanting to take as much as they could from the other person in such a brief moment. Grey Worm pulls away, and Missandei hands him his helmet. He grips it tight as he slips it over his head. Missandei pressed her forehead against Grey Worm’s helmet, savoring this last final moment. He then turns to leave and marches with the Unsullied, Missandei watching as he leaves.

Near the front gates of the castle everyone gathers for battle. Jorah rides on his horse and gazes at the horizon to only see darkness and the treeline. The Dothaki riders rode into position behind him. His hand tightens around Heartsbane, House Tarly’s ancestral sword, that was gifted to him by Sam only a few hours ago.

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

Down at the crypts Jon and Daenerys stand together, admiring his mothers statue. Jon looks down at her, holding her close to his chest. Daenerys brings her hand to rest by his heart, but Jon grabs ahold of it. He says something to her, and she smiles slightly. She looks back at Lyanna's statue and says a few words that prompts Jon to lean down and capture her lips in a kiss.

“Never wanted to leave. Never wanted to leave,”

I walked out of the Godswood forest, the cut on my hand now scabbed over and the blood around it now dried. Just as I reached the gates, the horns that would signal the dead approaching were blown. I rushed over to the already designated spot to meet the others. When I had arrived Jon, Daenerys, and Tyrion were there, looking over the ramparts into the darkness.

Orders were being yelled out as soldiers quickly got their positions for the oncoming battle. Jon breathes heavily, and shifts his gaze to Daenerys. She looks equally as determined as him, ready to fight for the realm and face off the dead. She shifts her eyes to me and then wordlessly walks past us with the two of us following after her towards where the dragons were waiting for us. Tyrion watched the three of us depart and then turned his attention back to what was in front of him.

Up ahead, along the path to Winterfell an icy haze covers the ground, growing ticker even more. The mangled legs of a dead horse trot forwards. At the top the dead stallion was a White Walker, staring off to where Winterfell stood. Another White Walker mounted on a dead horse falls into line beside him, and a line of them emerge, all of them being Craster's sons and, more importantly, generals in the Night King’s army. Behind him, the Army of the Dead slowly comes forwards. It stretches far and wide, hundreds of thousands of undead wights. Slowly, but surely, they marched closer and closer to Winterfell.

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seejayseattle · 6 months ago

Text

You, Therefore

Sansa Stark x fem!reader

summery: The first time Sansa sees you is in the Sept and she cannot help but feel like you do not belong somewhere so solemn.

warning: !TW! implied non-con/SA (non-descriptive + mentioned very briefly), language, time-period homophobia, violence and gore, angst, implied smut

word count: 9.13k

The Sept in Winterfell is always quiet. Sansa never had known it to be anything other than quiet and uninhabited. She thinks that none of the other southern wives visit because of its nature. A gift to the newly wedded Lady Stark from her greener-than-summer grass Lord husband. Or mayhaps it was not a gift at all, but an apology for bringing a bastard home from war.

Sansa does not think of faith often, but she has always dreamt of marrying a southern prince, and following his gods would likely please him. So, here she kneels on the cold hard stone and listlessly watches wax tears roll down the candle as it melts.

Her eyes start to grow hazy and her hands that were firmly pressed together start to go limp, but then-

“Do the gods bore you?”

Sansa goes rigid. She turns her neck so sharply that the tendons and muscles pull tight and strained. She is expecting someone she knows, a serving girl or a bannerman’s young wife. You are neither. You are unfamiliar. A stranger lurking in the dark, only the light of a dying flame allows her to see your face.

You are very pretty, she thinks to herself. Your hair is braided in an elaborate way she had never seen before, and your clothes are made of a fabric that her fingers had never touched.

Still standing far enough away that your presence is not towering, you take a step forward and tilt your head in a way she had seen hounds do. She suddenly remembers you had asked her a question.

Do the gods bore you?

She ponders the question with the same lightness it was asked with. Sansa has no obligation to answer you, let alone speak to you. Although, there is something interesting about you. The two of you are the same age, she’s sure of it, but you have an air of flippancy that she has never seen any woman wear.

Sansa hums before she speaks. “How could they not? They never say anything back.”

“Mayhaps they do and you do not listen well enough.”

Sansa feels her face go hot at your teasing tone. She scoffs, looking away from you while mumbling, “You should address me as ‘my lady’.”

Your brows pull together in confusion. “But you are not my lady.” squinting your eyes at her, you huff a laugh. “You are not a lady at all really, just a girl.”

She has decided that she dislikes you greatly.

Do you not know that she will be queen one day? The King and her father are brothers in all but blood. The golden prince will whisk her away South to wed her and the people of King's Landing will sing songs dedicated to their love and beauty. Moreover, you seem to be oblivious that she's a Stark, highest birth in the North.

Pressing her palms together and clenching her eyes shut, Sansa feigns quietude whilst attempting to disregard your presence entirely.

You laugh, and she decides that she truly hates you.

“May I kneel with you?”

She opens one eye to peek at you from the corner of it. Your own eyes blaze with amusement, so bright that she thinks they might burn her if you are any closer. Without waiting for the invitation, you walk to her side.

Your boots make a horrid gritty sound when you drop to your knees and Sansa winces as it scrapes against her ears. This close she can see your dress properly, pink silks with detailed orange and yellow embroidery. She has to resist the aching desire to run her finger over the intricate pattern of each stitch.

It is something one would never catch eye of in the north and Sansa is struck with the realization that you are likely a Southerner who has traveled here for trade.

Even though she finds you rather annoying, her curiosity of the dress's origins and the excitement of conversing with a true Southern girl makes her speak.

“Are you from Dorne?” She questions, feeling as though the vibrancy of those colors would likely come from there.

You simply smile, “Sometimes.”

“Something?” She repeats incredulously.

“Aye.”

Sansa feels a strong urge to do something unladylike, like calling you a name or shoving you. But she is a lady and will not deign herself. She is about to say something haughty to put you in your place, the way she often does with Arya, but you speak first.

“What do you pray for?” You ask, eyes fixated on the few unlit candles in the sentry of the Sept. Your grin is so wide, Sansa notices. Although you two have only just met, she feels as though the giddiness on your face is genuine.

She shrugs. “I pray for what every lady prays for.” At your encouraging look, she continues. “To marry the prince and give him many healthy sons.”

Your smile dampens and you shake your head, but you say nothing else.

After a few moments of silence, Sansa wished to quench her curiosity.

“What do you pray for?” She asks.

You turn, fully facing her. She is truly caught by how beautiful you are. Sansa should feel envious, for she has always been the most comely in Winterfell.

The grin on your lips turns sly, countering the whore-Ros that Theon favors. Secretive and inviting.

“Nothing.” You say, “I do not follow the Seven.”

Sansa cannot help the girlish giggle that burst from her mouth. You laugh along with her, and she is even more sure that you do not belong here.

°°°

She sees you around Winterfell. Sometimes trailing after a man who looks much too young to be your father and other times she sees you gallivanting around the courtyard as if you are Lord Stark himself.

Robb seems to enjoy you, well he enjoys the crumbs you throw at him now and then. Her older brother always seeks you out when he goes to the yard to practice his sword skills and he laughs a bit too loud when you jest. Jeyne has been practically tearing her hair out with envy because of it.

Sansa cannot find it in herself to comfort her friend, for she should have known that Robb could never marry a steward’s daughter.

Even with his constant attention, your eyes always find hers. You always come find her, in the keep or the dining hall or in the yard. It would be quite the inconvenience considering Sansa’s dearest friend despises your very existence, but she thrives on attention. Her Lady mother used to say that praise to Sansa was sunlight to a rose.

The library is not a setting she can imagine you in, but you rarely achieve predictability. She watches you for a moment in hopes that you have not noticed another presence.

You sit curled up against a shelf with a book in your lap. You pinch the corner of the page and lightly roll it between your fingers. It's as if you are already anticipating turning the page.

“Do you intend to join me? Or is watching from the darkness something you enjoy?” You ask while finally flipping that page. Eyes never straying.

Sansa sniffs and walks forward into the golden light. Her dress glides too close to the hearth and for a small moment, it looks as if the flames from the fireplace are reaching out to grab the fabric, crackling in anger when Sansa jumps away from it. Looking up, your eyes meet hers.

A blaze of yellow and orange glows against your pupils.

You smile and tilt your head in that strange knowing way. “You should be more careful, Dearest. The fire has few masters and you are not one.”

The words are strangely shrewd for the teasing tone, but Sansa waves her hand at you dismissively. She rarely listens to the odd things that pour from your mouth like soured sick. Unlike Robb, who will grip onto every word with snow-white knuckles. She walks to the space in front of you and sits down gracefully.

Sansa reaches forward and uses the tip of her finger to lift the book away from your lap just enough to see the cover. The book is one she has seen Jon reading as of late, although she has no knowledge of what it's about.

“Whatever are you reading?”

“Tis about Old Valyria.” You say while shutting the very book and placing it beside you. She hums because she has nothing else to say. She has never cared for history or sums or anything other than the pretty things of being a lady. Her mother worries but she will have a council of Lords to do the boring things for her when she is queen.

Readjusting her position, Sansa clears her throat. “I came to find you for a purpose.”

“Oh, how flattering it is to be sought out.”

She pinches your leg. “Quiet you.” Waiting until you stop laughing, she continues. “I wished to speak to you about Robb.”

“What about him?”

“He is besotted with you.”

“He is a man, next moon he will be besotted with a barmaid with big eyes and bigger teats.”

Sansa gasps and pinches you again. “Do not be crude!”

You laugh and she finds herself restraining her own giggle. It is moments like this that Sansa is so very glad you are a friend. Jeyne is lovely but Sansa would never dare share a true secret with her, as it would end up in every young lady's ears by the time the sun dies. Arya is simply awful and quick to anger.

Father always smiles fondly and says wolf blood. She wonders if she looked more like her dead aunt if father would indulge her tantrums just as often.

Their laughs subside and Sansa takes a breath, “As I was saying. Robb wants you but I encourage you to deny him.”

You tsk. “And why should I deny the next Warden of the North?”

“You are not a highborn lady, Robb cannot marry you.”

“That only makes me want to marry him, Sansa.”

She huffs. “Out of spite and stubbornness?”

You shrug and smile at her easily. “There is little other reason I would wish to marry him. I find him rather foolish.” Sansa opens her mouth to defend her brother and mayhaps reminds you of your stature, but you quickly press your hand over her lips.

“Hush, I meant no offense.” You say swiftly. You slowly drag your hand away from Sansa’s face and place it in your lap. She is almost shocked into silence at your words. You say many unorthodox things, but an apology has never tumbled off your tongue. That was the closest thing akin to one.

“Besides, Robb is not mine.”

Her curiosity peaks. “Oh, and who’s is he? Do not say Jeyne, he finds her plain.” While teasing, it is the truth. Her brother only entertains Jeyne’s affections out of politeness and boredom. She waits for you to say something, but you are silent.

You stare at her, then blink, open your mouth, and close it.

“He will be the strangers.”

You blink again, shake your head, and smile brightly enough to blind. Sansa watches your odd actions with a scrunched nose. She would ask, but instead, she starts to talk about how horrid Arya had been while they were at lessons.

°°°

The prince will be at Winterfell in just a few weeks. Jon Arryn's death brings her father heartache but she cannot help the feeling of her dream being on the horizon. Sansa feels sick with nerves and anticipation. Her hands are unsteady while she stitches the details of her new dress.

She stitches lions around the neck, to win the Lannister queen's favor and express loyalty. When she told you of her plans, you had told her that gold would look horrid with her hair and gray direwolves would look lovely embroidered on her dress collar. She had not listened.

So, the two of you sit in silence while she carefully constructs the snout of a lion. Sansa hisses and drops the needle when she pricks her finger once again. In truth, she is starting to believe that this dress will never be completed. That thought makes her even more frustrated.

With a huff you reach over and take her shaken hand, cradling it between your own. “That is the fifth time you have done that. What ails you?”

Sansa lets you caress her fingers while she wills herself not to burst into tears.

“The prince will be here very soon.”

“Yes.” You respond as if that means nothing.

She lets out a cry and smacks her hand against the floor. “That is the problem, silly girl. The prince will be here soon and I'm dreadfully unprepared.” Tears start to track down her cheeks and her breath shutters like the winds of winter.

You move yourself closer to her, where your knees are touching and she can feel your warmth. “No need to be upset.” You say. “Even if you are betrothed, a wedding shall not take place until you are of age.”

“That is not what upsets me!”

“Then tell me what does.”

Sansa sniffs and wipes her wet nose with the back of her hand. “What if he does not like me? What if he has been with other ladies, older ladies that are more experienced than me?” She cries miserably and hides her face behind her hands. The thought of not being enough for the golden prince makes her cry harder.

You sigh, annoyed, then she feels your hands prying hers away from her face. Your pursed lips and incredulous expression make her feel a bit childish even though you are the same age as she.

“Sansa.” Your voice is stern and demanding of attention. “If the prince does not like you then he is a fool.”

“But how can I be enough? I have never even been kissed. What if I'm no good at kissing and he hates me!” She yells in your face. In the back of her mind, she knows she will have to apologize to you for being so rude.

“I’ll kiss you.”

Sansa’s breath stops altogether and stares at you utterly flummoxed. You stare back unflinchingly, eyes never straying from hers. She could not have heard right, but then again you are rather crude and unpredictable. Pressing her finger against her eyes to dry the wetness, Sansa opens her mouth.

“What?”

You shake your head, beautiful hair swaying with the motion. “You are not hard of hearing, dearest.”

Denying the offer would be the most sensible, the most ladylike. She would deny you for many reasons, you are rather opinionated, you give little knowledge about your life even though you know every inkling of hers, you do not respect titles nor the people that hold them, but most of all, you are a girl.

She wonders if you have been kissed by many. Sansa watches your big smile turn a bit more earnest. Knowing that it is wrong can be avoided with her distress of wanting to impress the prince.

She nods, thinking about how much her embarrassment can be quelled with just one minuscule lesson. “Alright, kiss me then.”

“Are you certain?”

“I said kiss me, did I not?”

It seems you do not need to be told a third time because you lean forward and kiss her. It’s nothing more than a brush of lips really, a whisper of what a real kiss should be. It makes Sansa blush red hot all the same. You pull back sharply as if her mouth stung

So, here the two of you are. Sitting on the floor of her chamber with flushed faces, cloth and string scattered around and Sansa's dried blood on both you and her hands.

A moment of quiet, then-

“That was hardly a kiss!” Sansa says loudly, then shrieks at her volume. She turns to make certain her chamber door is shut and lets out a long-suffering sigh of relief when she sees it is. Facing you again is much less intimidating when she hears you start cackling.

You laugh and laugh until tears run streams down your cheeks. They drip off your jaw, one after the other. She watches, bewildered and terribly confused but she finds her own laugh begins to rise up her throat.

°°°

You leave only 3 days before the king's carriage arrives. She cries fat bellowing tears, you kiss her cheek and tell her that you will meet again. You also gift her one of your dresses, the one you wore during that first meeting almost a year ago in the sept.

Sansa starts stitching the direwolves onto a new dress. Her blood had stained the lion's mouth and made it unsalvageable.

“What are your favorite flowers? I'll stitch them onto the dress since I am already using your brilliance.” She asks you as your brother says his goodbye and thanks to her Lord father.

“Red fennel flowers.”

“Whyever would those be your favorite?"

“It is what they signify.”

“And what do they signify?”

Your brother calls your name while he climbs onto the wagon, but you seem keen on pretending he does not. You reach forward and take her hands, leaning as if sharing a secret.

“Victory.” You whisper.

Later that day, Jon places a direwolf in Sansa's eager arms.

°°°

When Joffrey kisses her for the first time, she thinks of how thankful she is to you for preparing her.

And a moon later, in the hours after her father’s head tumbled to the ground, she thinks about how thankful she is that Joffrey was not her first kiss.

°°°

Margaery reminds Sansa of you. Tis a foolish thing for the two of you are not alike. Margaery is nothing but a mummer's mask, a beautiful venomous snake covered in honey. While you were raw and still sweet to the bone.

But as she walks in the Redkeep's garden with the soon-to-be queen arm and arm, she thinks the two of you would get along well. You would both talk endlessly about all the strange things you know and how you know them.

She catches Sansa staring at the side of her face, she must feel the burning of her eyes.

“What is it, sweet girl?”

Sansa shakes her head, “I did not mean to stare, it's just..”

“You remind me of an old friend, is all.”

“Oh, how lovely. Well, you must tell me of her.”

She does. She talks about your buoyancy and terrible insolence. She talks about your beautiful dresses and the one you gifted her before you left.

Margaery does not interrupt, allowing Sansa the freedom to speak openly about the girl she has not thought of in moons. She regrets it later, while she lays in a featherbed that feels like gravel against her back. She regrets pulling you from the depths of her mind. Regrets dragging you from the black water of memories and tugging you onto her ship. It's painful, remembering how much she misses you.

She briefly wonders if you are even alive. That would be quite the jest, wouldn't it? If her closest friend was simply no more. Dead. Mayhaps someone heard her speak of you to Lady Margaery and is out trying to find you.

Joffrey would jump with glee to find something to punish Sansa with. She thinks of all the things he would do to you in her name.

Sansa vomits in her chamber pot while Shae holds back her hair and coos sweet sentiments.

°°°

Ramsey says your name once. He calls you a ‘little pet’ and thanks Theon for telling him all about yours and Sansa's companionship.

She tries to refrain from reacting but cannot withhold the shudder when he tells her of all the things he will do to you.

In that moment, she wishes to never see you again, she prays to any gods listening that you are already dead and the only thing Ramsey can torment her with is your bones.

He never does bring you up again, most likely angry in his fallen attempts to find even a whisper of you.

°°°

Once, while she is at castle black, she hears one of the wildling women speak of bedding another woman. The woman is crude with her words and detailed with the actions they two committed between their furs.

The old Sansa would find it horribly disturbing. Two women together. But now, all she can feel is envy of women finding pleasure in bed and bitterness for all the pain she has gone through. She feels bitter most times when she sees two people happy with one another. She wants so desperately to feel that, feel anything good at all.

While the dreary castle sleeps, Sansa trails her icy fingertips up her thigh, between her legs, and feels.

She thinks of your pretty face behind her closed eyelids. And when she comes, there is not a shred of shame in her chest.

Sansa laughs hysterically when breath returns her.

°°°

The wind carries like a sweet sigh, a whisper against the skin of her cheek. Sansa watches with careful eyes as the dragon queen trots along on her horse. The woman is much smaller than she would have anticipated with all the roaring praise Tyrion's ravens are loud with.

Jon swings over his own steed, boots sloshing into the snow beneath him. His bottomless Stark eyes peer into Sansa’s and she is quite astonished to see him grinning. Tis a silly boyish grin she remembers from when they were children and he wanted to show her a game.

Something with rocks or sticks. Something she turned her nose up at.

Her brother does not help the dragon queen from her horse, nor does he wait to greet his family. Jon is before her and sweeping her into a crushing embrace before the Targaryen’s boots make temporary marks in the snow.

His mouth is cold when it presses into the shell of Sansa's ear but his breath is warm when he whispers, “I have a gift for you.”

Pulling away, he leaves her with a kiss pressed into her hair and moves on to engulf Bran in his arms. It’s like he might just hold their brother until they are nothing but bones and ash.

There is scarce time to taste his words, less to chew them. Raising her chin, she watches as the Targaryen walks unsteadily to her.

She can see the unease riddling this woman, precarious and glancing at Jon for guidance he does not have. This woman must discern that Jon willn't give her what she is seeking, for she swallows down something Sansa could call bitter and smiles kindly at her.

She should not leave her face so vulnerable, so susceptible to having her grievances and sorrow torn into like one would pry open a clam to find the pearl.

A mummer's mask is the only way to survive court, the only way to win this torturous game.

“Lady Stark.” She says, rather personally than diplomatic. This woman speaks her words and molds her face as though they know one another, sweetly and sisterly and for a fleeting moment, Sansa wants to believe in it.

It's been so long since she has believed in anything other than herself, and it would be oh-so lovely to put faith in another.

Daenerys tilts her chin to peer around the stone and snow. “Winterfell is as beautiful as your brother claims,” She faces her again, smiling tenderly. “As are you.”

Sansa can see these pleasantries for what they are, an olive branch. She knows what her position must look like, desperate for allies as the dead march with little regard for the North's readiness. This woman must feel as though she is reaching forward to offer a hand to Sansa as she balances on a damp plank of a sinking ship.

Fortunately, Sansa learned how to swim in angry waters long ago.

“Winterfell is yours, your grace.”

Crestfallen, her silver brows crease, and Sansa almost feels the clams insides wet her harsh digging fingers.

Jon’s hand reaches out to grip Sansa's shoulder. “Let us move into the hall, but Sansa, I must tell you-”

Bran says your name with the same eerie coldness he does everything else.

Her breath catches in her throat and suddenly she sees you.

You sit upon a sand-colored horse that is littered with white spots. You are already watching her, she realizes. You have been watching the entirety of this exchange.

She feels her own face crack open, tongue spitting the pearl into your hands like she had done at the green age of three-and-ten.

You've changed. The purity of youth has been shaven off your face, your hair is different than it once was and there is a scar that drags down your lips as if it's trying to sew them together.

It frightens her, that you are no longer the ungraspable thing that she can look to for comfort, that you are no longer just a memory she keeps on a throne.

“Yes, She is an adviser of mine, my Lady of Whispers.” The dragon queen says softly, and Sansa feels as though a blade has just sheathed into her gut. She does not turn away from your gaze, even when your lips curl into a smirk that she can only describe as predatory.

You do not look away, not even when Bran tells them of the rogue dragon and the shattered wall.

°°°

The halls are silent as she walks to her bedchambers. Although approaching doom has become a recurring presence in her life, Sansa has still not become accustomed to it. Nervously twisting around the ring on her finger she arrives in front of her door.

It's open, just enough to put her finger between the door and framing but not nearly enough for her to peek into. She glances around, but there is not a guard in sight, all most likely sleeping before they see battle.

Placing her hand on the heavy wood, she wrenches it open with a horrid ear-stabbing creak.

You sit on her bed. The dress you wear is black, with beautiful Stark gray embroidery. Sansa noticed the color when you scurried into the hall with the others; now, she sees what the stitching is. Detailed patterns of wolves, all connected by the same stitch, seem to prance across your breast to your back.

The dress itself is rather strange, with sharp pointed shoulders that counter the beast that had flown over Winterfell. The skirt parts into a cape-like thing at your hips, trousers wrapped around your crossed legs and boots cover your feet. You do not meet her eyes.

“You took your Lord Father and Lady Mother's chambers.” You speak with no true inflection, only a soft slyness that reminds her achingly of her girlhood.

The tip of your boots moves in union with your head as you greedily take in the decor of her chamber.

There is something unsettling about you, she thinks there always has been, truly. Sansa remembers Jeyne being envious of you, but she had always forgotten how perturbed she was with you near.

“Yes.” She agrees. Sansa brings her hands behind her back and raises one eyebrow at the woman lounging on her bed. “Why are you here?”

You blink, eyes fluttering as though you did not expect the question. “I wished to see you,” you tell her, words slow like falling snow.

You say it with an obvious tilt like Sansa is simply supposed to know one single thread in the mess of your mind. She imagines it to look like Arya's old stitching basket, a clutter of silk ribbons, furry yarn, and fine threads all crumpled into one pretty woven basket.

You do not seem to understand that you are a stranger now, another foreigner who has invaded her home with intent to snatch it from Sansa’s dying grip.

She parts her lips, and says, “How flattering it is to be sought out.” Instead of voicing her grief with you.

A loud surprised laugh jolts from your mouth, it sounds a bit like someone has squeezed it right from your chest. Fingers digging into the soft linen of her bedding, you shake your head. Sighing long and loud, you look up at her with starry wet eyes.

“Fuck, I had forgotten what a rude child I’d been.” You gasp out, something caught between a laugh and cry scratching your voice.

Sansa watches as you bring your hand up to your face and wipe at the wetness beneath your nose. One of your fingers is missing on that hand, all the way down like someone had plucked it from the bone. She pretends not to notice for her own sanity.

Grimacing, Sansa makes a disgruntled noise. “Yes, well, I can see little has changed.”

Again, you laugh. “Too much has changed, dearest. Too much for even myself to understand.” Your voice trembles into a whisper, like the wind against the glass of her window. She says nothing, for there is nothing she knows how to say. You have always been shrouded in mystery.

Gracefully leaping around any question of your life, but bearing your heart wide open, prying it apart like an overly ripened fruit and gifting the mush mess to Sansa.

Swinging your foot, you lift yourself from her bed. She is close now, like when you were girls and only sat with brushing knees and fingers twisting in one another's hair. You do not step forward, studiously keeping distance.

“I missed you.” You tell her so earnestly she feels sick.

She steps into your space and practically collapses into you.

“I missed you too.”

°°°

There is very scarce time to speak when the army of dead march, though you and Sansa seem to steal time between bearing the weight of Lady Stark and the Lady of Whispers.

Stolen moments like now, as she follows you out into the snow after you insisted she must meet your steed. It amuses her greatly that you have not grown out of that petulant way of demanding things instead of asking. It reminds her of Robb.

You glance behind at her many times as if to make certain she is still following.

“You have been rather quiet.” You say softly after approaching your speckled horse. You give him a firm pat on the snout. Sansa chooses her words very carefully when she converses with you.

The Lady of Whispers is not a person she can afford to trust. No matter how much she aches to.

“The dead are very close. All words seem wasted, don't you think?” She responds thinly. Sansa is aware that you can sense her distrust like a hound can sniff out blood, but it seems you are willing to eat any words Sansa feeds you. Even if they are terribly cold.

The timidly hopeful look on your face washes away into something incredulous. “When would words matter, if not now?”

Sansa huffs through her nose, “Foolish words could be your last.”

“That is for all of time.” You tell her with a haughty flick of the wrist. “Death has no bonds. The Stranger is greedy and constantly reaching out to take.”

A memory clings to her mind, when she was a girl and you had interrupted her prayer. You had confessed to not following the seven gods, and somehow Sansa cannot fathom that you have found faith in your years of travel.

Staring at the side of your face, she says, "I did not think you followed The Seven.”

Startling her, you throw your head back and cackle as if it is the most humorous ridiculous thought. Snow falls into the tendrils of your hair, melting instantly after it touches your warmth.

“Oh dearest, I do not.” You reach up and press your fingers into your eye. “You do not need to follow something to know it is real.”

“And how do you know it is real?” The query is spoken lightly, but she is truly curious. She wishes to know how it is you simply know. How you say things with such certainty that she has no choice but to believe.

She longs to know you. Not the girlish giggling memory she has held close for so many years, but the woman who stands before her. She longs to know you as you are. She thinks that you wish to know her as well, for you are the one who has always sought her out.

You do not answer her, strangely solemn and quiet as you pet your horse. And then she sees it, a tear rolls down your cheek. Without thought, she is touching your skin and caresses the drop of salt and sadness away.

The wet clings to her thumb.

“Do you know what a greenseer is, Sansa?” Your voice is much like the tear that fell, like the snow that drops from the sky. Serene and sad and twisted with the approach of something dreadful. She cannot recall the last time she heard her true name on your tongue.

Her hand does not leave your face. “I..” She hesitates and is reminded of Bran. Her brother who is not her brother at all, but a hollow-eyed creature that wears her brother's flesh.

“Yes. I- I believe I do.” The words are small and breathy. Akin to confession to the gods. You smile, a true smile with no slyness, no cajolery hidden in the curves of your teeth. It pulls on a thread of desire she had not known was left in her.

“Is that what you are? Do you see all, know all?” She asks, with less caution than she had with Bran. He had been thoughtlessly cruel, intending to tell her something only she and Theon could possibly know.

But you are only cruel with purpose, only sharpened your words when you intended to pierce.

You laugh wetly, nose scrunching up with a sniffle. “Goodness, no. Truly, I believe I know very little compared to some.” Your hand reaches up to where hers cradles your cheek.

You place your atop hers, completely trapping her in warmth. “I am not like Bran. My dreams have never been clear. Tis like reading a book through torn out crumpled pages.”

Sansa suppresses a sigh when you remove her hand from your face, but smiles when you continue to hold it tightly. In truth, Sansa does not know what to say. You are not one to take pity without feeling sour, and she is glad for that.

Rarely is she content with a secret shared with her,

Jon and his true parentage, Arya’s whereabouts over the years, The raven that speaks through her brother's voice.

But this, you. You she can accept. You she can continue with as if the secret had never been one at all. She had always known you were odd.

Mayhaps if she was not so consumed with herself as a girl, she would have surmised this. You never hid it from her, simply never spoke the words.

“That must be confusing.” Is all she says. If you are relieved by her nonplussed response, you do not show. You swing your and her connected hands.

“T’was, but I find that trying to make sense of it is a futile task.” You lick your lips and look up, gazing into Sansa’s eyes like you are searching in her soul. “Although, there has been one clear thing in all my years alive.”

She does not look away, intent on seeing your soul as well. “And what is that?”

“You.”

Sansa blinks, “Pardon?”

You sigh, “Oh dearest, it's always been you. Before I knew me I knew you.” Stepping closer, your breath makes a fog against her mouth. “There was no other, no gods, no words that I knew before you.”

Sansa can feel tears welling in her eyes and her chest shake with the weight of confession. The moment is happening so fast, but she has waited so long for something that it does not feel fast at all.

“How..”

You bring your hand up, pressing it against her cheek and caressing her bottom lip with your thumb. It's a mirror of what she had just done to you, but it makes her gasp all the same.

“I have always known your name, Sansa Stark. I know not what entity has given me this sight, mayhaps the stars, mayhaps the gods, but they told me your name when I knew not else.”

And then you are kissing her. Sansa gasps into your mouth, caught between kissing you back and crying out for a reason she knows not. She brings her hands up, placing them on your neck, feeling the thunderous pulsing of your heart.

She's kissing you back. The kiss is rushed and messy and desperate, both of you seem to be gasping for breath whilst diving in for more. She has never been kissed like this, and she thinks of her first kiss.

She wonders if you had known then, if you had felt this against your lips instead of a soft brush of curiosity. She forgets her thoughts when your tongue curls around hers.

It feels so good, Sansa never wants it to end, never wants to come up for air. Drown me please, let me swim in you forever, she thinks and moans when your hand flutters down to her waist, tugging her closer.

A throat clearing behind you and she makes her pull apart.

Jon has his hand covering over his eyes and Daenerys Targaryen’s lips are pressed together like she is desperately trying not to smile.

Daenerys is the first to speak. She clears her throat and pats her chest with a gloved hand. “I am terribly sorry for interrupting. Please, continue." The dragon queen giggles at the end of her words and Sansa hears you huff in what she assumes annoyance.

Jon squawks, “Dany! They cannot-you cannot!" He waves his hand wildly between the Targaryen and the two women beside the speckled horse.

Daenerys seems keen on ignoring him and says your name instead, “Please find me when you return. There is something we need to discuss.” She says and then she picks up her skirts and turns to walk the way she came. Jon does not move, looking humorously betrayed as if he has caught his closest friend with a hand up his sister's dress.

Mayhaps his feelings are justified, she has always known that you and Jon were close but she never thought much about it.

The dragon queen calls over her shoulder. “Come along, Jon. Leave them be.”

He begrudgingly follows after her.

“She will be a good queen.”

Sansa glances at you, bruised mouth and blushing cheeks. She imagines she looks quite similar. She does not answer you, it feels rather futile to argue after what you have just confided in her.

Leaning forward, she presses a sweet kiss against your mouth and pulls away when you try to deepen it.

“Go to your queen.” She says, patting down her dress as she walks back toward the Keep.

Sansa feels strangely at ease. Everything is changing, falling apart, and growing all at once. But she feels sure and content in a way she has not since her father was alive. She can not imagine you would kiss her if she were to die. It gives her a comforting reassurance.

Your taste is still on her tongue when the horn blows.

°°°

They lose many in the battle of dead and living. Good men, good women, bad men, redeemed men, Sansa has stopped counting the corpses. She looks through the bodies, looks for your face, wide-open eyes and lips bluer than the fresh morning sky.

She does not find your body, nor anything that would indicate you have fallen. In the midst of her search, a hand curls around her arm. When she turns, she comes face-to-face with her sister.

Arya has blood crusting all over her face, and the rest of her is covered in soot. Arya must see her crestfallen face, for she chuckles. T’is an unnerving sound Sansa has not grown accustomed to yet.

“Are you not pleased to see me, Sansa?” Her sister tilts her head with the query. Sansa swallows her unease and bile, the smell of death too strong.

“Of course, I am. Do not be foolish.”

Arya hums, "I am not the one you were looking for.” It is not a question, but Sansa feels as though she must disagree. It feels sinful, to be less pleased with her sister's survival than she would be yours. But Arya is a child no longer and does not need Sansa to water down truths in fear that it will be too strong for her little sister to swallow.

“No.” She whispers, “No, I was not looking for you.” The confession makes Arya let go of her arm. The younger takes a step away and hums once again. Sansa feels her skin crawl under the Stark grey gaze of her sister, but she does not cower.

Instead, she strains her chin up and shows some lion-like pride. “Well done, NightKing Slayer. Allow the maesters to look after your wounds after you bathe." She then picks up her dress and moves to walk away, but Arya’s voice cuts through.

“I saw her, she is alive.” The younger says, voice smooth like the finest silks. Arya seems to have absorbed an accent from her days in Braavos. Sansa wonders what that would have been like, to shed the gown of girlhood whilst under the warm sun and splash in the sea as a woman grown.

It sounds like a lovely sentiment, something she might have longed for in the prison of the Red-Keep.

“She is well?”

Arya scoffs, “I believe I said ‘alive’. She will need to see a maester, and she will have scars.” She raises a bloodied battered eyebrow. “I know you have always been quite vain bu-”

“You do not.” Sansa interrupts. She does not intend to, truly, but the words slip off her tongue and she cannot remember the last time she allowed herself to speak so freely with anyone other than you. The younger says nothing in clear expectation of more.

“You do not know me. Not anymore, Mayhaps you never have.” It is calm and even, not quite cold but never warm. Sansa does not mean for the words to pierce, but for a moment she thinks that Arya’s mummer's mask of indifference slips.

Big steel eyes stare up at her, a telltale shine of hurt pooling in her lashes.

She nods, a smile curling at the edge of her mouth. “You are right, I…I do not know you. The girl I knew would never have been in love with a woman.” She says it with a playfulness that she has always reserved for Jon. Sansa smiles back.

“As I said, mayhaps you never knew me.” Because she has always loved you. When she was a girl as green as summer grass, she would get on her knees and pray for a sweet love. The gods sent you to her. Right there in the sept, they gave her what she prayed for. No matter the tribulation she endured, you had always been there. Kept close to her beating heart.

“It has always been her, always.” She repeats in attempt to quell the prior baleful words.

Arya stares at her, as though she is witnessing her again for the first time. “Then go to her, Sansa.” She steps forward, clutches Sansa's hands in her own and squeezes. “Go find your knight and dress her wounds, kiss the battle from her brow, and sing her songs of victory.”

She moves closer and presses a kiss on Sansa's cheek. “She’s a lovely knight, Sans. I’m happy you get this dream, I am truly sorry for what others became.”

The younger drops her hands and turns, walking in the blood soaked sludge towards the Keep.

Sansa never quite knows what Arya is thinking, cannot read her mind the way she can do others. But at this moment, she thinks that Arya understands her much better than she imagined.

She thinks that her sister finally understands the appeal of what poets have named love.

°°°

The door of Sansa’s bedchambers is ajar, once again. There is much less finesse than the first time you pushed through her door. She speaks not as her feet carry her through the sanctity of her room. There is warmth, the hearth crackles over her thundering heart.

She had prepared her hurt in lest you chose to abandon her for another queen. But you sit in front of the flames, red stained and leather bound.

“Have you not bathed?” Sansa says and feels frivolous for it. You throw your head back and let out a gritty laugh. She shut the door, sliding the lock in place before she carries on. There is leftover water in the basin, and a cloth somewhere in her oak chest of fabrics.

She can feel your eyes follow as she pulls a thin net cloth from the chest.

“Whatever are you doing?” Your question is so very soft, it makes her smile. Collecting the water in an iron chalice, she comes to you and sets the cup near the fire. Looking at your face so close, she can now see all the cuts and bruises.

“Do you have any other wounds?”

“Nah.” You scoff “Those ice fucker only got in some blows. Nothing that will not heal on its own.”

There is something wrought in your cavalier retort. The delight of victory does not quite reach your eyes. She hums and dips the cloth into the water, bringing it to the burst of blood congealed on your lips. When you were girls, you would squirm like a caught rodent while the

Septa tried to brush the tangles of sleep from your hair.

As she swipes the blood from your mouth, you are unmoving. Tranquil in your contentment. If only Septa Mordane had allowed Sansa a try then mayhaps they would have been to lessons sooner.

She can see much in your eyes this close, the love, the quiet, the melancholy.

Sansa scrubs at a partially dry flake of blood on your cheekbone. “War is not over, is it?” She asks, not ceasing her ministrations.

You do not look away from her, “No.”

You give her no other explanation, and there is nothing in your manner that would inflict worry upon her. It is calm and faint just as the chamber's atmosphere.

Whilst serene, there is a thick tension that has consumed the air like smoke. Sansa feels no wariness for she could simply sooth the taunt if she pressed her lips to yours.

She does not.

“Will you go to Kingslanding?” She breaks through the silence, “Will you follow Daenerys?”

You do not respond with an instant denial and she feels a petulant anger bubble up in her core. She wants you to not need to think. She wants you to know which queen you would follow. She wants you to seek her out like you have always done.

She wants you.

With a hesitant sigh, you open your mouth. “I…I wish things were simple, though they never are.”

Hearth glowing against the pits in your eyes, you stare into Sansa’s.

“What would I be?” You ask, a hysterical thread of desperation sewn into your voice. “What- What shall I be if I stay?”

“Mine.” Sansa says, “You shall be mine.” And she dives forward, head first into warm waters. Sansa Stark learned how to swim in thrashing frigid water long ago, but now she thinks kissing you is akin to swimming in the balmy Dornish sea.

You taste of blood and peach and home.

The two collide atop the furs in front of the firelight. Between kisses, Sansa tentatively tugs at the laces of our leather jerkin. You disjoin your mouth from hers, but your hands stay put in the tendrils of her vibrant hair.

Swallowing, she watches the fast rise and fall of your chest. She moves her hand to press against the motion and feels the heavy rapid pound of your heart on her palm. Your eyes flutter as you sigh, she is so close that she feels every move you make.

“I love you.” You whisper into her.

She gasps, “Yes, yes, I love you as well.” And bears up to kiss any other words from your tongue.

“I covet you.” The words are slid into her mouth and she wants to taste them forever. The kisses become frantic and your hands are digging into her skin deliciously.

Sansa pulls at your laces until she can see your lovely skin peaking out. “So many words, too many words.” She moans into the kiss and only breaks apart to continue, “So many things to be said, let us say them on the morrow.”

“Sansa-” You breathe against her throat and she shutters. Her whole body feels not unlike a piece of flit being scraped against steel, desperately trying to catch spark.

“Show me.” She says as she unclasps her cloak. Sansa lays down on her back against the furs.

The fire reflects against your skin, and she remembers all those years ago in the sept when the candle made you glow and she thought about touching your dress.

“Show me,” She whispers, “Show me how you covet me. I want to feel it.” You are above her, your hand pressed flat beside her head.

Pulling apart your jerkin, she presses her hand on your naked breastbone and drinks in the sigh you let out. It sinks into her skin and settles in the marrow of her bones.

Sansa likes this, that you are letting her spread you open with no uncertainty.

You dip down and press delicate kisses against her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, and then her mouth. Your tongue twists against hers as your hand digs underneath her to tug at the laces of her dress.

The fire burns hot and she knows what it is to be coveted.

°°°

You stay.

°°°

The Dragon Queen's reign is fleeting and not without madness. Sansa knows not what has happened between her and Jon, but she does know that he stuck a knife into her belly. She knows that he loved her.

Her brother sits solemnly in the snow, staring up at the Weirwood tree as though the face in it shall speak its wisdom to him. She walks over and sits on one of the ancient trees protruding roots.

He does not glance away from the face in the wood. “Do you think there was another way?” He asks, and she does not know if he is speaking to her or the gods. Jon turns his head and she is struck with a sadness of how much he looks like father.

“Do you think I could have saved her?” He says again.

Sansa has no thoughtful answer for him, for she is rather glad Daenerys is gone. She thinks the woman caused more harm than good, but she is well aware that Jon is not alone in his mourning. You had shed many tears when you heard of Missandei’s demise.

She has a strong inquiry that you knew then. You knew what the Dragon Queen would become.

“She was going to be the greatest who ever lived. She who was promised.” You had whispered to the dark starry sky as Sansa dragged her fingertips up your arms in tries of comfort.

“No.” She decides. “You cannot save someone from their own madness, Jon. You cannot reach into their skull and pull out the rot piece by piece.”

Jon says nothing, but he starts to smile in a pained way.

“When did you become so wise?”

She laughs, “Mayhaps I have always been wise, and you never took note.”

They are both smiling and she feels this lovely bittersweet moment soak into her like sunshine.

She will most likely never see her brother again, but was that not always what she was meant for? She was always meant to leave, to fly away and only speak to her family through ink and parchment.

For that is the life of a woman.

Jon stands, smile never ceasing. “I am surprised you are here with me, and not letting your lover fawn over you before your coronation.” Reaching her, he takes her hand and puts it in the crease of his arm, linking them as they walk the old path of childhood to the rest of their lives.

Sansa hums, “She will be pleased I am here with you.” She gently knocks her shoulder into his. “She loves you, you know.”

Those words seem to make Jon choke on a sob, for he turns his face away from Sansa's watch. “She is my oldest friend.” Is all he says in return.

“Well then, I shall send her when I need your council. I will be quite busy as queen, you see.” She leans her chin up in mock of your particular haughtiness.

“Ah yes.” He chuckles. “The men of castle black will learn respect in lest she eat them for sup.”

Her coronation is close calling by the sudden falling of the sun. They come close to the Keep, still gripping one another tightly enough to leave a remembrance in bruises. Jon’s steps come to a halt.

“Well, won't you look at that.” He conveys in awe. Sansa looks to where his eyes are gazing.

A little patch of green grass under the wet sludge of ice and snow. The flowers are long blossoms that are connected but thin stems. The plant is a rather bronze color, and she feels as though she has seen these flowers before but cannot place where.

“Red fennel flowers.”

Sansa blinks, startled. “Pardon?”

“Red fennel flowers.” He repeats, light with a buoyancy that comes with the start of spring.

“Those signify-”

“Victory.” Sansa whispers.

She stitches bronze blossoms into the lining of her dress only moments before she is to be presented as queen.

When she sits on the Northern throne, a Direwolf crown on her head, she looks for you in the crowd and suppresses a smile when she sees tears flowing down your face.

You always knew, in life and death, you always knew it would always be you and Sansa Stark.

End

#sansa stark #Sansa x reader #sansa stark x reader #sapphic #game of thrones #asoiaf #x reader #smut #gxg #bisexual #sansa #got x reader #Sansa imagine #game of thrones x reader #sadgirl #angst with a happy ending #angst #slow burn #friends to lovers

114 notes · View notes

axelsagewrites · 2 years ago

Text

Main Masterlist Here

House of the Dragon Masterlist Here

Warnings/Guides

【P】Platonic【P】 🆇Smut 18+🆇

Request Line Up and Request Rules

♡ Jon Snow ♡

🆇What he's like in bed🆇

Blind date

🆇Milady🆇

🆇Home Alone🆇

🆇Price of My Secrecy 🆇

Relationship Moodboard

🆇Couldn't Resist🆇

♡ Robb Stark ♡

Best Friend

Marriage night

🆇Dream🆇 🆇part two🆇

Frey Girl 🆇part two🆇

🆇I miss you🆇

Cloak

Honey Cakes (cloak part two or standalone)

Comfort

Sweet Girl

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇Good girl🆇

Yearbook

Don't Die For Me

🆇Little Secret🆇

🆇Can't Catch a Break🆇

Goodnight Dear Husband

♡ Sandor Clegane ♡

Most People Say Goodbye Part One - Part Two

🆇Brat🆇

♡ Beric Dondarrian ♡

Home

♡ Thoros of Myr ♡

Favourite Friend

♡ Brienne of Tarth ♡

【P】Queen in the North and South【P】

♡Ned Stark♡

🆇MiLord🆇

🆇Wife🆇

♡Ramsay Bolton♡

🆇My Father Would Kill Me🆇

🆇Catch You🆇

🆇How Far Would You Go🆇

🆇Appreciate You🆇

🆇Bath🆇

🆇Little Mouse🆇

♡Roose Bolton♡

Perhaps

Not Yet

♡Edmure Tully♡

【P】Who We Call Family【P】

My Queen My Love

♡Theon Greyjoy♡

Dream of Sweet Memories

🆇Give it back🆇

♡Sansa Stark♡

Roommates

🆇NSFW Alphabet🆇

🆇What's This?🆇

Surprise Visit

♡Podrick Payne♡

🆇Praise🆇

♡Daenereys Targaryen♡

🆇My Queen🆇

♡Jamie Lannister♡

🆇Extra Credit🆇

♡Oberyn Martell♡

🆇Duty🆇

♡Margaery Tyrell♡

🆇Ropes🆇

♡Cersei♡

🆇Morning🆇

♡Tormund♡

🆇Real Man🆇

🆇Use your words🆇

♡ Yara Greyjoy ♡

Flirting

Preferences/Multicharacter

🆇Company🆇 - Yara and Ellaria threesome

🆇What they're like in bed🆇 – Robb, Jon, Sandor, Podrick

How they react to teasing – all

🆇What They're Like in Bed🆇 – Margaery, Sansa, Danny, Yara

Share pt1 🆇Competition pt2🆇 🆇Wait p3🆇 - Robb and Jon

🆇Hook ups🆇 - Theon and Jon

Love Languages - Jon, Robb, Bran, Tormund, Podrick, Oberyn

Thanks for any support I appreciate it all xoxo Sage

Dividers from here and here from @saradika

Post topper made on Canva

3K notes · View notes

venusbyline · 6 months ago

Text

𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑶𝑵𝑬𝑺/𝑨𝑺𝑶𝑰𝑨𝑭 𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ☙

❥ about me • main masterlist • wips

I only wrote for character x female/afab!reader, characters x female/afab!OCs, and some specific ships.

I write for female characters and sapphic ships too.

: ̗̀➛ REQUESTS: closed.

❥ ASOIAF Random Headcanons (masterlist)

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐉𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫

❥ nothing yet

𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ Perverted Half-brother (headcanon, smut, dark, modern AU) - dark!Jon Snow x Stark!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥

❥ nothing yet

𝐍𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐚𝐦𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐥𝐭𝐨𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐛 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐈𝐈𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐓𝐲𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥 & 𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐃𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐉𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐚 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐤 & 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐣𝐨𝐲

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐌𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

𝐀𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐈 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 & 𝐕𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

❥ nothing yet

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blxkstar · 1 year ago

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When the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

I made a playlist for House Stark, please check it out!

The North Remembers

We Know No King But The King In The North Whose Name Is Stark...

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llonelygoddess · 2 years ago

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How they react to...you getting injured

A/N: I hope this doesn't sound redundant but here ya go :)

Romantic Pairings: Ned Stark, Robb Stark, Jon Snow, Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell, Theon Greyjoy, Khal Drogo, Brienne of Tarth, Missandei

Ned Stark: If you got injured it would most likely be from falling off your horse during a casual ride. As the doting husband he is he would be rushing to your side and calling maesters to check on you. With only a small bruise to show for you try to get back on the horse but Ned doesn't allow it. He doesn't mean to control you, he only wants to keep you safe from any more serious injuries that won't heal as easy as a bruise.

Robb Stark: With Robb, he normally has guards with you at all times because he worries for your safety. When one of them turns out to be a spy with intent to hurt you, Robb is livid. You were pushed and left with a few bruises but all he sees is red. Robb sentences the man to die and takes his head for it. He spends the rest of the day with you in bed, feeling guilty while he looks at your injuries. You'll definitely want to console him cause he will cry, especially thinking of what COULD have happened to you.

Jon Snow: He truly believes in your ability to take care of yourself, but when you get hurt during a fight he rushes to your side without second thought. You'll both have to fight your way out of the conflict but once you're safe he checks on your wounds. He asks for a maester to check them out to keep out infection and feels a little useless not being able to do anything himself. Jon makes it a point to joke about it to take away the serious energy going on and promises to always have your back.

Sansa Stark: Girly is straight up crying. Doesn't matter if it was just a little accident or you were roughed up by some thugs, younger Sansa is a crier. When she finds you she's holding onto you with strength you didn't know she had. Unlike older Sansa who would be ready to pass someone's death sentence, younger Sansa only cares about you feeling better. She does her best to make you a prayer wheel like her mother does for her.

Margaery Tyrell: She'd be a lot more calm than you'd think, at least around others. Once she sees you lying in bed with your leg elevated, she's questioning the hell out of you. What happened? Who was it? Do you need anything? Milk of the Poppy? It's almost entertaining to see how much she worries in contrast to her usual cool attitude. After you assure her that you're alright she's cuddling up in bed with you, probably to read something to you.

Theon Greyjoy: Pre!Reek Theon would instantly be at arms and ready to fight whoever touched you. He's possessive and the thought of ANYONE touching you pisses him off but especially if they meant to harm you. He wouldn't know how to express his worry for you so he'd just angrily stand by you as you recover. Post!Reek Theon is deeply insecure and guilty about you getting hurt. He still wants to fight whoever hurt you but he's more concerned with making sure you're okay.

Khal Drogo: *Activate instant death mode* I mean we saw what happened when Daenerys almost got poisoned, think about actually getting poisoned. Having to lay in bed for days while Drogo goes out in search for whoever did this to you. It doesn't matter why they did it or if you die or not, all that matters to him is giving them the most painful death possible. When he's done, he sits at your bedside knowing you are strong and capable of overcoming this.

Brienne of Tarth: It was only a training accident but your messed up ankle reminded Brienne how fragile you were. She was born and raised to endure the pain that came with being a knight/fighting, but you never asked for it. She'll feel upset at herself for not teaching you properly and it'll come off as anger towards you. Truly she doesn't mean it but if being hard on you will keep you safe next time then she knows what she has to do.

Missandei: Tearsss. She's crying before she even knows what happened to you. Stays by your bedside as you heal from a battle wound and takes responsibility for changing your dressings and cleaning the injury. Missandei knows that this is the life you've chosen to live, but sometimes she wishes she could take you away to her homeland safe from any harm.

#game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones preferences #game of thrones #got fanfiction #got x reader #got headcanons #got #ned stark x reader #robb stark x reader #jon snow x reader #sansa stark x reader #missandei x reader #brienne of tarth headcanons #brienne of tarth #khal drogo x reader #theon greyjoy x reader

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lumillsie · 8 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ theon greyjoy x mermaid!reader headcanons ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

╰┈➤ in which something has always called theon greyjoy to winterfell's strange lake

a/n : seeing as winterfell is a landlocked city, I did have to improvise a bit, but I'm hoping you will find my take on this request reasonable <3

a special thank you to @angelseraphines for reading this for me as I was writing and making sure that my portrayal of theon didn't stray too far from his canon-self

╰┈➤ it is a strange thing - that the lake outside the city walls never appears to freeze over. the people of winterfell have speculated as to why for centuries. some say that the lake remaining as it is is a blessing from the old gods, a reassurance that the people will always have water to drink and a reminder that their gods will never abandon them. others pass down tales to their children of the children of the forest, and the traces they left behind - the weirwood tree and its roots dipped into soil, the soil that leads into the lake.

╰┈➤ theon greyjoy was not born of winterfell, but he had done his best to see it as his home. he had grown to see robb as his brother, and he cared for the rest of the starks too.

╰┈➤ in spite of his great desire to be a stark, a true part of the family, theon was always aware that his position as a ward was in truth the position of a political hostage, dangled in front of his father to ensure his loyalty to the crown.

╰┈➤ even as a boy, he was drawn to the lake. he would climb atop the city walls and sit in silence for quite some time, simply gazing pensively at the lake. it too was a strange and different thing - just as he himself was.

╰┈➤ as he grew older, his visits to the lake became less frequent - he found other ways to mitigate the strain on his heart. he would oft visit ros at the pleasure house, he'd practice his archery, he'd join tourneys. and yet, there was still something within the lake calling out to him, drawing him in - and he never truly could forgo his visits.

╰┈➤ it was on the eve of his eighteenth nameday that he encountered you for the first time. you had noticed him long ago, and you watched him during every of his visits, even allowed him to get a glimpse of the shine of your tail a handful of times. most of the mermaids beneath the lake were old and uninterested in the people that walked on land. there was a time when they lived in harmony with the children of the forest, but as the children were hunted down and brought to extinction, the mermaids of winterfell lake swore not to allow the first men or their descendants to ever lay eyes upon them.

╰┈➤ you understood their fears, truly you did - you could see the sorrow in the eyes of the eldest of your cove, a sorrow you know dates back six millenia. you feared the people that walked on land too, but you didn't fear theon. you sensed the war in his mind, you recognised the sense of not belonging. you sensed it because you felt it too, a young, naive mermaid in a lake of ancient beings - a young, naive mermaid, the first to be born in a thousand years.

╰┈➤ his eighteenth nameday was the first time he rode out of the city to spend his day on the shore of the lake, and you knew that this was the only opportunity you would ever get to see him up close. you crept closer to the shore, allowing your tail and the top of your head to rise slightly above the water's surface and keeping your eyes glued to the image of the man before you.

╰┈➤ he noticed you then, as you unassumingly lifted your head above the water - allowing yourself to glance at him. you knew your elders could not hear of this moment, for you knew how enraged they would be with you. you could not bring yourself to care, for as enamored as theon was with the lake, you were just as enamored with the towering, thick castle walls and the mystery of what lies beyond them. just as something kept calling the greyjoy lad to the lake, something kept calling you to the city.

╰┈➤ a man often accused of vanity by the whispers that surrounded him, theon was enraptured by the otherworldly atmosphere that seemed to surround you. your features were different to what he had been used to considering beautiful, but he found them enchanting to look at nonetheless. he considered capturing you, for a brief moment - he wondered if it would prove something to the starks, that it was only him that could lure a creature of the deep to the surface. he wondered if it would make lord eddard proud, or if it would solidify him as the ironborn he was supposed to be.

╰┈➤ he called out to you then, beckoning you to draw nearer. the people of the iron islands oft spoke of mermaids - of how the grey king was one, and of how he became the king of the western islands and all seas beyond, as well of the drowned god and the mermaids that serve him within the confines of his watery walls. his mother spoke to him of mermaids too, but her tales were always much gentler. she would say that the ironborn would find the most beautiful of mermaids and take them to bride, that the half-fish women would shed their tails for legs and bear their husbands the most beautiful of children, part sea and part land - as all ironborn were meant to be.

╰┈➤ you crept closer to land, nearly close enough that he could reach a hand out to touch your shimmering skin, and yet with enough of a distance between you that you could turn around and return to the depths of your home. your first conversation could hardly be called much of a conversation, and while you could speak the common tongue ( you oft listened to the people speak within the walls, their voices booming and echoing through the cove beneath the city), you had a hard time figuring out what to say to him. for the most part, you simply looked at one another that very first day - until the day's end was near and the hour of the bat was drawing close.

╰┈➤ "I will return. when the sun's returned to the skies on the morrow, I will return. you best be here then." he spoke to you, a tinge of arrogance in his voice. it was as if he knew that you wouldn't defy his request, as if he knew his presence held some power over you - and it pleased him. he held so little power within the stark household, so the hint of it always inflated his sense of self. he knew that you too held some power over him, but he would not speak of it outloud.

╰┈➤ before he had encountered you, he had intended to visit ros that evening. instead, he returned to his chambers rather soon after dinner, content to sleep through the night and wait for the morning to come - the following morning he rose much earlier, quite soon into the hour of the nightingale. it was still dark out, but he wished to fulfill his duties for the day before he set out to see the lake, and the vision discovered the day before, once again. he usually wouldn't be permitted to leave the walls of the city two days in a row, but his nameday had just passed and lord stark was more lenient towards him during that time of the year.

╰┈➤ you waited for him until he arrived, choosing to draw near to the shore just as the sun appeared on the horizon. on this day, you were both much more relaxed. the moment he saw you smile he knew he had no intention of capturing you and bringing you to winterfell, content to keep these peaceful moments to himself - reluctant to share them with anyone else. you felt safer too, now that you had broken the ice and knew he wished you no harm.

╰┈➤ "speak to me of life beneath the waves" he demanded boyishly, that vein of arrogance pouring off his tongue. you minded not, noticing the sorrow beneath his gaze. you knew he was not born of here, and the people of the town oft whispered of the seaside boy taken from his home to come here. you knew it to be him the first moment you saw him dangling his legs off the castle walls. and so you spoke to him of life beneath the waves - of your sisters and brothers, all at least a millenium older than you, of the beautiful cove protected from the human eye and the ephemeral sights only you and your kin could lay eyes upon, of the elders and their refusal to allow you to draw near. he listened intently to all of it, hanging off every word of yours. he wanted to know all of it - wanted to know you more and more with every passing word that left your mouth.

╰┈➤ you spoke to him for hours on end. each time you declared to ask him a question too, he urged you to keep speaking. you spoke until the night drew nearer. he told you that he would return in half a moon's time, as he could not afford to leave the castle walls quite so often. "I will be here when you return, only if you will speak to me of life behind the castle walls" was what you said to him as he prepared to leave. he felt indignant at your words for a few passing moments, but reluctantly agreed to your request as he wished to see you again.

╰┈➤ the next time he returned, he had brought you something. a small iron pendant he acquired at the market, and he had given it to you teasingly, remarking that you should be flattered that the heir to the iron islands had deemed you worthy of such a gift. in truth, he spent the whole way to the lake pondering over if you would like it - and determining that you would with a small huff as his journey drew to a close. this time, he too spoke more freely - of his memories of the iron islands, of his family - mostly of his mother and her tales of mermaids. you laughed then and asked him if that was what he would desire, to which he winked at you playfully and told you that the possibility wasn't far off his mind.

╰┈➤ he spoke to you of what you asked of him too, of life in winterfell, beyond the walls you so often stared at. he spoke to you off lord stark, of his children and namely the boy he grew to consider his brother, robb stark. he spoke to you of archery, of his tourneys and his journeys. you listened just as intently as he had listened to you the last time you saw him. he didn't think he had ever felt this peaceful - at least not since the first time he sat atop the castle walls, the moment he first discovered the lake. as the pale hint of orange seeped into the blues of the sky, you reached out to him once and he grasped your hand in his for a few moments, opting to leave a kiss on the palm of your hand before he retreated to the city as the gentle dusk gave way to the dark night.

╰┈➤ he visited you as often as he could, without causing the stark family to worry whether or not he too was planning to incite a rebellion. he spoke to robb of you once, to assuage the concern his dear friend was beginning to show. he couldn't tell him the full truth, but he told him he met a girl who lived outside the castle walls near the city, and that he found pleasure in your company. he didn't give away too many details, but he was content knowing that robb wouldn't be too concerned with his frequent journeys. he didn't know that it was the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that reassured his friend, as opposed to the words he so craftfully weaved together.

╰┈➤ it was during his seventh visit to the lake that he kissed you for the first time. you were confiding your sorrows of your elders' distrust to him, and he leaned down to place a kiss upon your brow, as he had begun to do from his fifth visit onwards. you looked up at him then, and he couldn't help leaning down and placing a chaste peck upon your lips, before returning to deepen it. something changed between you and him then, and you began to behave more like lovers from then on.

╰┈➤ his visits to the pleasure house had already grown infrequent the moment he met you. he still had his needs, of course - but he found it hard to find time for them as he was oft attempting to finish with his duties on time to come visit you or attempting to find something in the city that he believed you would like and hide in your cove, to keep only for yourself as he had kept your encounters only for himself. now, however, he was content to accept that he wouldn't be returning there anytime soon, thoughts of you drowning out the idea of anyone else.

╰┈➤ your relationship with theon was a playful one. he oft teased you and you'd respond by splashing water onto his tail in response. his touches were rough but kind, and his kisses were sloppy but loving. you were both content to behave as if there was no distance between what you both were, preferring to banish the question of 'what comes next?' to the back of your minds.

╰┈➤ on his nineteenth nameday, a year into knowing you - theon brought you a small cloth with the image of a yellow kraken sown into it. it was the symbol of his house, and as he couldn't quite cloak you in the traditions of westerosi weddings, he deemed this to be the most likely way to proclaim his devotion. you could wear it on your wrist, claim to your elders that you happened upon it on the shores of the lake and kept it to yourself. you didn't consider yourselves wedded, but theon's prideful exclamations of binding the world's most beautiful creature to himself would stay with you evermore.

╰┈➤ this lighthearted atmosphere was unfortunately not to last. when theon informed you of the king's family arriving to winterfell within a few days' time, you felt an inexplicable feeling of dread come over you. he had noticed it then and assured you that all would be well, that they wouldn't stay that long and that he'd return soon. nothing could keep him away from you, now could it?

╰┈➤ it would be weeks before he'd come to see you again and the sight of him twisted and turned your heart as if tearing it apart. he appeared as lonely and conflicted as he was on the day you first encountered him, the sorrow in his eyes as prominent as ever, dark lines appearing under them. he spoke to you of bran and his accident, of lord stark's capture and of robb's intention to raise the banners and march down south. this time you were the one attempting to reassure him, right up until the very moment he told you that he intended to march down south with robb. you knew that you shouldn't have been as shocked and opposed as you were, but you were afraid. you didn't know much of land, but you always knew of war - of bloodshed, demise and misery. you promised to pray for him then, even if your kind hadn't truly prayed since the vanishing of the children of the forest. you promised to pray to the old gods and the drowned god, to the faith of the seven and any others of whose existence you would come to know of. you saw him off with a heavy heart then.

╰┈➤ you attempted to listen to the people of the city from within your cove for months on end, keeping your ear to the ground for any new information on theon's wellbeing. the townspeople were just as in the dark as you were, and it only made you feel more helpless. you could slowly feel the hope within you begin to fade away as the days dragged on - that was until you finally heard his name from within the city. what you heard however, wasn't what you were expecting to hear. theon greyjoy had captured winterfell.

a/n : and that's it for my first post on this platform! I wasn't quite sure how to end it, but I'm quite content with the way I did. if you guys do want a part 2 that deals with this dynamic with post-reek!theon, please do let me know 🩷 I hope you've enjoyed reading this, and if you did - please do make sure to let me know as feedback is so incredibly important to me. thank you so very much for your time and I hope that you'll consider reading other works of mine that I hope to post on this page soon <33

PS. please do forgive me for adding tags of other characters to this post - it's the first one I've ever made and I'm trying to get my page out for people to see. That being said, I have no intention of tagging characters I don't write for, so please make sure to request them as well if you're interested in seeing more from me.

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