#Sansa breaking traditions is my new mood

[reginarubie]

LF and Marillion shared many similarities. Both are favorites of Lysa and Robin. Lysa gifts Marillion Jon's pet falcon while she married LF irking lords of Vale. Marillion is a harp player while LF claim that harps are stronger as sword. Marillion tried to rape Sansa and LF molesting her, she even compared him with Marillion. Myranda had slept with Marillion while thinking about marrying LF. Marillion called Sansa a rose while LF steal away Sansa enacting Bael and the Winter Rose.

Ciao anon!,

Good point. Marillion and LF have many things in common. They're both favourites of Lysa even against the other lords (who she spurns) and she gifts Marillion her late husband pet falcon, plus a golden bracelet and favours him over the others — even when he insults her suitors and predates on young girls to the point she even sends away people on his behalf — in the same way she favours LF for whom she has killed her husband and caused a war between Starks and Lannisters — sending the letter to Cat accusing the Lannisters — and whom she marries spurning all the other lords of the Vale who were offering their hand.

Though I must say I think that the quote about the harp LF makes is not supposed to make us think of Marillion while more of Sansa.

A harp can be as dangerous as a sword, in the right hands.

— Sansa VI, ASOS

I think this is supposed to recall to the reader something the show told us when Tyrion crowned Bran, that stories is what unites people. This is supposed to remind the readers that a harp (an object used for delight, which recounts a story) can be as dangerous as a sword, because mockery, rumour and truth can be as dangerous for a man as a sword if they are wielded by the right person. This hints, imo, to Sansa using her soft power and her voice (accusing him) to bring forth LF' demise. The same way the hidden dagger, instead, refers in my opinion to Arya, because no one is even suspecting Arya might still be alive and training to be a faceless assassin (hidden dagger pressing from behind that you never see coming). I theorise (I even put it in one of my stories — or several, truly it's something I think very canonic and thus use it often as a metaphor) that these two quotes are supposed to be about the Stark girls: Sansa the harpist and Arya the sword.

A bit like Doran-grass to Oberyn-viper (the grass shielding the viper until it's time to strike), I think Sansa and Arya (both of whom need each other, and both whom Ned needs per his own words — this will apply to the other Stark men, bear in mind) will be the harpist and the sword. One will weave the tale and lay the trap using soft means the other will execute the plan (a bit like in the show they had them collaborate to bring down LF with Sansa lulling him in a sense of false security before they put him on trial and Arya executed him); I think the show lacking the perspective of the books (which have this quote) used another which is essentially wrong with the Stark way, because after they've killed LF Arya says «I was just the executioner, you pass the sentence» and we know House Stark lives by the Old way of «who passes the sentence should swing the sword»; also because Sansa did pass the sentence and swung the sword (there is a reason why, though Arya was depicted as her arm — physically — they had Sansa stand up and look at LF' eyes as he was executed because the whole northern way of passing the sentence-swinging the sword is because this way the executioner who looks the victim/criminal in the eye is also the same one who passes the sentence because as per Ned Stark's words «if you cannot look in his eyes, maybe he does not deserve that punishment».

So to me, both the quote about the harp as well as the quote about the hidden dagger pressing at you from the back when you never see it coming are actually a foreshadowing of the Stark sisters coming together and using their different trainings and abilities to destroy their enemies. But that is strictly my interpretation.

Though I am pretty convinced about it, so I never really envisioned that quote being specifically about Marillion, it's also intended to nudge us to the importance of the tales ones says, tales which have different weight based off on who says them, thanks to their credibility, but they have a broader meaning that to me hints toward both Stark girls.

And yes, Randa slept with Marillion (not knowing what kind of man he was — to the point that after his imprisonment she apologises to Sansa/Alayne because she didn't know who he was and knew only he sung sweetly and was talented with his fingers) and she is considering marrying LF (also without knowing who he is; or in this case knowing perfectly well and trying to use it to get more power; though I am convinced the Royces who were clamouring because they were forbidden to join Robb Stark' cause won't forsake the Starks in this case).

And, I'm never over the fact that Petyr Baelish literally stole Sansa Stark from KL, the same Sansa who is associated with the rose symbolism (romanticism, love, sweetness and tenderness — Stark girls being stolen and being symbolised by a rose) and for whom Marillion was composing a song titled the “roadside rose”. I mean the parallel is staggering: lord Stark's daughter was stolen from her bed by Bael who had asked for the most beautiful rose of lord Stark's garden which he left on her bedding before they hid in the crypts and she gave him a son; Lyanna Stark was given a crown of winter roses at the Tourney of Harrenhal being named Queen of love and beauty by Rhaegar who later abducted her (stole her — persuaded her to come with him) and hid her away in a tower in Dorne, where she gave him a son. Both women (the first Stark girl and Lyanna) died after the death of their captors (lady Stark threw herself from the parapets of WF because her son had brought back from battle the head of the father; and Lyanna died in childbed after Rhaegar was killed by Robert) both ladies are hinted/rumoured to have loved their abductors (I still maintain that something more complicated was afoot with Rhaegar and Lyanna and that she was at first persuaded maybe, blinded by love, but that later she became a prisoner — because the only real quote we have of her is that she's fiercely loyal to House Stark and I refuse to believe she simply forgot all about that all of sudden just because Rhaegar came along); both children became liege of the North or king in the North and both will face wars (the son of Vael the bard against his own father — Jon against his own aunt?) anyway you catch my drift. I honestly am afraid that LF who is molesting Sansa as you say and is keeping her sequestered for her own good trying to isolate her to have her completely dependent from him (like I discussed in this ask)will try to either marry her himself or molest her even further; I hope Sansa, who has escaped rape already twice (and we know Martin loves his threes) escape these molestations as well and manages to come back home and that her future child will become, after her, king in the North, as Sansa has been known to break the tradition of those who came before her — she was sequestered in a castle by a prince/king to whom she was betrothed like her aunt Lyanna but managed to escape; she has been accused of high treason and murder against the king (of the latter she is innocent of high treason not so much as she has had a key role in the northern independence since the moment she tried to kill Joffrey) like her lord father but escaped any unwarranted and unjust punishment about it — so I really am holding out hope she will break this tradition of Stark girl being stolen, taken and gotten pregnant by their abductors to then die after them for however briefly or longly they managed to outlive them (by little as both lady Stark and Lyanna died after their abductors were killed off in battle — always near some banks of rivers; Rhaegar died at the Trident while Bael died at the Frozen Ford).

Baelish know this, your end is coming; because Sansa dear has the habit of breaking past tradition and outliving her abusers and you won't be any different.

As always thank you for your ask!, and hope you enjoyed my take on this. As always I wish you a very nice day!

[mollyraesly]

Time with Wolves -- Chapter 18

Just as Thanksgiving had been overshadowed by Robb and questions about his possibly expecting new girlfriend, Christmas was dominated by Robb and his definitely expecting fiancée. Although they still had guests over, it was a rushed affair with more focus on what was to come in the next two weeks than on the day itself. Normally Catelyn spent a generous amount of time shopping to get the best sales and make sure each of her children got two or three fancier items, with a smattering of smaller gifts they’d all come to expect—wall calendars, underwear, fuzzy socks, chapstick, new gloves, wolf-related paraphernalia.

But this year, those little items were nowhere to be found. Instead, they’d gotten mostly gift cards and items they’d need for the wedding, like bowties, emergency first-aid kits, and Advil.

“I’m sorry,” Cat told them Christmas morning after they’d finished opening their presents. “I know this isn’t exactly following tradition.”

“It’s fine, Mum,” Sansa assured her. “We know this year is a bit…unusual.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Arya noted dryly. “I’d say—”

“Arya,” said Sansa, sensing the need to deescalate the situation, “why don’t you help me go get everyone some eggnog?”

Ned gave her a grateful look and then went back to trying to comfort Cat.

When they were in the safety of the kitchen, Arya heaved a sigh. “I hope Robb knows he owes us a Christmas after fucking up this one for us.”

Their elder brother was over at the Westerlings house, having stayed the night with the future in-laws. He was bringing Jane over later in the afternoon to eat with the Starks. Sansa wasn’t sure if it wouldn’t have been wiser to stay away.

She caught Arya eyeing the kitchen knives.

“C’mon, let’s get breakfast ready. The snow outside looks perfect for making snowballs. You and Rickon can challenge Bran to a fight while I help Mom with dinner. Maybe see if Dad wants in.”

Arya dragged her gaze away from the knives. “All right then.” Since her mom was busy helping Mrs. Westerling with wedding preparation—or complaining about being left out—Sansa had taken up a lot of the slack. The first few days, it had been nice to focus on something tactile after her exams. They weren’t her hardest batch of tests, but her Equal Protection Law professor decided last minute he wouldn’t let them bring in their case briefs and they had to do everything from memory—and Prof. Lannister forced her to rewrite one of her papers because she didn’t like the topic Sansa had chosen, namely the importance of portrayals of more traditionally feminine characters in positions of strength in prestige television shows. And all that extra work had made Sansa last couple of weeks of the semester exhausting. But this wedding prep was exhausting in a different way. Almost every conversation she had was about the wedding, and it was frankly getting on her nerves. Sansa normally enjoyed wedding talk and organizing; she had a whole scrapbook to prove it. But everything was so rushed, and the logistics were so complicated that the whole thing just felt stressful, not fun. But there was no way to avoid it—as the entire Stark clan was involved and working their damndest to make this wedding happen. Sansa knew she was starting to tire her friends with discussion of it, and she’d even started to dream about catering menus and napkin colors. “It sounds like you could use a break,” said Gilly sympathetically over the phone after Sansa ranted about the wedding preparations to her for over thirty minutes. The wedding was only five days away now, and she was so ready for it to be over. “Or a lobotomy,” Sansa muttered. Gilly chuckled awkwardly. “Sorry, I’m being a total grouch. You’ve been so lovely to listen to me complain. We’ve barely spoken about you. Oh Gilly, I miss you and the girls.” “I miss you too. Sansa. I wish I were there to watch movies and eat lemon cakes with you, but I’ve got to help my sisters with the farm. Speaking of which, I’ve got to get going. But call me again, if you ever need to let off some steam. You know Brienne, Meera, and I have got your back. Keep your head up, Stark, and remember—it’s up to you to decide how you treat others.” “Thanks, Gilly. You always know what to say. Tell your sisters I say, ‘Happy New Year.’ Love you!” “Love you too!” Sansa took Gilly’s advice and left the house to clear her head and visit Ghost. His exuberance upon seeing her again was more than enough to help her sour mood. And she felt calmer by the minute as she brushed out his long coat with Ghost’s face in her lap. “You are my favorite boy in the whole world, Ghost,” she told him. “And I’ll never not love you.”

As she was getting ready to leave the sanctuary of Ghost’s pen behind, Sansa ran into Mr. Mormont. “Back for another visit, eh?”

“You know I can’t bear to be away from him for long.”

Mr. Mormont shook his head. “Never met a more spoiled beast in my life.”

Sansa just waved her hand.

“Thank you, though, Miss Sansa, for the new hat and scarf,” he said, gesturing to the items she’d scrambled to finish knitting on time for Christmas. “I’ll see you at the wedding in a few days.”

Sansa sighed. “That’s right. The event of the season.”

“I’ll expect a dance.”

That made her smile. “You got it.” When she got home from the reservation, Arya kept her company while she started on dinner. It was just them and Rickon, as her parents and Robb were eating with the Westerlings and Bran was hanging out with Hodor. It was not the most exciting as far as New Year’s Eves went, but she was fine with a drama-free evening. Gendry would be coming over later once he was done with work, and she was hoping to fall asleep on the couch before the ball even dropped.

“What should we eat?” Sansa studied the refrigerator with a frown. She was tired of leftovers of savory dishes. She spotted the maple syrup. “How would you feel about breakfast for dinner?” “I feel very good about that.” “Done.” Arya shuffled around as Sansa pulled out what she needed for French toast. “So when is Dickon getting in?” “Tomorrow at 3. I’m going to pick him up at the train station, and he’s going to be staying in Rickon’s room.” “Gross.” Sansa sighed. “I know. Bran offered his, but he needs the extra mobility and access. Rickon’s room will have to do.” “I’ll help you clean it tonight. I know where Rickon hides all his bugs.” Sansa groaned.  “I’m looking forward to getting to know him better.” “Yeah? I’m glad. It’s such a shame he hasn’t had much of a chance to meet everyone before. I kind of feel like I’m throwing him to the wolves.” Arya laughed. “Gendry will be around for him to talk to, and luckily Robb will be too busy to do anything stupid to scare him off.” Sansa stopped beating the eggs in front of her. She could still remember that night when Robb upended what was supposed to be her first date with Jon; things were never the same after their conversation in the car. She hadn’t thought much about that night—had purposefully tried to push it from her mind till she got so good at pretending it had never happened. But thinking about it now made her realize how angry she still felt, how unresolved her feelings were about Robb’s interference and Jon’s abandonment.

With a flash, she could still remember the feeling, almost like being kicked in the stomach, when Robb had suggested Jon would never actually want to hang out with her had it not been for Ghost and the way Jon had avoided her eye and refused to stand up for her.

Gods, that had hurt.

She wasn’t a pining, lovesick teenager anymore—by any means. But the memory of that pain still ached.

She realized then, whisk in hand, that she did want answers and that perhaps more closure would help her to put that chapter of her adolescence and her whole history with Jon to rest. How much she wanted to sew up that wound and let it heal so she could finally move on.

“Sans?” “What? Oh, sorry. Just got lost in thought.” “S’fine. I just said you’ll have to be careful with Rickon, too. Cause you know, Dickon’s name isn’t exactly...” Sansa rolled her eyes and stirred some cinnamon into her egg mixture. “I’ve known many dicks in my life, but Dickon Tarly is not one of them. He can handle a joke.” “Can he handle five thousand?” The next morning she met up with Margaery to get their nails done. Sansa chose pale pink for her fingernails and blood red for her toes; Margaery went with mauve and gold. As their nails were polished, they flipped through fashion magazines and discussed hair and makeup options for the wedding. “I’m thinking long, glossy curls for the hair and something more demur for the makeup.” “Just you.” “Well, the dress shows so much cleavage, I have to leave something to the imagination.” Sansa rolled her eyes. “Mmhm.” “And what about you?”

“Me? I can imagine your cleavage just fine.”

“Sansa Minisa Stark!” Margaery exclaimed. “You are terrible today. I love it.” Sansa rolled her eyes.

“What dress is worthy of such a person?”

“I honestly wouldn’t get your hopes up. I’m probably going to wear this purple dress I wore to a school dance a couple years ago.” It was a nice dress with long sleeves and a floor-length skirt that would keep her warm. And no one who’d be attending the wedding had seen her in it before. It wasn’t going to drop any jaws, but it was pretty enough. “You aren’t going to get something new?” “There hasn’t been much time.” “Darling, there’s always time for a new dress.” Conveniently, Marg didn’t have any afternoon plans so she went with Sansa to pick up Dickon from the train station. During the ride, they discussed Sansa’s law school applications—in all the excitement she’d barely even registered that she’d already gotten two acceptances via email—and Marg’s plans to take what she learned in business school to open up her own floral shop with her grandmother. “Just better you than me,” Sansa said when she heard the news.  “What? Gran is an absolute lamb.” “If you say so,” Sansa demurred. Margaery clapped her hands. “Enough shop talk. Tell me more about your beau. I saw pictures online. He looks like a complete dish.” Marg shoved a picture of a shirtless Dickon under her nose. “I’d positively pay to lick him clean.” Sansa turned a little pink. In the couple of weeks they’d been apart, she’d almost forgotten how handsome he truly was. “He is...occasionally very dishy.” “Oh, you absolute minx! I wish my date had shoulders like that.” “Who are you bringing again?” “Arianne Martell. I met her in one of my business classes. She’s very beautiful, and we’ve gone on a couple of dates, but it’s more casual. I only asked her—well, because I didn’t want to go alone. I didn’t think I could handle—well, you know, I always did have a crush on Robb...” Sansa knew, of course; her friend had never been shy about telling her all the inappropriate things she wanted to do to her older brother. But Margaery was a flirt; Sansa has always assumed she was joking, or at least exaggerating her crush on him. Now, though, Marg looked like she was fighting back tears. “Marg, I—" Her friend’s face transformed into a beaming smile. “Now, now, I think I see a pair of hulking shoulders at two o’clock. Run to him, won’t you, Sansa dear?” Sansa rolled her eyes but nevertheless did a sort of skipping run into his open arms. He was warm and smelled like roasted coffee and peppermint and held her close. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Sansa whispered into his neck.  “Me too.” “I missed you.” Dickon smiled and pulled away so he could see her face. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “Can I kiss you—just real quick?” “Please.” Smiling, he leaned down to capture her lips—a little longer than he had said he would. “Happy New Year,” he whispered with his lips against her cheek and at her ear. He was still smiling, but his lips began to frown as he pulled away. “Your friend is watching us, I think.” “Oh, I’m sure she is.” “Should I be worried about what I’ve gotten myself into?” “About Margaery? She’s just the tip of the iceberg.” “She doesn’t look that dangerous to me.” Sansa give him a wry smile. “Even roses have thorns. And you’ve just entered the wolves’ den.” “Good thing I have you to protect me.” “Good thing.” “How are you—really?” Sansa sighed. “My big brother is getting married in a shotgun wedding to a girl I think he only met about three months ago, my parents are absolutely overwhelmed, and my younger siblings are barely keeping it together. I’m as good as can be expected under the circumstances. How are you?” She plastered on a smile, laced her gloved fingers through his, and led him away from the train. “Ready to meet Margaery?” He swallowed nervously. “I think you were right about her being dangerous. She looks like she’s going to eat me.” Margaery must have overheard him because she grinned beatifically and winked at him. “With a spoon, handsome.”

Sansa tried not to laugh at the strangled noise that emerged from Dickon’s throat, but it was too perfectly hilarious. “I’m really glad you’re here,” she told him again.

“Nowhere I’d rather be.”

[acourtofhopeanddreams]

Wish

Written for @jonsansasource's JonSansaWeek Day 6: Past or Present or Future

It's the annual Stark Christmas Bonfire where the entire Stark family burns their wishes for them to come true. But ever since she met Jon, Sansa has nothing left to wish for.

Modern AU

Sansa bit on the back of her pencil and stared at the small empty paper in front of her. She could already smell the burning fire outside and she could already hear her siblings giggling and laughing, making jokes no one but them really thought were funny.

Christmas was always her favorite time of the year. It was the only time all of them returned home for a few huge dinners and all those Christmas traditions they had made up over the years.

This tradition existed because of her. She had once seen it on television and she had liked the thought of it so much that she had begged her entire family to just do it, only once. But only once had turned into yearly and now it was the highlight of their celebrations.

“Sansa?” Jon walked into her bedroom with his arms crossed over his chest. “Your siblings ask when you’re coming down. They wanna get started.”

“I'm still thinking about my wish.” Sansa leaned back and a smile spread across her face. “For years I’ve written down the same things over and over again, but…” She reached out her hand and a pleasant kind of warmth spread through her body when Jon grabbed it. “All of those wishes have come true ever since I met you.”

“All of them already?” Jon raised his eyebrows and his cheeks colored a beautiful shade of reddish. “You make me sound like some prince charming that came in and saved the day or something.”

Sansa took a deep breath. “I don’t mean it like that and you know it!” Sansa raised her voice and let his hand go. “I can take care of myself perfectly fine and if I can’t, I have four amazing siblings who can do it for me.” She paused for a moment. “I’m not some poor cursed princess that needs saving. My parents were actually great, a little annoying at times, but that’s normal, isn’t it? I have a wonderful bond with my older brother, apart from those few times he teased me when I really wasn’t in the right mood to take it. My sister and I are growing closer with every day that passes, even though we’re completely different and sometimes seem to live in other worlds. My little brothers are adorable and ask for way too much time and attention, but I give it to them happily.” She shrugged. “I never needed saving, but…”

Year after year she had still written that same sentence on that small piece of paper, even though she knew she had to read it out loud when she would burn it, even though she had seen her siblings roll their eyes every year. And eventually it had worked.

“What did you wish for then?” Jon shifted his weight from one leg to the other while he kept his glance locked with hers. He was handsome, he was thoughtful. He sometimes forgot all those small anniversaries Sansa liked to celebrate, but he always surprised her with something big on the days that really mattered. Maybe he hadn’t really saved her life, but he had made a huge difference and had changed everything, including her as a person, for the better.

Sansa smiled once more. “I wished for a boyfriend.” Sansa bent her head and bit her lip. “Not because I thought that only a boyfriend could make me happy, but just because I wanted one. I wanted to know what all those girls at school talked about. I wanted to know what kissing felt like, what real kissing felt like, when you kiss someone you actually love and who actually loves you.”

She had kissed boys before she had met Jon. As a sophomore she had kissed Jeoffrey Baratheon.

He had seemed handsome and witty and charming and he had been the unofficial king of the school. But his looks had been deceiving. It seemed that he had only wanted to kiss her, because he enjoyed breaking hearts and making fun of the girls trying to make it through their days after he had crushed their souls and stepped on it.

A year later she had been kissed by Ramsay Bolton.

He had invited her to the schoolbal, telling her that if she really had no one to go with, he would happily come with her so she could go anyway. But he had not told her that he had wanted payment for his company. And he had not told her that this payment would cost her her dignity, her pride and her reputation.

And therefore Sansa had written down that same wish over and over again. And year after year she had watched it burn. And every time she had wished that this time it would work and that her wish for the future would finally come true.

“So, you’re saying that now you’ve got me, you’ve got nothing to wish for anymore?” Jon wrapped his arms around her and kissed her red hair. “I don’t believe that. You always have something to dream about, right? Just write it down. I mean, the wish doesn’t have to come true this year already, right?” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You can find a new wish you can write down for the years to come.” His lips brushed hers and then he stepped back. “Don't take too long to come up with something, okay? We’re all waiting for you at the bonfire.” Jon turned around and walked away and in that moment Sansa knew exactly what to wish for.

Five minutes later she entered the garden. The evening air was cold, even for the time of the year, but the heat of the fire lured her towards it and Jon and Robb made room for her in between them.

“Welcome to our annual Christmas Bonfire!” Sansa raised her voice, like she had done so many years and she made sure to look at all her siblings, at her parents and lastly at her boyfriend. “May this fire keep our wishes passionate and burning until they’ve come true.” She paused for a short moment and then she held her own wish above the fire. “I wish for a future with the most amazing man I’ve ever met. I wish for him to ask me to marry him and I wish for a few wonderful kids joining us for this ceremony one day.” She dropped the piece of paper and the brightly colored flames licked it and consumed it until the wish was nothing but ash anymore.

Maybe her wish wouldn’t come true in the year to come. Certainly not her entire wish would come true in the year to come, but it was exactly like Jon said. She could now use that same wish a few years, until he would ask her to marry him and until they would help their kids to write down their wishes for the annual Christmas bonfire.

[ladysaruka]

Inappropriately Amorous

(Decided to a Regency AU that is NOT my Persuasion AU, for reasons)

There was a perverse family tradition of being incredibly reckless, perhaps even stupid, when it came to manners of the heart.

Father had remarried a bit too quickly and Jon was born so immediately afterwards... and people do talk.  Perhaps Aegon should have been affronted for his late mother’s sake, the indignity and insult that his maternal uncles would, on rare occasions, display.

But those fleeting, uncomfortable moments simply didn't compare to his actual memories: step-mama Lya, holding him, kissing his and Jon’s childhood hurts away, lecturing him to keep up on his lessons, and the look of pride she had when he mastered riding a horse.

Once, when he was quiet small, Aegon had asked Rhaenys what it was like after mother had passed but before father remarried.

"Quiet, in the worse way, and gloomy, even on a sunny day,” she had told him sorrowfully. "But Step-mama changed that. She brought back the noise and light and Jon.”

Rhaenys always had a happy smile when she finished. Of the two of them, she had the memory and sorrow from their mothers death and had been old enough to understand that the whispering was not a good thing. She and her father’s new bride had very little in common, but their new mama cared, cared deeply and it showed. Aegon knew she loved step-mama as well.

Years and life had passed, and then it was Aegon's turn. At seventeen he had become smitten for their cousin Arianne, and had taken to serenading her at her window. He was also apparently serenading her lover at the time, and Arianne had rejected him, gently, for he did have a lovely singing voice. From that point on Aegon kept his affairs du coeur, as well as his singing, as discreet as possible.

Rhaenys, however, showed him up be eloping with Willa's Tyrell. The family should had perhaps expected such a thing, as the young man was courting her in ever proper way. Calling on her in the morning, and talking with her all evening at balls, as he could not dance with his bad leg. He even took her around the park in his carriage with those fine horses of his. Of course, Rhaenys was properly chaperoned by her one or both of her brothers. He and Jon had found it hilarious that they got to chaperone to their sister, nearly seven years their elder.

But when the time for a proposal came, everything stalled. Father didn't like the match, Lord Tyrell didn't like the match, Uncle Doran didn't like the match. Why, no one was keen to share, and Rhaenys was distraught.

This won Rhaegar no love from his wife, as Aegon overheard them arguing one night, in the billiards rooms.

Step-mama was in a fine mood.

“Really, Rhaegar what possible objection could you have to boy?”

“Well—” father paused and Aegon heard the clacking of billiards balls— “Firstly, he is some years her senior.”

“Yes, an insurmountable age gap of five years that has never occurred  in our circles before. Try harder,” Lyanna had said dryly.

“His leg.”

“What of it? It does not stop him from doing his duties, or even his hobbies!”

At this Aegon could hear Step-mama pacing the room in agitation.

“Rhaegar, I simply don't understand your reticence. You've seen them together, how she adores him.  And... you know how gentle and sweet Rhaenys is. With the wrong sort of husband she could be trodden all over. I don't want that for our girl. Willas—when she speaks he listens, truly listens with his whole body. He would make a good and kind husband for her."

Father hadn't anything to say to that so Aegon considered the matter settled. But still no words of an engagement.  Rhaenys locked her self away in her room and Step-mama glared murderously at father.

In the end though, it was their Uncle Oberyn who helped them steal away and elope. He claimed that he was helping his most beloved niece and dearest friend find happiness with one another.

That in doing so he got to enrage not one, not two, but three heads of very important families had nothing to with it, not at all.

It was all for the best though, Aegon and Jon were now very proud uncles. Rhaenys had truly blossomed after marriage. Out of her stepmother’s unintentional but intense shadow, she had grown into a formidable matron in her own right, more bold, more assured. The steel her family had always known was soon shown to the world. Her salons became famous for the intellectual discussions, fine entertainment, and delectable food. To be forcibly shunned from one, was, quite simply, the end of one’s social life.

Which lead Aegon to Jon’s situation.

“Is there, any particular reason Robb Stark wants to kill you?”

“Perhaps,” Jon said as he downed his drink in one gulp. Rhaenys tutted at him from the other side of her palor. She was carefully embroidering something for her second child, due sometime in the summer. Her and Willas’ son, Gareth was on the floor in the middle them all, attempting a tower of wooden blocks. Willas was there as well, and while usually an attentive husband and doting father, he currently had the racing papers in hand, and was going to deaf, blind, and generally useless to all and sundry for a good while.

Aegon braved his sister’s disapproval and poured Jon another drink. It was only mid-afternoon but Jon looked shaken indeed. Jon sipped his liquor this time.

“What possible reason would Robb Stark have to call you out like that?” their sister said in wonderment, and Aegon shared the feeling. Jon was near and dear to his Stark cousins, often being sent up to Winterfell for the summer just as he and Rhaenys were sent to Sunspear.

There was even a time were Aegon was terribly jealous of how close Robb and Jon were.

“There might be one reason…”

“I assume it is a frightfully big one.”

“Erm,…well”

“Isn’t Robb a rather good duelist?” Rhaenys asked absentmindedly, distracted with finishing up her stitching.

“I’d say, i’ve seen him put the instructors at the gymnasium flat on their back. Crack shot as well.”

Jon was looking very pale. “Do you recall, Sansa, the older of his sisters?”

“Of course,” their sister tucked her work back into its basket. “Charming girl, very sweet, played the pianoforte and sang at one of our salons and moved us all” She turned to her husband. “Isn’t that right Willas?”

“Hm, what?” Willas grunted, still staring down the names of other men’s horses and puzzling over whether they could possibly better than his own beasts.

“Sansa Stark and that beautiful aria she played.” Rhaenys reiterated before turning back to Jon, leaving Willas to his paper again. “What on earth about her?”

“She is… very lovely” Jon managed before his eyes got soft. “And kind and courteous…”

Aegon shared a wry look with his sister. Jon was a very quiet sort of person, a bit stuffy, and not kind to wax poetical on anything truly. He kept his feelings close to the vest. But to those who knew him, he had not been subtle in his admiration for his fair cousin.

“We know all this” Aegon chided, for Sansa was indeed beautiful and graceful and so-forth, if one like all that wide-eyed innocent nonsense. “Still doesn’t explain why Robb called you out at the club.”

“He called him out at the club?” Rhaenys said, ears turned to this new detail. “In front of all those people?”

“He was most serious about it” said Aegon, leaving out how Robb looked as if he would skip all protocol and strike Jon even as he sat, gaping at the challenge, soup spoon in hand.

For the rest of their meal Jon had been as bewildered as anybody, but during the ride to their sister’s, he looked as he had remembered something rather important.

“Do you recall the hunt the Starks hosted a little while back?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” said Rhaenys. “It was a wonderful week, but the actual hunt fell through when a sudden thunderstorm come right in the middle. Willas was quite put out, weren’t you Willas?”

“Hrm?”

“I seem to recall the party breaking up, in the search for shelter,” Aegon recalled. He and the other Stark girl, Arya had said the hell to it and followed the hounds anyway. They both caught terrible colds and Lady Stark lectured them fiercely.

“Yes, well, Sansa and I both got out the rain in this old barn, out of the way of everyone else,” Jon said in great rush. “And I, might… have… compromisedhervirtue.”

There was a loaded beat of silence.

“Come again?” Rheanys said in a quiet, careful voice.

Aegon felt even more sorry for his brother because while Rheanys could chatter and charm at her salons, her anger, once roused, was like father’s —quiet, controlled and utterly unnerving. This was the voice that had told Cersei Lannister to never darken her door again, and ran the woman out of the Ton.

“I.. may have taken rights, that is—to say, been intimate with her…” Another heavy moment of silence. “As a man is with his wife.”

Aegon felt his jaw drop. He could have seen himself doing something this stupid and scandalous, but not Jon, not steady, stuffy, ever-honorable-to-the-point-of-dullness Jon.

Who apparently hiked up the skirts and deflowered the most desirable debutante of the Season on some musty hay bed. On her own parents property, no less.

“I thought you rather chipper for man caught out in the rain!” Aegon exclaimed just as Rheanys demanded “You didn’t force yourself of the poor girl, did you Jon?”

“What? No, never!” Jon said vehemently and launched into some tale about the gently pattering of the rain on the barn’s roof, the light of the stars’ that resided in Sansa Stark’s eyes, an anguished declaration of undying affection (because of course when Jon got around to this love business it would be anguished) followed up by an equally tortured marriage proposal which was enthusiastically agreed to, an impassioned kiss… and things continued in an inappropriately amorous manner.

“No wonder Robb Stark wants to kill you,” huffed Rhaenys. “I want to kill you”

“We were careful to get all the straw out of our hair,” Jon added pathetically, which only served to irritate their sister more.

“How the devil did Stark find out?” Aegon mused. “It’s not the sort of thing a girl tells her older brother.”

“Of course not, you dolt,” she said as her face slide into one of sudden and deep thought. “The hunt was nearly two months wasn’t it?”

“Yes, about.”

“Why haven’t you’ve gone to your uncle yet?” Rhaenys asked, exasperated.

“I tried during the rest of the week, but there so many people about and I wasn’t able to get him alone, and then father immediately sent me to the continent to investigate that Lannister bank—”

“You gone for weeks on end! Did you send word to the poor child?”

Jon had the gall—or the sheer short sightedness— to look affronted. “We are not yet formally engaged, it wouldn’t be proper.”

Aegon discreetly edged away from his brother, as their sister looked ready to bludgeon Jon’s head with one of her son’s blocks.

“Still don't know how Robb Stark came to know all this” he put in, in the small hope the mystery would prolong Jon’s demise.

Rhaenys looked at both of them incredulously. “Are you both such idiots?”

At the damning silence that followed, she rolled her eyes and then enlighten:

“The poor girl missed her courses, and since she hadn’t heard from this blackguard in nearly two months, most like got scared and ran crying to her big brother.”

“Ah,” said Aegon.

“Oh,” said Jon losing what little color he had left.

Standing up with a clap of his hands, Aegon made way to the desk in the back.

“Well, that sounds utterly nerve wracking for the poor chit. Jon, I do hope you had given her a good enough time to make it worth it. I recall that rainstorm being rather prolonged.”

“Aegon!”

“Where the hell are your cigars Willas, the good ones?”

Willas had finally put down the racing papers, safe in the knowledge that none of his horses would embarrass him next race day. He looked up to see one of his brothers-in-law rifling through his desk.

“Left drawer, in the back, but whatever for?”

“Jon’s to be a father, we must celebrate.”

Willas turned to Jon, delighted smile on his face. “Really Jon, how wonderful! No greater thing than fatherhood, I tell you!”

Gareth, having seen his father surface from his papers, began climbing up Willas' legs to get into his lap. Once victorious, he was hugged tightly by his papa.

“Now when about is the blessed day? Perhaps it will be girl as well, what a fine playmate for our next one! Wait—when did you marry?” He looked to his wife; she knew nearly everything about anyone anyway.

“Jon has not married,” Rhaenys said tersely.

“Oh! Oh dear… then how? I mean, this is Jon…”

“Do you remember Sansa Stark?”

Willas nodded, brow slightly furrowed. “Yes, played and sang for us one time, very nice. Has a proper appreciation for our canine friends— not every girl her age or set does.”

“Well,” his wife continued, ever patient. “Jon’s been very sweet on her. Remember that hunt on the Stark estate, the one canceled due to that terrible thunderstorm? Apparently—” here Rhaenys tone grew daggers— “She and Jon waited it out together, if you understand my meaning.”

Willas most certainly did and looked properly scandalized.

Aegon rolled his eyes as he fished out the cigars. The man may have run away with Rhaenys in the middle of the night, but was still a stuffy patrician by the day’s end.

“I am in need of fresh air,” Jon announced suddenly, standing up and making his out back to the garden.

“And now Robb Stark’s called him out ” Rhaenys finished very calmly, as if her baby brother hadn’t stalked out of the room like an offended prima donna.

“I would say so! What’s been deicided?”

Aegon glanced up at the clock. “I’m to meet Greyjoy in an hour or so to discuss particulars.”

“This is ridiculous,” his sister huffed and she began to pace the room. “If the duel goes through, there’s going to be talk and Sansa’s name will come up, and in no good way,I assure you. Jon wants to marry the girl— a quiet wedding would solve all this!”

“Difficult to plan a wedding with pistols and sabers about, dear sis.”

“Ridiculous!” she repeated. “Willas, we are going to the Stark townhouse immediately! As long as cool heads are involved and prevail there should no reason to—”

There was a great deal of noise from outside the parlor. The door was flung and in its frame, there stood a woman with the righteous fury of a valkyrie: Step-mama Lyanna

“WHERE IS THAT IDIOT BOY OF MINE?”